/ 
 
 ^'^'- 
 
 The Runaway Browns. 
 
 By H-C*Bunner«^ 
 
 lllustra^ted byC *J"Ta.ylor 
 
 PUCKS-MULBERRY- SERIES 
 
P5 
 
 QJatttKll HnittBraitg Hihrarg 
 
 aitljaca, Sfeu) fBtk 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE GrFT OF 
 
 HENRY W. SAGE 
 
 1891 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS 1202.R9 
 
 The runaway Browns :a story of small sto 
 
 3 1924 022 052 470 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis bool< is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022052470 
 
THE RUNAWAY BROWNS 
 
ADELE. 
 
The Runaway Browns 
 
 Jl Stofy of iSmo'llStor'i'is 
 
 BV 
 
 HCBUNNER 3^ 
 
 d^uChor of 
 Short »5i?(.es " «.f c-. 
 
 I UusTr&t«d by 
 
 C' J -Ta-Yl^or 
 
 u . b . t' 
 
Copyright, 1892, by Keppler & Schwarzmann. 
 
TO 
 A. L. B. 
 
Prologue. 
 
 (Because You Can't Begin a Story in Philadelphia.) 
 
 \^ seems quite natural that the 
 houses in Philadelphia should 
 grow backward ; yet a real Phila- 
 delphia house is always a sur- 
 prise to the stranger. From the 
 sidewalk you see what looks like 
 a compressed mausoleum. You 
 enter, wondering if there is go- 
 ing to be room for you and the 
 one tier of defunct. Behold ! that house spreads 
 out into the silent hollow of the " square ; '' back- 
 extension after back-extension, in holy privacy, in 
 a dim and chastened respectability, you see a 
 Philadelphia HOME expand itself 
 
 For many, many years there came forth daily 
 from the door of such a house as this, a gentle- 
 man who was at first Oldish, then Old, then Very 
 Old, indeed. He was thin and tall; he wore his 
 old-fashioned beaver hat on one side of his gaunt, 
 old-fashioned head ; his clothes had been dandified 
 once, when dandies wore stocks and tied their col- 
 lars behind. He wore them still so jauntily as to 
 make you think you were wrong in your reckoning 
 — if the disloyal clothes had n't gone threadbare 
 and shiny. 
 
■^ C^e Runaway Bi-oiDns. "^ 
 
 A fragile, faded, prettyish, middle-aged wife 
 said good-by to the Oldish man at the white door- 
 step as he went forth, leaning on the arm of a 
 thin, serious-looking young man; a fragile, fading, 
 pretty young wife bade the Old man good-by at 
 the same door-step as he went forth on the arm 
 of the same young man, not quite 
 so young now. When he was a 
 Very Old man, neither wife 
 bade him good-by, but a little 
 yellow-haired boy walked on 
 the other side of the Very 
 Old man, while his right arm 
 was supported by the young 
 man, who was only young 
 now by comparison. 
 
 He always walked as 
 jauntily as each new year 
 would let him, down the sun- 
 ny side of Chestnut Street. 
 All the old merchants knew 
 him; all the solid, comfort- 
 able - looking old Friends 
 nodded to him in a half- 
 pitying, half- admiring way. 
 If you asked one of them 
 who he was, you would get 
 this answer : 
 
 "Col. Brown, sir; Col. 
 Orlando Brown — remarkable man, 
 sir — great inventor — greatest mining expert in 
 the country — made half a dozen fortunes — not 
 worth a soumarkee — not worth a soumarkee, sir 
 — too wild, sir — fanciful — excitable." Here the 
 Philadelphia merchant would tap his head, "New 
 
V' C^e HunatDay BrotDtis. "^ 
 
 York man originally." And here the Philadelphia 
 merchant would shake his head. 
 
 But the Colonel cared neither for their ad- 
 miration or their pity; he set his hat fui'ther on 
 one side, pulled his stock up over his collar, then 
 pulled his collar up over his stock, ran his hand 
 through his fine whiskers, and swaggered on his 
 way to look at the mining-stock-list. 
 
 In New York, the Colonel would have been 
 neither quite so much of a wonder, nor quite so 
 much of an impracticable. He was only one of 
 the many geniuses with whom the times can not 
 readily keep abreast. He would spend years in 
 devising new systems of milling and smelting ores 
 — splendid systems — only, as they were about 
 ten years ahead of the needs of civilization, civili- 
 zation could make no use of them. Consequently, 
 the Colonel had to be "temporarily accommoda- 
 ted " until civilization caught up with him. When 
 she did, the Colonel drew his pay, and promptly 
 sunk it in getting up new and still more advanced 
 systems which the world could not possibly use for 
 a decade at least. Meanwhile the Colonel's col- 
 lars got frayed and his wives wore out. 
 
 He was like a swimmer who dives for the 
 great seventh billow just as the fourth or fifth 
 is rising, and comes up where he should have 
 gone down. Thus he succeeded in keeping out 
 of tune with the resistless surf of progress. 
 
 The Colonel died at last in the trough of 
 the sea. When he died, he owned nothing but 
 the roof that sheltered him and the patents that 
 had ruined and should have enriched him. 
 
"^ Ct?e Hunaicay BrotDns. "^ 
 
 Paul was the name of the curly-headed boy. 
 Ernest was the name of the thin young man who 
 had grown old holding up his father's arms. All 
 his days, from the day he left the University of 
 Pennsylvania to the day he left this world, his 
 prime function in hfe was that of a calculating 
 machine for the Brown patents. 
 
 It was he who had figured into practical 
 usefulness the creations of his father's mechanical 
 genius, balancing economies of power and speed 
 and efficiency, one against the other. Outside 
 of this he lived solely for hygienic reasons. 
 
 The Colonel was dead, but the patents were 
 alive. 
 
 Ernest rented the most of the old house to 
 a boarding-house keeper, and went to live with 
 Paul in the last of the back-extensions, where they 
 had a gloomy workshop on the first floor. Three 
 times a day they issued therefrom to take their 
 meals at the boarding-house table, where scrapple 
 set the key of greasiness at breakfast, well sus- 
 tained at dinner, and ending in a delicate di- 
 minuendo with the doughnuts at supper. 
 
 They had also retained the Uttle stable at 
 the rear, and here they kept two saddle-horses 
 which it was Paul's duty to care for, and on 
 which they took, morning and evening, a silent, 
 sanitary ride — for the air made Ernest cough. 
 They had no friends and they went nowhere, 
 save that they took tea every Sunday evening at 
 their Aunt Chambray's, an elderly lady of Hugue- 
 not extraction, who kept a rapidly decaying 
 boarding and day school for young ladies, that 
 had once been fashionable. It was a solemn 
 function, held in the second story front drawing- 
 
 4 
 
room. When anybody opened a door downstairs, 
 a draught came up bearing a smell — or smells 
 — from the school-room downstairs — a srnell of 
 ink, a smell of slates, a smell of luncheon boxes 
 and the chicken-coopy flavor of small children 
 that you can not get out of a school-room. There 
 were thin bread-and-butter and macaroons and 
 tea. There was Aunt Chambray, there were 
 Cousins Zenobie, Zaire and Palmyre, thin, elegant, 
 aristocratic and Roman-nosed; there was also a 
 little third or fourth cousin, 'Adele, who taught 
 for her board, and who led a sad sort of life in 
 the Chamljray household, perhaps because she 
 was plump and pretty and sweet-voiced, and be- 
 cause the way she went on with Paul was simply 
 scandalous. 
 
 This was Paul Brown's life. Through their 
 long working hours Ernest taught him all he 
 had learned at college, and the whole science 
 and mystery of the Brown patents. Paul some- 
 times looked from his bed-room window and 
 wondered if the stars in their courses went about 
 with tables of logarithms in their hands. 
 
 But the day came when the calculations 
 of Ernest Brown, of infallible Science and of 
 irresistible Nature, all worked themselves out 
 together. Three things happened: 
 
 First, the great Brown process was per- 
 fected, just as a vast new market rose clamoring 
 for it. The Brown boys sold out to a New York 
 syndicate and were rich. 
 
 Second, Ernest, having put his whole con- 
 stitution into the Brown patents, lay down and 
 calmly and placidly died. 
 
V ^^e Hunau?aY Brorons. V 
 
 Third, before his death he said to Paul, who 
 was sitting by his bedside : 
 
 "Really, Paul, it is of extremely httle con- 
 sequence. Of course I am dying just as I have 
 the means to indulge my tastes. But, do you 
 know, it has lately occurred to me, on reflection, 
 that I have no tastes. I think I have been in 
 error in not cultivating some. Have you any 
 tastes, Paul?" 
 
 irdji.iliL -V /V 
 
 Paul thought for a little while, then he said : 
 "I think I have a taste for Ad^e." 
 The dying man looked mildly surprised. He 
 pondered for a while. 
 
 "I think I should cultivate it," he said. 
 Then he turned his face to the wall. 
 In the Spring, Paul married Ad^le. 
 
^^HEIR honey-moon was a distract 
 failure. What could you expect 
 of two young people who had 
 hardly stirred, their lives long, 
 out of two dull, dismal old Phila- 
 delphia houses, looking out on a 
 crossing of alleyways for their 
 world ? They went, poor lambs, in their simple 
 ignorance, to Long Branch, where the Hebrew 
 hosts frightened them; to Niagara Falls, where 
 they ran into an excursion of a Western Editorial 
 Association; and to Saratoga, where they felt as 
 if even Divine Providence had forgotten them. 
 They had not the first idea of traveling; they 
 missed connections; they scattered their baggage 
 all along their hne ; they got the wrong tickets ; 
 and, being the most fully developed specimen 
 of bridal couple that had appeared for some 
 years, they afforded unbounded amusement and 
 great pecuniary profit to countless train-hands, 
 porters, waiters, bell-boys, chamber-maids and 
 hack-drivers, for the space of two weeks. Then 
 they reached New York, went to the Fifth Avenue 
 Hotel, and lay awake all night long wondering 
 when the rest of ■ the town was going to bed. 
 In the morning Paul said : 
 
 " I am going down to see Mr. Grinridge." 
 
 7 
 
■V ^^« HunaroaY Brotuns. 'V 
 
 "Oh, do!" said AdMe; "and do tell how 
 much I '11 thank him if he '11 only tell us ?£'//«/ to 
 do and where to go ! I really can't stand this 
 another week longer. If we don't settle down 
 somewhere — I'd — I'd rather go back to Phila- 
 delphia. And you know we said we 'd never do 
 that." 
 
 "No,"' said Paul, resolutely; "we won't go 
 back to Philadelphia ! " And he buttoned his 
 coat up tight, kissed his little wife as she lay in 
 the big hotel bed, nursing a nervous headache, 
 and strode off to find Mr. (irinridge. 
 
 Mr. Grinridge had been the Syndicate's 
 lawyer, and was now Paul's. He had conducted 
 the negotiations with Ernest and Paul, and had 
 once or twice taken Paul to lunch at the Savarin. 
 And Mr. Grinridge was the only man in the great 
 big world whom this poor child of a Philadelphia 
 back-extension could call so much as an acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 Mr. Grinridge was a large, rosy, handsome, 
 well-fed old gentleman, with beautiful curly gray 
 hair and bright boyish eyes. 
 
 "Ah! I see," he said. "You have no friends 
 in Philadelphia and you have relatives. No 
 wonder you don't want to go back. H'm, let 's 
 see; how would New York suit you to live in?" 
 
 "Is n't it rather — noisy?" inquired Paul, 
 dubiously. 
 
 " Oh, it strikes you so at first," said Mr. 
 Grinridge ; " but you soon get used to that. Be- 
 sides, you know, you can get a quiet little flat." 
 
 Paul brightened up. He said he thought 
 that sounded nice. So Mr. Grinridge sent a clerk 
 with him to half a dozen agencies, where he 
 
 8 
 
■^ Cbe Huiiaroay Sforoiis. "^ 
 
 amassed various slips of paper torn from stub- 
 books. Wlien he had quite a handful of these, 
 he went back to Adele. 
 
 Three days later a yellow-haired young man, 
 with a haggard face and a dazed look in his eyes, 
 walked into Mr. Grinridge's office. 
 
 " Well, have you found your flat ? " said Mr. 
 Grinridge. 
 
 " I 've found about all the flats in creation," 
 said Paul Brown. " One more flat will drive me 
 crazy ! " 
 
 " Why, what 's the matter ? " asked Mr. 
 Grinridge. 
 
 " Matter ! " said Paul ; " why, it 's a night- 
 mare. We 've seen about half the flats in New 
 York. We 've done nothing but go up and down 
 elevators and flights of stairs. We 've seen every 
 kind of a flat, I believe, that ever was invented. 
 We 've seen flats with kitchens in the front, and 
 flats where you sleep in the dining-room and eat 
 in the bed-rooms. We 've seen flats that you 
 could n't turn round in, and flats as big as all 
 outdoors. And the more we 've seen of the 
 whole flat business, the more certain we are that 
 we don't want to have anything to do with it. 
 We 'd rather go and live in a cage with the ani- 
 mals up in Central Park." 
 
 Mr. Grinridge laughed with twinkling eyes. 
 
 " I see, I see," he said ; " you are not quite 
 up to New York pitch yet. Well, what do you 
 say to a nice little suburban cottage ? There 
 are plenty of places convenient to the city on 
 
 9 
 
y Cbe KunatraY BrotDiis. V' 
 
 Long Island, up the Hudson and over in Jersey. 
 You can come in and go to the theatre when you 
 want to, or you can stay at home and be quite 
 quiet and Philadelphian. Why, now that I 've 
 gi-own old, I 've come to that sort of thing myself. 
 I 've settled down in just such a little hole in 
 the ground. Now, there 's Pelham and Mt. 
 Vernon and Yonkers and Hastings and Morris- 
 town and Englewood and Plainfield- — what 's 
 the matter with one of those places ? " 
 
 " What 's the matter with the place where 
 you are ? " demanded Paul. 
 
 Mr. Grinridge laughed again. 
 
 " Nothing that I know of," said he. "If you 
 and Mrs. Brown will lunch with me to-morrow, 
 we '11 run out early and take a look at it. I 
 know of one house that ought to suit you.'' 
 
 They did lunch with Mr. Grinridge the next 
 day. It was a delightful little luncheon, and Mr. 
 Grinridge was so ■ charmed with young Mrs. 
 Brown that he could hardly tear himself away 
 from the table in time to catch the early train. 
 But they did catch it; and very soon they were 
 rolling through that great broad sea of marsh 
 which the Jersey folk call the " medders." Then 
 they came to a land of low, roUing hills and un- 
 dulating green fields, with patches of woodland 
 here and there, and the whole landscape peppered 
 with little houses, many of them very bright and 
 new-looking. Little towns were strung all along 
 the railroad hke beads on a string, and they had 
 come to one of the prettiest of these, which 
 peeped out of a nest of young green trees, when 
 Mr. Grinridge said : " Here we are." 
 
 Mr. Grinridge's surrey was waiting at the 
 
V C^e Sunawav Srotons. ^ 
 
 station. It whirled thein through a cluster of 
 comfortable, old-fashioned houses with first stories 
 of whitewashed stone; and then up into the new 
 part of the town, where the houses were of wood, 
 and quite clearly new — although they all tried 
 very hard to look a great deal more antique than 
 the real old ones. Suddenly they turned into a 
 broad, cheerful street with great trees along the 
 edge of the roadway, and with a row of low, 
 spreading, sloping-roofed cottages on each side. 
 Every house stood in a broad, generous patch of 
 lawn or garden. At the further end of the street 
 
 ? V- 
 
 5 X I ?'<, li^ 
 
 mm ^% 
 
 stood an old white church with a great pillared 
 portico in front. 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Adele, in a tone that settled it. 
 
 " Rather nice, is n't it ? " said Mr. Grinridge ; 
 " that -s my house up next to the church, and 
 here 's yours down here — that is, if you like it." 
 
 The June roses were blooming in the front 
 
■^ ^Eje HunatDay Broicns. "^ 
 
 yard, the gravel walks were as neat as a new pin. 
 Ampelopsis climbed over half the house, and there 
 were scarlet-runners on the sunny side. Of course 
 they liked it. 
 
 " It was built for the owner," said Mr. Grin- 
 ridge, " but he has never occupied it. I believe 
 he 's decided to settle in Cahfornia. So nobody 's 
 ever Kved in the house except the caretaker, al- 
 though it 's been built three years. By the way, 
 she 's a very excellent and capable old woman. 
 She put out all those flowers and things. The 
 place was as bare as the back of my hand when 
 she took hold of it. I should think she might be 
 able to ' do ' for you till you got settled. Her 
 name is Mrs. Wimple." 
 
Chapter II. 
 
 HE house was as delightful inside as 
 out. Mrs. Wimple was a cheery, 
 motherly old soul who could do 
 everything that any mortal woman 
 ever did, and who asked for no 
 greater joy than to take a stray 
 young married couple — or, for the 
 matter of that, a dozen stray young 
 married couples — under her protecting wings 
 and "do" for them with maternal solicitude; the 
 terms and everything else were satisfactory, and 
 so there was nothing for the two young Browns 
 to do but to furnish their new home and go to 
 housekeeping. 
 
 Now this is, or ought to be, the most delight- 
 ful of occupations for a young married couple. 
 I have always been sorry for Adam and Eve that, 
 in their first happy innocence, they started life in 
 a ready furnished establishment. I suppose they 
 had some fun naming the animals; but it was a 
 poor substitute for the happiness of buying your 
 own furniture. 
 
 But I am sorry to say the two young Browns 
 did not enjoy this happiness any more than our 
 first parents did, for a similar reason — they did 
 not know enough. Home is an acquired taste. 
 If you once acquire it, you will never want to do 
 
 '3 
 
^ Ctje 2liinat»ay BroiDns. ^ 
 
 without it. But if you never have acquired it — 
 if you have never known what it is to have a 
 Home — why, then, the furnishing forth of your 
 new house means no more to you than the obH- 
 gatory purchase of so many tables and chairs, and 
 pots and pans; and you put no more sentiment 
 into it than you do into buying a ton of hard coal 
 or a pair of suspenders — and you lose one of the 
 sweetest delights of human hfe. 
 
