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DISTRIBUTED SYSTEMS

Second Edition
 About the Authors

Andrew S. Tanenbaum has an S.B. degree from M.LT. and a Ph.D. from the University
of California at Berkeley. He is currently a Professor of Computer Science at the Vrije
Universiteit in Amsterdam, The Netherlands, where he heads the Computer Systems
Group. Until stepping down in Jan. 2005, for 12 years he had been Dean of the Advanced
School for Computing and Imaging, an interuniversity graduate school doing research on
advanced parallel, distributed, and imaging systems.
In the past. he has done research on compilers, operating systems, networking, and
local-area distributed systems. His current research focuses primarily on computer secu-
rity, especially in operating systems, networks, and large wide-area distributed systems.
Together, all these research projects have led to over 125 refereed papers in journals and
conference proceedings and five books, which have been translated into 21 languages.
Prof. Tanenbaum has also produced a considerable volume of software. He was the
principal architect of the Amsterdam Compiler Kit, a toolkit for writing portable com-
pilers, as well as of MINIX, a small UNIX clone aimed at very high reliability. It is avail-
able for free at www.minix3.org.This system provided the inspiration and base on which
Linux was developed. He was also one of the chief designers of Amoeba and Globe.
His Ph.D. students have gone on to greater glory after getting their degrees. He is
very proud of them. In this respect he resembles a mother hen.
Prof. Tanenbaum is a Fellow of the ACM, a Fellow of the the IEEE, and a member of
the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences. He is also winner of the 1994
ACM Karl V. Karlstrom Outstanding Educator Award, winner of the 1997 ACM/SIGCSE
Award for Outstanding Contributions to Computer Science Education, and winner of the
2002 Texty award for excellence in textbooks. In 2004 he was named as one of the five
new Academy Professors by the Royal Academy. His home page is at www.cs.vu.nl/r-ast.

Maarten van Steen is a professor at the Vrije Universiteit, Amsterdam, where he teaches
operating systems, computer networks, and distributed systems. He has also given various
highly successful courses on computer systems related subjects to ICT professionals from
industry and governmental organizations.
Prof. van Steen studied Applied Mathematics at Twente University and received a
Ph.D. from Leiden University in Computer Science. After his graduate studies he went to
work for an industrial research laboratory where he eventually became head of the Com-
puter Systems Group, concentrating on programming support for parallel applications.
After five years of struggling simultaneously do research and management, he decided
to return to academia, first as an assistant professor in Computer Science at the Erasmus
University Rotterdam, and later as an assistant professor in Andrew Tanenbaum's group at
the Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam. Going back to university was the right decision; his
wife thinks so, too.
His current research concentrates on large-scale distributed systems. Part of his
research focuses on Web-based systems, in particular adaptive distribution and replication
in Globule, a content delivery network of which his colleague Guillaume Pierre is the chief
designer. Another subject of extensive research is fully decentralized (gossip-based) peer-
to-peer systems of which results have been included in Tribler, a BitTorrent application
developed in collaboration with colleagues from the Technical University of Delft.
DISTRIBUTED SYSTEMS

Second Edition '

Andrew S.Tanenbaum
Maarten Van Steen

Upper Saddle River, NJ 07458

Library of Congress Ca.aloging-in.Public:ation Data

Tanenbaum. Andrew S.
Distributed systems: principles and paradigms I Andrew S. Tanenbaum, Maarten Van Steen.
p. em.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 0-13-239227-5
1. Electronic data processing--Distributed processing. 2. Distributed operating systems (Computers) I. Steen,
Maarten van. II. Title.
QA 76.9.D5T36 2006
005.4'476--dc22
2006024063

Vice President and Editorial Director. ECS: Marcia J. Horton

Executive Editor: Tracy Dunkelberger
Editorial Assistant: Christianna Lee
Associtate Editor: Carole Stivder
Executive Managing Editor: 'Vince O'Brien
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Production Editor: Craig Little
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Cover Designer: Tamara Newnam
Art Editor: Xiaohong Zhu
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Executive Marketing Manager: Robin O'Brien
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© 2007 Pearson Education. Inc.

Pearson Prentice Hall
Pearson Education, Inc.
Upper Saddle River, NJ 07458

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, without permission in
writing from the publisher.

Pearson Prentice Hall~ is a trademark of Pearson Education, Inc.

The author and publisher of this book have used their best efforts in preparing this book. These efforts include the
development, research, and testing of the theories and programs to determine their effectiveness. The author and
publisher make no warranty of any kind, expressed or implied, with regard to these programs or the documentation
contained in this book. The author and publisher shall not be liable in any event for incidental or consequential
damages in connection with, or arising out of, the furnishing, performance, or use of these programs.

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN: 0-13-239227-5

Pearson Education Ltd., London

Pearson Education Australia Pty. Ltd., Sydney
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Pearson Education Canada, Inc., Toronto
Pearson Educaci6n de Mexico, S.A. de C.V.
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To Suzanne, Barbara, Marvin, and the memory of Bram and Sweetie 1t
-AST

To Marielle, Max, and Elke

-MvS
 CONTENTS

PREFACE xvii

1 INTRODUCTION 1
1.1 DEFINITION OF A DISTRIBUTED SYSTEM 2
1.2 GOALS 3
1.2.1 Making Resources Accessible 3
1.2.2 Distribution Transparency 4
1.2.3 Openness 7
1.2.4 Scalability 9
1.2.5 Pitfalls 16
1.3 TYPES OF DISTRIBUTED SYSTEMS 17
1.3.1 Distributed Computing Systems 17
1.3.2 Distributed Information Systems 20
1.3.3 Distributed Pervasive Systems 24
1.4 SUMMARY 30

2 ARCHITECTURES 33
2.1 ARCHITECTURAL STYLES 34
2.2 SYSTEM ARCHITECTURES 36
2.2.1 Centralized Architectures 36
2.2.2 Decentralized Architectures 43
2.2.3 Hybrid Architectures 52
2.3 ARCHITECTURES VERSUS MIDDLEWARE 54
2.3.1 Interceptors 55
2.3.2 General Approaches to Adaptive Software 57
2.3.3 Discussion 58
vii
viii CONTENTS

2.4 SELF-MANAGEMENT IN DISTRIBUTED SYSTEMS 59

2.4.1 The Feedback Control Model 60
2.4.2 Example: Systems Monitoring with Astrolabe 61
2.4.3 Example: Differentiating Replication Strategies in Globule 63
2.4.4 Example: Automatic Component Repair Management in Jade 65

2.5 SUMMARY 66

3 PROCESSES 69
3.1 THREADS 70
3.1.1 Introduction to Threads 70
3.1.2 Threads in Distributed Systems 75

3.2 VIRTUALIZATION 79
3.2.1 The Role of Virtualization in Distributed Systems 79
3.2.2 Architectures of Virtual Machines 80

3.3 CLIENTS 82
3.3.1 Networked User Interfaces 82
3.3.2 Client-Side Software for Distribution Transparency 87

3.4 SERVERS 88
3.4.1 General Design Issues 88
3.4.2 Server Clusters 92
3.4.3 Managing Server Clusters 98

3.5 CODE MIGRATION 103-

3.5.1 Approaches to Code Migration 103
3.5.2 Migration and Local Resources 107
3.5.3 Migration in Heterogeneous Systems 110

3.6 SUMMARY 112

-4 COMMUNICATION 115

4.1 FUNDAMENTALS 116

4.1.1 Layered Protocols 116
4.1.2 Types of Communication 124

4.2 REMOTE PROCEDURE CALL 125

4.2.1 Basic RPC Operation 126
4.2.2 Parameter Passing 130
 CONTENTS ix

4.2.3 Asynchronous RPC 134

4.2.4 Example: DCE RPC 135

4.3 MESSAGE-ORIENTED COMMUNICATION 140

4.3.1 Message-Oriented Transient Communication 141
4.3.2 Message-Oriented Persistent Communication 145
4.3.3 Example: ffiM's WebSphere Message-Queuing System 152
4.4 STREAM-ORIENTED COMMUNICATION 157
,4.4.1 Support for Continuous Media 158
4.4.2 Streams and Quality of Service 160
4.4.3 Stream Synchronization 163

