 The young ravens that call upon him. By Charles G. D. Roberts. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Larry Kaplan. It was just before dawn, and a greyness was beginning to trouble the dark about the top of the mountain. Even at that cold height there was no wind. The veil of cloud that hid the stars hung but a hand breath above the naked stomach. To eastward the peak broke away sheer, beating in a perpetual menace to the valleys and the lower hills. Just under the brow on a splintered and crevice ledge was the nest of eagles. As the thick dark shrank down the steep like a receding tide and the greyness reached the ragged heap of branches forming the nest, the young eagles stirred uneasily under the loose droop of their mother's wings. She raised her head and peered about her, slightly lifting her wings as she did so, and the nestlings, complaining at the chill air that came in upon their un-fledged bodies, thrust themselves up amid the warm feathers of her thighs. The male bird, perched on a jutting fragment beside the nest, did not move, but he was awake. His white, narrow, flat, crowned head was turned to one side, and his yellow eye, under its straight, fierce lid, watched the pale streak that was growing along the distant eastern sea-line. The great birds were wracked with hunger. Even the nestlings, to meet the petitions of whose gaping beaks they stinted themselves without mercy, felt meager and uncomforted. Day after day the parent birds had fished almost in vain. Day after day their wide and tireless hunting had brought them scant reward. The schools of alewives, mackerel, and herring seemed to shun their shores that spring. The rabbits seemed to have fled from all the covets about the mountain. The mother eagle, larger and of mightier wing than her mate, looked as if she had met with misadventure. Her plumage was disordered. Her eyes, fiercely and restlessly anxious, at moments grew dull as if with exhaustion. On the day before, while circling at her viewless height above a lake far inland, she had marked a huge lake trout, basking near the surface of the water. Dropping upon it, with half-closed, hissing wings, she had fixed her talons in its back. But the fish had proved too powerful for her. Again and again it had dragged her underwater, and she had been almost drowned before she could unloose the terrible grip of her claws. Hardly and late had she beaten her way back to the mountain top. Now the pale streak in the east grew ruddy. Rust-red stains and purple crawling fishers began to show on the rocky face of the peak. A piece of scarlet cloth woven among the faggots of the nest glowed like new blood in the increasing light, and presently a wave of rows appeared to break and wash down over the summit as the rim of the sun came above the horizon. The male eagle stretched his head far out over the depth. He pierced his wings and screamed harshly, as if in greeting of the day. He paused the moment in that position, rolling his eye upon the nest. Then his head went lower, his wings spread wider, and he launched himself smoothly and swiftly into the abyss of air as a swimmer glides into the sea. The female watched him, a faint wreath of a bird darting through the gloom, till presently, completing his mighty arc, he rose again into the full light of the morning. Then on level, all but moveless wing, he sailed away toward the horizon. As the sun rose higher and higher, the darkness began to melt on tops of the lower hills, and to diminish on the slopes of the upland pastures, lingering in the valleys as the snow delays there in the spring. As point by point the landscape uncovered itself to his view. The eagle shaped his flight into a vast circle, or rather into a series of stupendous loops. His neck was stretched toward the earth, and the intensity of his search for something to ease the bitter hunger of his nestlings and of his mate. Not far from the sea, and still in darkness, stood a low round hill or swelling upland, bleak and shelterless, whipped by every wind that heavens could let loose, it bore no bush but an occasional juniper scrub. It was covered with mossy hillocks, and was short grass, meager but sweet. There in the chilly gloom, straining her ears to catch the lightest footfall of approaching peril, but hearing only the hushed thunder of the surf, stood a lonely you over the lamb to which she had given birth in the night. Having lost the flock when the pangs of travail came upon her, the unwanted solitude filled her with apprehension. But as soon as the first feeble bleeding of the lamb fell upon her ear, everything was changed. Her terrors all at once increased tenfold, but they were for her young, not for herself, and with them came a strange boldness such as her heart had never known before. As the little weakening shivered against her side, she uttered low, short bleeds and murmurs of tenderness. When an owl hooted in the woods across the valley, she raised her head angrily and faced the sound, suspecting a menace to her young. When a mouse scurry past her with a small rustling noise amid the withered mosses of the hillock, she stamped fiercely and would have charged had the intruder been a lion. When the first gray of dawn descended over the pasture, the