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Vero Beach, Florida 32964
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Edited by Kelli L. Hicks

Cover and Interior design by Teri Intzegian

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Meredith, Susan Markowitz.

Using scientific tools / Susan Markowitz Meredith.
p. cm. -- (Let's explore science)
Includes index.
ISBN 978-1-60694-413-4 (hard cover)
ISBN 978-1-60694-531-5 (soft cover)
1. Scientific apparatus and instruments--Juvenile literature. I. Title.
Q185.3.M464 2010
502.8--dc22

2009005739
Rourke Publishing
Printed in the United States of America, North Mankato, Minnesota
021010
021010LP

www.rourkepublishing.com - [email protected]
Post Office Box 643328 Vero Beach, Florida 32964

2
Using Tools in Science . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .4
Tools That Extend the Senses . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .10
Measurement Tools . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .22
Models as Tools . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .36
Scientific Tools Are Changing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .42
Glossary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .46
Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .48

3
 CHAPTER ONE

Using Tools in Science

We all use tools to get things done. To eat soup,
we use a spoon. To move a heavy box, we use a
cart. To sign our name, we use a pen. Every tool,
large or small, exists to do a job.

DID YOU KNOW?

Tools have been helping
people throughout history.
Spears and arrows aided ancient
hunters. Early farmers made use
of simple plows. For writing,
people once used hollow reeds
and wing feathers.

4
Tools Extend Us

Tools allow us to do things beyond

our natural abilities. Some tools extend
our physical strength, our reach, and
our speed. Other tools expand the
limits of our senses. Still others
provide us with added brain power.

The tools we
use to measure
!
things help increase
our understanding of
the world.

5
Other documents randomly have
different content
home and assumed the manly task of comforting and reassuring his
mother. Elizabeth had awaited in suspense the conclusion of
Hunter's visit to Eades, and she had gone down town to hear from
her father the result of Hunter's effort. She was not surprised when
her father told her that Hunter reported failure; neither of them had
had much faith in Hunter and less in Eades. But when they had
discussed it at the luncheon they had in a private room at the club,
and after the discussion had proved so inconclusive, she broached
the plan that had come to her in the wakeful night,--the plan she
had been revolving in her mind all the morning.
"My lawyer?" her father had said. "He could do nothing--in a
case like this."
"I suppose not," Elizabeth had said. "Besides, it would only
place the facts in the possession of one more person."
"Yes."
"We might consult Gordon Marriott. He would sympathize--and
help."
"Yes, that might do."
"But not yet," she had said, "Not till I've tried my plan."
"Your plan? What is it?"
"To see John Eades--for me to see John Eades."
She had hung her head--she could not help it, and her father
had shown some indignation.
"Not for worlds!" he had said. "Not for worlds!"
"But I'm going."
"No! It wouldn't be fitting!"
"But I'm going."
"Then I'll go along."
 "No, I'll go alone."
He had protested, of course, but his very next words showed
that he was ready to give in.
"When shall you go?" he asked.
"Now. There isn't much time. The grand jury--what is it the
grand jury does?"
"It sits next week, and Eades will lay the case before it then--
unless--"
"Unless I can stop him."
There had been a little intense, dramatic moment when the
waiter was out of the room and she had risen, buttoning her jacket
and drawing on her gloves, and her father had stood before her.
"Bess," he said, "tell me, are you contemplating some--horrible
sacrifice?" He had put his finger under her chin and elevated it, in
the effort to make her look him in the eyes. She had paled slightly
and then smiled--and kissed him.
"Never mind about me, papa."
And then she had hastened away--and here she was.
The tall door lettered "The Prosecuting Attorney" was closed,
but she did not have to wait long before it opened and three men
came out, evidently hurried away by Eades, who hastened to
Elizabeth's side and said:
"Pardon me if I kept you waiting,"
They entered the private office, and, at her sign, he closed the
door. She took the chair beside his desk, and he sat down and
looked at her expectantly. He was plainly ill at ease, and this
encouraged her. She was alive to the strangeness of this visit, to the
strangeness of the place and the situation; her heart was in her
throat; she feared she could not speak, but she made a great effort
and plunged at once into the subject.
"You know what brings me here."
"I presume--"
"Yes," she said before he could finish. He inclined his head in an
understanding that would spare painful explanation. His heart was
going rapidly. He would have gloried in having her near him in any
other place; but here in this place, on this subject! He must not
forget his position; he must assume his official personality; the
separation of his relations had become a veritable passion with him.
"I came," she said, "to ask a favor--a very great favor. Will you
grant it?"
She leaned forward slightly, but with a latent intensity that
showed all her eagerness and concern. He was deeply troubled.
"You know I would do anything in my power for you," he said.
His heart was sincere and glowing--but his mind instantly noted the
qualification implied in the words, "my power."
And Elizabeth, with her quick intelligence, caught the
significance of those words. She closed her eyes an instant. How
hard he made it! Still, he was certainly within his rights.
"I want you to let my brother go," she said,
 "I want you to let my brother go," she said