4.5 MULTICAST COMMUNICATION 166

4.5 .1 Application-Level Multicasting 166
4.5.2 Gossip-Based Data Dissemination 170
4.6 SUMMARY 175

5 NAMING 179
5.1 NAMES, IDENTIFIERS, AND ADDRESSES 180
5.2 FLAT NAMING 182
5.2.1 Simple Solutions 183
5.2.2 Home-Based Approaches 1?6
5.2.3 Distributed Hash Tables 188
5.2.4 Hierarchical Approaches 191

5.3 STRUCTURED NAMING 195

5.3.1 Name Spaces 195
5.3.2 Name Resolution 198
5.3.3 The Implementation of a Name Space 202
5.3.4 Example: The Domain Name System 209
5.4 ATTRIBUTE-BASED NAMING 217
5.4.1 Directory Services 217
5.4.2 Hierarchical Implementations: LDAP 218
5.4.3 Decentralized Implementations 222

5.5 SUMMARY
x CONTENTS

6 SYNCHRONIZATION 231

6.1 CLOCK SYNCHRONIZATION 232

6.1.1 Physical Clocks 233
6.1.2 Global Positioning System 236
6.1.3 Clock Synchronization Algorithms 238
6.2 LOGICAL CLOCKS 244
6.2.1 Lamport's Logical Clocks 244
6.2.2 Vector Clocks 248
6.3 MUTUAL EXCLUSION 252
6.3.1 Overview 252
6.3.2 A Centralized Algorithm 253
6.3.3 A Decentralized Algorithm 254
6.3.4 A Distributed Algorithm 255
6.3.5 A Token Ring Algorithm 258
6.3.6 A Comparison of the Four Algorithms 259
6.4 GLOBAL POSITIONING OF NODES 260
6.5 ELECTION ALGORITHMS 263
6.5.1 Traditional Election Algorithms 264
6.5.2 Elections in Wireless Environments 267
6.5.3 Elections in Large-Scale Systems 269
6.6 SUMMARY 270

7 CONSISTENCY AND REPLICATION 273 -

7.1 INTRODUCTION 274
7.1.1 Reasons for Replication 274
7.1.2 Replication as Scaling Technique 275
7.2 DATA-CENTRIC CONSISTENCY MODELS 276
7.2.1 Continuous Consistency 277
7.2.2 Consistent Ordering of Operations 281
7.3 CLIENT-CENTRIC CONSISTENCY MODELS 288
7.3.1 Eventual Consistency 289
7.3.2 Monotonic Reads 291
7.3.3 Monotonic Writes 292
7.3.4 Read Your Writes 294
7.3.5 Writes Follow Reads 295
 CONTENTS xi

7A REPLICA MAi'iAGEMENT 296

704.1 Replica-Server Placement 296
704.2 Content Replication and Placement 298
704.3 Content Distribution 302
7.5 CONSISTENCY PROTOCOLS 306
7.5.1 Continuous Consistency 306
7.5.2 Primary-Based Protocols 308
7.5.3 Replicated-Write Protocols 311
7.5 A Cache-Coherence Protocols 313
7.5.5 Implementing Client-Centric Consistency 315
7.6 SUMMARY 317

8 FAULT TOLERANCE 321

8.1 INTRODUCTION TO FAULT TOLERANCE 322
8.1.1 Basic Concepts 322
8.1.2 Failure Models 324
8.1.3 Failure Masking by Redundancy 326
8.2 PROCESS RESILIENCE 328
8.2.1 Design Issues 328
8.2.2 Failure Masking and Replication 330
8.2.3 Agreement in Faulty Systems 331
8.204 Failure Detection 335
8.3 RELIABLE CLIENT-SERVER COMMUNICATION 336
8.3.1 Point-to-Point Communication 337
8.3.2 RPC Semantics in the Presence of Failures 337
804 RELIABLE GROUP COMMUNICATION 343
804.1 Basic Reliable-Multicasting Schemes 343
804.2 Scalability in Reliable Multicasting 345
804.3 Atomic Multicast 348
8.5 DlSTRIBUTED COMMIT 355
8.5.1 Two-Phase Commit 355
8.5.2 Three-Phase Commit 360
8.6 RECOVERY 363
8.6.1 Introduction 363
8.6.2 Checkpointing 366
xii CONTENTS

8.6.3 Message Logging 369

8.6.4 Recovery-Oriented Computing 372
8.7 SUMMARY 373

9 SECURITY 377

9.1 INTRODUCTION TO SECURITY 378

9.1.1 Security Threats, Policies, and Mechanisms 378
9.1.2 Design Issues 384
9.1.3 Cryptography 389
9.2 SECURE CHANNELS 396
9.2.1 Authentication 397
9.2.2 Message Integrity and Confidentiality 405
9.2.3 Secure Group Communication 408
9.2.4 Example: Kerberos 411
9.3 ACCESS CONTROL 413
9.3.1 General Issues in Access Control 414
9.3.2 Firewalls 418
9.3.3 Secure Mobile Code 420
9.3.4 Denial of Service 427
9.4 SECURITY MANAGEMENT 428
9.4.1 Key Management 428
9.4.2 Secure Group Management 433
9.4.3 Authorization Management 434
9.5 SUMMARY 439

10 DISTRIBUTED OBJECT-BASED SYSTEMS 443

10.1 ARCHITECTURE 443

10.1.1 Distributed Objects 444
10.1.2 Example: Enterprise Java Beans 446
10.1.3 Example: Globe Distributed Shared Objects 448
10.2 PROCESSES 451
10.2.1 Object Servers 451
10.2.2 Example: The Ice Runtime System 454
 CONTENTS xiii

10.3 COMMUNICATION 456

10.3.1 Binding a Client to an Object 456
10.3.2 Static versus Dynamic Remote Method Invocations 458
10.3.3 Parameter Passing 460
10.3.4 Example: Java RMI 461
10.3.5 Object-Based Messaging 464
10.4 NAMING 466
10.4.1 CORBA Object References 467
10.4.2 Globe Object References 469
10.5 SYNCHRONIZATION 470
10.6 CONSISTENCY AND REPLICATION 472
10.6.1 Entry Consistency 472
10.6.2 Replicated Invocations 475
10.7 FAULT TOLERANCE 477
10.7.1 Example: Fault-Tolerant CORBA 477
10.7.2 Example: Fault-Tolerant Java 480
10.8 SECURITY 481
10.8.1 Example: Globe 482
10.8.2 Security for Remote Objects 486
10.9 SUMMARY 487

11 DISTRIBUTED FILE SYSTEMS 491

11.1 ARCHITECTURE 491
11.1.1 Client-Server Architectures 491
11.1.2 Cluster-Based Distributed File Systems 496
11.1.3 Symmetric Architectures 499
11.2 PROCESSES 501
11.3 COMMUNICATION 502
11.3.1 RPCs in NFS 502
11.3.2 The RPC2 Subsystem 503
11.3.3 File-Oriented Communication in Plan 9 505
11.4 NAMING 506
11.4.1 Naming in NFS 506
11.4.2 Constructing a Global Name Space 512
xiv CONTENTS

11.5 SYNCHRONIZATION 513

] ] .5.] Semantics of File Sharing 513
] 1.5.2 File Locking 5] 6
] 1.5.3 Sharing Files in Coda 518
] 1.6 CONSISTENCY AND REPLICATION 5] 9
11.6.1 Client-Side Caching 520
11.6.2 Server-Side Replication 524
11.6.3 Replication in Peer-to-Peer File Systems 526
11.6.4 File Replication in Grid Systems 528
11.7 FAULT TOLERANCE 529
11.7.1 Handling Byzantine Failures 529
11.7.2 High Availability in Peer-to-Peer Systems 531
11.8 SECURITY 532
11.8.] Security in NFS 533
11.8.2 Decentralized Authentication 536
1] .8.3 Secure Peer-to-Peer File-Sharing Systems 539
11.9 SUMMARY 541