you feasted her eyes with the sight of the trembling little creature as it lay on the wet grass. With gentle nose she coaxed it and caressed it till presently it struggled to its feet, and with this pathetically awkward leg spread wide apart to preserve its balance it began to nurse. Turning her head as far around as she could, the you watched its every motion with soft murmurings of delight, and now that wave of rose which had long ago washed the mountain and waked the eagles spread tenderly across the open pasture. The lambs stopped nursing, and the you, moving forward two or three steps, tried to spread it to follow her. She was anxious that it should join as soon as possible, and to walk freely so that they may together rejoin the flock. She felt that the open pasture was full of dangers. The lambs seemed afraid to take so many steps, it shook its ears and bleed it piteously. The mother returned to its side, caressed it anew, pushed it with her nose, and again moved away a few feet, urging it to go with her. Again the feeble little creature refused, bleeding loudly. At this moment there came a terrible hissing rush out of the sky, and a great form fell upon the lamb. The you wheeled and charged madly, but the same instant, the eagle, with two mighty buffettings of its wings, rose beyond her reach, and soared away toward the mountain. The lamb hung limp from his talons, and with piteous cries the you ran beneath, gazing upward and stumbling over the hillocks and juniper bushes. In the nest of the eagles there was content. The pain of their hunger appeased. The nestlings lay dozing in the sun, the neck of one resting across the back of the other. The triumphant male sat erect upon his perch, staring out over the splendid world that displayed itself beneath him. Now and again he half lifted his wings and screamed joyously at the sun. The mother bird, perched upon a limb on the edge of the nest, busily rearranged her plumage. At times she stooped her head into the nest to utter over her sleeping eaglets a soft chuckling noise which seemed to come from the bottom of her throat, but hither and thither over the round bleak hill wandered the you, calling for her lamb unmindful of the flock which had been moved to other pastures. of the young ravens that call upon him by Charles G. D. Roberts. With a sigh of relief Alida Gooding saw the dentist put away as instruments. Her nerves seemed all a quiver as she slowly rose and went into the little dressing-room to put on her hat and coat, and to wait for the family carriage which was to call for her at this hour. She was a plain-looking girl of eighteen, with homely irregular features, a shallow complexion, and a reserved, haughty manner that tended to repel all friendly advances. All that clothes could do to improve a girl's appearance had certainly been done for her. Every part of her costume, from her fashionable gown to her stylish hat, indicated wealth and good taste, but the face that looked wistfully back at her from the little dressing-room mirror was not pretty. The door into the adjoining parlor was slightly ajar, and she could hear someone pacing restlessly about awaiting his turn. I'll be ready for you in about three minutes, Charlie, called the dentist from the inner-room. And Alida heard the reply, No hurry, I want to speak to one of the boys I see coming down the street. The voice was a familiar one. She recognized it as belonging to Charlie Jarvis, a friend of her sister. The next instant she heard a window thrown up and a shrill whistle sounded out on the snowy air. Peering cautiously out of the window where she stood watching for the carriage, she saw another acquaintance, Phil Bentley, look up and wave his hand in response to the whistle. A moment later he came bounding up the stairs, three steps at a time, and into the adjoining parlor. What's up, old fellow? He asked. What's wanted now? I've been trying to see you for three days, answered Charlie, but they told me that you were out of town when I inquired at the office. Mrs. Lancaster has a pretty little girl visiting her from Alabama, and she intends to give an old-fashioned Valentine party for her entertainment next week. I am helping with the invitations. Here's the list of the boys she wants, and each one is to bring one of the girls of ours set as his Valentine, in fancy costume, you know. I've seen all the boys but you and Ben Fuller. And they've chosen the girls they want to invite. Who's left for us? queried Phil. Let me see the list a minute. Nanny Mason, he read slowly. No wonder she was left to the last. She's such a silly little thing and does nothing but giggle. A light of gooding. Jarvis, you haven't left me much choice. A light is the homeliest girl in town. It is a pity that she is so ugly, when her sister May is such a beauty. Now, if it were only May who was one of the leftovers, I'd jump at the chance. Any fellow would be proud to take her. But you see, interrupted Charlie with a tantalizing draw, May is my Valentine. Come on, now, which do you choose, Nanny or Lyda? Ben is good-natured. He'll take whoever is left. Well, then. Nanny, said Phil, in a martyr-like tone. Ben can escort the comic Valentine. Oh, I say Bentley, exclaimed his friend. You needn't