 That was the case of the young Browns. 
 
 It was tables and chairs to them, pots and 
 
 pans; nothing more, nothing less. They bought 
 a lot of very pretty things, and they put them 
 around the house in perfectly proper places ; but 
 it never once occurred to them' that there was any 
 fun in it. Mrs. Wimple enjoyed it. She shoved 
 the new furniture all about, and tried each thing 
 in a dozen different spots; but no matter where 
 she put it, the Browns were equally satisfied. They 
 always said it would " do ; " and, after awhile, 
 Mrs. AVimple gave it up as a bad job. She could 
 n't get these young people interested in their home ; 
 and so she went off to her kitchen and did such 
 wonders in the way of cookery that day after day 
 
■^ Clje HitnatDay Brorous. "^ 
 
 slipped by and they never thought of going into 
 the city and getting a stock of servants to supplant 
 her. Why should they ? Mrs. Wimple, all by her- 
 self, could ■ have supplanted any stock of servants 
 that was ever got together. 
 
 And yet, in spite of Mrs. Wimple and their 
 lesser advantages, such as health and wealth, and 
 youth and love, and a pretty house and pretty 
 things about them, and days of perfect Summer 
 weather in that sweet and gracious hillside coun- 
 try, something of the dull disappointment of their 
 honey-moon lingered about the life of these new- 
 wed Browns. 
 
 For one thing, they were lonely — though 
 they did n't know it. Strange as it may seem, 
 their neighbors in the pretty little town followed 
 a curious suburban fashion, and fled, at the ap- 
 proach of Summer, to noisy, crowded, comfortless 
 hotels in what they called the " real country " — 
 which is really the Country of Canned Vegeta- 
 bles. When the flowers in their gardens had given 
 over blooming, they would come back; but just at 
 present they were scattered over the face of the 
 earth. And so nobody came to call on the new 
 residents. Even Mr. Grinridge spent most of his 
 time at Manhattan Beach. 
 
 But it was more than mere loneliness that 
 troubled them. They had n't the first idea, either 
 of them, what to do with their lives. Paul began 
 to understand, vaguely, what Ernest had meant by 
 speaking of the necessity of cultivating tastes. He 
 certainly was better off than Ernest had been, in 
 that he had a taste for Adele ; but that taste ap- 
 peared to be cultivated to its fullest extent, and 
 still he seemed to have a good deal of time on 
 
^ Cbe Runaway Brorons. ^ 
 
 his hands. And Adele was in exactly the same 
 plight. She loved Paul with her whole heart; 
 but, as time passed on, she became more and more 
 conscious of some facts that she had often taught 
 the children at Madame Chambray's, without 
 thinking much of their significance, namely — 
 that there were sixty minutes in an hour and 
 twenty-four hours in a day. 
 
 At last they got to talking frankly about it. 
 They made up their minds that they needed 
 occupation ; but what occupation ? Traveling ? 
 No; they were quite agreed that they never 
 wanted to see a hotel again. Gardening? Botan- 
 izing ? Music ? Painting ? Improvement of the 
 Mind? They could n't find that they had the 
 faintest glimmer of taste for any one of these 
 things. Finally they hit upon Reading — and 
 the idea came to them with all the force of an 
 original discovery. 
 
 Now, you must remember that these two 
 young people had been brought up in the gloomy 
 hollows of two highly respectable Philadelphia 
 "squares"; that their young lives had been all work 
 and no play, and that they knew about as much 
 of books as they did of balloons. Of course, Adele 
 had read such fiction as Aunt Chambray had 
 thought suitable for a young lady in her position, 
 which was mostly of a religious but depressing 
 cast; and Ernest, in the exercise of his educa- 
 tional duties, had put Paul through Shakspere, 
 Scott, Dickens and Thackeray, just as he had put 
 him through Euchd and Algebra. But, as he had 
 selected Paul's eleventh year for this course in 
 English literature, Paul may be said to have 
 bolted his literary diet without absorbing much of 
 
■^ Ct?e Kimaiwav Broirns. "^ 
 
 its vital essence. As to a modern novel, neither of 
 them knew what it was. So, when they thought 
 about it, it became quite clear to their minds that 
 they ought to get their literature up to date. 
 
 They did it, and the way they did it was 
 this ; Paul went to New York, to the book-stand in 
 the ferry-house, and bought all the latest novels, 
 on the recommendation of the newsdealer. They 
 were "mostly in blue and yellow paper covers, and 
 cost from twenty-five to seventy-five cents a-piece, 
 though several of them had board covers and 
 cost a dollar. Paul bought something like se\'en 
 dozen of these gems of literature, and the book- 
 stand man looked dazed for the rest of the day. 
 
 Later on, it was Paul and Adele who looked 
 dazed. They spent their unoccupied time — 
 which is to say, all the time when they were not 
 eating or sleeping — in reading those books. 
 Paul read them aloud and Adele listened. The 
 books lasted two weeks. They were two weeks 
 of murder, suicide, assassination, burglary, arson, 
 tiger-killing, lion-hunting, elephant-shooting, car- 
 nage, bloodshed, torture, embezzlement, heroism, 
 sacrifice, agony, devotion, death, disease, mutila- 
 tion, misery, vice, crime, love, glory, and every- 
 thing else . that goes to spice twenty-five-cent 
 literature. 
 
 "My Gracious!" said Adele, when the last 
 book, a bright pink one, had reeled to a gory 
 close. "And we thought life was stupid!" 
 
 Of course they did n't believe it all; for it 
 was too good to be true. But then, if you only 
 
y Ctje 2Junat»aY Srotrns. ^ 
 
 believed the smallest part of it, what a world of 
 sport and adventure, of fire and life it was, to 
 charm these two children of Philadelphian re- 
 spectabihty ! And there certainly was some basis 
 for it all. 
 
 In a spirit of scientific inquiry, Paul got 
 hold of some New York papers — he had never 
 read anything but Philadelphia journals before — 
 and he caught a glimpse of life's liveliness- that 
 fairly astonished him. 
 
 "Why," he said to Adele, "the simple fact 
 is, it 's all there; but we are not in it." 
 
 How to get in it ? That was the question. 
 Here, just outside their very gate, was a great 
 world of action and event going on its entertain- 
 ing way, while their life was as humdrum as an 
 unbroken routine could make it. To-day, Mrs. 
 Wimple gave, them wheat-cakes for breakfast. 
 To-morrow she gave them oat-meal. Both were 
 excellent; and they had plenty of cream; but 
 sometimes they thought they would have liked a 
 little cold poison for a change. 
 
 They thought about it and they talked about 
 it in the drowsy Summer afternoons and in the 
 wakeful Summer evenings when you could ift feel 
 like going to sleep any more than the nameless 
 insects that sawed and filed and buzzed and 
 chirped in the dark depths of the foliage. And 
 by-and-by the Plan was bom. 
 
 " Why ? " said Paul, as he stalked up and 
 down the dainty little sitting-room, his hands in 
 his pockets and a scowl on his brow, "why does 
 nothing ever happen to us ? Because we 're not 
 where anything happens. We 're not among the 
 kind of people things happen to. We are n't 
 
 IS 
 
acquainted with anybody, for the matter of that; 
 but we never should get to know that sort of 
 people, any way. Fancy, Mr. Grinridge saying, 
 'Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Mr. 
 Smith, who killed ninety-seven Zulus in one morn- 
 ing ; ' or, ' This is Mr. Jones, the celebrated duelist 
 and murderer.' I tell you, Adele, we 're not in 
 the right society for adventure ! " 
 
 "But how are we to get into it, Paul, 
 dear?" asked Adele piteously. 
 
 "We 've got to go after it," said Paul. 
 "These people are n't coming to us. They must 
 find us as stupid as we find ourselves." He 
 picked up the morning paper. " Look here ! 'A 
 Drummer Elopes with an Heiress,' 'A Peddler 
 Saves Three Children from Drowning,' ' Narrow 
 Escape of a Lightning-rod Agent,' 'A Stage- 
 Driver Kills a Robber,' 'Curious Adventure of a 
 Commercial Traveler,' 'A Tramp's Lucky Piece 
 of Pie.' There ! those are the people who see 
 life — the people who move around in the world 
 and get among their fellow-men. Things happen 
 to them." 
 
 19 
 
^ CF?e Hunatpay Brotrns. ^ 
 
 "But, Paul," objected Adele, "we can't be 
 drummers and stage-drivers and tramps and all 
 that. You would n't like that sort of thing, I 
 am sure." 
 
 " What 's the reason I can't ? " cried Paul. 
 "Why can't I be a drummer?" 
 
 "Because you can't drum," said Adele. 
 
 "That 's it," said Paul, excitedly. "We live 
 so much to ourselves that we don't know even 
 our fellow-men. Why, you poor, dear child, a 
 drummer is a commercial traveler ! He drums 
 up trade, don't you know ? " 
 
 "But you have n't any trade to drum up, 
 dear,'' said Adele, dubiously. 
 
 "That 's just what 's the matter!" said Paul. 
 "We 've got a lot of money and an awfully 
 respectable bringing-up, and a comfortable home 
 and Mrs. Wimple and three meals a day, and 
 nothing will ever happen to us till we die of 
 dullness striking into a vital part. Now, suppose 
 we had n't got the money, and had to go out 
 into the world. We might not have so good a 
 time, all the time; but we 'd have more different 
 kinds of times than we 're e\'er likely to have the 
 way we 're living now. And almost any different 
 kind of a time would be a relief, would n't 
 it, dear?" 
 
 "Paul," said AdMe, solemnly, laying down 
 her embroidery pattern on which, for three weary 
 weeks, she had tried to make herself beheve she 
 was working; "yesterday, do you know, I nearly 
 fell down the front steps, and I thought I was 
 going to sprain my ankle; and when I caught 
 myself and did n't fall, I was really — Paul, it 
 sounds wicked — but I was really almost sorry. 
 
It would have been such a change, don't you 
 understand ? " 
 
 "I do," said Paul "Now, Adele, you 
 hsten to me!" 
 
 And he sat down beside her and whispered 
 in her ear. 
 
 One week after that day, Mrs. Wimple, 
 
 coming downstairs in the morning, found on the 
 
 kitchen table, two letters, one 
 
 addressed to her and one to 
 
 Mr. Grinridge. Her letter 
 
 told her simply that her 
 
 employers had gone away 
 
 and would not return for a 
 
 year. She was to care for 
 
 the house in all respects as 
 
 if they were there. Mr. 
 
 Grinridge would furnish her 
 
 with money for her wages 
 
 and current expenses, upon 
 
 receipt of the letter addressed 
 
 to him. 
 
 She went upstairs, and made the toiu of all 
 
 the rooms. Save for Mrs. Wimple, the house of 
 
 the Browns was as empty and desolate as though 
 
 it had never been the home of a happy young 
 
 married couple. 
 
 It was just six o'clock in the morning. Mrs. 
 Wimple heard the .up-train choo-choo-ing off 
 into the distance. 
 
 The BrowlTs had run away. 
 
Chapter III. 
 
 gAVE we forgotten anything?" asked Mrs. 
 Brown of Mr. Brown, as they hurried, 
 in a nervous, frightened way through 
 the soft blue-gray mist of the Summer 
 morning, making for the raikoad sta- 
 tion. 
 Paul Brown thought for a moment. 
 "I don't think we have forgotten a solitary 
 thing,'' said he. 
 
 It would have been strange if they had. For 
 one week they had done nothing but plan the 
 details of their elopement. They had thought it 
 all out, just as if it had been a novel of which 
 they were to be the hero and heroine. For one 
 year, one happy, free, irresponsible year, they 
 were to drop out of their own private little world 
 of respectability and dullness into that great out- 
 side world where things "happen" to people. 
 For that year they had made every provision that 
 could suggest itself to two youthful imaginations, 
 stimulated by a diet of twenty-five and fifty-cent 
 novels. Like the two little shy, secretive squirrels 
 that they were, they had planned with a fore- 
 thought that would have astonished people better 
 skilled in the ways of the world. They had 
 neglected nothing to insure absolute fi-eedom and 
 absolute privacy for twelve good months. They 
 
^ Ctje Himair>aY Svorons. ^ 
 
 had left no clue to their destination; for their des- 
 tination was to be determined by chance. They 
 were prepared for all possible contingencies which 
 might call for the use of money, for Paul had 
 picked out half a dozen country banks, con- 
 veniently situated in the Middle and New England 
 States, in each of which he had made a deposit in 
 the name of an imaginary Mr. Parkins, to be 
 drawn against by an imaginary son of the imagin- 
 ary Mr. Parkins, an invalid traveling for his health, 
 for whom Paul had constructed a very natural- 
 looking signature. And if, by chance, the daily 
 papers got hold of the mysterious disappearance 
 of Mr. Brown, the young Philadelphia millionaire, 
 and his wife, there would be nothing to connect 
 that sensation with the appearance of a gentleman 
 calling himself Mr. Parkins, at the counter of the 
 Lonetown and Stray Corners Bank, for the purpose 
 of drawing a draft to meet his traveling expenses. 
 
 Yes, it was all very well thought out, and 
 nothing had been forgotten; but after they had 
 passed through the old town, with its comfortable 
 whitewashed houses, all asleep, except for the just- 
 opening morning-glories, and, mounting the em- 
 bankment on which the station stood, looked back 
 at the red chimney of their own house, just top- 
 ping the young trees, there was a queer little feel- 
 ing at the two hearts of the Runaway Browns that 
 they did not understand at all ; but which any one 
 who had ever had a home could have told them 
 was the first beginning of homesickness. You see, 
 in a certain sense, they kad forgotten something. 
 
 But, as the six o'clock train came up, they 
 got on it, and it went choo-choo-ing off with them, 
 and they had no idea that what was troubling 
 
them internally was anything more than the natural 
 result of starting off without breakfast. 
 
 They had procured tickets for the Junction, 
 where the main line crossed their little branch 
 road and led off into the great wide world. They 
 reached the Junction at seven o'clock, and took 
 their first taste of the fare of the adventurous. In 
 a small, dark, dirty eating - house, opposite the 
 station, each of the Browns consumed two musty 
 eggs, a slab of dead oatmeal and a saleratus- 
 infected biscuit, and drank a cup of something 
 which tasted brown and called itself coffee. 
 
 " Well, we ate it," said Paul, when they 
 came out. 
 
 " Yes, dear," said Adele ; " and it seems to 
 me that we ate a good deal of smell, too." 
 
 They bought no tickets at the Junction. 
 They had dei'ided to take the first train going 
 north, and to pay their fare to the first station at 
 which it would stop outside of the state. But the 
 first train north did not seem to be in a hurry to 
 
■^ Clje HmianjaY Broi»iis. ^ 
 
 come along ; and so they walked up and down the 
 platform and looked at the other people. 
 
 " Paul," said Adele, suddenly, in a hurried 
 whisper, " I think we 've found them." 
 
 " Found whom, dear? " inquired her stai'tled 
 husband. 
 
 " The people things happen to," whispered 
 Adele. 
 
 She pointed to a group of nine persons hud- 
 
 dled together at the extreme end of the platform. 
 They certainly did look, not only like people to 
 whom things might happen, in general, but like 
 people to whom something in particular had very 
 recently happened — something in the nature of a 
 moral earthquake, for instance. They all wore ex- 
 pressions of discontent and perplexity, except one, 
 a tall, lank, active man with an enormous black 
 moustache, who seemed to be talking to the other 
 eight in an encouraging, hopeful, vehement sort of 
 way which produced absolutely no impression upon 
 any one of them. The tall man was the sort of 
 man that one would naturally take — or avoid — 
 
^ C{)e HunaiDay Brotcns. ^ 
 
 for a particularly pushing specimen of lightning- 
 rod agent or tree-peddler; but the personal ap- 
 pearance of his companions puzzled the Browns 
 as much as it interested them. There were four 
 ladies and four gentlemen. The gentlemen were 
 all clean-shaven — so clean shaven that their four 
 chins were positively blue. They were a fat 
 middle-aged man, a slim young man, a man who 
 looked as if he might be thirty, and a long gaunt 
 man with an extremely prominent nose, set shghtly 
 askew in a face that was curiously crooked, and 
 yet curiously agreeable. No human being could 
 ha\'t' guessed this last man's age within ten years. 
 Of the ladies, one was stout and mature ; of the 
 other three, two were comparatively and one posi- 
 tively young, and all decidedly good-looking. In 
 fact, the youngest one, who wore her curly hair 
 quite short, was a very pretty girl. 
 
 The clothes of these eight people were calcu- 
 lated to attract attention. They were both hght 
 and loud. In the matter of trousers the men were 
 particularly unconventional, and -the hats of the 
 ladies astonished Adele. But even had they worn 
 the quietest of clothes, there was something about 
 those people that, in a strange indescribable way, 
 set them apart from their fellow-creatures. It was 
 not only the men's blue chins; it was not that the 
 hair of all the four ladies had a singularly unlife- 
 like appearance, like the tow wigs that dolls wear; 
 nor was it even that they all had an odd dryness 
 and dullness of complexion that made one think 
 of wax fruit in certain stages of deterioration — it 
 was not one of these things, it was not all of them; 
 but it A'i'as something which seemed to express 
 itself in their whole bearing and carriage, as if a 
 z6 
 
^ ^tje HunainaY Broiwns. V 
 
 curious sort of self-consciousness was coming out 
 like a rash all over them. 
 
 " Did you ever see real actors off the stage ? " 
 asked Adele, under her breath. 
 
 " No," said Paul ; " but I should think those 
 people must be actors. If they are n't, what else 
 can they be ? " 
 
 " We might walk up and down the plat- 
 form," said Adele, slipping her hand into Paul's 
 arm. 
 