12 DISTRIBUTED WEB-BASED SYSTEMS 545

12.1 ARCHITECTURE 546
12.1.1 Traditional Web-Based Systems 546
12.1.2 Web Services 551
12.2 PROCESSES 554
12.2.1 Clients 554
12.2.2 The Apache Web Server 556
12.2.3 Web Server Clusters 558
12.3 COMMUNICATION 560
12.3.1 Hypertext Transfer Protocol 560
12.3.2 Simple Object Access Protocol 566
12.4 NAMING 567
12.5 SYNCHRONIZATION 569
12.6 CONSISTENCY AND REPLICATION 570
12.6.1 Web Proxy Caching 571
12.6.2 Replication for Web Hosting Systems 573
12.6.3 Replication of Web Applications 579
 CONTENTS xv

12.7 FAULT TOLERANCE 582

12.8 SECURITY 584
12.9 SUMMARY 585

13 DISTRIBUTED COORDINATION-BASED 589

SYSTEMS -
13.1 INTRODUCTION TO COORDINATION MODELS -589
13.2 ARCHITECTURES 591
13.2.1 Overall Approach 592
13.2.2 Traditional Architectures 593
13.2.3 Peer-to-Peer Architectures 596
13.2.4 Mobility and 'Coordination 599

13.3 PROCESSES 601

13.4 COMMUNICATION 601
13.4.1 Content-Based Routing 601
13.4.2 Supporting Composite Subscriptions 603

13.5 NAMING 604

13.5.1 Describing Composite Events 604
13.5.2 Matching Events and Subscriptions 606

13.6 SYNCHRONIZATION 607

13.7 CONSISTENCY AND REPLICATION 607
13.7.1 Static Approaches 608
13.7.2 Dynamic Replication 611
13.8 FAULT TOLERANCE 613
13.8.1 Reliable Publish-Subscribe Communication 613
13.8.2 Fault Tolerance in Shared Dataspaces 616

13.9 SECURITY 617

13.9.1 Confidentiality 618
13.9.2 Secure Shared Dataspaces 620
13.10 SUMMARY 621
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
The tears were bright in her eyes and she leaned back and turned
her face away from him.
He rose with a laugh.
“For heaven’s sake, don’t cry! It’s bad for the complexion. Let’s dig in
the pantry for something to eat.”
“Splendid!” she cried, jumping up.
He tried to take her hand, but she brushed by him and ran toward
the dining room, where she bade him turn on the lights and wait
while she foraged.
“Stay right here, please! I will bring the things myself; don’t expect
too much, but I think—I think there will be cold chicken.”
“The strong drink is usually kept locked—you must have the key.”
“Nothing but milk, or distilled water! You may have either. You wait
here—it would look better.”
She pursed her lips and bent her head with the slightest of
inclinations toward the library.
When he heard her at the swinging pantry door a moment later he
sprang up and flung it open. She carried a fowl and bread, and told
him he might fetch knives and forks and other essentials of their
feast. She was in a laughing mood now, and in the midst of their
preparations, she ran to the hall door and listened, like a child about
to ravish the jam pots. The grace of her slight figure, her pretty way
of catching up her skirts, the mockery of her anxiety lest they be
discovered, brought them into a new and delightful intimacy.
“Do you remember?” asked Wayne, crossing his legs at ease and
nibbling the sandwich she had made for him, “do you remember our
little picnic on the rocks up there at Struby’s Cove, when we got lost
on the drive home? There was chicken then—perhaps it was a
distant cousin of this one. All chickens are sacred henceforth!”
“And there was a new moon and the wind blew in cold from the sea
and the pine grove by the shore was dark and sad.”
“And I kissed you that night—the first time!”
She was serious instantly and held up her hand warningly.
“Don’t be naughty; that was a long time ago!”
“Two years last August, which is not so very long!”
“Long enough to be forgotten, though.”
“I am not in the habit of forgetting pleasant things. You were a being
to worship that night.”
“Your worship was pretty short; you took that Philadelphia widow
driving the next day.”
“But we didn’t have a picnic and get lost.”
“Decidedly not, as she was from Philadelphia!” And they laughed
softly, in the subdued key of their talk.
A little later Colonel Craighill was heard at the library door bidding
the stenographer good night. Mrs. Craighill rose, clutching her plate
and glass.
“Service was for one only,” she whispered, and on this hint Wayne
restored her chair to its place against the wall, and with a little nod,
a shrug of her shoulders, a pretty lifting of the brows, she vanished
through the pantry door and took flight upward by way of the back
stairs. Wayne heard the click of the buttons in the hall as his father
turned off the lights, and a moment later Colonel Craighill appeared
at the door with a handful of papers.
“You up, Wayne? I thought a burglar was entertaining himself. I
really believe I’m hungry, too. I’ve delayed writing a statement I was
asked to prepare of the educational conditions of the South, and
there was a lot of statistical matter to go over. I think I have it the
way I want it though.”
He stretched himself at ease in a chair, while Wayne brought a plate
and cut him a slice of the fowl.
“What have you been up to to-night?”
“I went out to Ironstead to a show at Paddock’s parish house.”
Colonel Craighill’s face expressed surprise and pleasure.
“I’m glad to hear it; Paddock’s a good man for you to cultivate.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that!” said Wayne, instantly resentful. “I’m
not sure but he’s a dangerous character.”
“No man who gives his life for the good of mankind can be any other
than a useful member of society.”
“I suppose that’s so, but if Paddock should lead his ragged legion in
an attack on the banks downtown and raid the shops it would be less
admirable.”
“We must take a hopeful view of society; every school-house in the
land is an outpost of democratic ideals,” declared Colonel Craighill
impressively, plucking, Wayne guessed, a phrase from the address he
had been preparing.
“Here at home we’re going to need a good many school-houses to
knock the spirit of democracy into the riff-raff of Europe. When do
you go away again?”
“Oh, not till early in December, when I go to Boston for the
conference of the Municipal Service League. Adelaide will go with
me.”
“I have intended speaking to you about one or two matters. Since
Walsh left I’ve been going over all our affairs.”
Colonel Craighill stared at his son in frank surprise.
“You have been checking over the securities? If you had asked me I
could have saved you a good deal of bother. I have them all
tabulated so that their salient features can be seen at a glance of the
eye.”
“Yes; I have a copy of your synopsis and have been checking it.”
“I have had that done from time to time so that it has been kept up
to date. I’m glad, however, that you are taking an interest in these
matters.”
“The whole story is not told in your list,” said Wayne, ignoring his
father’s approval.
“Very likely; only the more important items are noted.”
“In the case of that Gregory property you put into the Sand Creek
combination, Gregory maintains that he has a claim—I don’t quite
understand what it is. He’s a hard one to get anything out of.”
“I don’t recall just the terms of that arrangement, but the old fellow’s
become a great nuisance. The whole Sand Creek field used to be
covered with shafts sunk by small operators who were killing each
other by preposterous competition. When we organized the Sand
Creek Company and took them all over, we were obliged to shut
down two-thirds of the old shafts to make anything out of any of
them. As I remember, I made the deal with Gregory myself, more out
of kindness to him than anything else. I had known him many years
and he had been unfortunate. It has always been my policy to deal
generously with such cases. The vein through his acreage is poor, the
coal inferior and with many ugly faults in it.”
“But there’s a lower vein that is all right. I found the engineer’s
report with an estimate of the amount of coal in his hundred acres.”
“Well, it’s a matter we must look into. We’ll take it up before the end
of the year. There’s never any use in being in a hurry about such
things. I have always remembered what your grandfather Wayne
said to an anxious young real estate agent once, in your
grandfather’s old age. The young man was trying to sell your
grandfather a lot downtown somewhere and became offensively
persistent. One day your grandfather turned round on him and said—
the thing impressed me, for your grandfather was exceedingly wise:
‘Young man, I have never made any money by being in a hurry.’ I
have thought of that remark a thousand times!”
“I remember with equal distinctness,” said Wayne, smiling a trifle,
“that once when grandfather was teaching me to play checkers he
said never to imagine that the other fellow in any game was a fool.”
“Quite characteristic; he had almost Emerson’s way of shooting into
the bull’s eye. I wish there were more men like Andrew Wayne; he
was faithful in all his obligations, a man of absolute exactness in all
his dealings. I used to hope you had inherited some of his traits.”
Colonel Craighill’s eye rested on the glass of water which stood by his
son’s plate. The significance of the glance was not wasted on Wayne.
With an almost imperceptible movement he pushed the glass away
from him.
“You have been very regular at the office lately: I want you to know
that I have noticed it, and that it has pleased me very much—very
greatly indeed. I have sometimes wondered, Wayne, whether Dick
Wingfield’s influence has been the best for you. I’m afraid he doesn’t
take life very seriously. With his intelligence and leisure he might be
of great help in our reform work.”
“Dick’s interested in the fine arts and not in politics. I’m sorry you
don’t approve of him; he’s the best friend I’ve ever had. He’s the only
man in town who hasn’t kicked me at some time or other. I probably
need kicking, but it’s nice to know there’s one human being who
withholds his foot.”
“You will find, if you follow your present course, and practice sobriety
and industry, that you will not lack friends.”
“I suppose so, but it’s the sinner that needs friends, not the saint.
But in this Gregory matter—if you are going to be gone next week
——”
“I’ll write to Gregory and tell him to come in later on and we’ll talk
over his case. He’s always appreciated the fact that I took care of
him at the time we formed the Sand Creek Company. I’ll fix that up
with him; he’ll have to be reasonable. He’s a simple old fellow and if
he sees the absurdity of his claim he’ll be glad to settle.”
He yawned and looked at his watch. “Dear me, it’s half-past one! Will
you put out the lights?”
Wayne heard his father’s door close, but he sat smoking and
pondering. His interview with him had left him irritated and restless.
He was well aware that Mrs. Craighill had found relief and pleasure in
his company, and he smiled as he recalled her hurried flight through
the pantry at his father’s approach. The incident lacked dignity, but
his father’s treatment of her had lacked, too, and she was a young
woman and admiration was sweet to her. The girl at the parish house
stole across the smoke-dimmed horizon of his dreaming, in her
gingham apron, with the towel and cup in her hands. Her friend had
called her Jean—Jean, dearest of names, with its hint of Scottish
mists and moors and heatherbloom; and Jean seemed the inevitable
name for her, predestined of all time. Simplicity and sincerity were in
the haunting tones of her voice. His ready imagination threw a bright
glamour round her. She suggested all manner of pictures; perhaps it
was the remembrance of her against Sargent’s masterly portrait that
prompted this; at any rate she was the most vivid person he had
ever known, and his memory flung him back sharply upon that first
meeting, and he saw the anger in her eyes and heard her saying: “I
don’t care for your acquaintance, Mr. Wayne Craighill.”
He turned off the lights impatiently and went to bed.
 CHAPTER XV
MRS. BLAIR IS DISPLEASED