talk about the girl that way. She can't help being so plain. That's so. It's brutal of me, and I'm sorry I said that. But she might at least be jolly, answered Phil. You wouldn't want to take a girl that wasn't even— Delighted did not hear the rest of the sentence. The moment that she realized they were talking about her, she had begun to struggle with her coat in order to leave. Without looking into the mirror, her eyes were too full of tears to see even if she had done so. She pinned on her hat and hurried out into the hall. The coupé had just drawn up at the curb-stone, and with a curt order to the coachman to drive home as rapidly as possible, she sank down on the cushions, shrinking back from the carriage windows. Mortified by the cruelly careless speech that she had overheard, she gave herself up to an uncontrollable fit of crying. I know that I've always been— Uh, uh, ugly, she sobbed. But I never knew before that people felt and talked that way about me. I'll never show my face outside of the house again, and Ben Fuller shall certainly be spared the mortification of escorting a comic valentine to Mrs. Lancaster's party. Oh, I would rather be dead than so homely and unattractive. She was still sobbing when she reached the house, and stood shivering on the steps in the chill February wind while she waited for the front door to open. A cheerful wood fire blazed in the fireplace. In the wide reception hall a bowl of hot-house violets greeted her with their fragrant spring-like odor. But heedless of the luxurious warmth and cheer that pervaded the house, she hurried upstairs with the gloom of the cloudy winter day in her tear-stained face. Lunch is served, Miss Alida, said the maid, meeting her in the upper hall. Tell Mama that I don't want heading, she answered, passing into her own room. I'm going to lie down, my headaches, and I do not wish to be disturbed by any one. A slight expression of annoyance crossed Mrs. Gooding's handsome face. She and May were alone at lunch, and when the servant had left the room she said impatiently to May, I particularly wanted Alida to go out with us this afternoon to call on Mrs. Lancaster's guest. She takes so little interest in people outside the family, and it really mortifies me to see how silent and stiff she is in company. She always has some excuse to stay at home. She can never overcome her reticence unless she goes out more. Oh, May, I wish you were more like you. As Alida lay upstairs, battling with her tears and a throbbing headache, a note was brought to her. It was from Ben Fuller, asking her to be his Valentine at Mrs. Lancaster's party. By this time she had worked herself up to such a state of morbid sensitiveness that she could not even write a gracious refusal. It was so curt and cool that Ben gave a low whistle of surprise when he received it. I shall never ask her to go anywhere again, was his mental comment, as he tossed the note into the fire. All the rest of the week Alida stayed in her room as much as possible. Phil Bentley's speech so wrinkled in her mind that she could take no pleasure in anything, not even in the making of May's costume, in which all the family were interested. It was an odd affair. A white silk gown dotted with red hearts and bordered with dozens of old-fashioned lace paper Valentine's, with their bright array of cupids and doves and flowers, and to May it was most becoming. Where did you ever get all the things to put on it? asked her father, as she slowly revolved before him the night of the party. Oh, I saved them as an Indian brave does his scalp-locks, she answered. They were sent to me ages ago before I left the nursery. I had them all packed away and had forgotten them until I began planning this costume. I wonder if Charlie Jarvis will recognize that row. Or Phil Bentley remember when he sent this. They were barely out of the kindergarten, then. The judge looked at the trophies with an amused smile. I remember sending Valentine's to your mother once upon a time. It is too bad the custom is dying out. Young people seem to be discarding their patron saint. Oh, no indeed, father, answered May. We have got beyond hearts and darts and lace paper affairs, but cast your judicial eye over that table at all I have received today. Books, and music, and boxes of candy, and no end of flowers. Where is your share, Alida? asked the judge. Kindly, peering over his eyeglasses at his youngest daughter, what did St. Valentine bring you? Nothing, answered Alida, rising suddenly to leave the room lest he should notice the tears she could not force back. He's like everybody else, she added, bitterly, as she reached the door. He doesn't care for homely people. The judge looked annoyed. I wish she were not so self-conscious and sensitive, he exclaimed. She hasn't seemed well for some time, said her mother apologetically. It might be a wise thing to have the doctor see her soon. The next time Agnes drops in I shall speak to her. If the child is ailing, have her come at once, said the judge, decidedly, and a few minutes later he was at the telephone, sending a message for Dr. Agnes Main to call that evening, if possible. Instead of going to her own room, Alida opened the door of the old nursery, turned on the gas, and began