 They both of them felt a funny little thrill of 
 half-guilty, half-delightful excitement. It was sim- 
 ply human nature. There is no human being born 
 without the longing to "get behind the scenes": 
 to see the actor in his daily life : to know the real 
 side of that queer world of unreality. Those who 
 have been there are generally very willing to 
 testify that the people who sit in front of the 
 curtain get the most for their money, but nobody 
 ever believes them. 
 
 Paul and Adfele walked to the end of the 
 platform. There they found that the interesting 
 strangers were standing in front of the open door 
 of the express office. Just outside the door was a 
 pile of trunks of unfamiliar design, several of which 
 were marked in large letters : " Runyon's Dramatic 
 Aggregation." 
 
 Adele pressed Paul's arm. 
 
 " They are,'' she said. 
 
 The man with the big moustache was still 
 talking energetically. 
 
 " I tell you, ladies and gentlemen," he said, 
 " it 's all right. You know me, don't you? " 
 
 " Runyon," said the tall man with the crooked 
 nose, who seemed to speak for the rest of the 
 
V Ctje Kunamay Brotons. V 
 
 party, " we know you too blooming well. That 's 
 what 's the matter.'' 
 
 The man with the crooked nose was un- 
 doubtedly an EngKshman. He had a high sing- 
 song voice that was as odd as his face. 
 
 " Well, then," said Mr. Runyon, grasping 
 him by the lapel of his coat, with eager friendli- 
 ness, " if you know me, you know I 've got out 
 of worse holes than this." 
 
 '■ May be you 'ave, Runyon," said the man 
 with the crooked nose; "may be you 'ave not. 
 We cast no aspersions on your managerial skill. 
 But on this occasion, dear boy, you 'ave our 
 ultipomatum. Breakfeast, dear boy, breakfast ! 
 Or I 'ock my fiddle, and back goes the Aggre- 
 gation to the metropohs." 
 
 " x\ow, look here, Shngsby," pleaded Mr. 
 Runyon, earnestly, "be a rational man and control 
 
 your stummick until we get to Tunkawanna. As 
 soon as I get hold of these confounded trunks, 
 we '11 start ; and when we get to Tunkawanna, 
 I '11 blow you all off to the finest breakfast you 
 ever had in your lives. See ? " 
 
Mr. Slingsby lifted from the platform a well- 
 worn violin case, and, opening it, he drew forth 
 the instrument. 
 
 " This has taken me 'ome before this," he 
 said. " It takes this Aggregation 'ome now, 
 unless you produce for the breakfast." 
 
 The Browns were walking back to the other 
 end of the platform. 
 
 " Paul," said Adele, in a shocked voice, 
 " those people ought to have their breakfast. 
 Think how we ielt; and we only had to wait an 
 hour." 
 
 "Yes, my dear," said Paul; "but I can't 
 go and offer them breakfast, you know. It might 
 wound their pride." 
 
 "No, dear," said Adele; "but could n't 
 you go and offer to lend something to the — the 
 man who has them in charge ? I 'm sure he 's 
 in a shocking position. Perhaps he 's lost his 
 pocket-book." 
 
 " Well," said Paul, rather dubiously, ' I 
 might go and see what 's the matter." 
 
 " Go now," said Adele, quickly. " See, he 's 
 left the others. I 'm sure he 's going to do 
 something desperate." 
 
 Paul hurried off to Mr. Runyon, and caught 
 him just as he was leaving the platform. A 
 minute after that, Adele noticed that Mr. Runyon 
 had Paul by the lapel of his coat and was talk- 
 ing to him as earnestly as he had been talking 
 to Mr. Shngsby. After a few minutes, Paul came 
 back to Adele. His manner betrayed some ex- 
 citement. 
 
 " It 's a most outrageous case of persecu- 
 tion," said Paul. " This man Runyon has in ■ 
 
 29 
 
vested all the savings of his lifetime in taking this 
 company out on a tour of the provinces." 
 
 " The provinces ? " said Adele. '' What a're 
 the provinces ? " 
 
 " ^Vell," said Paul, doubtfully, " so far, they 
 seem to be New Jersey. Anyway, that 's what 
 he said. And he paid a man in New York ten 
 thousand dollars for a play — it 's called ' A Per- 
 fect Pet ' — and he had a partner who was going 
 to put up half the money, and the partner 's run 
 away and left him in the lurch; and now he 's 
 got so far on his trip, and some brute of a hotel- 
 keeper is suing him for some debts that his 
 partner contracted when he was here once before; 
 and the man 's got a judgement on his trunks for 
 $37.15. And they had nothing but paper in 
 the house last night." 
 
 " What does that mean ? " asked Adele. 
 
 " I don't know," said Paul; "but it must be 
 something in the nature of notes. He did n't 
 get any cash, anyway. And now he says the 
 play is on the very verge of a great success, 
 and they 're certain to make a lot of money at 
 Tunkawanna to-night, if he can only get his 
 
^ Ct?e HuiiaittaY Srorons. "^ 
 
 trunks and get there. He says that of course he 
 could stay here and fight the lawsuit, and he can 
 get plenty of money from New York, but that 
 will take time; and if he misses his engagement 
 to-night, his whole tour will be ruined and he '11 
 lose all the money he has invested. I think he 
 said he put $39,000 into the play." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Adele ; " it 's the meanest 
 thing I ever heard of ! Could n't you go to the 
 hotel-keeper and explain it to him ? " 
 
 " I am afraid that would n't do much good," 
 said Paul ; " but I could lend Mr. Runyon the 
 money he needs to pay the judgement. I pro- 
 posed that to him ; of course it was a very delicate 
 matter — but he was very nice about it. He'll 
 give me his note, of course. And then — " 
 
 " Well ? " queried Adele. 
 
 " Why, he says," continued Paul, " that it 's 
 a splendid opening for a partner." 
 
 " For a partner ? " queried Adele, in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " Yes," said Paul, with heightened color ; 
 " for a partner." 
 
 " But, Paul, dear," said Adele, dubiously, 
 " is n't it just like that other business you wanted 
 to go into — fifing ? drumming ? — What did you 
 call it? How can you be an actor's partner, 
 if you are n't an actor yourself? " 
 
 " But, my dear," said Paul, " he 's not an 
 actor, he 's a manager; don't you see? " 
 
 '' Yes," said Adele, " but you are n't. How 
 can you be partners with a manager ? " 
 
 "Why," said Paul, "don't you understand? 
 It 's just like my business with the syndicate. 
 I know all about my patents, and I put up that 
 
^ tEbe Himamay Bromns. '^ 
 
 knowledge against their capital. Now this is a 
 precisely similar case. This man knows all about 
 the business of managing, and he puts up that 
 against my capital. He 's been thirty years in the 
 business. Now he puts up all that experience 
 against my capital." 
 
 "But do you think that 's quite fair to the 
 man, Paul ? " asked Adele, looking a little wor- 
 ried, "if he puts up all those thirty years' experi- 
 ence and you put up only $37.15 ?" 
 
 "Oh, well," said Paul, with some embarrass- 
 ment, "it will be a little more than that. He says 
 they '11 probably need a little ready money to 
 start with. And then, you know, we need n't 
 consider it from a business point of view. And, 
 of course, we can dissolve partnership whenever 
 we 're tired of traveling with them." 
 
 Adele opened her eyes wide. 
 
 "Oh, are we going to travel with them?" 
 
 " Why, of course, that 's the idea," said Paul. 
 
 "What, with all those — ladies?" asked 
 Adele. 
 
 "Why," said Paul, "don't you like them?" 
 
 " Oh, ye-es," said Adele, in a doubtful tone. 
 
She looked hard at the four ladies for a moment. 
 Then her face brightened. 
 
 " I suppose, Paul," she said, " that if they 
 make a great deal of money at Tunk — what 's 
 its name ? — they '11 buy this year's hats ? " 
 
 "Why, yes; I suppose so," said Paul. "Are 
 n't those this year's hats ? " 
 
 "No, dear," rephed Adele, very decidedly, 
 "they 're not — not the least Httle bit in the world. 
 And I 'm sure," she added reflectively, "I don't 
 know what year's hats they are" 
 
 "Well, dear, what do you say?" demanded 
 Paul. 
 
 Adele reflected for a moment. 
 
 "We wanted to have something happen," 
 she said. "Well, Paul, I think we 've got oui- 
 chance." 
 
 33 
 
Chapter IV. 
 
 HEN the train rolled into Tunkawanna 
 that afternoon at five o'clock, the 
 Browns felt as if their new friends 
 were very old friends indeed. Nine 
 friendher people they had never met 
 — excepting Mr. Runyon, who traveled 
 all the way in the baggage car; and, though 
 he did not state his reason for this somewhat 
 peculiar proceeding, he left them in such a frank, 
 simple, unaffected manner that they saw clearly 
 that he did not wish to keep them on formal 
 terms. 
 
 As for the members of the company, it did 
 not require more than ten minutes to establish an 
 acquaintance with them. Mr. Slingsby not only 
 introduced them all, but in a private chat with 
 the Browns supplied various scraps of interesting 
 information. "They are n't a nasty crowd to 
 travel with," he said. "In my time, my boy, I 've 
 traveled with many a nastier. Delancey — that 's 
 that good-looking, pleasant, blue-eyed jackass in 
 the third seat down on the other side of the car 
 — he 's playing our lead. He can't act — but 
 then, my boy, how many leading men can act ? 
 That fat man with him is named Weegan. He 
 comes from Peoria, and he thinks he 's a low 
 comedian. At 'ome — in England, you know — 
 
when I was a youngster, they used such people 
 for clowns in pantomimes. But we 've got to take 
 the world as we find it." 
 
 " Which do you mean ? " inquired Paul ; " the 
 fat man with the diamond pin in his neck-tie ? " 
 
 " Great Heavens, sir ! " cried Mr. Slingsby, in 
 a tone of withering contempt; ^^that man?" And 
 he pointed to the stouter of the two stout men, 
 who was placidly nodding off to sleep. "Is it 
 possible — is it possible that you don't know 
 Mingles?" 
 
 '' I — I — " stammered Paul. 
 
 "No, my boy," said Mr. Slingsby, in a re- 
 signed singsong; "you don't know Mingles, and 
 you don't know Me. But if it was n't for Min- 
 gles, sir, I would n't be in this blooming barn- 
 storming company. No, sir; my self-respect 
 would n't permit It. There are just two actors in 
 this company, my boy, and Mingies is the other 
 one." Here Mr. Slingsby observed a troubled 
 look on Paul's face, and hastened to add : "Un- 
 derstand me, my dear boy, it 's an elegant com- 
 pany for the road. I am talking simply from 
 an artistic standpoint. Now the ladies" he went 
 on hurriedly, "the ladies are uncommonly strong. 
 There are Miss La Tourette and Miss Obrian just 
 in front of us," he whispered. "Young things; 
 and they can't act much, — but who does act 
 much nowadays, my boy ? That lady with the 
 short hair is Miss Georgie Mingies. She has n't 
 her father's talent, but she 's a fine girl — a fine 
 girl, sir." 
 
 "And who,'' asked Adele timidly, "is the 
 elderly lady in the small hat ? " 
 
 Mr. Slingsby started in genuine surprise. 
 
 3S 
 
^ Cf}e 2tunaa>av Browns. ^ 
 
 " Bless my soul ! " he exclaimed, "where did you 
 two people come from?" 
 
 " Philadelphia," said Adele. 
 
 "Ah!" said Mr. Slingsby. "That lady is 
 Mrs. Sophia Wilks, formerly of Covent Garden, 
 London. Everybody on this broad continent, 
 except yourselves, my children, knows her as Aunt 
 Sophy. When I first knew that lady, sir, she was 
 one of the most charming soubrettes in the profes- 
 sion, and the most beautiful woman on the English 
 stage. That was thirty years ago, my boy. Have 
 you a cigar about you ? " 
 
 Mr. Slingsby got a cigar and went into the 
 smoking-car to smoke it. Then Mrs. Wilks 
 lurched across the aisle and sat down in the seat 
 opposite the Browns. 
 
 "My dears," she said affably, "don't believe 
 
 one word that that man SUngsby tells you. He 's 
 a very nice fellow, but he '11 never be an actor if 
 he hves to be as old as Methusalem. I don't say 
 he can't play the viohn; but as for acting, why, 
 bless your souls, it ain't in the man." 
 
 "I don't understand it," said Paul to Adele, 
 3<> 
 
« 
 in a moment when they happened to be left 
 alone; "it seems none of them can act except 
 Mr. Mingies." 
 
 "And he 's asleep," said Adele. 
 
 It had begun to rain when they reached 
 Tunkawanna. Perhaps this is not a very accurate 
 way of describing what had happened to the 
 weather; for, such a sturdy, vigorous, well-estab- 
 lished rain must have had its beginning several 
 states off. It poured in great heavy sheets, 
 through which they dimly descried an uninterest- 
 ing town of low, brick houses, all very dirty and 
 dingy with the smoke from the collieries, whose 
 tall chimneys, high up on the neighboring hills, 
 shot up flashes of deep red flames. The town of 
 Tunkawanna, in truth, was little more than one 
 dull, long, mean street, stragghng along the edge 
 of the broad river, whose further shore was lost in 
 the wet darkness, out of which came the sound of 
 its swift rushing, clearly to be heard above the 
 roar of the rain. 
 
 Adele slipped her hand into Paul's arm as 
 she gazed down the dismal street. 
 
 "Oh, Paul," she whispered; "how awfully 
 gloomy ! " 
 
 "Gloomy it is," said Mr. Slingsby, just be- 
 hind them; "and not an umbrella in the 'ole 
 crowd." 
 
 « Runyon, my dear," said Aunt Sophia cheer- 
 fully to her manager, "you are standing treat to 
 umbrellas, I suppose, as usual ? " 
 
 Adele pressed Paul's arm, and he spoke up 
 hastily. 
 
"^ tEl;e KunaiDay Bromns. "^^ 
 
 " Perhaps it would n't be convenient — ," he 
 began,. "I mean — if Mr. Runyon-will permit me 
 — I '11 be very happy — " 
 
 " To set up the umbrellas ? " broke in Mr. 
 Shngsby. "Ah, my boy, I knew you were a 
 thoroughbred from the moment I laid my eyes on 
 vou. Come with me, and I '11 show you an 
 elegant establishment." 
 
 The two gentlemen dashed through the rain 
 across the street to a little shop where a very little 
 Hebrew boy, whose head hardly came across the 
 counter, opened his dark and dreamy eyes aston- 
 ishingly wide at receiving an order for eleven 
 umbrellas. Then he gasped once and recovered 
 his self-possession. 
 
 "Make it one dozen," he said, "un' I gif 
 you a discount." 
 
 "Take him," said Mr. Slingsby, nudging 
 Paul; "the extra one may come in 'andy.'' 
 
 They returned to the station, and, leaving 
 
 3S 
 
V Cl)e KuiiamaY Broirtis. "t*" 
 
 Mr. Runyon to superintend the men who were 
 to take the trunks to the theatre, the Aggregation 
 started up the street, Aunt Sophy piloting the two 
 Browns. 
 
 " I have played in this town eleven times," 
 said she ; " and every time it rained, except one, 
 and then there was an earthquake." 
 
 The gentlemen of the company had dropped 
 behind. From time to time Adele missed the 
 sound of their feet. This puzzled her a little, and 
 after a while she looked over her shoulders. She 
 observed that, although the four gentlemen had 
 started with five umbrellas, they were now clustered 
 under one. And even as she looked she saw 
 them suddenly deviate from the straight path and 
 disappear into one of the numerous liquor-saloons 
 scattered along the way. When they came out 
 they had no umbrella at all. But they wiped 
 their mouths and turned up their coat-collars, and 
 trudged cheerily along in the rain. 
 
 Thus they reached the Tunkawanna hotel, 
 which was quite the smallest, darkest and dirtiest 
 hostelry that Paul and Adele had ever seen. 
 Mr. Runyon had already passed them, seated on 
 his truck-load of trunks, and at the door of the 
 hotel they found him earnestly conversing with 
 the proprietor. He had the proprietor by the 
 lapel of his coat, and the proprietor was shak- 
 ing his head in a stubborn sort of way. As soon 
 as Mr. Runyon saw Paul, he huniedly drew him 
 aside. 
 
 " This is a peculiar sort of place, Mr. 
 Brown," said he, " and they 've got a sort of 
 invariable rule about getting their pay in advance. 
 I am an old friend of the proprietor's, but he says 
 
 39 
 
"^ Cbe KunarDay BrotDiis. "^ 
 
 he can't break it even for me. You understand ? 
 I told him you 'd see to it as soon as you came." 
 
 " Oh, certainly," said Paul. 
 
 Paul went into the office, where he paid the 
 hotel proprietor $8.25. The proprietor swept it 
 into his till and shut the drawer with a loud slam. 
 As the lock snapped, he whistled a brief and 
 peculiar melody which Paul vaguely remembered 
 having heard as a boy. 
 
 " What is that tune ? " he inquired of the 
 proprietor, for there seemed to him something 
 peculiarly suggestive about it. 
 
 " ' Over the fence is out,' " said the pro- 
 prietor. 
 
Chapter V. 
 
 EAR me, Paul ! " said Adele, " I 
 never should know this was a 
 theatre if it was n't for the smell." 
 They had eaten a curious 
 a,nd unpleasant meal at the Tunka- 
 wanna hotel, and now they sat 
 in a curious and unpleasant little den at the ex- 
 treme rear of the Tunkawanna Opera House. 
 They hardly knew how they had got there. They 
 had gone through the stage door with a little 
 shiver of dehghtful expectation. Then they had 
 shivered in another way as cold draughts had 
 poured on them from every direction. They had 
 felt their way through dark passages, and climbed 
 up rickety stairs. They had rubbed against walls 
 greasy with the touch of many hands, dusty walls, 
 and walls coated thick with whitewash. Then, 
 with a consciousness of being smirched and di- 
 sheveled, they had emerged upon the stage of the 
 theatre, a barn-like place where three or four 
 men were clumsily arranging tall wooden frames 
 covered with canvas. The canvas was splashed 
 with great daubs of pale dull color. 
 