He compressed his lips, and she noted how very thin, how
resolute they were.
"It does not altogether rest with me."
"You evade," she said. "Don't treat me--as if I were some
politician." She was surprised at her own temerity. With some little
fear that he might mistake her meaning, she, nevertheless, kept her
gray eyes fixed on him, and went on:
"I came to ask you not to lay his case before the grand jury. I
believe that is the extent of your power. I really don't know about
such things." Her eyes fell, and she gently stroked the soft gray fur
of her muff, as she permitted herself this woman's privilege of
pleading weakness. "No one need be the loser--my father will make
good the--shortage. All will be as if it never had been--all save this
horrible thing that has come to us--that must remain, of course, for
ever."
Then she let the silence fall between them.
"You are asking me to do a great deal."
"It seems a very little thing to me, so far as you are concerned;
to us--to me--of course, it is a great thing; it means our family, our
name, my father, my mother, myself--leaving Dick out of it
altogether."
Eades turned away in pain. It was evident that she had said her
all, and that he must speak.
"You forget one other thing," he said presently.
"What?"
"The rights of society." He was conscious of a certain
inadequacy in his words; they sounded to him weak, and not at all
as it seemed they should have sounded. She did not reply at once,
but he knew that she was looking at him. Was that look of hers a
look of scorn?
"I do not care one bit for the rights of society," she said. He
knew that she spoke with all her spirit. But she softened almost
instantly and added, "I do care, of course, for its opinion."
 Eades was not introspective enough to realize his own
superlative regard for society's opinion; it was easier to cover this
regard with words about its rights.
"But society has rights," he said, "and society has placed me
here to see those rights conserved."
"What rights?" she asked.
"To have the wrong-doer punished."
"And the innocent as well? You would punish my mother, my
father and me, although, of course, we already have our
punishment." She waited a moment and then the cry was torn from
her.
"Can't you see that merely having to come here on such an
errand is punishment enough for me?"
She was bending forward, and her eyes blinked back the tears.
He had never loved her so; he could not bear to look at her sitting
there in such anguish.
"My God, yes!" he exclaimed. He got up hastily, plunging his
hands in his pockets, and walking away to his window, looked out a
moment, then turned; and as he spoke his voice vibrated:
"Don't you know how this makes me suffer? Don't you know
that nothing I ever had to face troubles me as this does?"
She did not reply.
"If you don't," he added, coming near and speaking in a low,
guarded tone, "you don't know how--I love you."
She raised her hand to protest, but she did not look up. He
checked himself. She lowered her gloved hand, and he wondered in
a second of great agitation if that gesture meant the withdrawal of
the protest.
 "Then--then," she said very deliberately, "do this for me."
She raised her muff to hide the face that flamed scarlet. He took
one step toward her, paused, struggled for mastery of himself. He
remembered now that the principle--the principle that had guided
him in the conduct of his office, required that he must make his
decisions slowly, calmly, impersonally, with the cold deliberation of
the law he was there to impersonate. And here was the woman he
loved, the woman whom he had longed to make his wife, the wife
who could crown his success--here, at last, ready to say the word
she had so long refused to say--the word he had so long wished to
hear.
"Elizabeth," he said simply, "you know how I have loved you,
how I love you now. This may not be the time or the place for that--