searching through closets and drawers. At last she found the object of her search. A little portfolio in which she had laid away some of her childish treasures, as her older sister had done. Kneeling on the floor beside it she took out the valentines it contained and counted them. There were only six, all that she had ever received, and now she noticed that each little lace envelope was addressed in her father's familiar handwriting. She had failed to see that in those earlier years. So really, St. Valentine has never brought me anything, she thought bitterly. And he never will. I wonder how it feels to be loved and admired by everybody, as May is. Going into her own room she sat down before her little mahogany dressing table, and tilting back the oval mirror studied the reflection in it. As she looked the tears began to roll down her cheeks, and finally she crossed her arms on the table and laid her head on them with a choking sob. There was a knock at the door presently, but she paid no attention. It was repeated, and then someone came in, softly, pausing as she saw the girl's dejected attitude. Alida looked up. Oh, Dr. Agnes! she exclaimed. Then, despite a strong effort to control her nervous tears, down went her head on the table, and she sobbed harder than before. Dr. Agnes Mayne was the warm friend of all the family, and on the most familiar footing with them. As she was a woman of strong personal magnetism, and knew just how to win Alida's confidence, it was not long before her judicious questions had drawn out the reason of the girl's grief. After Alida had finished her recital of the conversation at the dentists, there was a long silence. Well, Alida, said Dr. Agnes, at last, what you need is a dose of definitions, and I am going to give them to you at once. I wish you would go to your dictionary and look for the word homely. That seems to be such a bugbear to you. Much surprised, Alida crossed the room and opened the ponderous volume on her writing-table. While she ran her fingers slowly down the page, the doctor continued. It has several definitions, but the original meaning was home-like, and it is only in that archaic sense that I want you to take it. Now what is given as the definition of home-like? Comfortable, cheerful, cozy, friendly, read Alida. Now look for comfortable, directed the doctor. Not any modern meaning. I want the good old ones that have become obsolete. Strong, vigorous, serviceable, helpful, read Alida again. Now just one word more, said the doctor. Find cozy, the meaning that the English give it. Alida searched the columns a moment and then read, chatty, talkative, sociable. There, exclaimed the doctor, taking the girl's feverish wrist and her firm-cool hand, that is my prescription for you. Take those definitions faithfully to heart for a year and you will become so homely in the good old sense of the word that by another St. Valentine's Day you will find yourself admired by everybody. Alida shrugged her shoulders so incredulously that the doctor took out her watch and showed her a picture inside the case. There is my proof, she said. It was the picture of a sweet, kindly old face, plain in features, but with a beauty of expression that made Alida's eyes soften as she looked at it. My mother, said Dr. Agnes gently. She might be called a homely woman in both senses of the word. Everyone feels the cheer of her presence as of a warm, comfortable fireside. Nobody can come into contact with her without being helped by her sunny, friendly interest. People feel at home, at their easiest and best with her. And she is the cozy corner they naturally turn to, old and young alike. Then she must have been born with such a nature, interrupted Alida. No, she was as reserved and timid as you are, always worrying about her appearance and thinking that people were criticizing her. Till she went to visit an eccentric old aunt, who spent her time in finding employment for friendless young girls. Aunt Winifred soon found that mother was in as great need of employment as the poorest little seamstress on her list. So she interested her in her charities, drawing her by degrees into the active work of them until her unhappy little niece had learned the beautiful gospel of self-forgetfulness. Afterward, when mother was married and had the happiness of her five daughters at heart, she induced each one of us to take up something of absorbing interest, in order that there might be no empty idle days when discontent could creep in. That is how I came to study medicine, and that is how I learned to love the word homely in its first and best sense. She taught me the definitions which I have just given you. Half an hour later Judge Gooding was surprised to see Alida and Agnes Main coming gaily into the room with their arms around each other. There was more animation in Alida's face than it had shown for days. Papa, I am going to study medicine, she announced. Dr. Agnes has told me so many interesting things about her profession, and the cases she has in the children's hospital, that I can hardly wait to begin. She has promised to take me around with her and lend me all her books. I think I shall begin tomorrow morning. The Judge smiled indulgently. I have no fears of your going into the practice