W AYNE went on a Saturday afternoon in November to a matinée

of the Symphony Orchestra, expecting to find Wingfield, who
kept close touch with the box-office in the interest of the guarantors.
Not seeing his friend at once, he climbed to the gallery where
Wingfield sometimes went to study the emotions of those who, he
said, got more for their money than holders of first-floor seats.
Wingfield again proved elusive, but Wayne sat down on the last row
and gave heed to the Tannhaüser overture. His eyes roamed the
audience aimlessly; he was, it seemed, the only man in the place.
He was aware, as the familiar strains wove their spell upon the
house, of something familiar in the dark head before him. He bent
forward slightly to make sure; but there was, he told himself, but
one head like that—there was no doubt of its being Jean Morley.
She did not stir until the end of the number. Then with a little sigh
she turned slightly so that he saw the faint shadow of a dark lash on
her cheek. A scarlet ribbon, tied under a plain collar, flashed an
instant’s colour to her face before she settled herself for the next
number. There was something distinguished, noble even, in the
poise of her head; and soon before the mad flight of the Valkyries it
bent as to a storm. It pleased his fancy that the waves of sound
floating upward surged round her with a particular intent. He was
quite sure, however, that she must not see him here. He knew the
quality of her anger; the ground he had gained at the parish house
must not be lost. If he wished to retain her respect he must avoid
the appearance of lying in wait for her. The sensation of caring for
anyone’s respect, least of all that of this unknown girl, who had
instinctively, on first sight, set up barriers of defense against him,
was new to his experience. He left before the last number to
continue his search for Wingfield, and found a scrawl at the box-
office explaining his friend’s absence, but suggesting that they dine
together at the Club. Wayne glanced at the treasurer’s report, made
a note of the day’s proceeds, and as he mingled in the crowd, found
himself walking at Miss Morley’s side.
“It was beautiful, wasn’t it?” she said, as the crowd caught and held
them. One or two women bowed to him distantly and eyed with cold
interest the tall girl in the unfashionable clothes to whom he was
speaking. He was conscious of this inspection of her and it angered
him. He heard his name spoken by someone behind him—“That’s
Wayne Craighill,”—as though he were a notorious character to be
pointed out boldly to strangers.
“You think they liked it? It wasn’t too much on one key?”
“It was lovely, but of course I don’t know, I never heard an orchestra
before. It probably meant more to me for that reason.”
“Yes, I suppose first times bring the rarest sensations. They really
did the Valkyries in great form.”
“That was perfectly glorious; I should like to hear all the opera.”
“You are beyond doubt a natural born Wagnerian; I must tell my
friend Wingfield how well the audience took his programme. He’s the
power behind the orchestra, and he contends that the best is not too
good, that people who never heard these things before are just as
competent to criticize as trained musicians. You should hear a
symphony now—give Beethoven a chance, then try the opera—on
and up to the heights.”
“I don’t know about the heights, but I was pretty well up on the
slope this afternoon, and the whole world was mine.” She spoke with
feeling, this girl who had never heard an orchestra before, but who
had followed the trumpets to new and strange summits and still
carried dreams in her eyes.
It was a gray November afternoon and he intended to make it easy
for her to leave him here, under the bright entrance lights.
“I’m going to Mrs. Blair’s,” she explained.
“Won’t you let me go along, please? You see—you see, I’m dining
there!”
“Not really!”
He laughed aloud. He had lied and she was not fair game for
falsehood.
“Well, I carry a key to my sister’s front door and I can always have a
place there.”
They dropped the discussion for the moment; it was quite a mile to
the Blair’s and the moment was sufficient unto itself. He forgot that
there could be any question of her accepting his escort. His
heartbeats quickened as he found her walking beside him with a free
step that fell in comfortably with his own swinging stride. She
walked as people walk who are bred in a hill country—with a slight
sway of the body from the hips—and she carried her head high. In
imagination he robed her in fashionable raiment, a figure of
distinction in any company, only to protest to himself that her
qualities were superior to feathers or flounces and were as new in
her as though no woman had ever possessed them before. The
music still sang in her heart; she had been greatly moved by it.
Before Sargent’s portrait he had felt only her tyro’s ineptness; but
music had stolen her away from herself, and carried her close to
golden lands of promise.
“How does the work go at the Institute?”
“Oh, I keep at it. I have good days and bad. Sometimes my eyes
don’t see straight and my fingers are sticks. This afternoon the
music made it all seem easy; I think it would help if the orchestra
played in our class room.”
“A capital idea; I’ll speak to the directors about it. Music does seem
to pry us loose from the earth. You may be surprised to know that I
used to dabble at the violin myself—a long time ago. I was looked
on as a promising student, and might have been a real good fiddler
if I had kept it up.”
“But you still play, of course?”
“Not by a long shot! I broke my fiddle on my seventeenth birthday
and turned toward a business career.”
“I suppose you had to do that.”
“Well, it didn’t seem quite square to my ancestors to fit myself to be
the third fiddler in an orchestra; they were eminently practical
persons. If I had kept at music as a life business very likely their
shades would have haunted me and snapped my fiddle strings. But I
have no regrets. I should probably have starved to death if my early
ambitions hadn’t been thwarted. Anyhow, I guess I’m a kind of
fatalist; if it had been in the books that I was to go fiddling through
the world—why, I should have fiddled. And in the same way, it was
ordained that you should go in for art, and here you are, spending
your days at it and nothing could head you off.”
“Oh, yes; many things could! Many things tried!”
“I can’t believe it! I believe that everybody has a destiny; I don’t
know what mine is, but I undoubtedly have it. I wouldn’t have you
think that because I fell on my fiddle and smashed it and lost my
chance of immortality that way, I am a person without
accomplishments. I would have you know that I’m a man with a
profession. I’m a mining engineer and can prove it by my diploma,
and—no other way!”
His spirits were high; they talked and laughed together without
restraint. He had not in a long time laughed and chaffed with a girl
in this way. This walk through the dusk was oddly complete in itself;
he felt no curiosity about her now, no interest in her life beyond this
half-hour. Her simplicity, the frank way in which she disclosed her
own ignorance, her serious belittling of her work in the art school,
interested and touched him. She did not quite understand him; she
was not used to his kind of banter. His mention of his youthful study
of the violin she had taken soberly and she talked of her own aims
to show her sympathy.
“There are so many students all over the world studying art that it
seems silly for me to be wasting time over it. I had better be
learning to do office work or how to sell things in a shop, or how to
cook for some of these East End people, or dust rooms and wait on
table. But sometimes my teachers have praised me, and that puts
off the evil day when I shall have to come down to hard work and
burn my portfolio——”
“Just as I smashed my fiddle! But no! I tell you, the fates have
charge of our business. They are the supreme and ultimate court—
the lords of high decision. They have already fixed the fabulous
prices which you are to get for your portraits. My sister will
undoubtedly have you paint hers. If you and she are friends you
can’t escape. Fanny’s always having her picture painted.”
“Oh, but I’m not so foolish as to think I could do portraits—not if I
lived a thousand years. My ambition stops at pen and ink. If I can
only learn to be just a little bit of an illustrator I shall be satisfied.”
“Excellent! I approve of that! It’s just as hard, they tell me, and the
market is better! When you are not studying or helping at the
settlement house or listening to music what do you do? You must
have a scheme of life all worked out for yourself.”
“Oh, I often go for long walks, in the afternoon—take a trolley as far
as it will carry me and then strike off for the hills, and walk and walk
and walk.”
“I suppose you carry a sketch book to see how nature compares
with the landscapes at the Institute?”
“No; landscape is beyond me; it’s too big for me. People interest me
more, children particularly.”
“Well, of course if you want juvenile models I needn’t offer myself.”
“No, you needn’t,” she said with so crisp an emphasis that he
laughed.
“But you might take me along to sit by and sharpen the pencils; that
would save you a lot of bother.”
“It might, but you see I use ink!”
“Then,” he cried in despair, “there is nothing left for me but to hold
the bottle. Let’s change the subject before you tell me I may not do
that!”
They had passed, soon after leaving the concert, the Craighill house,
whose lights flashed at them through the bare trees, and were now
drawing close to the Blairs’. She grew suddenly silent, then stopped
abruptly.
“I don’t believe I’ll go to see your sister now—it’s so late. I’ll
telephone her that I’m not coming.”
“You’re afraid my sister won’t like your coming with me, isn’t that
it?”
“No, I’m not afraid of your sister—she’s been kinder to me than
anyone else ever was——”
“But you don’t think you ought to go to her house with me. I would
have you know that my sister thinks rather well of me!”
“I must not do anything she would dislike,” persisted the girl.
“You think she wouldn’t like your going there with me? I could leave
you at the gate!”
They had resumed their walk to avoid the appearance of dallying. He