 " Is it really scenery, Paul ? " asked Adele. 
 " I am afraid it is," said Paul, vaguely dis- 
 cerning in the dull blots and splotches something 
 that seemed like a dim caricature of trees and 
 
 4' 
 
^ ^ift ^luiamay Brorons. ^ 
 
 foliage. But, oh ! how disappointing it all was ! 
 How bare, how cold, how lifeless, how dismal ! 
 All the light came from a row of gas jets on the 
 top of what looked like an overgrown music 
 stand, from which a long rubber pipe trailed off 
 into the darkness. Beyond this line of light they 
 saw a gloomy cavern with rows of empty seats, 
 the backs of which were staring at them in an 
 unfriendly way. 
 
 It did not seem possible that they had sat 
 in just such seats and gazed, enraptured, on 
 scenes of glowing color and graceful form. They 
 both felt for the moment as if they had been 
 cheated out of every dollar they had ever paid 
 for going to theatres. 
 
 Then Mr. Runyon saw them, and called 
 them up to be introduced to the proprietor of the 
 Opera House. 
 
 He was a very fat Jewish gentleman, Mr. 
 Jacobs, who had little attention to pay to them, 
 being too much employed in using unkind lan- 
 guage to the stage-hands. They caught a few 
 glimpses of the members of the company, who 
 had assorted themselves among various small 
 dens at the back of the stage, from which they 
 occasionally came forth in progressive stages' of 
 disfigurement, their faces smeared with paint and 
 spotted with patches of impossible hair. It was 
 all a dreary nightmare, the more ghastly that it 
 seemed extremely business-like, and that the two 
 lonely Browns had no place in it. It was really 
 a relief when Mr. Runyon, remembering their 
 existence, hustled them into a bleak little room 
 overhanging the rushing river, which he said was 
 the greenroom. 
 
"You 'd better sit here a bit," he said, "and 
 be out of the way." 
 
 They could n't help feeling that they were 
 very much in the way. 
 
 " Paul, dear," said Adele, " sn far, I don't 
 think the theatrical business is very nice, do 
 you? " 
 
 Paul was looking out of the window over 
 the river. 
 
 " It is n't very cheerful," he replied. " But, 
 Good Gracious, Adele ! Look here ! " 
 
 Adele joined him at the window and peered 
 with him into the darkness below. 
 
 " Why, Paul," she said, " it 's Mr. Shngsby. 
 What is he doing ? " 
 
 It was Mr. Slingsby. He was standing 
 Just under the window, on the stone wall that 
 curbed the river bank, and he was carefully 
 examining the fastening of a rowboat that was 
 tossing restlessly on the swollen breast of the 
 stream. After a moment or two he was joined 
 by Mr. Mingies and a boy, who carried a trunk 
 
between them. They exchanged a few words in a 
 ■ whisper, and then they lowered the trunk into the 
 boat, and the boy rowed off into the darkness. 
 In a few minutes he returned, but the trunk was 
 not in the boat. Mr. Slingsby and Mr. Mingies, 
 who had retired into the theatre building, reap- 
 peared with another trunk, and the boy rowed 
 it away in the same manner. Three times was 
 this mysterious performance repeated. Then 
 Adele, remembering the fate of the umbrellas, 
 cried out suddenly : 
 
"t^ Ctje Hunaroay SrotPiis. "t^ 
 
 " Why, Paul, they can't be exchanging those 
 trunks for things to drink ! " 
 
 Both of the gentlemen on the bank below 
 started violently, as they heard Adele's voice. 
 They looked up and saw the two faces at the 
 window and then each of them laid a finger on 
 his lips, and said "Sh-h-h-h!" in a very significant 
 and tragic manner. 
 
 " Mr. Shngsby,'' said Paul, severely, " are we 
 deceived in you? What does this mean?" 
 
 "Sh-h-h-h!" said Mr. Slingsby again. "It 's 
 all right, dear boy; 'pon me honor it 's all right.'' 
 
 "What are you doing with those trunks?" 
 demanded Paul. 
 
 " Sh-h-h-h ! " hi.ssed Mr. Slingsby. " For 
 'eaven's sake, sh-h-h-h .' / Is Runyon there ? " 
 
 "No," said Paul. 
 
 " Look over your shoulder," whispered Mr. 
 Slingsby. "'E 's a devil for snooping." 
 
 "I tell you," said Paul, "we are alone. But 
 I want to know what you are doing with those 
 trunks." 
 
 "Dear boy," hissed Mr. Slingsby, waving his 
 hands wildly, "just listen to your old uncle for 
 one minute. They 're after Runyon again ! " 
 
 " Who are ? " asked Paul. 
 
 "Why, the Sheriffs," said Mr. Slingsby. 
 "They always are, you know. There are more 
 judgements out against Runyon than any man in 
 the country." 
 
 "And they are right onto him in Tunka- 
 wanna," said Mr. Mingles, solemnly. 
 
 "That they are," Mr. Shngsby chimed in. 
 " It 's good-by to the trunks if they get them here. 
 There 's two of the Sheriif 's men in front of the 
 
^ Clje KuuatcaY Bvovons. V 
 
 house now. Jacobs is trying to bluff them, but it 
 won't be any use. There 's nothing for us to do 
 but to get out, and get out quick. You lower 
 your wife down out of that window, and drop 
 after her. Let her down easy and you can just 
 get her feet on my shoulders. I 've taken ladies 
 out of that window before.'' 
 
 "But what 's going to become of the play 
 to-night?" cried Adele. "How can they have 
 any play if you all run away ? " 
 
 "There won't be any play to-night," said 
 Mr. Delancey, emergi'ng from the door beneath 
 the Browns," unless Runyon plays the Sheriff for 
 a sucker. And that ain't likely. "We 've been 
 here five times before." 
 
 "'Urry up," said Mr. Shngsby, beseechingly; 
 "the ladies will be here in a minute. They are 
 just washing up and getting their things on." 
 
 " Do you mean," said Paul, in a voice of 
 indignation, "that we are to run away from the 
 Sheriff? " 
 
 "You bet,'' said Mr. Delancey, flippantly; 
 "and mighty lively, too.'' 
 
 " Well," said Paul, " I will not be a party to 
 any such proceedings. I am Mr. Runyon's part- 
 ner, and whatever legal difficulties he may have 
 gotten into, I will stay and face them out 
 with him." 
 
 Here Mr. Mingles spoke forth for the first 
 time, in the full round \-oice of authority. 
 
 "Young man," he said, "you are young. 
 From your looks I should take you to be twenty- 
 five, and from your experience of the world I am 
 led to think that you 'are about nineteen. If you 
 remain in this town of Tunkawanna to fight the 
 46 ' 
 
^ tEfie Hunaicav Broinns. ^ 
 
 judgements that Runyon has run up in the last 
 fifteen years, you will be a middle-aged man 
 before you get through with the last case. Now 
 you take the advice of one who has had experi- 
 ence in this profession. You have a wife there. 
 Let her down easy out of that window, and we '11 
 be in the State of Pennsylvania inside of fifteen 
 minutes. Mr. Slingsby will assist the lady." 
 
 Mr. Slingsby promptly backed 
 up to the wall, braced his tall ; , i «, 11 ,1;, i 
 form against it, squared his 
 shoulders, and, with knightly 
 courtesy, dropped his chin 
 upon his breast. A moment 
 later, Adele was gently low- 
 ered to the ground by three 
 pairs of gallant hands. 
 
 The Brown family 
 found some difficulty in 
 getting into the stern of 
 the boat, for the water was 
 high and rough, and the 
 stone wall was slippery. 
 Adele clung closely to 
 Paul. The black night i 
 frightened her, the roar of 
 the river, and the fitful, furi- 
 ous onslaughts of the wind 
 and rain. 
 
 It brought a sense of 
 positive comfort to her heart 
 to hear the cheerful, motherly 
 voice of Aunt Sophy Wilks, and to see her 
 massive form descending into the boat. Mrs. 
 Wilks was as calm and unperturbed as though 
 •/7 
 
"V" ^f)e Hunaroay Brotrns. T*' 
 
 she were the Queen, of England receiving her 
 friends. 
 
 "Ah, my dear," she said, "it 's you, is it? 
 Glad you 're going to be with us. But this 
 sporting hfe is kiUing me. It 's too volatile and 
 I 'm too weighty. Say, boys," she continued, 
 addressing the gentlemen on the bank, "you 'd 
 better hurry up. I think they 've got Runyon." 
 Mr. Delancey put his head in the black doorway 
 and called softly up the stairs : 
 
 "Hi, girls," he said; "hurry up!" 
 
 A minute passed, and then the two Browns, 
 rocking madly in the rowboat, which the boy 
 vainly tried to steady with the oars, looked up 
 and saw four more dark figures appear upon the 
 wet and wind-swept stone wall. 
 
 A\'ith many little muffled cries of fright, the 
 ladies were lowered into the boat. There were 
 two pairs of oars, and Mr. Delancey took one pair. 
 
 " It 's a good thing, Delancey," said Mr. 
 Slingsby, "that you can row." 
 
 He laid a peculiar and severe emphasis upon 
 the word "row," which must have conveyed an 
 unpleasant meaning to Mr. Delancey, for he 
 frankly and simply responded : 
 
 "You be damned." 
 
 "Cast off!" said INIr. Mingles to the boy, 
 with the air of a Rear Admiral." 
 
 The boy clambered up to the top of the 
 bank and began to struggle with the knot of the 
 painter, while the ten people in the rowboat 
 huddled together in their crowded quarters, and 
 tried to trim the craft. 
 
 "Aunt Sophy," inquired Mr. Slingsby, "are 
 you dead over the keel ? " 
 
 4S 
 
■y ^f?e SunaitiaY Brorons. "V 
 
 " If I was an inch to one side," replied Aunt 
 Sophy gravely, "it would be the end of this 
 boat-load.'' 
 
 And then for a moment it seemed as if the 
 end had come. That furious last gust which 
 rounds up a great storm struck them as suddenly 
 as a flash of lightning, snapping the painter as 
 if it had been a thread, and drove the boat into 
 the angry, rushing current of the river. The 
 women shrieked as they were swept into the dark- 
 
 .i^,^j 
 
 ness ; and, blacker than all the black things about 
 them, the great arches of the railroad bridge 
 loomed up in their path. Then the torrent swept 
 
■^ C^e HiinatpaY 23rotDiis. "V 
 
 them madly through that dim gateway; and as 
 they rushed on into the howhng darkness, 
 Mingies, who had cast one hasty look behind, 
 remarked casuall y : 
 
 "Runyon got out the back window." 
 
 JO 
 
Chapter VI. 
 
 i^H, Paul," whispered Adele, touch- 
 ing his hand, "do you think there 
 's any danger?" 
 
 "No," said Paul, reassuringly; 
 
 " not the least." But his heart 
 
 sank as he put his arm around 
 
 his wife and drew her close to him. 
 
 "Oh, Paul," she cried with a gasp, "how 
 
 wicked we were not to be conterit ! " 
 
 Just as she spoke, there was a sound like a 
 pistol shot, and Mr. Delancey was thrown off" his 
 seat into the bottom of the boat. Then he 
 scrambled up with a white face and reached out 
 madly over the side. One of his oars had broken 
 and the other had been torn from his hand. 
 
 Adele hid her face on Paul's breast, and the 
 two sat silent. But their companions were not 
 silent. Their voices rose up in cries that ought 
 to have been heard on either shore, and they 
 must have rushed for ten minutes through that 
 black and howling tempest before Slingsby and 
 Mingies, who alone retained something hke self- 
 possession, could induce them even to sit still and 
 minimize the risk of capsizing. 
 
 "Is that Aunt Sophy yelling like that?" 
 shouted Mr. Slingsby from the bow to Mr. Min- 
 gies in the stern. "Don't let her move, Mingies!" 
 
■^ Ct?e HuttaiDay Brotcns. "^ 
 
 "I 'm sitting in her lap," shouted back the 
 ponderous, but long-headed Mr. Mingies, "or 
 we 'd have been at the bottom before this." 
 
 For some space the boat was whirled along, 
 but whether they were hours or minutes in the 
 power of the tempest, not one could tell. They 
 had lost all sense of direction ; they could not 
 even see the whitecapped water ten feet from 
 the boat, and it seemed as though they were 
 being hurled into infinite space through eternal 
 night. 
 
 Suddenly they stopped with a crash and a 
 jar that threw them in all directions. The chorus 
 of shrieks arose again as the boat went to pieces 
 under them and let them down into the water. 
 
 They did not have very far to go, however. 
 Paul and Adele found themselves sitting in a 
 great deal of mud and ■\'ery little water; and as 
 the truth broke upon the minds of the others, 
 that they were in no immediate danger of drown- 
 ing, their alarm gradually subsided. 
 
 "Take 'old of 'ands," cried the ever-ready 
 Mr. Slingsby. " We '11 make a line and strike for 
 the shore. ^Vhere are you, Mingies ? " 
 
 The voice of Mr. Mingies boomed suddenly 
 out of the darkness. 
 
 "Here," he said, in a tone of deep feeling. 
 "And Mrs. \\'ilks and I are settling about six 
 inches every minute." 
 
 Just here they heard a shriek that was with- 
 out doubt from Aunt Sophia. 
 
 "What 's the matter there, Mingies?" Mr. 
 Slingsby called out. 
 
 There was great relief expressed in Mr. 
 Mingies's voice as he cheerfully bellowed back: 
 
"It 's all right, now, Slingsby; it 's all 
 right. Mrs. Wilks has touched rock." 
 
 After a good deal of groping in the dark- 
 ness, the more active members of the party 
 formed a line, and each holding the other firmly 
 by the hand, they began to feel their way toward 
 the shore, through a darkness that seemed even 
 deeper than they had previously encountered. 
 Suddenly they were startled by a profane remark 
 from Mr. Slingsby, who led the line. 
 
 "What is it?" cried Mr. Delancey, appre- 
 hensively. 
 
 "I bumped my head," replied Mr. SHngsby. 
 
 "Bumped your head?" cried his friends, in 
 amazemeiit. 
 
 "Against what?" demanded Paul. 
 
 "Against the Washington Monument, I 
 should say by the feel of it," answered Mr. 
 Slingsby, in his plaintive singsong. " It 's 'arder 
 than my 'ead, whatever it is." 
 
 " Oh, Paul," cried Adele, desperately, " where 
 do you suppose we are ? " 
 
 "Slingsby," said Mr. Mingies, solemnly, "do 
 you remember that when we were here, five years 
 ago, we had a little picnic down the river? " 
 s S3 
 
^ tE[)e Hunaimy BrorDns. ^* 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Slingsby. 
 
 "A very enjoyable occasion?" continued Mr. 
 Mingies. 
 
 "Yes," said- Mr. Slingsby. 
 
 " Under the shore arch of a stone bridge ? " 
 pursued Mr. Mingies. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Slingsby, 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Miii'gies, " we are under 
 that arch now. I can see the lights of the tavern 
 on the other side of the river." 
 
 " Begad, you:'re right," said Mr. Slingsby. 
 " Let 's have another picnic ! " 
 
 "Certainly," said -.Mr. Mingies;; " the moon 
 is just coming out." 
 
 The storm had sunk a little, and one or two 
 patches- of light had appeared in the black sky, 
 affording just enough illumination to reveal their 
 situation to the castaways.'- It was far from pleas- 
 ant. They were ashore, certainly; but the water 
 had risen so high that it had covered everything 
 except a Uttle pile of rocks that lay against one 
 side of the great arch, midway between its two 
 ends. Mr. Slingsby painfully groped his way, first 
 to right and then to left, and reported deep water 
 in both directions. Mr. Delancey was with great 
 difficulty induced to lead an exploring party down 
 the stream, but, although he wore no watch, he 
 refused to go in deeper than his watch-pocket, 
 and came back in disgust. Paul tried to stem the 
 current and to get up-stream, but after stepping 
 into a hole and finding the water on a level with 
 his ears, he agreed with Adele that his duty was 
 to stay by her .side. 
 
 " There appears to be," said Mr. Slingsby, 
 who was fumbling around and trying to familiarize 
 
 S4 
 
"V C^£?e 2?iiiiaiuaY BrotPiis. "V" 
 
 himself with the boundaries of his pile of rocks, 
 " a species of peninsula here which might at least 
 accommodate the ladies. The sterner sex can sit 
 at the base of the throne, as it were, and let the 
 water flow through their trousers.'' 
 
 " A great mind that Shngsby has," said Mr. 
 Weegan, who happened to be standing next to 
 Paul. " It 's a pity he can't act." 
 
 By dint of hard work the ladies were got 
 upon the rocks. The entire party was obliged 
 to form a hne to haul Mr. Mingles and Mrs. 
 Wilks from their anchorage; but finally five wet, 
 cold, shivering women were pushed up the shp- 
 pery stones, where they huddled together against 
 the masonry. Below them the men crowded as 
 far out of the water as they could get. And thus 
 they disposed themselves to await the dawn. 
 
 The river rushed madly by, roaring through 
 the great hollow of the arch. The wind poured 
 in on them in -a way that made even the stout- 
 hearted Slingsby observe that there was more 
 draught than he cared about. Adele sobbed 
 quietly, with her head on Paul's shoulder. 
 
 "Oh, dear!" she said, "who would have 
 thought it could have been so wicked just to 
 want a httle change? Don't you feel horribly 
 wicked, Paul ? " 
 
 " I feel wet," said Paul. 
 