of medicine seriously, he said. I should not like a daughter of mine to do that. But if you think you would enjoy the study as a pastime and Dr. Main recommends it, I shall not object if your mother is willing. The family thought that Alida's fad, as they called it, would not last long. But under Agnes Main's wise supervision it became an unfailing source of pleasure to the girl. Winter slipped into spring, and the crocuses gave way to the summer roses, and still her interest grew daily. She even begged not to be taken to the seashore, where the family always spent their summers. Mrs. Main has asked me to stay with her, she said, and she has such a dear little house, and I am sure that the children at the hospital would miss me now if I were to go away. There is so much that I can do to make the poor little things happier. Alida had her own way, finally. She studied on through the summer, learning much about anatomy and physiology from the doctor's big books in the office, but unconsciously learning the higher wisdom of a spiritual hygiene from her sweet sold old hostess, the doctor's mother. It cleared her mental vision. It made her quick to understand other people, warm in her sympathies, and forgetful of self in her intercourse with them. She do be such a comfortable sort of body that young doctor, said a poor washerwoman suffering from a scalded arm, as Dr. Main made her rounds alone one morning. She is that chatty and sociable that I forget the pain while she is about. And it would do your heart good to see how she do cozy up the place before she leaves it. Dr. Main repeated this to Alida. You are getting on bravely with your definitions, she said, with an approving pat on her shoulder. What do you think of Alida's fad now? She asked Mrs. Gooding several months later. It was a dull December day, and she had called for a hasty visit. My dear Agnes, said Mrs. Gooding, we are simply delighted. It has waked her up and made a different creature of her. She is almost as easy and sociable with May's friends now as May is herself. Yesterday after noon half a dozen of them came in with May to get warm after a long sleigh ride, Alida prepared a delicious little chafing-dish lunch for them and made herself so agreeable and entertaining that I was really surprised. I thought that she looked almost pretty, too. Her complexion is so clear now since she has put to such good use what she has learned about hygiene. She looked so bright and animated, laughing and talking there in the firelight that it did not seem possible she had ever been a cold reticent girl who always repelled people. One morning, not long after this conversation, the family were surprised by Ben Fuller's driving up in his sleigh soon after breakfast and asking for Alida. They were all in the library, and he announced his errand without taking a seat. My sister Ada, Mrs. Cranford, you know, is very anxious for you to come over for a little while. She was so prostrated yesterday by the shock of what happened in her absence that she couldn't talk coherently to you then. But she feels that she must see you for a few moments, if possible, and she is unable to come out this morning. May I take you over in my sleigh? Alida, showing no trace of surprise at the message, rose at once to go upstairs for her hat, but Mrs. Gooding plied him with astonished questions. Is it possible that she has not told you, he exclaimed? My sister is spending the winter here with her little daughter Doris. We all idolized the child, and she has never left alone a moment. But yesterday we were all out of town at a wedding and Doris had to be left with only the nurse. Nobody will ever know how it happened, but she slipped away and got into the little cottage around the corner. There was a child there that she had taken a fancy to from seeing it at the window whenever she passed. Nobody can find out how long she was there, or what the two children did. She says that they played party and had good things to eat that they find it by themselves. Miss Alida met her coming home about four o'clock and turned to walk with her and see her safely into the house, for she suspected that Doris had run away. Doris was eating some of the pink candy that she had brought home from the cottage, although we did not know where it came from until this morning. She offered Miss Alida a taste out of the little paste-board box she carried. To Miss Alida's horror she found it was a package of roach paste. Warranted to be a deadly poison to insects. Miss Alida hurried the child into the house and set to work so skillfully that by the time the doctor reached there nothing was left for him to do. He said that Doris would have died but for Miss Alida's medical knowledge and immediate attention. If nothing had been done until he arrived it would have been too late to save the child. Ada got home about the time he pronounced Doris entirely out of danger and was so frightened when she heard what had happened that she went from one fainting spell into another. This morning we found where Doris got the poison and learned that the little child at the cottage died in the night. Ada is so unnerved that she is nearly frantic, thinking how near she came to losing Doris. She is so grateful to Miss