had no wish to jeopardize the girl’s relations with his sister; but it
was pleasant to talk to her; he had never known just this kind of girl
before. Her poverty, her ignorance, her ambitions interested him and
set her apart. It had never been his way to hide his iniquities; he
was persuaded that he meant her no harm and he rebelled against
the thought that there were reasons why she should not be seen
with him. His own sister had expressed this clearly enough and he
did not know what Fanny would say to him—one never knew about
Fanny!—and the hope that his sister would seat Jean Morley and
himself at her dinner table only rose to fade. Fanny was capable of
it, but she was capable, also, of scolding him sharply before the girl
and sending him out of the house.
“Mrs. Blair has a right to question anything I do. She is doing a great
many beautiful things for me.”
“Oh, I’ll explain it to Fanny. She and I are great pals,” he said lightly.
“I couldn’t deceive your sister. If she should learn that you had
walked to her house with me without telling her, she wouldn’t like it
and if she knew she wouldn’t like it; so you can’t know me—you
mustn’t know me! Nothing could be clearer than that.”
“I certainly can’t know you this way; that’s as plain as daylight.”
“There’s no way of knowing me at all! You must understand that
now—once and for all. I’m very busy and have my work to do.”
“Well, we’ll put it up to Fanny.”
And so, the girl still reluctant, they entered the house, where Mrs.
Blair darted out from the library with many exclamations. She
seemed, on the surface, to take the appearance of her callers as a
matter of course, but she waved him into the library with an air of
brushing him out of existence.
While he waited he scrutinized the new books with a view to
determining in just what field of thought his sister now disported.
Miss Morley’s errand with Mrs. Blair was of the briefest and as they
concluded their conference in the hall he appeared before them
promptly. His sister’s glance did not encourage his hope to carry off
the situation lightly; but he could not do less then accept full
responsibility for the visit and he resolved to put a bold face upon it.
Mrs. Blair had just rung for her motor, and she sent the maid
upstairs for her wraps with the obvious intention of making it
unnecessary for Wayne to accompany the girl further.
“Fanny,” he began, “Miss Morley and I have become acquainted in
the most astonishing fashion. We met at Paddock’s parish house not
long ago by the merest chance; this afternoon, while at the concert,
estimating the deficit for the day, I ran into her again; and I begged
Miss Morley’s consent to walk up here with her; and here I am.”
“It really was unnecessary,” murmured the girl.
“I think you ought to tell Miss Morley to give me just a little of her
time, Fanny—just a little. Of course she is busy; but then——”
Mrs. Blair looked from one to the other. The girl was so plainly
embarrassed, Wayne’s good humour and high spirits were so
appealing, that Fanny Blair found this one of her most difficult
occasions.
“I’m sure Miss Morley is quite able to manage her affairs without any
help from me. Are you dining here, Wayne?”
“I’m afraid I intimated as much to Miss Morley so she would let me
come with her; I promise never to tell another lie.” He bowed in
mock humility but the frown on his sister’s face showed her
displeasure.
“I’m going to take Miss Morley home in the motor. If you are dining
here you can make yourself comfortable as usual.”
“Oh, but I really can’t stay! You’ll have to take me along. Now that I
think of it, Dick expects me at the Club.”
Fanny was clearly not pleased, but he was confident of mollifying her
later. The girl’s plight was a more serious matter: he had taken an
unfair advantage, he had put her in a false position with his sister,
and he bitterly accused himself. Fanny pointedly ignored him while
they waited for the motor, and he stood by like a boy in disgrace
while she talked to Miss Morley about a dozen irrelevant things. He
sought to save his dignity by hastening the arrival of the motor from
the garage; and when the car came and he shut them in—Fanny left
him to find a seat outside.
She gave him Miss Morley’s address as though he had been the
footman, and he climbed humbly to a seat beside the chauffeur.
When the boarding house was reached Mrs. Blair descended and
rang the bell herself, and when a slatternly maid opened the door
Mrs. Blair stepped inside for a few minutes, that there might be no
question of the sex of Miss Morley’s escort.
“Well?” demanded Mrs. Blair as soon as he had seated himself
beside her in the tonneau.
“Why so tragic, Fanny? Paddock asked me to come and see him and
his good works—I went; he insisted that I look at his kitchen and
there was your girl with the adorable head dutifully wiping the
dishes—a pretty picture! Paddock was going to take her and a friend
into town on the trolley, but the hour was late and I took them home
in my car—she and the other girl inside, poor old me decorously out
in the cold. Then I went to see how much Wagner the dear people
were swallowing at popular prices this afternoon; went into the
balcony to look for Dick, and lo! the adorable head was just in front
of me. But no, I did not let her see me; I knew she would lose faith
in me if she thought I was pursuing her; I went about my business,
but on my way out ran into her again. What could be more natural
than that I should walk to my sister’s house with her?”
“You must have known she was going to the settlement house; it’s a
little hard to accept so many coincidences. And I had asked you to
let her alone.”
“Paddock invited me to visit him; she and her friend were cleaning
up the dishes. It was her first visit, too.”
“So you took her home in your car? You did that?”
“And her friend with her. Joe is a kind of usher and policeman at the
settlement house. Paddock seems to be gathering in all sorts and
conditions—even me!”
“Joe!” exclaimed Mrs. Blair with more animation; and then: “You
must get rid of that fellow. I don’t like him.”
Mrs. Blair spoke with so much energy that Wayne laughed aloud.
“Why, Fanny, Joe has saved my life many times. He’s been so
miserable when I went bad that I’ve been ashamed to face him.”
Mrs. Blair relapsed into silence, and he saw by the flashes of the
electric lamps at the corners that she was seriously troubled.
“You know without my telling you that you must let this girl alone.
These chance meetings won’t occur again—if they have been chance
meetings!”
“I swear it, Fanny!”
“She’s terribly poor; she has ambitions, and I’m trying to help her.
She’s utterly unsophisticated, as you can see; you will ruin her future
and make her wretchedly unhappy if you don’t avoid her.”
“When do you think a man can begin to be good? Do you think I am
so utterly rotten that no decent women may ever dare know me?
Come now, Fanny.”
“There are plenty of girls you can know if you want to—who don’t
live in boarding houses and starve their way through art schools.”
“But they haven’t her eyes; they don’t carry their heads like
goddesses,” he persisted.
“You’ve seen too many eyes in too many divine heads. I tell you, it
won’t do! If you will think of it a minute you will see that only a
word is enough to wreck that girl’s life. Do you suppose you can call
on her at her boarding house? Are you going to walk with her to her
lessons? Do you quite see yourself taking her to concerts and to
church Sunday mornings? My big brother, if you don’t stop being
preposterous I shall get angry.”
“Oh, no. Please don’t! I’m disappointed; I thought you had advised
me to be good and marry and settle down.”
“Marry! That girl? Wayne, you are impossible!”
“Very likely; but the girl isn’t so impossible. I hadn’t thought of
marrying her, but the idea doesn’t exactly terrify me. She’s an
immensely interesting person—she haunts me like a theme in music.
She’s poor and if I could save her from the pitfalls of art—the
failures, the heartache of failing to arrive—that isn’t so impossible, is
it?”
“Yes, it’s absolutely out of the question. And if you don’t let her
alone I’ll ship her back where she came from; just one more of these
coincidences and I’ll do that. We’ve had enough marriages in the
family, I hope, to last for some time.”
“Ah! So this bitterness of spirit is not all for me? Has John taken to
evil ways?”
“What’s the matter at father’s? Why was Addie crying this morning
when I went in to see her?”
“I dare say she cried because you came, if you were as fierce as you
are now.”
“She had been crying and looked miserably unhappy.”
“Probably a row with the cook. She isn’t used to keeping house.
She’s going to Boston with the Colonel and that will set her up
again.”
Mrs. Blair was silent for a moment then flashed:
“How much do you see of her?”
“Precious little. Breakfast, and a glimpse sometimes as I go to my
couch at night.”
“You must leave the house; you must come and live with us at
once,” declared Mrs. Blair with impressive finality.
“Thanks!” Wayne laughed. “Do you think I tease my stepmother to
make her cry? Do you think my moral example is bad for her? Addie
snubs me every chance she gets. Only this morning at breakfast,
while the Colonel read a papal encyclical or something equally
exciting, Addie and I discussed the relative merits of country
sausage and chocolate éclaires. To see me sitting at the breakfast
table between the Colonel and my stepmother is edifying beyond
any words. Addie is a good girl; I like Addie. But she isn’t in the
same class with your protégée. Here’s the Club; shall I detach John
McCandless from the sacred rye-pots and send him out?”
“You know John never drinks; and he’s in Buffalo to-day.”
“Then he will drink beyond any doubt; one must—in Buffalo!”
While he stood chaffing her at the car door, she clasped his hand
tightly and begged him to see her soon. As the car started a
newsboy hailed Wayne familiarly from the street and Fanny saw her
brother’s broad shoulders bent over the lad and his elbow crooked
as he felt for a coin. How true it was that everyone liked Wayne! His
generosity was boundless; the very recklessness and extravagance
of his derelictions endeared him to many. As the Club door closed
upon him the newsboy dashed off with an exultant shout on the
wings of new fortune.
 CHAPTER XVI
THE TRIP TO BOSTON