I do not wish to take an advantage of you--but you do not know
some other things. I have never felt at all worthy of you. I do not
now, but I have felt that I could at least offer you a clean hand and
a clean heart. I have tried in this office, with all its responsibilities, to
do my duty without fear or favor; thus far I have done so. It has
been my pride that nothing has swerved me from the path of that
plain duty. I have consoled myself ever since I knew I loved you--
and that was long before I dared to tell you--that I could at least go
to you with that record. And now you ask me to stultify myself, to
give all that up! It is hard--too hard!" He turned away. "I don't
suppose I make it clear. Perhaps it seems a little thing to you. To me
it is a big thing; it is all I have."
Elizabeth was conscious for an instant of nothing but a gratitude
to him for turning away. She pressed her muff against her face; the
soft fur, a little cold, was comforting to her hot cheeks. She felt a
humiliation now that she feared she never could survive; she felt a
regret, too, that she had ever let the situation take this personal and
intimate turn. For an instant she was disposed to blame Eades, but
she was too just for that; she knew that she alone was to blame;
she remembered that it was this very appeal she had come to make,
and she contemned herself--despised herself. And then in a
desperate effort to regain her self-respect, she tried to change the
trend of the argument, to restore it to the academic, the impersonal,
to struggle back to the other plane with him, and she said:
"If it could do any good! If I could see what good it does!"
"What!" he exclaimed, turning to her. "What good? What good
does any of my work do?"
"I'm sure I don't know." As she said this, she looked up at him,
met his eye with a boldness she despised in herself. Down in her
heart she was conscious of a self-abasement that was almost
complete; she realized the histrionic in her attitude, and in this
feeling, determined now to brave it out; she added bitterly: "None, I
should say."
"None!" He repeated the word, aghast. "None! Do you say that
all this work I have been doing for the betterment, the purification of
society does no good?"
"No good," she said; "it does no good; it only makes more
suffering in the world." And she thought of all she was just then
suffering.
"Where--" he could not catch his breath--"where did you get
that idea?"
"In the night--in the long, horrible night." Though she was alive
to the dramatic import of her words and this scene, she was
speaking with sincerity, and she shuddered.
Eades stood and looked at her. He could do nothing else; he
could say nothing, think nothing.
In Elizabeth's heart there was now but one desire, and that was
to get away, to bring this horror to an end. She had come to save
her brother; now she was conscious that she must save herself; she
felt that she had hopelessly involved the situation; it was beyond
remedy now, and she must get away. She rose.
"I have come here, I have humiliated myself to ask you to do a
favor for me," she said. "You are not ready to do it, I see." She was
glad; she felt now the dreadful anxiety of one who is about to
escape an awful dilemma. "To me it seems a very simple little thing,
but--"
She was going.
"Elizabeth!" he said, "let me think it over. I can not think straight
just now. You know how I want to help you. You know I would do
anything--anything for you!"
"Anything but this," she said. "This little thing that hurts no one,
a thing that can bring nothing but happiness to the world, that can
save my father and my mother and me--a thing, perhaps the only
thing that can save my poor, weak, erring brother--who knows?"
"Let me think it over," he pleaded. "I'll think it over to-night--I'll
send you word in the morning."
She turned then and went away.