Alida that she would go through fire and water to serve her in any way. Well, we all would, in fact, added the young man with a suspicion of huskiness in his voice. You see Doris is the only grandchild in the family and we are almost foolishly fond of her. Detaching a locket from his watch chain he handed it to the judge. Here is a miniature of her, he said. The judge looked at the beautiful baby face framed in its golden curls and then glanced up at Alida who had returned dressed for her drive. Thank God for such a sensible little daughter, he said with fervor as he rose and kissed her. This was not the last time that Ben Fuller was sent to escort Alida to his sister. Mrs. Cranford's gratitude grew into an intense affection for the girl. All winter she sent for her on every possible occasion to drive with her, to dine, to go to the opera, or attend some entertainment. She was constantly planning some new way to give Alida pleasure. Finding her deeply interested in the children at the hospital, she sent a beautiful tree out to them on Christmas Day in Alida's name. When February 14th came again a great package of Valentine's found its way to Alida for the children. Enough for every child in every ward and the finest that could be bought in the city. Dr. Agnes came up to Alida's room to help her sort and address them. You certainly have your share this year, she said, laughing. Do you remember what a slough of despond you were in a year ago? Alida smiled happily, and then hid her face in a great bunch of roses on her dressing table. The little note that had come with the flowers was still in her hand, and she had just re-read it. St. Valentine has brought me something else, she said hesitatingly. Dr. Agnes, I am to be Ben's Valentine at the party tonight, and he thinks that I am really homely in the archaic sense. End of Alida's Homeliness. Recording by Bill Borst. Candles by Marjorie Werner-Reed. This is LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bill Borst. Candles by Marjorie Werner-Reed. Before a statue of Joan of Arc in a little country church, a child knelt in prayer. Oh, protect my papa, the little one prayed. She lighted a candle, offered it to the maid of France. A young girl prayed at the feet of the saint. She burned a candle. For André, for his safety, the invaders entered the village, heeding neither church nor ground of the dead. They ripped open shallow graves to show the living they had power, even over those who had gone. They killed the priest, and the nuns, even, from the school. They damaged, destroyed. The church caught fire. The candles, burning before the saint of Domarimi, blazed into one huge flame. It shot up to the roof, and seemed to cry, Oh, Joan of Arc, come back. France needs you. The child, an angel of heaven. The young girl who had prayed for André, two officers had taken her. She struggled. A sword. The flames of the burning village had revealed it. Monsieur Labé had said suicide was sin, but surely God would forgive. She pierced the sword into her white flesh. God flowed to the ground. Little fool muttered the maddened officer. He went back to the village, for more destroying. A stone from a burning house, he died with an oath. But André, weeks before, had died with prayer upon his lips, a thought for his sweet betrothed. End of Candles. Recording by Bill Borscht. It is well that, hay fever and colds, do not obtain in the healthful vicinity of Cactus City, Texas, for the dry goods emporium of Navarro, Platt, situated there, is not to be sneezed at. Twenty thousand people in Cactus City scatter their silver coin with liberal hands for the things that their hearts desire. The bulk of this semi-precious metal goes to Navarro, Platt. Their huge brick building covers enough ground to graze a dozen head of sheep. You can buy, of them, a rattlesnake skin, necktie, an automobile, or an eighty-five dollar latest style, ladies' ten coat in twenty different shades. Navarro, Platt, first introduced pennies west of the Colorado River. They had been ranchmen with business heads, who saw that the world did not necessarily have to cease its revolutions after free grass went out. Free spring, Navarro, senior partner, fifty-five, half Spanish, cosmopolitan, able, polished, had gone on to New York to buy goods. This year he shied at taking up the long trail. He was undoubtedly growing older, and he looked at his watch several times a day before the hour came for his siesta. John, he said to his junior partner, you shall go on this year to buy the goods. Platt looked tired. I'm told, said he, that New York is a plum-dead town, but I'll go. I can take a whirl in San Antonio for a few days on my way, and have some fun. Two weeks later a man in a Texas full-dress suit, black frock coat, broad-bremmed soft white hat, and lay-down collar three to four inches high, with black wrought iron neck-tie, entered the wholesale cloak-and-suit establishment of Zizbum, son, on lower Broadway. Old Zizbum had the eye of an osprey, the memory of an elephant, and a mind that unfolded from him in three movements, like the puzzle of the carpenter's rule. He rolled to the front, like a brunette, polar bear, and shook Platt's hand. And how is the good Mr. Navarro in Texas? He said. The