M RS. CRAIGHILL bore the scrutiny of her new fellow-citizens with

dignity, and by the first of December she had ceased to be a
curiosity. She had met everyone of importance; even Mrs. Wingfield
had been obliged to bow to her at a reception. Those who persisted
in their determination to ignore her advent were too few to count. It
had been hinted that she would prove loud; that she was dull; that
she would make her husband’s money fly—“such women” always
did; but no one worth considering was willing at the end of two
months to say that she was properly to be classed among “such
women.” Her severest critics were those who, habituated to the
contemplation of Roger Craighill’s presence in a front pew at church,
feared that by marrying one of “such women”—they being young
adventuresses headed brazenly for the divorce court—their idol
might suffer the pains and penalties of scandal and alimony. Even
the most conservative now admitted that if Mrs. Craighill’s motives in
marrying her elderly husband had not been the noblest, she was
carrying herself well. Members of her own set, who had been among
the original doubters, had waited for the complete disclosure of Mrs.
Craighill’s wardrobe before committing themselves, but the taste and
sobriety of her raiment disarmed criticism; she was not loud. In
another of the circles within the Circle it was questioned whether the
newcomer was fitted intellectually to be Roger Craighill’s wife, but
Fanny Blair vouched for the worthiness of her stepmother’s interests.
“Addie reads everything,” declared Mrs. Blair sweepingly, whereupon
Mrs. Craighill was promptly nominated for membership in the
Woman’s Club. Many were saying that her conduct, in circumstances
the most difficult, had been admirable and the frequency with which,
in these first weeks, Fanny Blair had gone about with her, advertised
the completeness of the new wife’s acceptance in the family. It was
even whispered that Wayne had reformed, and this startling
announcement, where it found credence, was attributed to his
stepmother’s influence.
Roger Craighill and his wife were dining alone at home the evening
before the day of their departure for Boston. He had long made a
point of dressing for dinner and she wore a gown he had not seen
before and whose perfection he praised.
“Your taste is exquisite, Addie. I like you in light things; they seem
to be a part of you—to express you. You are the most graceful and
charming woman in the world.”
Her face brightened. They had been dining out a great deal and it
was a pleasure to have this evening at their own table. She felt
again the dignity of her position as Roger Craighill’s wife. She had
been hurt deeply by his exclusion of her on the night he had written
his address; but she thought now how handsome he was, how well
he carried his years, and it was no mean thing to have been chosen
by such a man to share his home and fame. She had found it all too
easy to take refuge in Wayne’s ready comradeship; the stolen
references to their earlier acquaintance that she had suffered him to
make had shown her how dangerous it was to trust to his
consolations. Wayne must be kept at a distance; she would take
care that he did not see her again alone.
In this fresh access of loyalty to her husband she excused and
justified his conduct in shutting himself in to prepare his address;
very likely it was the way of busy men who thus give their leisure to
public service. She must sacrifice her own pleasure just as he did
and bring herself into sympathy with these labours of his. There was
flattery in his frequent monologues on public matters and public
men; she was perforce the listener, but he was older and in her
ignorance it was an agreeable relief not to be expected to contribute
more than an inquiry, thrown in to lead him on. She resolved to keep
a scrap-book of the offerings of the clipping bureau to which he
subscribed, that a complete history might be made of his public
services. At Boston she expected to hear him speak for the first
time; she had seen the programme of the conferences and several
men of national prominence were to make addresses.
She poured the coffee and sent the maid away, to prolong the mood
of this hour. The quiet service, the substantial appointments of the
room, the realization that she bore the honoured name of the man
who faced her contributed to her happiness. It was pleasant to be
Mrs. Craighill; she was enjoying her position in the thousand ways
possible to her nature—the stir of the clerks in the shops when she
appeared, the whispered interest her presence occasioned
anywhere. She was, indeed, Mrs. Craighill and everyone was anxious
to serve her. To be sought first by those persons who are forever
seeking victims to act as patronesses; to be asked to head
subscription lists; the deference shown her—these things she
enjoyed with a pardonable zest and she would not jeopardize her
right to them.
“As you haven’t seen Boston in late years,” Colonel Craighill was
saying, “you will find much to interest you while we are there for the
municipal conferences. Though I haven’t the slightest ancestral claim
on New England I feel a certain kinship with her people. If we were
not so firmly planted here I should like to move to Boston to spend
my last years there. Contact with some of her fine, public-spirited
citizens would be an inspiration. Some of my best friends are
Bostonians, friends I have made through my connection with public
work. People ask me—and they will be asking you from time to time
—why I spend so much time on these movements for the public
welfare; but they have been a great resource to me. I have been
well repaid for all I have done. I have had my perplexities and
worries, a modern business man is ground in a hard mill; but I am
conscious of having done my little toward bettering our political and
social conditions, and nothing in my life makes me happier than that
thought. Do you know,” and he smiled depreciatingly, “I heard from
one or two quarters that Harvard was going to confer a degree on
me next year for my work in behalf of civic reform; it was only an
intimation, but one of my friends, whom I have learned to know well
at our annual conferences, is a prominent alumnus, and he has
remarked several times that they’d have to make a Harvard man of
me somehow.”
“I think it is so remarkable,” said Mrs. Craighill, “that you never went
to college. You seem like a college man.”
“I have regretted more than I can tell you my lack of systematic
education. My father was hardly more than well-to-do and I went
into business at eighteen. But I have been a diligent reader; you
might say that I have always been a student. It’s possible that I
should have fared poorly in college; my disposition was always, even
when a boy, to brush away details and seek the broader view. I think
I owe my success in life to that—the ability to climb upon the hills
and see the lights afar off.”
He stirred his coffee with the care we give in our ease to
unimportant things. He was satisfied with himself and the world;
when he spoke she felt as though she were eavesdropping upon a
reverie.
“It is a great joy to have you here by my side—the house has
brightened since you came. If only Wayne would take the place to
which he was born in the community I should not have a care!”
“But Wayne is doing well; I thought you said yourself that he was
attending very regularly at the office, that he had really begun to
take an interest in business.”