XXVII
Elizabeth let the note fall in her lap. A new happiness suddenly
enveloped her. She felt the relief of an escape. The note ran:

DEAR ELIZABETH:
I have thought it all over. I did not sleep all night, thinking of it,
and of you. But--I can not do what you ask; I could not love you as I
do if I were false to my duty. You know how hard it is for me to
come to this conclusion, how hard it is for me to write thus. It
sounds harsh and brutal and cold, I know. It is not meant to be. I
know how you have suffered; I wish you could know how I have
suffered and how I shall suffer. I can promise you one thing,
however: that I shall do only my duty, my plain, simple duty, as
lightly as I can, and nothing now can give me such joy as to find the
outcome one perhaps I ought not to wish--one which in any other
case would be considered a defeat for me. But I ask you to think of
me, whatever may come to pass, as

Your sincere
JOHN EADES.

She leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes; a sense of rest
and comfort came to her. She was content for a while simply to
realize that rest and comfort. She opened her eyes and looked out of
the window over the little triangular park with its bare trees; the sky
was solid gray; there was a gray tone in the atmosphere, and the
soft light was grateful and restful to her eyes, tired and sensitive as
they were from the loss of so much sleep. She felt that she could lie
back then and sleep profoundly. Yet she did not wish to sleep--she
wished to be awake and enjoy this sensation of relief, of escape.
After that night and that day and this last night of suspense, it was
like a reprieve--she started and her face darkened,--the thought of
reprieve made her somehow think of Archie Koerner. This event had
quite driven him out of her mind, coming as it had just at the climax.
She had not thought of him for--how long? And Gusta! It brought
the thought of her, too. Suddenly she remembered, with a dim sense
of confusion that, at some time long ago, she and Gusta had talked
of Archie's first trouble. Had they mentioned Dick? No, but she had
thought of him! How strange! And then her thoughts returned to
Eades, and she lifted the note, and glanced at it. She recalled the
night at the Fords', and his proposal, her hesitation and his waiting.
She let the note fall again and sighed audibly--a sigh that expressed
her content. Then suddenly she started up! She had forgotten Dick--
the trouble--her father!