trip was too long for him this year, so we welcome Mr. Platt instead. A bullseye, said Platt, and I'd give forty acres of unirrigated Pecos County land to know how you did it. I knew, Grand Zizbum, just as I know that the rainfall in El Paso for the year was twenty-eight point five inches, or an increase of fifteen inches, and that therefore Navarro Platt will buy a fifteen thousand dollar stock of suits this spring instead of ten thousand dollars, as in a dry year. But that will be tomorrow. There is first a cigar in my private office that will remove from your mouth the taste of the ones who smuggle across the real ground and lake, because they are smuggled. It was late in the afternoon, and business for the day had ended. Zizbum left Platt with a half-smoked cigar, and came out of the private office to Sun, who was arranging his diamond scarf-pen before a mirror ready to leave. Aby, he said, you will have to take Mr. Platt around to-night and show him things. They are customers for ten years. Mr. Navarro and I, we played chess every moment of spare time when he came. That is good. But Mr. Platt is a young man, and this is his first visit to New York. He should amuse easily. All right, said Aby, screwing the guard tightly on his pen. I'll take him. After you've seen the flat-iron in the head-weight earth of Hotel Aston, heard the thonograph play under the old apple tree, it'll be half past ten, and Mr. Texas will be ready to roll up in his blanket. I've got a supper engagement at eleven-thirty, but he'll be all to the Mrs. Winslow before then. The next morning at ten, Platt walked into the store ready to do business. He had a bunch of hyacinths pinned on his lapel. Zizbum himself waited on him. Navarro, Platt, were good customers, and never failed to take the discount for cash. And what did you think of our little town, asked Zizbum, with the fatuous smile of the Manhattanite? I shouldn't care to live in it, said the Texan. Your son and I knocked around quite a little last night. You've got good water, but Cactus City is better lit up. We've got a few lights on Broadway, don't you think, Mr. Platt? And a good many shadows, said Platt. I think I like your horse's best. I haven't seen a crow-bait since I've been in town. Zizbum led him upstairs to show the samples of suits. Ask Miss Asher to come, he said to a clerk. Miss Asher came, and Platt of Navarro, Platt, felt, for the first time, the wonderful bright light of romance and glory descend upon him. He stood still as a granite cliff above the canyon of the Colorado, with his wide open eyes fixed upon her. She noticed his look and flushed a little, which was contrary to her custom. Miss Asher was the crack model of Zizbum's son. She was of the blonde type known as medium, and her measurements even went the required 38, 25, 42, standard a little better. She had been at Zizbum's two years, and knew her business. Her eye was bright, but cool, and had she chosen to match her gaze against the optic of the famed Basilisk, that fabulous monster's gaze would have wavered and softened first. Incidentally she knew buyers. Now, Mr. Platt, said Zizbum, I want you to see these princess gowns in the light shades. They will be the thing in your climate. It's first, if you'll please, Miss Asher. Swiftly in and out of the dressing-room, the prize model flew, each time wearing a new costume, and looking more stunning with every change. She posed with absolute self-position, before the stricken buyer, who stood tongue-tied and motionless, while Zizbum orated oilily, of the styles. On the model's face was her faint, impersonal, professional smile that seemed to cover something like weariness or contempt. When the display was over, Platt seemed to hesitate. Zizbum was a little anxious, thinking that his customer might be inclined to try elsewhere, but Platt was only looking over in his mind the best building sites in Cactus City, trying to select one on which to build a house for his wife to be, who was just then in the dressing-room, taking off an evening gown of lavender and tulle. Take your time, Mr. Platt, said Zizbum. Think it over tonight. You won't find anybody else, meet our prices, and goods like these. I'm afraid you're having a dull time in New York, Mr. Platt, a young man like you. Of course, you miss the society of the ladies. Wouldn't you like a nice young lady to take out to dinner this evening? Miss Asher, now, is a very nice young lady. She will make it agreeable for you. Why, she doesn't know me, said Platt, wonderingly. She doesn't know anything about me. Would she go? I'm not acquainted with her. Would she go? repeated Zizbum with uplifted eyebrows. Sure she would go. I would introduce you. Sure she would go. She called Miss Asher loudly. She came, calm and slightly contemptuous, in her white shirt waist and plain black skirt. Mr. Platt would like the pleasure of your company to dinner this evening, said Zizbum, walking away. Sure, said Miss Asher, looking at the ceiling. I'd be much pleased. 