“He’s a boy of moods, poor Wayne! Just now he’s going to the office
every day. His cleverness is amazing when he applies himself; but let
a new kind of motor catch his eye and off he goes! He’s struck a
new humour lately—devoting himself to the study of a lot of most
complicated legal matters—contracts and the like. Such things are
best left to the lawyers. But he has kept straight for some time and
that’s something. It’s a good deal, and I’m grateful for it. I have
always let him do as he pleased at the office in the hope that he
would some day find something that interested him.”
“He’s very bright—and likable,” said Mrs. Craighill. “Fanny says he’s a
genius.”
“Fanny can see no wrong in her brother, and I’m glad of it; but she
has kept me ignorant of many of his worst escapades and I have
simply never been able to get near him. We are very unlike.”
“Isn’t that strange! I’ve been thinking that in so many ways you and
he are much alike.”
“Physically, yes; he has my build. I rather fancy that I’m still as erect
as he is!”
He smiled and waited for her acquiescence, but she had been
thinking intently and did not at once meet his eyes.
They had rarely spoken of Wayne; it could hardly be said that they
avoided mentioning him; but his life was outside theirs; his sleeping
in the house and eating one meal a day with them left him a
tolerated tenant whose ways it were wiser not to question. Mrs.
Craighill observed with interest that her husband seemed willing to
take credit for his son’s admirable physical proportions, but that his
paternal pride stopped there. Her attitude toward her husband was
so wholly sympathetic to-night that she saw Wayne with his eyes. It
must indeed be a grievous thing to have lived an honorable life, to
have made a place for one’s self and to find both name and position
brought low by a profligate son.
“Fanny is very happy,” continued Colonel Craighill. “John is a
splendid fellow—steady as a rock, and with high ideals. A woman
like Fanny needs such a man to check her exuberances.”
“Oh, she’s most delightful and she has certainly been kind to me!
She might have made it hard for me if she had wanted to.”
“Oh, she’s kind!” smiled Colonel Craighill, though his tone implied
that allowances must be made for Fanny. “There’s a good deal of the
Wayne in her, just as there is in her brother.” He shook his head and
sighed. As they left the dining room her husband placed his arm
about her. These intimations of his secret feeling toward his children
seemed to have knit her closer into his life; she felt the ground
solider under her feet. She was not without her sensibilities and she
had realized that a second wife does not at once wear her new
robes easily. It is as though she blundered upon a stage whose
scene has been set by another hand. Its mechanism, its lights, its
exits are unfamiliar. She is haunted by the dread of missing her cue
and of hearing a ghostly prompter’s voice mocking her off stage.
“I have just been re-writing my will, and I have taken pains to
eliminate, so far as human foresight can do so, the possibility of any
trouble when I am gone. You will have many years beyond my
expectation of life and I want nothing to mar them. It will be
unnecessary for you to deal with my children in any way. I have
designated our strongest trust company—a concern in which I have
long been director—to administer the estate. Of course I hope your
relations with my children will always continue friendly, but it is best
not to mingle family interests in such a case. And now”—he rubbed
his hands together as though freeing himself of every care—“now
we may dismiss the future to take care of itself.”
“I don’t like to think of such things,” she murmured. “I’m just
beginning to appreciate all that you have done for me. It means
more to me, Roger, than you have any idea of. You have been most
kind and considerate, and generous in every way. I have never been
so happy—I never expected such happiness to come to me. It
doesn’t seem that I deserve it.”
She sat down on a stool beside him and he took one of her hands
and held it on his knee and stroked it fondly. This tenderness, keyed
to the domestic tone of the hearthside, soothed and exalted her. He
believed in her, she belonged to him; she wished that this hour
might never end, so perfect were its peace and happiness. He talked
to-night with a new freedom, and she felt the years diminish
between them. He told her many anecdotes of old times in the city,
describing the humble beginnings of some of his fellow-townsmen:
“When I first knew him he was only a truck driver, and now!”—the
familiar phrases of American biography. The hours passed swiftly. At
half-past ten a motor stopped at the side door, and a moment later
Wayne’s key snapped the lock.
“I’ll tell him to come in here,” said Addie, rising. He answered her
summons cheerily, and came in and stood with his back to the fire.
His high spirits caused his father to eye him carefully, but Wayne, as
though in answer to this silent inquiry, straightened himself and
stood erect with arms folded for inspection.
“I’m off for a little trip to-night. Wingfield wants me to go over to
Philadelphia with him to see a Mask and Wig show. We’ll come back
in three or four days.”
“Are you sure it isn’t a prize fight?” quizzed Colonel Craighill. “I’m
always a little suspicious of Dick’s expeditions. When you and he
leave town I usually find there’s been a prize fight at the other end
of the line.”
“Oh, I can’t believe such things of Mr. Wingfield!” cried Addie; “he
talks to me only of pictures and music. I can’t imagine him watching
men pound each other.”
“He’s a fellow of first-rate ability,” observed Colonel Craighill, to
whom Wingfield was a deplorable idler who had made no use of his
talents. “But he has never justified his right to exist.”
“Why should he work merely to please his critics? If he took a job, it
would throw somebody else out. What would you have him do?”
Wayne demanded.
“Our rich young men have had too much notoriety; they have
brought scandal upon the city!” ejaculated Colonel Craighill
wrathfully and with unmistakable application.
“You oughtn’t to believe all you see in the yellow papers. Besides,
Dick’s about the decentest man I ever knew. He doesn’t pretend to
sole ownership in all the virtues. That’s why I like him so well.”
Colonel Craighill had frequently made these thrusts at Wingfield and
to-night Wayne resented them more than usual. He turned to Addie,
who had sought a book on the table and was studying the title page
attentively during this interchange. She thought Wayne had not
shown his father proper respect and the disturbance of the room’s
tranquillity annoyed her.
“When do you head for the Hub, Addie?” Wayne asked.
“It’s to-morrow night, isn’t it, Roger?”
“Yes; to-morrow evening,” answered Colonel Craighill reaching for a
magazine.
“Dick and I spend only a few days assailing the impenetrable
fastnesses of the Philadelphia mind. Is there anything special coming
up, father?”
“Nothing out of the usual run; I think Gregory may come in, but you
needn’t trouble about him. Tell him I’ll see him when I come back.”
“He was in to-day, now that I think of it,” remarked Wayne, thrusting
his hands into his pockets, “and waited an hour for you.”
“I’m perfectly aware of that,” snapped Colonel Craighill. “I was busy
and sent word for him to see Morehead. He’s so persistent lately
that he’s lost any claim he had as an old acquaintance and we’ll let
him face the facts squarely with our lawyer.”