 Their teeth chattered, and their bones 
 ached. Even Mr. Slingsby could joke no longer. 
 Everybody was sinking into a dull stupor of 
 misery, except Aunt Sophia Wilks, who was 
 ■ moving around on the topmost stone of the heap, 
 in a way that excited the attention of Miss 
 Mingies. 
 
 ss 
 
" Aunt Sophy,'' she cried, " what are you 
 doing?" 
 
 About this time the rest of the shipwrecked 
 travelers became conscious of a pecuhar, yet an 
 agreeable and familiar odor, which o\'ercame the 
 smell of the river and the damp stones. 
 
 Mr. Mingles rose to his feet. 
 
 " Georgie," he demanded, " did you have a 
 bottle of cologne in your pocket ? " 
 
 " Yes, Papa," said Miss Mingies. 
 
 " Then Aunt Sophy 's got it. Take it from 
 her." 
 
 But here the voice of Mrs. Wilks rose in 
 indignant protest. 
 
 "I scorn your insinuations," she cried; "and 
 if my 'usband was not in his grave you would 
 not dare address such language to me. Cologne, 
 indeed ! " 
 
 "Have you got it?" asked Mr. Mingies of 
 Miss Mingies. 
 
" Paul," demanded Adele, in a horrified 
 whisper, " what is cologne made of? " 
 
 " It is principally alcohol, I believe, my 
 dear," answered Paul. 
 
 " Oh, if my 'usband were here,'' wailed Mrs. 
 Wilks. " Oh, Robert, Robert ! " 
 
 Mr. Mingles resumed his seat in the river. 
 " It is the last infirmity of a noble mind," he said, 
 " and I hope it will keep her warm." 
 
 S7 
 
Chapter VII. 
 
 T did not keep Mrs. Wilks warm, but it made 
 her talkative and tearful; and, whereas she 
 had hitherto been the most composed and 
 cheerful of the party, she now showed a 
 disposition to accept even the kindhest at- 
 tempts at consolation in a spirit of bitter 
 resentment. Moreover, it took her mind 
 back to the golden days of her youth, when 
 she had reveled in luxury and had known the 
 protecting care of a husband. 
 
 'l"he spell of old memories must have been 
 strong upon Mrs. 'Wilks, for she occasionally 
 dropped her "H's." 
 
 Her lamentations were fitful, being inter- 
 rupted by brief stretches of slumber, from which 
 she would wake to wail over her lot, and to call 
 upon her departed helpmate. 
 
 "Never, never,'' she cried, "was I accus- 
 tomed to this sort of tiling, nor educated for it ! 
 Oh, if I 'ad you 'ere, my 'usband! Oh, George, 
 George ! " 
 
 "Paul," whispered Adele in his ear, "did 
 you hear that? She spoke of her husband as 
 George, and I am sure she called him Robert 
 just a little while ago.'' 
 
 "Yes, dear," said Paul, "and I think you 
 must have had a little nap, or you would 
 
have heard her refer to him some time ago as 
 Alexander." 
 
 "Oh, Paul, dear,'' Adele whispered, "this 
 is dreadful ! " 
 
 " Look there ! " cried Paul, suddenly ; 
 "there 's the sun!" 
 
 It is only at times such as these that com- 
 monplace folk reahze something of the beauty 
 of that miracle that occurs three hundred and 
 sixty-five times in every year — the birth of a 
 new day. The Browns had come out for adven- 
 ture, and to see what life had to show them; and 
 in that moment they both felt that they were 
 looking upon one of the most beautiful things 
 that had ever happened to the earth. And yet 
 they might have seen it any day in the year out 
 of any one of their east windows. 
 
 " How heavenly ! " whispered Adele in 
 hushed rapture. 
 
 "Yes," said Paul; "and that 's the tavern 
 right over there on the other side of the river." 
 
 "That 's so," said Adele, looking, with a 
 new interest in her brown eyes, at the low, com- 
 fortable white building that began to rise above 
 
^ CEje Hunatray Bromns. V 
 
 the river mist, among a clump of huge willows 
 just across the stream. 
 
 "Does n't it seem to you, Paul, as if you 
 had never thought before just what a nice thing 
 breakfast is, too ? " 
 
 " I 'm going to have some breakfast," said 
 Paul, "if I have to swim for it. Here, let 's 
 wake these people up. I 'm blessed if they 
 are n't all asleep." 
 
 "I don't believe," remarked Adele, reflect- 
 ively, " that they mind anything. But don't 
 wake them up for just a minute — look, dear!" 
 
 They were both of them stiff and sore and 
 tired ; but, as they looked out upon the new 
 morning, it was all so fresh and fair, so bright 
 from its bath of rain, so tender in its summery 
 greens, softened by the delicate gray haze that 
 hung over the river and lifted a little and then 
 faded out from the face of Nature, as if to cheat 
 the eye, that they could think of nothing but the 
 beauty before them; and their awakening hearts 
 were stronger than their stiffened limbs. 
 
 Like the light of eyes that awake and look 
 into the face of a loved one, the landscape came 
 out of the mist. They were far away from the 
 town, out in the happy country. The broad river 
 flowed by them, still rippling in its fullness, but 
 clear and pure. There were green fields and 
 patches of woodland on either side, and right 
 opposite them that comfortable and home -like 
 looking tavern stood white among the great green 
 willows with their brownish-yellow trunks. And, 
 as they stepped out upon the stones that the 
 rapidly subsiding waters had left bare, they saw 
 the graceful line of the big stone bridge reaching 
 
V Ctje HunawaY Broujits. ^ 
 
 across to the other side, arch after arch, bearing 
 on its broad shoulders the road that led to the 
 open door of the old hostelry. The door was 
 open ; they could see it from where they stood on 
 the stones, with the water just at the soles of their 
 shoes. And it seemed as if Breakfast actually 
 beckoned to them from that welcoming portal. 
 
 They stood there for a minute or two, and 
 took a brief proprietorship in the sun and the sky 
 and the green woods and the quick rushing river, 
 and then they set about wakening their com- 
 panions. Mrs. Wilks was the most difficult to 
 rouse. For a long time she only grunted in an 
 amiable way, as often as Paul shook her.. At last 
 she opened her eyes and said, as one talking in a 
 dream : 
 
 " Cologne ? No, never. I deny it ! " 
 
 And then she rubbed her eyes and awoke 
 definitively. A puzzled look came into her face 
 as she put her hand to her head. 
 
 " Where did I get it ? " she inquired of Miss 
 Georgie Mingies. 
 
 " My cologne,'' said Miss Mingies, sifnply. 
 bi 
 
^ tEtje HunatDay Bi-oinns. ^ 
 
 " I '11 give you another bottle, my dear,'' said 
 Mrs. Wilks. " Just as soon as the luck turns." 
 
 "Aunt Sophy," said Miss Mingles, with im- 
 pressive decision, "you always were a lady." 
 
 "She always was," returned Mr. Slingsby, 
 pleasantly. " Now, will the lady wade, or will she 
 go out of this pick-a-back ? " 
 
 "Are n't you broke enough as it is?" in- 
 quired Aunt Sophy, who was evidently fast re- 
 covering the use of her faculties. " I '11 walk, as 
 far as I 'm concerned. I 'd like to rinse off a 
 litde." 
 
 There was no longer any difficulty in getting 
 out of their uncomfortable quarters, and the be- 
 draggled party slowly but safely made its way to 
 the shore, and started over the bridge toward 
 the tavern. Each member of the group was be- 
 coming conscious of a new stiffened joint at each 
 step of the way. 
 
 " Did you ever see a second-hand set of 
 marionettes ? " said Mr. Shngsby. 
 
 Paul had never had that experience. 
 
 " Well, that 's the movement we 've got on 
 us," said Mr. Slingsby. 
 
 With the soft glow of the early morning sun 
 illuminating their damp and clinging garments, 
 the remains of the Aggregation and the two 
 Browns presented themselves at the tavern-door. 
 They were all partners in misery and equals in 
 misfortune, so far as the eye could see. There 
 was nothing now to distinguish Mrs. Brown's hat, 
 in respect to social position, from even the worst 
 of those worn by her sisters in distress, which was 
 unquestionably the strange and towering structiu'e 
 that topped the head of Mrs. Wilks. 
 
■^ tEbe Kunamay Brorcii?. '^ 
 
 And yet they smiled as they looked at each 
 other, and not with the derisive smile with which 
 the inn-keeper regarded them, but with the happy 
 and innocent smile which children at their play 
 exchange with one another. Wet and stiff and 
 sore, fellowshipping with vagabonds in the same 
 plight as themselves, the Browns were having a 
 good time. 
 
 " Well, you are a healthy looking lot ! " 
 said the fat, red-faced landlord, as he gazed upon 
 them. " Be'n out in the wet, ain't you ? " 
 
 " Damn his impudence ! " said Mr. Slingsby 
 to Paul. " He thinks there is n't any money in 
 the crowd. He little knows — " 
 
 Here a sudden misgiving caused Mr. Shngs- 
 by to change his confident expression. 
 
 " Say," he whispered, anxiously, " you liave 
 got some scads, have n't you ? " 
 
 " Scads ? " repeated Paul, doubtfully. 
 
 " Yes. Plunks — gold — spondulix — cash 
 — money, you know," exclaimed Mr. Slingsby. 
 " Runyon did n't get away with all you had, 
 did he?" 
 
 " No," said Paul, smiKng. " I think I have 
 enough for our present necessities." 
 
 b3 
 
"^ Cl?e XiinaroaY Brorons. "^ 
 
 " Oh, it 's all right," said Mr. SHngsby, 
 much relieved. " Then see me jump on that 
 brute's neck ! " 
 
 And Mr. SKngsby straightened himself up 
 and infused into his person an air of grandeur, 
 which not even his dampness could diminish. 
 Then he sternly advanced upon the landlord. 
 
 " Are you intoxicated ? " he demanded 
 severely, and in so peremptory a tone that the 
 landlord gasped rather than said : 
 
 " Naw! " 
 
 " Then," said Mr. Slingsby, " your insolence 
 is inexcusable." He turned with a lofty air to 
 Miss Mingles, who was trying to look uncon- 
 cerned while she pinned up a gap in the rear of 
 her skirt. "Lady (leorgianna," he said, waving 
 his hand toward Mrs. Wilks, who showed indi- 
 cations of being about to go to sleep standing, 
 " will you kindly conduct the Countess into that 
 apology for an apartment which I see on my 
 right ? And Lord Delancey will see to the 
 comfort of the rest of the ladies, while I give my 
 orders to this fellow. Baron," he continued, 
 addressing Paul, " I shall need your advice in 
 the preparation of a menu for our breakfast. I 
 suppose this person can be taught to serve some- 
 thing eatable." 
 
 Then, haughtily signaling to the landlord to 
 follow him, he strode into the barroom. 
 
 The landlord's eyes almost started from his 
 head. 
 
 "You had better make haste," observed Mr. 
 Delancey, with a stern, yet condescending man- 
 ner. " Lord Slingsby is in no mood to be trifled 
 with. Is it not strange," he said to Mrs. Brown, 
 
 64 
 
V Ctje Ximamay Bromits. ^ 
 
 "that when one's carriage breaks down, it always 
 breaks down where there is nothing better than 
 such a hole as this within ten miles? But I 
 suppose you can't expect anything better in this 
 blarsted country." 
 
 The landlord was by this time of a fine, rich 
 purple color. He made one or two vain attempts 
 to speak ; but finding that he only produced a 
 sort of stifled gurgle, he gave it up, and meekly 
 followed Mr. Slingsby into the barroom. 
 
 The landlord had a bad quarter of an hour 
 with Mr. Slingsby in the barroom. Mr. Slingsby 
 opened the proceedings by asking Paul, in an off- 
 hand manner, if he remembered what he had 
 done with the bill-of-fare from the Hotel Aristo- 
 cratique. 
 
 "That was a fairly satisfactory repast," he 
 observed, "and may afford us some suggestions. 
 I think you put it in your wallet, dear boy." 
 
 Twenty-four hours before, Paul would proba- 
 bly have asked him what he meant, or told him 
 outright that he knew nothing of any bill-of-fare 
 or any Hotel Aristocratique. But now it was with 
 a feeling of having been born into a new world, 
 and a world where, even under the most depress,- 
 ing conditions, life seemed to have a wonderful 
 lot of fun about it, that Paul impressively pro- 
 duced his comfortable-looking pocketbook — - it 
 was wet and out of shape, but its contents gave 
 it a look of comfort — carelessly pulled out a ten 
 dollar bill or two in a pretended search for the 
 imaginary menu, and then told Mr. Slingsby that 
 he thought he must have forgotten it. 
 
 "Too bad," said Mr. Slingsby. "Well, let 's 
 see ! Suppose we have some — er — Consomme 
 6s 
 
^ Ctje 2lunair>aY Brorons. ^ 
 
 h. la Perigord and some Bechamel aux PoUyop- 
 kins, and — er — Perquisites k la Tuberculosis — 
 and how would a little Eucalyptus with egg- 
 sauce h. la Pajama do to end up with ? You 
 could serve a simple meal like that without keep- 
 ing us waiting, I suppose ? " he inquired of the 
 landlord, in an airy, contemptuous tone. 
 
 When Mr. Slingsby had satisfied his soul 
 with torture, the landlord was the humblest of 
 created things. He compromised on ham and 
 eggs. 
 
 «6 
 
Chapter VIII. 
 
 f^THING had been said about it, but 
 it seemed to be generally understood 
 that, so far as money matters were 
 concerned, Mr. Paul Brown had en- 
 tire charge of the company's affairs. 
 He found that he was looked upon in 
 the light of the vanished Runyon — nay, 
 more than this — he seemed to have become a 
 sort of financial father to the whole Aggregation. 
 Paul was not of an illiberal disposition, but he 
 felt that the time was fast approaching when the 
 line must be drawn in this matter. At Mr. 
 Slingsby's suggestion he hired rooms for the en- 
 tire company, but when he and Adele went to 
 their chamber to try to smarten themseh-es up a 
 little before breakfast, he talked it over with Mrs. 
 Brown, and they came to a very decided con- 
 clusion. 
 
 The breakfast was a long time in prepara- 
 tion ; partly, perhaps, because most of the mem- 
 bers of the company were drying themselves 
 around the kitchen stove. Paul put his head into 
 the kitchen and found all his friends there, so- 
 cially steaming together. He made up his mind 
 that he and Adele would go out and dry on the 
 sunshiny lawn between the tavern and the beach. 
 Here, as they walked up and down, they were 
 
 by 
 
^ Qlfje Hunaroay Biomns. ^ 
 
 joined by Mr. Slingsby, who hailed them as 
 cheerily as though the situation were an every- 
 day experience' 
 
 " The modest meal," he remarked, " is well 
 nigh ready. I 'a\'e procured access to the larder, 
 and 'ave routed out a few humble viands to swell 
 the bill-of-fare." 
 
 " Mr. Slingsby," said Paul, " I trust you will 
 make our breakfast as satisfactory as possible in 
 every respect, for when it is concluded we shall 
 part company. Mrs. Brown and I have made up 
 our minds to retire from the theatrical business. 
 Mr. Runyon's departure has left certain responsi- 
 bilities upon my hands, of v/hich I shall endeavor 
 to acquit myself. I will discharge our present 
 indebtedness at this place, and I will put in your 
 hands a sum sufficient to carry the entire com- 
 pany back to New York. After that, Mrs. Brown 
 and I will resume our trip, which will necessarily 
 take us in another direction. I have not the 
 slightest doubt that an Aggregation of such talent 
 as yours will readily find regular and steady em- 
 ployment in the city." 
 
 Mr. Slingsby stared hard at Paul for a mo- 
 ment; then he raised his right hand, and looked 
 solemnly aloft. 
 
 "By 'Eaven's," he said; "The Prince of 
 Jays ! I knew he was too good to be true ! " 
 Then he grasped Paul warmly by the hand. 
 
 " Mr. Brown," he said, " your proposition 
 does you infinite credit, and I shall be extremely 
 happy to serve as your disbursing agent. I need 
 not tell you, I suppose, how much I regret that 
 we must sever ? " 
 
 " You need not, Mr. Slingsby," repHed Paul, 
 
 6S 
 
" but I trust you will allow me to assure you that 
 Mrs. Brown and 1 have heartily enjoyed making 
 your acquaintance and that of your friends, and 
 that our brief connection has been of great in- 
 terest, and, I may say, benefit to us.'' 
 
 " I am glad to 'ear it,'' said Mr. Slingsby. 
 '• I 'ave certainly tried to do my best by you. 
 And, in reflecting upon this occurrence in future 
 years, it will always be a great satisfaction to me 
 that I 'ad 'old of you, and not an ignorant and 
 unappreciative 'og like Runyon, who has not the 
 6 bg 
 
■^ 3Il?e Hunatcay Brorons. ^ 
 
 first instincts of a gentleman, and never knows 
 when it is time to let go." 
 
 And with a profomid bow to Mrs. Brown, 
 Mr. Shngsby moved off. He had not gone far, 
 however, when a thought struck him, and he 
 returned. 
 
 " Under the circumstances," he said, with a 
 kindly smile, " it might not be amiss if we were 
 to garnish the occasion with a few bottles of such 
 wine as the country affords ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," said Paul. 
 