911 West 20th Street. What time? Say, seven o'clock? All right, but please don't come ahead of time. I room with the schoolteacher, and she doesn't allow any gentleman to call in the room. There isn't any parlor, so you'll have to wait in the hall. I'll be ready. At half-past seven, Platt and Miss Asher sat at a table in a Broadway restaurant. She was dressed in a plain, filmy black. Platt didn't know that it was all a part of her day's work. With the unobtrusive aid of a good waiter, he managed to order a respectable dinner, minus the usual Broadway preliminaries. Miss Asher flashed upon him a dazzling smile. Man, I have something to drink, she asked, while certainly, said Platt, anything you won't. A dry martini, she said to the waiter. Platt was brought and set before her, Platt reached over, and took it away. What is this? He asked. A cocktail, of course. I thought it was some kind of tea you ordered. This is liquor. You can't drink this. What is your first name? To my intimate friends, said Miss Asher, freezingly, it is Helen. Listen, Helen, said Platt, leaning over the table. For many years, every time the spring flowers blossomed out on the prairies, I got the thinking of somebody that I'd never seen or heard of. I knew it was you the minute I saw you yesterday. I'm going back home to-morrow, and you're going with me. I know it, for I saw it in your eyes when you first looked at me. You needn't kick, for you've got to fall into line. Here's a little trick I picked out for you on my way over. He flicked a two-carat diamond solitaire ring across the table. Miss Asher flipped it back to him with her fork. Don't get fresh, she said severely. I'm worth a hundred thousand dollars, said Platt. I'll build you the finest house in West Texas. You can't buy me, Mr. Byer, said Miss Asher. If you had a hundred million, I didn't think I'd have to call you down. You didn't look like the others to me at first, but I see you're all alike. All who? asked Platt. All you buyers, you think because we girls have to go out to dinner with you, or lose our jobs, that you're privileged to say what you please. Well forget it. I thought you were different from the others, but I see I was mistaken. Platt struck his fingers on the table, with a gesture of sudden illuminating satisfaction. I've got it! he exclaimed, almost hilariously. The Nicholson place over on the north side. There's a big grove of live oaks and a natural lake. The old house can be pulled down, and the new one set further back. Pull out your pipe, said Miss Asher. I'm sorry to wake you up, but you fellows might as well get wise, once for all. To where you stand, I'm supposed to go to dinner with you, and help jolly you along so you'll trade with old Zizi, but don't expect me to find me in any of the suits you buy. Do you mean to tell me, said Platt, that you go out this way with customers, and they all talk to you like I have? They all make plays, said Miss Asher. But I must say that you've got them beat in one respect. They generally talk diamonds, while you've actually dug one up. How long have you been working, Helen? Got my name Pat, haven't you? I've been supporting myself for eight years. I was a cash girl, and a rapper, and then a shop girl, until I was grown, and then I got to be a suit model. Mr. Texas man, don't you think a little wine would make this dinner a little less dry? You're not going to drink wine any more, dear. It's awful to think how. I'll come to the store to-morrow, and get you. I want you to pick out an automobile before we leave. That's all we need to buy here. Oh, cut that out. If you knew how sick I am of hearing such talk. After the dinner they walked down Broadway, and came upon Diana's little wooded park. The trees cut Platt's eye at once, and he must turn along under the winding walk beneath them. The light shone upon two bright tears in the model's eyes. I don't like that, said Platt. What's the matter? Don't you mind, said Miss Asher? Well, it's because—well, I didn't think you were that kind when I first saw you. But you are all like. And now will you take me home, or will I have to call a cop? Platt took her to the door of her boarding-house. They stood for a minute in the vestibule. She looked at him with such scorn in her eyes that even his heart of oak began to waver. His arm was half-way around her waist, when she struck him a stinging blow on the face with her open hand. As he stepped back, a ring fell from somewhere and bounded on the tiled floor. Platt groped for it and found it. Now take your useless diamond and go, Mr. Byer, she said. This was the other one, the wedding-ring, said the Texan, holding the smooth gold band on the palm of his hand. Miss Asher's eyes blazed upon him in the half-darkness. Was that what you meant, did you? Somebody opened the door from inside the house. Good night, said Platt. I'll see you at the store to-morrow. Miss Asher ran up to her room and shook the school teacher until she sat up in bed, ready to scream. Fire! Where is it? She cried. That's what I want to know, said the model. You've studied geography, Emma, and you ought to know. There is a town called Ca-Ca-Cara-Cara-City, I think they called it. How dare you wake me up for that, said the school teacher. Caracas is in Venezuela, of course. What's it like? Why, it's principally earthquakes and negroes and monkeys and malarial fever and volcanoes. Ah, I don't care, said Miss Asher. Blithely, I'm going there to-morrow. End of The Buyer from Ca-Ca-City by O. Henry.