He spoke with considerable irritation, but he controlled himself and
adjusted his glasses to read.
It was the first time that he had shown anger before his wife. She
had wondered whether anything could shatter his perfect poise and
affability, and his display of temper frightened her, much as
exhibitions of anger in adults alarm and dismay children.
“I must get my bag; I’m holding the car,” said Wayne to Addie. “I
hope you’ll have a fine outing.”
“Wayne,” interposed Colonel Craighill, “your man Joe doesn’t seem
quite essential to this establishment. It seems to me we might get
along with one chauffeur between us.”
“Then,” grinned Wayne, “you had better fire yours. Joe has been
here longer, and we must stick to the merit system if the heavens
fall.”
“Joe’s a sporting character; my man is a trained mechanic. A number
of men have spoken to me of Joe’s reckless driving of your
machines.”
“They ought to speak to me. If you don’t want Joe on the place I’ll
move my car to a public garage.”
“I’ll trouble you not to speak to me in that tone. I’m not questioning
your right to use the garage; I merely suggested an economy and
getting rid of an idle fellow who is bound to get you into trouble.”
“You don’t know Joe. You couldn’t push him into trouble!” laughed
Wayne, with a return of his good humour. He received a reproachful
look from Addie as he shook hands with her. His father rose and
bade him good-bye with formality.
“We shall be gone about a week,” he remarked; “my address will be
the Beverly if you should wish to communicate with me.”
While Wayne was packing his bag Colonel Craighill continued to turn
the pages of his magazine. Addie moved restlessly about, softly
opening and closing the book-cases and listlessly glancing at titles.
The display of ill-feeling between father and son had spoiled what
had been at the moment of Wayne’s entrance, the happiest evening
of her married life. If sides must be taken, she would, of course,
stand with her husband; but she was displeased that Wayne had
made it necessary for her to take sides at all. Wayne’s
unreasonableness had caused the domestic sanctuary lamp to flicker
just at the moment when it had flamed most auspiciously. With
sudden access of feeling she crossed the room and laid her hand
gently on Colonel Craighill’s arm.
“Roger,” she murmured softly, “I’m so sorry!”
“Don’t trouble, dear; it’s too bad you had to witness my humiliation;
but it’s inevitable, I suppose, that you should know.”
She saw that her sympathy was grateful to him; she felt his
response to it in the soft stroking of her hair as she knelt beside him.
They remained thus until they heard Wayne running downstairs
humming softly to himself. He stood at the door a moment later, suit
case in hand.
“Good night!” he called, and as he went for his coat and hat she
followed him to the door. He waved his hand to her and as the
motor rolled toward the street she returned to her husband.
Colonel Craighill was again turning the leaves of a periodical, and he
threw it down with a yawn.
“It must be bedtime.” He paused and listened. “Isn’t that the door
bell? I’ll go myself.”
He returned carrying a special delivery letter, and opened it with a
paper cutter which she handed him from the table.
“Why,” he exclaimed, his face lighting, “it’s from Colonel Broderick.”
When he had finished reading he turned back to the beginning
again, murmuring his pleasure, and read aloud:
“I had expected to write earlier, asking you
to stay with us during the meetings of the
conference but, in Mrs. Broderick’s absence,
I was afraid to assume the responsibilities of
host. She will, however, be at home to-
morrow so I am asking you and Senator
Tarleton of Virginia to accept our shelter. I
am very anxious for you to know Tarleton as
he wields great influence in the South and
this is the first time he has lent his
countenance to our work. Mrs. Broderick will
allow the three of us full liberty to sit up all
night and pass final judgment on all the
things that have so long been dear to you
and me. I hope your annual address is good
and salty; the attitude of this administration
 toward the civil service has been a keen
disappointment and I look to you to launch
a vigorous and effective protest.”
“That really is a very great compliment, Addie. Colonel Broderick is
one of the leading citizens—if not, indeed, the first citizen of Boston.
I have always been a little afraid that he looked on my relations with
him as purely official and not quite—not wholly social. You see, your
Bostonians have their notions of such things, and they are entitled to
what they would themselves call their point of view. Mrs. Broderick
is, even more than he, the New England aristocrat, a very cultivated
woman; and she was enormously rich. It is the greatest possible
honour to be asked to stay there. I won’t conceal it from you, Addie,
that I’ve rather feared once or twice, when I’ve been in Boston, that
Broderick avoided asking me to the house!”
“Why should he?” asked Mrs. Craighill coldly.
“Well, after all, I’m a Western man, and our city has seemed—I
would confess it to no one but you—to have lost its early social
dignity.”
“You could hardly expect it to be another Boston any more than you
could make Paris of it.”
“But now that the invitation has come in this perfectly cordial way,
it’s too bad they still look on me as a widower. They certainly had
cards.”
“Maybe you were not expected to understand; it’s merely a matter of
fact.” Her words were accompanied by a smile, so slight as to be
almost imperceptible, and a narrowing of the lids as she watched
and studied him.
“Of course they didn’t know of my marriage; you may be sure it was
not by intention.”
“I should say that the invitation leaves room for that doubt. The
Brodericks were certainly on the list of people to whom cards were
sent; I noticed the name the other day when I was looking over my
calling book.”
“But, my dear Addie! What motive would they have for ignoring the
fact, assuming that they knew of my marriage?”
“Then, of course, if it’s an error, they would be grateful to have it
corrected.”
She started to speak further, but bit her lip upon a renunciation of
the trip. She had resolved to see what solution of the matter he
would himself suggest. He pondered a moment.
“I hope you won’t misunderstand me, Addie, but I really don’t quite
see how I could suggest their asking you. In fact, it is clearly by
intention that Tarleton and I are being brought together there
quietly, and while it’s a bit awkward to be asked in this way so
shortly after our marriage, I hardly feel—the Brodericks being what
they are and all that—that I ought to——”
He broke off with a light laugh and a graceful outward fling of the
hands, in despair of these complications.
“It would be a pity for you to miss the opportunity of visiting so
distinguished a family—with Mrs. Broderick being the rare woman
she is, and all that!”
“Of course there is that side of it,” he agreed, with bland eagerness.
He did not see that she was laughing bitterly at him. “But I really
don’t see how that takes care of you!”
“Oh, you musn’t think of that! I should undoubtedly be bored to
death. I always hate visiting; when I’m away from home I much
prefer going to a hotel.”
“Well, I’m not thinking of myself so much—it’s whether visiting
Broderick that way and meeting Tarleton in the intimate way he
suggests, I shouldn’t be able to effect alliances of real value in one
way and another.”
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