 " Then we garnish," said Mr. Slingsby. 
 " My boy, you are a thoroughbred ! " 
 
 The breakfast was served on the broad back 
 verandah of the tavern, overlooking the water, 
 and it was a very jolly meal, although ham and 
 eggs predominated in its composition. They 
 washed the ham and eggs down with champagne. 
 Everybody agreed that the practice of drinking 
 wine so early in the morning was improper in 
 the extreme ; but they all drank it. Shipwrecked 
 people are entitled to certain indulgences, and 
 as Mr. Slingsby truly remarked, the champagne 
 which the landlord furnished was little better 
 than an inflated cider. So they ate and drank, 
 and felt happy that they were alive, and that they 
 were all such good people together; and after 
 a while a happy golden haze seemed to wrap the 
 whole party in a dreamy delight. When they 
 had finished, they pushed back their chairs and 
 sat contentedly gazing at the beauty of the river 
 under the morning sunshine. Then Mr. Slingsby 
 bewailed the fact that his fiddle was packed in 
 his trunk, on the wharf opposite the theatre, in 
 Tunkawanna. The landlord heard him, and 
 70 
 
y Cl^e HunatDaY Bromiis. V 
 
 eagerly offered the loan of his own personal and 
 private viohn. Mr. Slingsby loftily accepted the 
 offer, and when the instrument came, he began 
 to sing to them, in a pleasant, old-fashioned fal- 
 setto, a string of old-fashioned songs — sea-songs, 
 the most of them. He sang " Tom Bowling," 
 " Wrap Me Up in my Tarpauhn Jacket," " Black- 
 eyed Susan," and other sweet, old, simple, silly 
 strains, while the golden haze grew more and 
 
 more golden, and some of the elder eyes grew 
 moist, and Aunt Sophy Wilks cried softly to her- 
 self, like a fat old child. 
 
 It was long past ten o'clock before they 
 finished their breakfast, and they would not have 
 finished it then if Adele had not called Paul's 
 
kjfen 6McM e/e«' Su^Hn. c4^e <,n tici^r^ . ^^ 
 
 72 
 
^ Ct)e 2?unait>ay 8iot»ii5. ^ 
 
 altt-ntion to two fects : first, that the stage for 
 'I'linkawanna and the New York train left at 
 ele\-en : second, that several of the company, 
 includhig Mr. Mingles and Mr. Weegan, were 
 e.xpressing so warm an admiration for their pres- 
 ent sm-roundings that they could not be contem- 
 plating less than a fortnight's stay. 
 
 After having been thus reminded, it did oc- 
 cur to Paul that his intimacy with those gentlemen 
 was increasing at an uncommonly rapid rate, and 
 that if he called Mr. Slingsby " dear old man " a 
 few times more, he would probably find the Brown 
 family tied for life, and, before they knew it, to 
 the wreck of Runyon's Dramatic Aggregation. 
 Still the golden haze enveloped his young head, 
 and Paul never knew exactly how he did succeed 
 in getting his eight friends off on the stage, which 
 presently lumbered up to the door of the inn. 'J'he 
 parting scene was very affecting. E\-ery one of 
 the gentlemen privately borrowed ten dollars of 
 Paul; the ladies all kissed Adele; then Mrs. ^Vilks 
 kissed Paul, and dropped a fat tear upon his cheek. 
 Mr. Mingles bestowed a fatherly salute upon 
 Adele, and then the stage-driver interfered, and 
 with his aid, and that of the landlord and the 
 hostler, and a stray negro stable-boy, the eight 
 dramatic artists were finally stowed away in and 
 on various parts of the stage, and started off for 
 Tunkawanna to redeem their trunks, and to take 
 the train for New York. There was much kissing 
 of hands and waving of handkerchiefs, and, with 
 the best intentions, but somewhat inappropriately, 
 Mr. Mingles, in a deep bass voice, started the 
 chorus of " Good-night, Ladies," as they rolled 
 over the bridge in the morning sun. 
 
 7S 
 
■^ C£je HunaipaY Bi-on?ns. "^ 
 
 The two Browns watched them from the 
 back porch until they had crossed the bridge and 
 swept into the high road. Then, just as they 
 were turning away, Adele gave a cry of aston- 
 ishrnent. 
 
 "Look, Paul!" she said. 
 
 Paul looked. From a clump of bushes which 
 the stage was passing, a tall man in a silk hat 
 dashed wildly forth, with two other men in close 
 pursuit. The tall man ran after the stage with a 
 
 >;5L«^- 
 
 speed that must have been born of desperation, 
 unless he was a professional sprinter. He caught 
 it, with his pursuers ten yards in the rear, and, 
 grasping the baggage-rack, drew himself up, and 
 was hauled to the top by Mr. Slingsby and Mr. 
 Mingies. The other two men shouted to the 
 driver, and one waved a bunch of white papers, 
 but the driver appeared not to hear, for he whip- 
 ped up his horses, and the stage rolled merrily 
 around the corner. 
 
 It was Mr. Runyon 
 
 14 
 
Chapter IX. 
 
 . FTER breakfast, Adele went to her room 
 to lie down. She told Paul he 
 had better lie down, .too. Her 
 advice was good, and perhap.s 
 Paul had better have followed it, 
 but he said that he was not 
 sleepy, and he thought the fresh 
 air would do him good, and he would walk about 
 the grounds a little. 
 
 He began by walking around the house, 
 which he found a very interesting structure, for 
 it was old and rambling. At one end there was 
 a sort of shed-like roof extending over the drive- 
 way, and under this stood a tin-peddler's wagon, 
 very neat, very new, and painted the brightest 
 and most beautiful red that you can imagine. In 
 the shafts stood a little sorrel mare, quite as neat 
 as the wagon, but much less gaudy. He did not 
 know exactly why he did it, but when Paul saw 
 the wagon he sat down on a stone and regarded 
 it attentively. 
 
 He had seen many red wagons in the course 
 of his life, but it seemed to Paul, just at that 
 moment, that that particular red wagon was far 
 and away the prettiest red wagon he had ever 
 seen. And it also seemed to him, at that particu- 
 lar monient, that a, red wagQii gf just the right 
 7S 
 
sort was a singularly beautiful and desirable 
 object. He wondered who owned that wagon, 
 and whether the man knew what a good thing he 
 had in owning such a wagon. I'aul had his 
 doubts about this. It took, he thought, a certain 
 delicacy of mind rightly to value a red wagon. 
 The owner was probably a soulless per.son, who 
 looked upon his possession merely in the light of 
 a wagon to which redness was incidental. He 
 felt that it would be a good thing in the interests 
 of abstract beauty, to rescue that red wagon from 
 such a man, who Avould, in all probability, let it 
 get muddy. 
 
 He had got to this point in his musings 
 when he happened to look up, and saw Adele 
 seated at the window of her room, with her chin 
 upon her hands. She was gazing intently, even 
 rapturously, at the red wagon. 
 
 Then .she, too, looked up, and their eyes met. 
 
 Her eyes ^\-ere sparkling and her cheeks were 
 flushed. 
 
 '•Oh, Paul," she said, softly, but he could 
 hear her quite cli.itinctly, "how perfectly delightful 
 76 
 
1^ tri^e HiniamaY Broirns. ^ 
 
 it would be to ride about the country together in 
 a dear Httle red wagon like that, and peddle those 
 dehghtful shiny tin things I " 
 
 Two hours, later a surprised tin-peddler and 
 a puzzled landlord went for the third time over 
 a large stack of bank-notes. 
 
 " Plight twenties, eleven tens and twenty-one 
 fives. Three hundred and seventy-five dollars," 
 
 said the tin-peddler; "and every bill is good. 
 You can't fool me on money. Now, what in the 
 witherin' blazes do you make of it ? " 
 
 The landlord cast a furtive glance at a great 
 tray of empty champagne-bottles, which a waiter 
 happened to be carrying through the room at that 
 moment. Then he engaged the tin-peddler's eye 
 with a look of profound thoughtfulness. 
 
 " Them theatrical folks is always kinder 
 queer and freaky," he said. 
 
Chapter X. 
 
 AUL and Adele were perched on the 
 
 high front seat of the Httle red wagon. 
 
 Paul had his foot on the brake, and 
 
 was carefully guiding the sorrel mare 
 
 down a steep hill on the road that led 
 
 from the inn in the direction away from 
 Tunkawanna. Adele held in one hand a piece 
 of thin board, about the. size of a school slate, 
 faced with white paper on which were inscribed 
 various strange figures and characters in red and 
 black ink. This tablet she compared from time 
 to time with some little slips of paper which she 
 held in her lap with the other hand. 
 
 Paul looked hard at the horse, and his face 
 wore an expression of gloomy thought — the 
 expression of a young man from around whose 
 youthful head a golden haze is rapidly e^•aporat- 
 ing, and who sees himself, through the fast- 
 lessening mist, seated upon a red wagon, much 
 like the rest of this world's red wagons, driving 
 a sorrel mare possessed of few points beyond the 
 generality of sorrel mares. But Adele's face was 
 undimmed by the slightest cloud. 
 
 " Is n't it perfect fun, Paul dear ? " she said. 
 " And such a relief ! Of course they were all very 
 nice, you know, and I am sure it was very inter- 
 esting; but then, you know, of course ;t coiild n't 
 
 IS 
 
■^ Ct?e SunamaY Bro3)ns. ^ 
 
 last. And now I do feel so free and independent, 
 don't you, dear ? " 
 
 " O — eh — yes ; why, certainly,'' assented Paul. 
 
 " The only thing I can't make out, Paul," 
 said Adele, " is how to get the A and the z part 
 of this price-list right; and so long as I can't get 
 that straight, of course it is perfectly impossible 
 to make anything of the n's and x's." 
 
 " I am sorry, my love,'' said Paul ; " I wish 
 I could help you out, but of course I can't drive 
 a new horse and study a complicated price-list 
 like that." 
 
 "No, dear; of course not," said Adele; "I 
 beg your pardon. I did n't mean to worry you. 
 We '11 wait till we get to that town — what did 
 he say was the name of it ? — where he said you 
 could lay in supplies ? " 
 
 " Brockham," said Paul. "Yes; we must 
 get there before dinner." 
 
 Adele's eyes were still fixed on the puzzling 
 characters of the price-list. 
 
 " I hate to bother you, dear," she began ; 
 " but I do wish you would tell me if this can be 
 possible. If Hzz on the dinner-pails means that 
 they cost $1.02 a dozen, how can we retail them 
 at two for five cents ? And yet that certainly 
 is what JVx means. And if JVx is right, then the 
 soap dishes must be worth — let me see! — $3.25 
 apiece." 
 
 " I don't know, dear," said Paul. " I '11 
 work it all out when we get to Brockham." 
 
 He said this with something that sounded 
 faintly like a groan. 
 
 " You are n't feeling ill, are you, Paul ? " 
 Ad^le anxiously inquired. 
 
'TT ^t?e KunatDay Brotrns. ^ 
 
 "()h, not in the least, 1 assure you," answered 
 Paul. 
 
 "I should /lair to have you feeling poorly 
 just as we were going to have such fun," saiil 
 Adele. " How clever it w;is of you, Paul, to 
 think of buying this horse and wagon ! " 
 
 " I ? " said Paul, with a little start; " I don't 
 think it was my idea at all, my love." 
 
 " Oh, dear, yes ! " said Adele ; " 1 could 
 never have thought of anything half so bright. 
 It was just an inspiration. Just like your think- 
 ing of this whole runaway trip. Now, I never 
 should have been capable of that." 
 
 " Oh, yes, i/far .' " Paul groaned in open 
 desperation. Of course I do — only I — really, 
 my dear, this horse makes me so nervous that I 
 can't talk." 
 
 "AVhy did n't you tell me, dear? Of course 
 I won't bother you for a moment. I '11 put away 
 that wretched price-list, and I '11 just make out 
 a little memorandum of the things we 've got to 
 get at Brockham.'' 
 
 -So she took out her little memorandum-book 
 and her gold pencil, and began contentedly jot- 
 ting down and figuring awav. And as Paul 
 watched her — which he could readily do, for, as 
 a matter of fact, he was an old hand with horses, 
 and a fearless dri\-er — and saw how contented 
 and happy the little woman was, and heard her 
 humming bits of tunes softly to herself, his own 
 spirits began to brighten, and he felt less self- 
 reproachful. He certainly had bought, if not a 
 pig in a poke, a horse in a golden haze ; and 
 most assuredly he and his wife were somc^^hat 
 out of their natiu-al place, seated upon the top of 
 
 $0 
 
a tin-peddler's wagon. But, after all, he reflected, 
 the horse and the wagon were both good of their 
 kind, even if they were not the magic outfit that 
 they had seemed to him in a moment of enchant- 
 ment; and as for being out of place, why, what 
 was his object and his wife's at the present 
 moment, but to get out of their natural place, and 
 to get into somebody else's ? Of course it was 
 absurd, but evidently Adele was happy, and if 
 Adele was happy, why should n't he be happy ? 
 and if they both were happy, why should they 
 care about the absurdity of the happiness ? 
 
 "Did you get the blankets down, dear?" he 
 inquired, looking over Adele's memoranda. 
 
 " Bless me, no ! " cried his wife, with a merry 
 little laugh. "I have put down sheets, though, 
 and we shan't need sheets a httle bit, shall we? 
 People always camp out in blankets, don't they ? 
 And then I suppose our class of people use them 
 all the time, any way, and do without sheets." 
 
 " Our class of people ? " repeated Paul. 
 
 Si 
 
'^ S!tje SuiiaroaY Brotcns. '^ 
 
 "Yes; tin-peddlers," Adele explained in- 
 nocently. And when Paul saw how deep a 
 plunge his wife had made into her new identity, 
 he promptly dived in after her, and immediately 
 felt perfectly happy and quite at his ease. 
 
 "No more cigars for me,'' he said; "I '11 
 buy a pipe at Brockham and smoke it. I used 
 to smoke a pipe when I was working with Ernest 
 — a stubby httle brier-wood pipe." 
 
 "How delightful!" chirped Mrs. Brown. 
 "Let me put it down: One brier-wood pipe, — 
 Oh, Paul, how do you spell brier? I 've got it 
 b-r-i-r-e, and it does n't look right at all." 
 
 And so conversing, they came to Brockham. 
 
 Now, Brockham, from its name, you might 
 take to be a solid old substantial English sort of 
 place, a small city, perhaps ; or, at least, a large 
 town with an old manor-house concealed some- 
 where about its corporation. If you went to 
 look it up in the Gazetteer you would expect to 
 see Brockham put down something like this : 
 
 BROCKHAM.— County seat, Brockham County, set- 
 tled abt. 1712, pop. 8,500. large woolen manufacturing in- 
 dustries. 8 schools, inch Normal College. Pleasantly situ- 
 ated on w. bank Brock River, chs. 3 prot. episc. 2 cong. 
 I math. I r. c. Brockham contains many fine residences, 
 and has an inferestmg Revolutionary history. 
 
 That's what Brockham sounds like, does n't 
 it ? Well, Brockham was a country-store at a 
 lonely crossroads near an extensive swamp con-, 
 nected with a small creek; an abandoned toll- 
 gate, and the shopkeeper's weather-worn white 
 house a hundred yards down the highway. That 
 was all there was of Brockham, beginning and 
 end and all, for it lay in the bottom of a valley, 
 
 S2 
 
^ CE^c ^uiiaiuaY Broirns. "^ 
 
 and you could see over the level lowland for ten- 
 miles in every direction. 
 
 It was just noon when they reached Brock- 
 ham and looked at each other in disappointment 
 and surprise; for, without having said anything 
 at all to each other, they had made up their 
 minds as to what they expected Brockham to be, 
 and it certainly was not anything of .the sort. 
 
 On the verandah in front of the store sat a 
 stout man in a chair tilted back, with his feet 
 cocked up against a pillar. He was a pleasant- 
 looking man, not a countryman ; a business man 
 from a large city, apparently, to judge from his 
 well-kept appearance, his well-cut suit of tweed, 
 and the well-trimmed mutton-chop whiskers that 
 ornamented his otherwise clean-shaven face. He 
 got up as soon as they came abreast of the store, 
 stepped forward with an agreeable smile on his 
 broad face, and gave them greeting. 
 
 "Good afternoon," he said; "let me hitch 
 your horse. Here 's a chain." 
 
 " Good afternoon, Mr. " Paul glanced 
 
 up at the sign, — " Mr. Robinson." 
 
 "My name 's not Robinson," said the stout 
 man, genially; "Mr. Robinson 's to dinner. I 'm 
 a friend of his, and I 'm just tending store for 
 him while he 's away. Let me help your lady." 
 And he gallantly handed Adele down from her 
 high perch. Then he turned to Paul. 
 
 " Guess Robinson 's stocked up on tinware," 
 he said, looking at Paul as if he were surprised 
 that Paul should n't know it. 
 
 "Oh — oh — I — only — of course," stam- 
 mered Paul. He had forgotten that he was a 
 tinware peddler. 
 
 S4 
 

 "The fact is," he explained, "I am not here 
 to sell to-day. I want to buy some things of Mr. 
 Robinson." 
 
 " Why, certainly," said the stout man. 
 "Might have known it; might have known it. 
 You 're in the retail hne yourself, are n't you? 
 How do you find business ? " 
 
 " Not very good," said Paul, who had re- 
 covered himself. And Adele looked at him 
 admiringly. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the stout man. " Nice outfit 
 you 've got there. Been long on the road ? " 
 
 "Not very,'' said Paul. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the stout man again. " Nice 
 wagon you 've got there. May I ask who made 
 that wagon ? " 
 
 "I could n't tell you," Paul answered him, 
 truthfully. " I bought it second-hand." 
 
 "Would n't have thought it,'' said the stout 
 man, in a complimentary tone. " Looks most as 
 good as new, don't it ? Well, come right in. I '11 
 see if I can hunt up Robinson." 
 7 ss 
 
^ Zl-}c l\unawa\^ Brotcns. 'V 
 
 " 1 thought you said he had gone to din- 
 ner," said Paul. 
 
 " May be he ain't got started yet," the stout 
 man suggested. "Step right in, any way, and 
 we '11 see. Perhaps he 's in the back shop. 
 Come right this way." 
 