Marriott knew what she had to say almost before the first sentence
had fallen from her lips.
"I'll not pretend to be surprised, Elizabeth," he said. "I haven't
expected it, but now I can see that it was inevitable."
He looked away from her.
"Poor boy!" he said. "How I pity him! He has done nothing more
than to adopt the common standard; he has accepted the common
ideal. He has believed them when they told him by word and deed
that possession--money--could bring happiness and that nothing else
can! Well--it's too bad."
 Elizabeth's head was drooping and the tears were streaming
down her cheeks. He pretended not to see.
"Poor boy!" he went on. "Well, we must save him, that's all."
She looked up at him, her gray eyes wide and their lashes
drenched in their tears.
"How, Gordon?"
"Well, I don't know, but some way." He studied a moment.
"Eades--well, of course, he's hopeless."
She could never tell him of her visit to Eades; she had told him
merely of Hunter's interview with the prosecutor. But she was
surprised to see how Marriott, instantly, could tell just what Eades
would do.
"Eades is just a prosecutor, that's all," Marriott went on.
"Heavens! How the business has hardened him! How it does pull
character to shreds! And yet--he's like Dick--he's pursuing another
ideal that's very popular. They'll elect Eades congressman or
governor or something for his severity. But let's not waste time on
him. Let's think." He sat there, his brows knit, and Elizabeth watched
him.
"I wish I could fathom old Hunter. He had some motive in
reporting it to Eades so soon. Of course, if it wasn't for that it would
be easy. Hm--" He thought. "We'll have to work through Hunter. He's
our only chance. I must find out all there is to know about Hunter.
Now, Elizabeth, I'll have to shut myself up and do some thinking.
The grand jury doesn't meet for ten days--we have time--"
"They won't arrest Dick?"
"Oh, it's not likely now. Tell him to stay close at home--don't let
him skip out, whatever he does. That would be fatal. And one thing
more--let me do the worrying." He smiled.
Marriott had hoped, when the murder trial was over, that he
could rest; he had set in motion the machinery that was to take the
case up on error; he had ordered his transcripts and prepared the
petition in error and the motions, and he was going to have them all
ready and file them at the last moment, so that he might be sure of
delay. Archie had been taken to the penitentiary, and Marriott was
glad of that, for it relieved him of the necessity of going to the jail so
often; that was always an ordeal. He had but one more visit to make
there,--Curly had sent for him; but Curly never demanded much. But
now--here was a task more difficult than ever. It provoked him
almost to anger; he resented it. It was always so, he told himself;
everything comes at once--and then he thought of Elizabeth. It was
for her!
He thought of nothing else all that day. He inquired about
Hunter of every one he met. He went to his friends, trying to learn
all he could. He picked up much, of course, for there was much to
be told of such a wealthy and prominent man as Amos Hunter,
especially one with such striking personal characteristics. But he
found no clue, no hint that he felt was promising. Then he suddenly
remembered Curly.
He found him in another part of the jail, where he had been
immured away from Archie in order that they might not
communicate with each other. With his wide knowledge and deeper
nature Curly was a more interesting personality than Archie. He took
his predicament with that philosophy Marriott had observed and was
beginning to admire in these fellows; he had no complaints to make.
 "I'm not worried," he said. "I'll come out all right. Eades has
nothing on me, and he knows it. They're holding me for a bluff.
They'll keep me, of course, until they get Archie out of the way, then
they'll put me on the street. It wouldn't do to drop my case now.
They'll just stall along with it until then. Of course--there's one
danger--" he looked up and smiled curiously, and to the question in
Marriott's eyes, he answered:
"You see they can't settle me for this; but they might dig up
something somewhere else and put me away on that. You see the
danger."
Marriott nodded, not knowing just what to say.
"But we must take the bitter with the sweet, as Eddie Dean
used to say." Curly spoke as if the observation were original with
Dean. "But, Mr. Marriott, there's one or two things I want you to
attend to for me."
"Well," consented Marriott helplessly, already overburdened with
others' cares.
"I don't like to trouble you, but there's no one I like to trust, and
they won't let me see any one."
He hesitated a moment.
"It's this way," he presently went on. "I've got a woman--Jane,
they call her. She's a good woman, you see, though she has some
bad tricks. She's sore now, and hanging around here, and I want her
to leave. She's even threatened to see Eades, but she wouldn't do