 The front shop was a large room nearly 
 filled with every kind of merchandise. There 
 were barrels of sugar and flour and oil, a hogs- 
 head of molasses, boxes of tea and coft'ee and 
 rice and raisins and candles and all manner of 
 things; there were cahcos and flannels and fancy 
 notions and boots and shoes and ribbons and 
 cheap jewelry and chairs and mops and pails and 
 tin and china-ware and hardware and agricultural 
 implements and a couple of sewing machines and 
 men's clothing and a few toys, and regiments 
 upon regiments of canned goods arrayed in order 
 upon the shelves. It was an interesting collec- 
 tion, and Adele wanted to linger and examine it, 
 but their stout friend ushered them through this 
 palace of delights, and with a pohteness that 
 could not be denied, led them into the back 
 room, over the door o/ which was a small sign : 
 HAY, FEED, LIME, PAINTS, OILS AND 
 PUTTY. 
 
 As they followed him, the stout gentleman, 
 in his anxiety to be civil, thrust the door open 
 so wide that it struck against a bag of meal on 
 a shelf and sent a shower of dust over both of 
 the Browns. 
 
 " Dh, mr Gracious!" cried the stout gentle- 
 man in dismay. "Ain't I a big butter-fingers? 
 I ought to have thought before asking the lady 
 to come into such a place as this. I expect 1 've 
 
 S6 
 
just about ruined your kuh's hat. Step right 
 back, and let me brush you off!" 
 
 They both assured him that it was of no 
 consequence, but the stout man was distressed 
 beyond measure, and insisted upon repairing the 
 damage he had caused. He went behind the 
 counter and procured a whisk-broom. Then 
 he deftly aided Adele to take oflf her jaunty 
 Paris hat, and he proceeded to remove the 
 last particle of dust from it, turning it over in 
 his hands and flicking at it with his own white 
 handkerchief, as tenderly as a young mother 
 
 ® m K A /.| UJ 
 
 
 might brush an excess ot powder from the face 
 of her first baby. 
 
 " My ! " he said, " I would n't have had this 
 happen for a farm, but I always was the awk- 
 
 *7 
 
•wardest! My old mother used to say, when I 
 was a boy, that some folks was all thumbs, but 
 that I was n't even all thumbs — I was all toes. 
 Well, well! Here, sir! Now I 've undone my 
 mischief, as far as I can, for your lady. Let me 
 see what I can do for you." And, in spite of all 
 protests, he removed Paul's Alpine hat and care- 
 fully brushed it off, even to the under side of the 
 rim. Then he went on to bestow the same care 
 upon Paul himself, brushing him until he almost 
 rubbed the nap off his coat. 
 
 " Got any down your neck ? " he inquired, 
 inserting his hand in Paul's coat - collar, and 
 whisking the brush around as though he were a 
 barber and had just given Paul a hair-cut. 
 " There ! I guess that will do." 
 
 They both assured him that it would do, 
 but he continued his protestations of regret, until 
 Paul, to put him at his ease, asked him if he 
 could not show them the things they wanted to 
 buy, without waiting for Mr. Robinson. The 
 stout gentleman said he thought he could, and 
 he proved to be a most active and obhging 
 salesman. He seemed very much interested in 
 their purchases, and surprised at some of them; 
 but he did not transcend the bounds of polite 
 inguiry, although the blankets puzzled him a 
 good deal. 
 
 The prices at Mr. Robinson's store ruled 
 low, and Paul was surprised to find how little he 
 had spent when at last all their purchases were 
 piled in a heap in the middle of the floor. But, 
 as he gazed at the pile, he did not much wonder 
 that the stout man was astonished at having sold 
 such a bill of goods. 
 
V tEbc Hunamay BrotDiis. V 
 
 This is the list of the things they bought: 
 
 Three gray blankets, 
 
 Two red 
 
 Six cans of sardines, 
 
 One can-opener, 
 
 Three lbs. candles, 
 
 One can of axle-grease (the wheelsof the wagon had squeaked.). 
 
 One wrench (the stout man's suggestion. It began to dawn 
 
 upon Paul that when he bought the wagon he had 
 
 not specifically included the fittings and other 
 
 appurtenances in the purchase.), 
 One iron-kettle and one frying-pan ("so nice for camp- ^^. 
 
 ingout," Adfele observed.}, 3£ 
 
 One gross matches (suggested by the preceding pur- ^m-- 
 
 chase.), 
 One tin lantern ^Paul had forgotten that he dealt in 
 
 tin lanterns himself.), 
 One gallon kerosene oil (Paul's own bluff, after the 
 
 lantern episode.), 
 One paper pins, assorted sizes, 
 Six papers needles, 
 Six spools cotton thread, Nos. 40 — 70, 
 One box paper collars (bought for curiosity.), 
 One pound molasses candy, 
 One nose-bag for the horse (stout man's suggestion 
 
 again.), 
 One lady's veil (green barfegewas the fashion in Brock- 
 ham.), 
 One Paisley shawl, 
 Two rubber overcoats, 
 Two knives and forks (Ad&le reminded Paul that they 
 
 had their own tin plates.), 
 One compass, 
 Two straw hats, 
 One quarter-pound pepper, 
 One bag salt, 
 One " hominy. 
 One " Indian meal. 
 One jug molasses, 
 One brier-wood pipe (at least it was a pipe, and it was 
 
 made of wood.), 
 One pound cut-plug tobacco, 
 One bottle gargling oil (for man and beast). 
 
 The Stout man helped them to load all the 
 things on their wagon, and with considerable 
 interest inquired their destination, and gave them 
 directions as to the best road to take. They had 
 been told to turn to the right at Brockham, and 
 to go a mile up the side road to a tavern, where 
 89 
 
 m 
 
■V ^^e Kuiuupay Bromns. 'V' 
 
 they could get their dinner, but when the stout 
 man heard of this he strongly dissuaded them. 
 
 " It 's a quarrymens' eating-house," he said, 
 "and a pretty rough place. I would n't take the 
 lady there." 
 
 " We might cook our own dinner," said 
 Adele. 
 
 " Of course you might," said the stout man, 
 cordially, "and there 's an elegant place to do it, 
 in a patch of woods, under a hummock, about 
 two mile up this very road." 
 
 So the stout man sold them some bacon and 
 crackers (they ought to have thought of crackers 
 before), and butter, and six eggs and a pint of 
 milk, and a pound of tea and a pound of coffee, 
 which they had also forgotten before, and two 
 spoons, which came in the same category. And 
 after Paul had remembered a feed of oats for the 
 
 horse, they bade each other good-by in the friend- 
 liest sort of manner, and the Browns started up 
 90 
 
V d)e Xunatpav Bromns. "^ 
 
 the road with their new possessions piled up on 
 the top of their red wagon. 
 
 Before they had got as far as the white house 
 they met a man coming along the road. It was 
 undoubtedly Mr. Robinson, for there could hardly 
 be another man in Brockham. It was Mr. 
 Robinson. For when he saw the heap of what 
 had lately been his property, on the top of the 
 wagon, he stood stock still in wonderment, and 
 then threw up his hands excitedly, and yelled to 
 the stout man on the verandah of the store : 
 
 " Hi, there ! " 
 
 But the stout man nodded back that it was 
 all right, and Mr. Robinson, relieved of the fear 
 that he had been robbed, but still wondering, 
 went on toward his store, while the Browns 
 jogged along the highway. 
 
 9^ 
 
Chapter XI. 
 
 HERE was not. the slightest difficulty in 
 following the stout man's directions. 
 The road was straight, and the hummock 
 he had told them of became visible — 
 aggressively and almost impudently \'isi- 
 ble — before they had got half a mile 
 on their way. It was not very much 
 of a hummock, either, but it seemed to 
 be conscious of the fact that, such as it was, it 
 was the highest elevation for miles around, and 
 it took advantage of the absence of real moun- 
 tains to show off. It humped itself insolently 
 against the sky, as if it said : " There ain't no 
 hills here, only ME ! There ain't no hills here, 
 only ME!" 
 
 But when they amved at its base they found 
 it a friendly and pleasant sort of hummock, with 
 a httle patch of woods on one flank, and a spring 
 in a hollow near by. The hummock itself was 
 little more than a pile of round rocks, sparsely 
 covered with turf and moss. On its bald top 
 stood three lonely cedars. 
 
 "It 's a regular etching hummock," said 
 Adele ; "just the kind they have in etchings. 
 There ought to be some sheep on top — etching 
 sheep, you know, with pin legs." 
 
 They turned into the patch of woods, unhar- 
 
■^ Cfje HunamaY Broinns. ■y 
 
 nessed the sorrel mare, and took the opportunity 
 of making her acquaintance. She seemed to be 
 quite a hkable httle animal, and, as Adele re- 
 marked, she showed real intelligence in the man- 
 agement of her new nose-bag. Having cared for 
 the comfort of their horse, they took heed of 
 themselves, and with their kettle and sauce-pan 
 and some tin things from their own stock, includ- 
 ing a tin pail which they filled with water from 
 the spring, and the provisions they had bought 
 at Brockha,m, they climbed to the top of the 
 hummock, where they found a bright little fresh 
 breeze blowing, and there they sat them down in 
 the shade of the big cedars, and cooked the first 
 meal they ever had cooked together. 
 
 The meal was, to use Paul's critical phrase 
 in summing it up, " splendid, but 
 spotty." They boiled three of the 
 eggs, and three they made into 
 an omelette. Paul made the 
 omelette, and it was very good, 
 for Paul and Ernest had had to 
 learn to subsist, often for weeks 
 at a time, principally upon omelettes 
 and crackers. But while they were making the 
 omelette they forgot all about the eggs in the 
 kettle. Now, a camp-fire kettle, as a rule, will 
 not boil much under an hour, and if you are 
 not firm and profane with it, it will sometimes 
 take an hour and a quarter. But they had put 
 the eggs in when they had put the kettle on, and, 
 out of the pure natural cussedness of kettles, it 
 boiled right up as soon as their backs were 
 turned. So, when they got to them, the eggs 
 were of the consistency of bilHard balls; and 
 
 93 
 
while they were discussing ways and means ol 
 unhardening them, or at least of taking what Paul 
 called the Bessemer quality out of them, the 
 bacon which they had put on to fry got a httle 
 burnt, and this did not improve its original musty 
 flavor. It was the kind of bacon that 7viU not 
 crisp, but always lies limp, like a rat's tail. The 
 sardines, however, vi^ere excellent. On the whole, 
 they felt quite proud of their first attempt. 
 
 When they had finished, Adele chose a 
 cedar and sat down with \itx back against it, 
 and Paul chose one opposite it, and sat down 
 with his back against that, and they chatted in 
 lazy comfort. 
 
 But Paul remembered his new pipe, and, al- 
 though his cigar-case was not empty, he resolved 
 to begin without delay upon his pound of cut-plug. 
 Breaking in a new pipe is not the most pleasant 
 kind of smoking in the world. It 's pretty sure to 
 94 
 
■^ tEtje Hunatnay Bromtis. "^ 
 
 try a man's temper, and it certainly tried J^aul's. 
 Paul never got cross ; but when his temper was 
 tried he did get stubborn. Later in the afternoon 
 he showed that his temper had been tried. 
 
 By degrees Paul dropped out of the con- 
 versation, but Adele hardly noticed his absence, 
 for she was chirping away in childlike happiness, 
 and in perfect content with all the world, until 
 suddenly, as she gazed out upon the pretty land- 
 scape spread beneath them, a look of surprise 
 came into her face. 
 
 "Why, Paul," she said, "there 's our stout 
 man ! Where do you suppose he 's going ? " 
 
 '^To his dinner, I suppose,'' said Paul, not 
 as pleasantly as he usually spoke. 
 
 "Then he will have to walk miles and miles 
 and miles for it," said Adele; "for there is n't a 
 house anywhere in that direction." 
 
 It certainly did seem strange. The stout 
 
 man was walking straight across 
 
 the fields, heading apparently 
 
 "^^/f /^^L ''^ ^^^ direction of nowhere. 
 
 The two Browns followed 
 
 his course with interest. 
 
 Straight across the fields 
 
 he marched, until he 
 
 reached the road up 
 
 which he had told them 
 
 to turn. Here he climbed upon the top rail of 
 
 a fence and sat down. 
 
 "Paul," said Adele, "I do beheve he 's 
 waiting for us." 
 
 "Then let him wait," said Paul. "No; on 
 second thoughts I '11 accommodate him. He 
 probably wants to ask a few more questions of us." 
 9S 
 
■^ Ctje HuuatDay BrotDiis. '^ 
 
 " Well ? " inquired Adele. 
 
 "Well," said Paul, "he can ask." 
 
 And Paul buttoned up his coat, picked up 
 the heavier cooking utensils, and started down 
 the hill with a certain expression of stolidity and 
 a fixedness of purpose about his walk and car- 
 riage which Adele had noticed once or twice 
 before, notably on the occasion when he told her 
 that he wanted her to be his wife, and on another 
 occasion when he told her that the twenty-seventh 
 flat they had visited was the last one they were 
 going to visit. 
 
 When they had washed up the "things" 
 they harnessed the mare, who seemed quite glad 
 to see them, and resumed their joruney, discussing, 
 as they gradually approached the place where 
 they could see the stout man still awaiting them, 
 a suitable name for their steed. They were 
 hesitating between "SoiTellina" and "Tinnianna" 
 when the fat man hailed them. 
 
 "Say," he called out cheerily, "give us a 
 lift ? " 
 
 " Why, certainly," said Paul, with his shoul- 
 ders still looking uncommonly square. 
 
 " I ain't a tooth-pick exactly," said the stout 
 man, as he climbed up with an agility that could 
 hardly have been expected of him, "but you ve 
 got a pretty broad seat here, and I guess it will 
 just about hold three." 
 
 The seat proved to hold three, though not 
 very comfortably, and the stout man could not 
 help recognizing the fact. 
 
 " Kind of crowded, ain't it ? " he said. 
 "Well, well, I won't bother you very long — not 
 if you 're the kind of people I take you to be, 
 96 
 
^ Ctje HiinatDay SrOtDtis. "^ 
 
 Fact is," he said in a fatherly, confidential sort of 
 tone, "I 've been wanting to have a little talk 
 with you two people ever since I set eyes on you. 
 Would n't have thought it, would you ? " 
 
 " Not in the least," said Paul, from between 
 his shoulders. 
 
 "Thought not, thought not," said the stout 
 man, looking first at Paul and then at Adele, for 
 he had settled himself between them, " but I do, 
 all the same; and now I want you to understand 
 before I begin, just to clear away any misunder- 
 standings or doubts or suspicions or anything of 
 that kind, that I 'm your friend. Understand 
 that ? I ain't talking here in any capacity but 
 that of a friend. I 'm your friend," he said, lay- 
 ing one large hand on Paul's knee, "and your 
 lady's here," and he rested the other large hand 
 lightly on Adele's knee ; " and it 's as a friend that 
 I ask you to answer me just two questions — ju.st 
 two, understand. And if they seem to you im- 
 
proper, why, don't answer them. But I think 
 they are such as one man may ask of another, 
 and in that h'ght I would like to have you 
 answer them." 
 
 " If they are such," said Paul, "as one man 
 may, in my judgement, ask of another, I shall 
 certainly be most happy to answer them." 
 
 "Just so," said the stout inan, pleasantly; 
 "in your judgement. Of course. Quite right. 
 If, in your judgement, they 're proper, you '11 
 answer them. And if, in your judgement, they 
 ain't proper, why, you won't answer them. That 
 's the way I like to hear a man talk. Well, now, 
 question number one : What may be your name 
 and your lady's here ? " 
 
 "My name," said Paul, "is Brown, Paul 
 Brown; and this is j\Irs. Brown, Mrs. Paul 
 Brown." 
 
 " Just so," said the fat man, patting the 
 Browns' knees with the utmost friendliness ; "just 
 so — Brown. Yes. And now — question number 
 two : \Vhat may be your trade, occupation or 
 profession ? " 
 
 "You can see for yourself," said Paul; "we 
 are tin-peddlers." 
 
 "Thank you," said the fat man, with every 
 sign of gratification and pleasure in his face. 
 " That 's all I wanted to know, and I am much 
 obliged to you, sir, for the frank and friendly 
 manner with which you have met me half-way." 
 
 "You are quite sm^e," inquired Paul, "that 
 that is all you want to ask?" 
 
 " Quite,'' said the stout man, in his most 
 agreeable manner; "quite. There ain't another 
 question in the wprld 1 want to ask you;" and 
 
 9S 
 
he spread out his hands to show the complete- 
 ness of his satisfaction. "And now," he con- 
 tinued, "though you have n't asked me, and 
 although it may be of no interest to you, yet to 
 put us, as it were, on an equal footing, I will 
 tell you my name. My name is Bassett. Ezra 
 P. Bassett. At least, that 's my name up here, 
 where I was born and raised; but when I am 
 in New York, which is my place of residence, I 
 don't use the Ezra in my business. I just call 
 myself Bassett — Peter Bassett." 
 
 He looked from one to the other, as if he 
 expected them to say something. But Paul only 
 gazed calmly ahead over the landscape, and 
 Adele took her cue from Paul. 
 
 "My address in New York," continued Mr. 
 Bassett, "is No. 300 Mulberry Street." 
 
 Then he paused and looked inquiringly from 
 Paul to Adele and from Adele to Paul again. 
 
 Neither spoke. Mr. Bassett again laid a large 
 hand on the knee on either side of him. 
 
 " That," he said, impressively, " is the 
 Central Office." 
 
 99 
 
■^ Ctje JlunamaY Broipns. "^ 
 
 "Mr. Bassett!" said Paul, "if my wife will 
 excuse the profanity, allow me to say to you that 
 we do not care a damn, not a damn, what your 
 name is or where your office is, or whether it is 
 centrally located or not." 
 