that; she's too square. But she has a stand-in with McFee, and while
he's all right in his way, still he's a copper, and you can't be sure of a
copper. She can't help me any here, and she might queer me; the
flatties might pry something out of her that could hurt me--they'll do
anything. If you'll see Danny Gibbs and have him ship her, I'll be
much obliged. And say, Mr. Marriott, when you're seeing him, tell
him to get that thing fixed up and send me my bit. He'll understand.
I don't mind telling you, at that. There's a man here, a swell guy, a
banker, who does business with Dan. He's handled some of our
paper--and that sort of thing, you know, and I've got a draw coming
there. It ain't much, about twenty-five case, I guess, but it'd come in
handy. Tell Dan to give the woman a piece of it and send the rest to
me here. I can use it just now buying tobacco and milk and some
little things I need. Dan'll understand all about it."
"Who is this swell guy you speak of--this banker?"
Curly looked at Marriott with the suspicion that was necessarily
habitual with him, but his glance softened and he said:
"I don't know him myself. I never saw him--his name's Hunt, no,
Hunter, or some such thing. Know him?"
Marriott's heart leaped; he struggled to control himself.
"Course, you understand, Mr. Marriott," said Curly, fearing he
had been indiscreet, "this is all between ourselves."
"Oh, of course, you can depend on me."
He was anxious now to get away; he could scarcely observe the
few decencies of decorum that the place demanded. And when he
was once out of the prison, he called a cab and drove with all speed
to Gibbs's place. On the way his mind worked rapidly, splendidly,
under its concentration. When he reached the well-known quiet little
saloon in Kentucky Street, Gibbs took him into the back room, and
there, where Gibbs had been told of the desperate plights of so
many men, Marriott told him of the plight of Dick Ward. When he
had done, he leaned across the table and said:
 "And you'll help me, Dan?"
Gibbs made no reply, but instead smoked and blinked at
Marriott curiously. Just as Marriott's hopes were falling, Gibbs broke
the silence:
"It's the girl you're interested in," he said gruffly, "not the kid."
He looked at Marriott shrewdly, and when Marriott saw that he
looked not at all unkindly or in any sense with that cynical contempt
of the sentimental that might have been expected of such a man,
Marriott smiled.
"Well, yes, you're right. I am interested in her."
Gibbs threw him one look and then tilted back, gazed upward to
the ceiling, puffed meditatively at his cigar, and presently said, as if
throwing out a mere tentative suggestion:
"I wonder if it wouldn't do that old geezer good to take a sea-
voyage?"
Marriott's heart came into his throat with a little impulse of fear.
He felt uneasy--this was dangerous ground for a lawyer who
respected the ethics of his profession, and here he was, plotting with
this go-between of criminals. Criminals--and yet who were the
criminals he went between? These relations, after all, seemed to
have a high as well as a low range--was there any so-called class of
society whom Gibbs could not, at times, serve?
"Let's see," Gibbs was saying, "where is this now? Canada used
to do, but that's been put on the bum. Mexico ain't so bad, they say,
and some of them South American countries does pretty well,
though they complain of the eatin', and there's nothing doing
anyway. A couple of friends of mine down in New York went to a
place somewhere called--let's see--called Algiers, ain't it?"
 Marriott did not like to speak, but he nodded.
"Is that a warm country?"
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"It's on the shores of the Mediterranean."
"Now that don't tell me any more than I knew before," said
Gibbs, "but if the climate's good for old guys with the coin, that's
about all we want. It'll make the front all right, especially at this time
o' year."
Marriott nodded again.
"All right, that'll do. An old banker goes there for his health--just
as if it was Hot Springs."
Gibbs thought a moment longer.
"Now, of course, the kid's father'll make it good, won't he? He'll
put up?"
"Yes," said Marriott. He was rather faint and sick about it all--
and yet it was working beautifully, and it must be done. Even then
Ward was pacing the floor somewhere--and Elizabeth, she was
waiting and depending on him. "Shall I bring you his check?"
"Hell, no!" exclaimed Gibbs. "We'll want the cash. I'll get it of
him. The fewer hands, the better."
Marriott was wild to get away; he could scarcely wait, but he
remembered suddenly Curly's commissions, and he must attend to
them, of course. He felt a great gratitude just now to Curly.
When Marriott told Gibbs of Curly's request, Gibbs shook his
head decidedly and said:
"No, I draw the line at refereeing domestic scraps. If Curly
wants to go frame in with a moll, it's his business; I can't do
anything." And then he dryly added: "Nobody can, with Jane; she's
hell!"

XXVIII

One morning, a week later, as they sat at breakfast, Ward handed

his newspaper across to Elizabeth, indicating an item in the social
column, and Elizabeth read:

"Mr. Amos Hunter, accompanied by his daughter, Miss Agnes Hunter,

sailed from New York yesterday on the steamer King Emanuel for
Naples. Mr. Hunter goes abroad for his health, and will spend the
winter in Italy."

Elizabeth looked up.

"That means--?"
"That it's settled," Ward replied.
She grew suddenly weak, in the sense of relief that seemed to
dissolve her.
"Unless," Ward added, and Elizabeth caught herself and looked
at her father fearfully, "Hunter should come back."
"But will he?"
"Some time, doubtless."
"Oh, dear! Then the suspense isn't over at all!"
"Well, it's over for the present, anyway. Eades can do nothing,
so Marriott says, as long as Hunter is away, and even if he were to
return, the fact that Hunter accepted the money and credited it on
his books--in some fashion--would make it exceedingly difficult to
prove anything, and of course, under any circumstances, Hunter
wouldn't dare--now."
Elizabeth sat a moment idly playing with a fork, and her father
studied the varying expressions of her face as the shades came and
went in her sensitive countenance. Her brow clouded in some little
perplexity, then cleared again, and at last she sighed.
"I feel a hundred years old," she said. "Hasn't it been horrible?"
"I feel like a criminal myself," said Ward.
"We are criminals--all of us," she said, dealing bluntly, cruelly
with herself. "We ought all of us to be in the penitentiary, if anybody
ought."
"Yes," he acquiesced.
"Only," she said, "nobody ought. I've learned that, anyway."
"What would you do with them?" he asked, in the comfort of
entering the realm of the abstract.
"With us?"
"Well--with the criminals."
"Send us to the penitentiary, I suppose."
"You are delightfully illogical, Betsy," he said, trying to laugh.
"That's all we can be," she said. "It's the only logical way."
Then they were silent, for the maid entered.
"Have we really committed a crime?" she asked, when the door
swung on the maid, who came and went so unconsciously in the
midst of these tragic currents. "Don't tell me--if we have."
"I don't know," said Ward. "I presume I'd rather not know. I
know I've gone through enough to make me miserable the rest of
my life. I know that we have settled nothing--that we have escaped
nothing--except what people will say."
"Yes, mama, after all, was the only one wise enough to
understand and appreciate the real significance."
"Well, there's nothing more we can do now," he replied.
"No, we must go on living some way." She got up, went around
the table and kissed him on the forehead. "We'll just lock our little
skeleton in the family closet, papa, and once in a while go and take
a peep at him. There may be some good in that--he'll keep us from
growing proud, anyway."
Ward and Marriott had decided to say as little to Elizabeth as
possible of their transaction. Ward had gone through a week of
agony. In a day or two he had raised the little fortune, and kept it
ready, and he had been surprised and a bit perturbed when Gibbs
had come and in quite a matter-of-fact way asked for the amount in
cash. Ward had helplessly turned it over to him with many doubts
and suspicions; but he knew no other way. Afterward, when Gibbs
returned and gave him Hunter's receipt, he had felt ashamed of
these doubts and had hoped Gibbs had not noticed them, but Gibbs
had gone away without a word, save a gruff:
"Well, that's fixed, Mr. Ward."
And yet Elizabeth had wondered about it all. Her conscience
troubled her acutely, so acutely that when Marriott came over that
evening for the praise he could not forego, and perhaps for a little
spiritual corroboration and comfort, she said:
"Gordon, you have done wonders. I can't thank you."
"Don't try," he said. "It's nothing."
 She looked troubled. Her brows darkened, and then, unable to
resist the impulse any longer, she asked:
"But, Gordon, was it right?"
"What?" he asked, quite needlessly, as they both knew.
"What you--what we--did?"
"Yes, it was right."
"Was it legal?"
"N-no."
"Ah!" She was silent a moment. "What is it called?"
"What?"
"You know very well--our crime. I must know the worst. I must
know just how bad I am."
"You wish to have it labeled, classified, as Doctor Tilson would
have it?"
"Yes, tell me."
"I believe," said Marriott looking away and biting his upper lip,
"that it's called compounding a felony, or something of that sort."
He was silent and she was silent. Then he spoke again.
"They disbarred poor old Billy Gale for less than that."
She looked at him, her gray eyes winking rapidly as they did
when she was interested and her mind concentrated on some
absorbing problem. Then she impulsively clasped her white hands in
her lap, and, leaning over, she asked out of the psychological
interest the situation must soon or late have for her:
"Tell me, Gordon, just how you felt when you were--"
"Committing it?"
She nodded her head rapidly, almost impatiently.
 "Well," he said with a far-away expression, "I experienced,
especially when I was in Danny Gibbs's saloon, that pleasant feeling
of going to hell."
"You just won't reassure me," she said, relaxing into a hopeless
attitude.
"Oh, yes, I will," he replied. "Don't you remember what
Emerson says?" He looked up at the portrait of the beautiful,
spiritual face above the mantel.
She looked up in her vivid literary interest.
"No; tell me. He said everything."
"Yes, everything there is to say. He said, 'Good men must not
obey the laws too well.'"
 XXIX

When Eades read the announcement of Hunter's departure for Italy

he was first surprised, then indignant, then relieved. Hunter had
reported Dick's crime in anger, the state of mind in which most
criminal prosecutions are begun. The old man had trembled until
Eades feared for him; as he sat there with pallid lips relating the
circumstances, he was not at all the contained, mild and shrewd old
financier Eades so long had known.
"We must be protected, Mr. Eades,"--he could hear the shrill cry
for days--"we must be protected from these thieves! They are the
worst of all, sir; the worst of all! I want this young scoundrel
arrested and sent to the penitentiary right away, sir, right away!"
Eades had seen that the old man was in fear, and that in his
fear he had turned to him as toward that ancient corner-stone of
society, the criminal statute. And now he had fled!
Eades knew, of course, that some one had tampered with him;
and, of course, the defalcation had been made good, and now
Hunter would be an impossible witness. Even Eades could imagine
Hunter on the stand, not as he had been in his office that day,
angry, frightened, keenly conscious of his wrong and recalling
minutely all the details; but senile, a little deaf, leaning forward with
a hand behind his ear, a grin on his withered face, remembering
nothing, not cognizant of the details of his bookkeeping--sitting
there, with his money safe in his pocket, while the case collapsed,
Dick was acquitted in triumph--and he, John Eades, made ridiculous.
But what was he to do? After all, in the eye of the law, Hunter
was not a witness; and, besides, it was possible that, technically, the
felony might not have been compounded. At any rate, if it had been
he could not prove it, and as for proceeding now against Ward, that
was too much to expect, too much even for him to exact of himself.
When a definite case was laid before him with the evidence to
support it, his duty was plain, but he was not required to go tilting
after wind-mills, to investigate mere suspicions. It was a relief to
resign himself to this conclusion. Now he could only wait for Hunter's
return, and have him brought in when he came, but probably, in the
end, it would come to nothing. Yes, it was a relief, and he could
think hopefully once more of Elizabeth.

The fourteenth of May--the date for the execution of the sentence of

death against Archie--was almost on him before Marriott filed his
petition in error in the Appellate Court and a motion for suspension
of sentence. He had calculated nicely. As the court could not hear
and determine the case before the day of execution, the motion was
granted, and the execution postponed. Marriott's relief was
exquisite; he hastened to send a telegram to Archie, and was happy,
so happy that he could laugh at the editorial which Edwards printed
the next morning, calling for reforms in the criminal code which
would prevent "such travesties as were evidently to be expected in
the Koerner case."
Marriott could laugh, because he knew how hypocritical
Edwards was, but Edwards's editorials had influence in other
quarters, and Marriott more and more regretted his simple little act
of kindness--or of weakness--in loaning Edwards the ten dollars. If
the newspapers would desist, he felt sure that in time, when public
sentiment had undergone its inevitable reaction, he might secure a
commutation of Archie's sentence; but if Edwards, in order to vent
his spleen, continued to keep alive the spirit of the mob, then there
was little hope.
"If he could only be sent to prison for life!" said Elizabeth, as
they discussed this aspect of the case. "No,"--she hastened to
correct herself--"for twenty years; that would do."
"It would be the same thing," said Marriott.
"What do you mean?" Elizabeth leaned forward with a puzzled
expression in her gray eyes.
"All sentences to the penitentiary are sentences for life. We
pretend they're not, but if a man lives to get out--do we treat him as
if he had paid the debt? No, he's a convict still. Look at Archie, for
instance."
"Look at Harry Graves! Oh, Gordon,"--Elizabeth suddenly sat up
and made an impatient gesture--"I can't forget him! And Gusta! And
those men I saw as they were taken from the jail!"
"You mustn't worry about it; you can't help it."
"Oh, that's what they all tell me! 'Don't worry about it--you can't
help it!' No! But you worried about Archie--and about"--she closed
her eyes, and he watched their white lids droop in pain--"and about
Dick."
"I knew them."
"Yes," she said, nodding her head, "you knew them--that
explains it all. We don't know the others, and so we don't care.
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