 " Of course not," said Mr. Bassett, still 
 cheerful and agreeable; "of course not; but, of 
 course, just as you reserved your judgement in 
 your own case, and quite rightly, so I 'm telling 
 you what, in my judgement, I would like to have 
 you know about me. I have told you that I am 
 your friend, and that still holds good when I tell 
 you further that my business is that of a detect- 
 ive, and I am attached to the staff of Inspector 
 Byrnes, of whom you may or may not have 
 heard. But understand me,'' and he settled his 
 hands more firmly on the knees of the two 
 Browns, "that it is not as a detective, but as a 
 friend, that I am speaking to you now. And it 
 is as a friend that I say to you : do not try to 
 bluff me off nor to hold me off, nor to shove me 
 off; but confide in me as a friend, and as a friend 
 I will stand by you." 
 
 "Mr. Bassett," said Paul, "will you kindly 
 tell me why we should confide in you, and why 
 you should imagine that we have any occasion 
 or any desire to confide in you ? " 
 
 "Why, of course, of course," said Mr. 
 Bassett. " Now, it 's just this way : your name 
 is Brown and your lady's name is Brown, Mrs. 
 Paul Brown, and you are tin-peddlers." 
 
 "And why not?" asked Paul with a smile, 
 but with his shoulders still squared. 
 
 "Because," said Mr. Bassett, "if you want 
 to know why, tin-peddlers don't wear Dunlap 
 
■y Ctje Huuair>aY Broroiis. "^ 
 
 hats, nor their clothes ain't made to order by 
 Sulhvan of Fifth Avenue, nor their lady's hats 
 ain't made by Madame Hortense. And because," 
 the detective went on, growing more kindly and 
 genial with every moment, " I was onto you be- 
 fore you 'd got within a quarter of a mile of 
 Robinson's store, and I am onto you now. See ? " 
 
 Paul smiled grimly. 
 
 "Mr. Bassett," he said, "your error is per- 
 haps a natural one, but it is an error, neverthe- 
 less. My wife and I are not criminals, nor have 
 we done anything that could with any possibihty 
 bring us within the province of the law. You 
 may be surprised to find us engaged in this 
 particular business, but if it suits us, and if we 
 have come honestly by it, it is nobody's business 
 but our own that we choose to engage in it. If 
 you have any doubt about that, I shall be happy 
 to go with you to the nearest magistrate and 
 prove to your satisfaction, as an oflScer of the law, 
 that I have purchased all that you see here as 
 honestly as I purchased the goods you sold me 
 some time ago. Or, if that will satisfy you, I 
 will show you the bill-of-sale here and now." 
 
 He made a move to take out his wallet, but 
 Mr. Bassett restrained him. 
 
 " I ain't got the first doubt of it," he said 
 heartily. "You 're a gentleman; I could see 
 that from the start. I ain't accusing you of 
 stealing tin-peddlers' wagons. You 're not that 
 kind; and, moreover, my young friend, I will be 
 perfectly honest with you. I won't try to bluff 
 you. I have n't the first idea in the world what 
 trouble you 're in; but I want to make you con- 
 fide in me, that I may help you as a friend." 
 
■y Clje Hunaiuay ' Sroirn?. "^ 
 
 "I can assure you, Mr. Bassett, that we are 
 not in any trouble at all, of any kind or 
 description." 
 
 "I know, I know," said Mr. Bassett; "of 
 course not. And I don't expect you to believe 
 in me right at once. I know just how it is. I 
 know just how you look at it. You say to your- 
 self, 'this man here is a detective. It 's his 
 business to get people into trouble. He just 
 wants to worm himself into our confidence, and 
 then, when he has wormed himself in, he '11 turn 
 right around on us, and give the whole thing 
 away. We '11 keep our mouths shut and won't 
 let him know anything' — that 's what you say 
 to yourself, is n't it ? Of course, quite natural. 
 That 's the way that people who don't know 
 anything about it think of a detective. They 
 think he 's all the time trying to get people into 
 trouble. Well, now, my young friends, there 
 never was a greater mistake. A good detective, 
 who knows his business, gets more people out of 
 trouble than he ever gets into trouble. You may 
 not believe that, but it 's true; and it 's a credit 
 to human nature that it is true." 
 
 "Is a detective's time very valuable?" in- 
 quired Paul. 
 
 "Sometimes it is and sometimes it is n't," 
 repHed Mr. Bassett, smiling affably. " Mine ain't, 
 just at present, because I 'm taking a vacation. 
 But I '11 tell you about that later on. I want to 
 free your mind from this delusion you '\-e got 
 about detectives. Now, it 's this way : you read 
 in the papers about Detective So-and-so arresting 
 a young man who 's gone wrong, and that 's all 
 you think of. But, do you ever think," con- 
 
^ Ctje HunatDay Bromns. ^ 
 
 tinued Mr. Bassett, bringing his fist down hard 
 on Paul's knee, "of the young fellows who have 
 gone wrong, that that detective /las n't arrested ? 
 — that he 's taken from evil ways, that he 's 
 rescued from desperate courses, that he 's stopped 
 right on the ragged edge of suicide, may be, and 
 restored to the bosom of their families? No, 
 you don't; and why not? Because you don't 
 know about it. There 's ten such cases to every 
 one case that goes to prison. But the public 
 never hear of them, and so they go about think- 
 ing that a detective ain't got any insides to him, 
 and that his whole walk in life is to get nice 
 young fellows into jail. Is that just to the de- 
 tective ? Is that Christian-like, I ask you ? Is 
 that kind?" 
 
 Mr. Bassett had become quite warm in his 
 defense of the unfortunate detective ; but his 
 manner again grew persuasive as he recom- 
 menced. 
 
"^ Ctje KiinatDaY Brotuus. "^ 
 
 " Then, moreover," he remarked, hopefully, 
 " I '11 bet a hat, yes, sir, the best hat in New 
 York, that you 're taking this thing altogether too 
 seriously. You magnify it ; you make too much 
 of it. I know how it is with young people. 
 They always think that any trouble they 're in is 
 as big as all out-doors. They think there 's no 
 getting over it ; there 's no fixing it up. They 
 don't know how experienced men of the world 
 look on these things. Now, for instance, we '11 
 take a young man, say, who 's a httle hard-pressed 
 for money, and he borrows a few hundred, per- 
 haps a few thousands from the old man's safe 
 when the old man ain't around — " 
 
 " Mr. Bassett," interrupted Paul, angrily, 
 "do you mean — " 
 
 " I don't mean anything, my young friend," 
 
 responded Mr. Bassett. " I 'm just putting a case. 
 
 Or, we '11 say he forgets to make a deposit to the 
 
 old man's account in the old man's bank. Or, 
 
 J04 
 
■^^ tCbe KuiiatDay Brorons. "V 
 
 we '11 put it any way you want. Suppose he gets 
 in some way tangled up with the banking-system. 
 Or, perhaps he ain't tangled up with the banking- 
 system at all, and he 's only married a lady — 
 an elegant lady, a perfect lady, but not the lady 
 that just suits his parents. Take any one of these 
 cases or any combination. He thinks, of course, 
 he 's in a hole. But he ain't. If he had a friend, 
 the right sort of a friend — a discreet and ex- 
 perienced friend — who would be able to go to 
 the proper parties and talk to them in the proper 
 way, why, sir, he 'd be out of that hole before he 
 knew where he was, and the public would never 
 be the wiser. And he 'd have a more charitable 
 opinion of detectives all the rest of his life, that 
 man would." 
 
 Mr. Bassett looked earnestly from one to the 
 other of the Browns, with the expression of a fond 
 mother coaxing a three-year-old baby to tell who 
 stole the jam. Paul felt that it was impossible to 
 be angry. 
 
 " Mr. Bassett,'' said he, smiHng, " I assure 
 you that if I were in any such position as you 
 seem to imagine, I should not hesitate to 
 make use of your ability and experience, ^^^g' 
 
 "You won't hey?" said Mr. Bassett. ^"'Sa** 
 
 " I won't," said Paul. 
 
 '' Plenty of time," urged Mr. Bassett ; 
 " you ain't got to decide hastily." 
 
 " Let us close the subject," said Paul, pleas- 
 antly, but firmly. 
 
 <' I 'd like to," said Mr. Bassett ; " I 'd hke 
 to. But, you see, it don't lay in my power. I 'm 
 a sworn ofl&cer of the law." 
 
 lOS 
 
"^ tEfje Hunamay Brot»ti5. "V" 
 
 " Do you mean to say," demanded Paul, 
 " that you are going to subject my wife and me 
 to arrest because we 've refused to tell you the 
 details of our private business ? " 
 
 "Not in the least,'' said Mr. Bassett, always 
 pleasantly. "I would n't treat a lady like that 
 for any consideration, to say nothing of a gentle- 
 man. Not but what I could. If I was to ask 
 at the next town to have you detained, detained 
 you 'd be. You can stake your life upon it. 
 If it was only on suspicion of being lunatics. 
 But I don't propose to take any such course. All 
 I ask is that you shall take time to reflect, for 
 your own good, on whether or no you will let 
 older folks guide you in this matter, and help you 
 out of yoiu" troubles as older folks alone can do 
 it. And that brings me," went on Mr. Bassett, 
 " that brings me right to the point. As I told 
 you some time back, I am taking my vacation up 
 here where I was born and raised, and I am 
 spending my holiday with my mother, who, if I 
 do say it myself, and no man has a better right 
 to know whereof he speaks, is one of the nicest 
 old Quaker ladies you ever laid your eyes on. 
 Her farm is just about two miles up this road ; 
 and there is no woman in the State can beat her 
 on hot biscuit. Now she would be dehghted, 
 dt-lighted to entertain you, your lady and your- 
 self, — as guests, mind you, as guests, — while 
 you think about things, and make up your mind 
 what 's going to be your next move in this mat- 
 ter. There 's a nice place out on the front porch 
 where your lady can sit and crochet, and there 's 
 some real elegant trout-fishing in the creek 
 behind the barn, and I can lend you a rod. A 
 
man can think while he 's fishing just as well as 
 any other time." 
 
 Paul and Adele exchanged glances. Mr. 
 Bassett smiled agreeably as he sat between them, 
 but he evidently meant what he said. 
 
 "I suppose," said Paul, "there is no alter- 
 native to accepting your kind invitation." 
 
 "Oh, yes," said Mr. Bassett, "you can drive 
 on to the next town." 
 
 "Under those circumstances," said Paul, "it 
 will give us great pleasure, Mr. Bassett, to avail 
 ourselves of your mother's hospitality." 
 
 fOf 
 
Chapter XII. 
 
 BASSETT'S mother's farm-house was 
 certainly all that the- most exacting 
 could ask, as a farm-house. It stood 
 high up on the hill, looking southward 
 over the valley, and it had red barns 
 and stables, and back of the barns 
 and stables was a most delightful little 
 brook, that fairly chuckled " Trout, trout, trout ! " 
 at you as far as you could hear it. And, when 
 Mr. Bassett's mother came down the flagged walk 
 to meet them, they certainly saw a sweet, pretty 
 old lady, with beautiful white hair and a pleasant 
 smile. She did not wear the strict dress of the 
 Friends, but had on a gingham that was neat, 
 pretty and old-fashioned, hke herself 
 
 "This here is my friend, Mr. Paul Brown, 
 and his good lady. Mr. Brown ain't certain 
 whether he '11 continue in the tinware business 
 or not; and I have told him that I guessed you 
 could put them up for a day or two while he 's 
 thinking about it. ^Vhat do you say. Ma 
 Bassett ? " 
 
■^ Clje 2?iinait>aY Broirns. ^ 
 
 " Thee 's always welcome to bring thee's 
 friends here, Ezry,'' said his mother ; " and thee 's 
 assuredly brought two with good faces," added 
 Mrs. Bassett, as she stretched out her hands to 
 Adele, and, after one look at her, kissed her in 
 motherly fashion. 
 
 " My name 's Lucretia; what does thee call 
 thyself? " 
 
 " Adele, Aunt Lucretia," answered Mrs. 
 Brown, who had n't been born in Philadelphia 
 for nothing. 
 
 Aunt Lucretia put her arm around Adele's 
 waist and led her into the great kitchen in the 
 lean-to, that smelt of pot-herbs all the year 
 
"^ C^e HiinaicaY Brotrns. "^ 
 
 around, while Mr. Bassett and Paul went into 
 the stable to put up the horse. 
 
 "Your mother has a very pleasant farm here, 
 Mr. Bassett," remarked Paul. 
 
 " Pretty fair, pretty fair," said Mr. Bassett. 
 " Buckwheat here," he added, stretching out his 
 left hand; "corn here," stretching out his right. 
 " Wheat and rye down the road ; cow-pasture 
 over the way; sheep-pasture up on the hill above 
 the woods ; that 's the old lady's kitchen garden 
 back there behind the house, and I '11 show you 
 where the trout come in as soon as I can rig 
 a rod." 
 
 He gave one comprehensive sweep of his 
 big hands. 
 
 " From one son to another, father, son and 
 grandson, for three generations," he said proudly. 
 "And, young man, if it was n't my walk in life 
 to live in New York, looking after folks who get 
 into trouble and don't know how to take care of 
 themselves, I 'd be farming here, too. Come 
 along, sir," he said, as he led the way back to 
 the house, " and I '11 get you that rod. This is 
 just the kind of day when you 're likely to get 
 an elegant bite in a brook like that." 
 
 A broad hall ran through the old farm- 
 house, from front to rear, and on the walls of 
 this hall Mr. Bassett had hung his vacation-time 
 treasures. There was a small arsenal of shot- 
 guns, no less than six split -bamboo rods, and 
 more and queerer scap-nets than even the rods 
 accounted for, at which Paul gazed in astonish- 
 ment until he caught sight of a mighty collection 
 of butterflies in a glass case. 
 
 " Interested in entomology ? " queried Mv. 
 
'V' Cl^e HuitaicaY Broitins. "^ 
 
 Bassett. "I do a little in that line, sometimes, 
 myself. Bugs and trout — they somehow seem 
 to go together." 
 
 Then they stepped into the kitchen, and, lo 
 and behold ! there was Mrs. Brown in a check 
 apron, with her sleeves rolled up, and her arms 
 deep in a pan of dough, which she was kneading 
 under the directions of Mrs. Bassett. 
 
 " That 's right,'' said Mr. Bassett, approv- 
 
 ingly. " Glad to see your good lady taking right 
 a-hold, Mr. Brown. Make her feel to home. Ma 
 Bassett. That 's the way! " He exhibited the 
 kitchen to Paul with pride in his eye, in spite of 
 the humility of his language. 
 
 "Plain, but comfortable," he said; "plain, 
 but comfortable, that 's our style," 
 
Then they went down to the creek ; and 
 there Paul had to confess meekly that he had 
 never had a rod in his hand before. Mr. Bassett 
 was as sincerely grieved as though Paul had 
 owned up to entire ignorance of the Christian 
 religion. But he at once proceeded to take 
 this case of defective education in hand; and, 
 before long, Paul could skitter a fly around for 
 at least a minute-and-a-half without getting his 
 line caught on the bushes. Mr. Bassett him- 
 self was a master-hand at casting. Hither and 
 thither, among the most impossible boughs, over 
 the raggedest thickets, among snags and drift- 
 wood, his fly danced about without a moment's 
 rest. And, all the time, Mr. Bassett, as they 
 whipped up the creek, enlivened their progress 
 with an uninterrupted flow of professional remi- 
 niscences, being mostly tales of erring young 
 people who either came to all sorts of horrible 
 grief through contumaciously refusing to confide 
 in a friendly detective, or, by so confiding, 
 found themselves snatched out of the jaws of 
 danger, and saved for lives of golden fortune 
 and universal respect. 
 
■^ CE)e KiuiainaY Brorons. "^ 
 
 Then Mr. Bassett caught seven small trout, 
 and Paul caught two, and Mr. Bassett said that 
 that made " a mess," and they went back to the 
 farm-house. 
 
 If you were a young runaway married 
 couple who had been half drowned the night 
 before ; and had eaten a very indiscreet breakfast 
 and a very inadequate and indigestible dinner; 
 and had driven all day long over a dusty road 
 in a wagon whose redness could not make up for 
 its inadequacy in the item of springs, and you 
 found yourself at the end of the day in the j oiliest 
 old farm-house that you ever dreamed of, with a 
 dear old Aunt Lucretia to take care of you, and 
 
 • a most agreeable detective from the New York 
 Central Office to tell you stories ; if you had just 
 eaten a glorious supper of brook-trout and crisp 
 bacon, and three kinds of hot bread, and the best 
 waffles in the world, with cinnamon and sugar on 
 top of them, and cookies and oely-koeks and 
 sweet pickles and cherry-pie and buttermilk; 
 and if, after this meal, the agreeable detective 
 had taken the male half of you aside, and un- 
 locked a little cupboard near the chimney-piece, 
 and introduced that male half to a bottle of such 
 schnapps as the gold of the Indies could not buy 
 in the Metropolis of the Western Hemisphere; 
 and if, after all that, you strolled away, in a mild, 
 sweet, fragrant Summer evening, when the insects 
 were just chirping drowsily in the trees, and com- 
 muned with yourselves as young married couples 
 will — well, under these circumstances, you would 
 
 •probably come to the conclusion that you were 
 
"^ Clje Hunatpay SroiDns. "V' 
 
 doing pretty well, thank you, on the whole — 
 would n't you? That is the conclusion Paul and 
 Adele came to. 
 
 " How long do you suppose we can stay 
 here, Paul ? " asked Adele. 
 
 "I don't know, my dear,'' answered Paul. 
 " But if he 's waiting for me to confess to forgery 
 or anything of that sort — well, you know we 've 
 got a year to put in — a year less two days, to-' 
 morrow morning at six o'clock." 
 
 " Gracious, Paul ! " cried Adele. " It seems 
 as if we 'd been away a year, already, does n't it ? 
 But if it was all hke this it would be simply 
 dehghtful." 
 
 " Well," Paul suggested, " I move we stay 
 until they turn us out." 
 
 " I move we do, too," said Adele. " But, 
 oh, Paul, when we do have to go, remind me to 
 get her receipt for those waffles ! " 
 
 You are kindly requested to notice the 
 growth of the first germ of home instinct in the 
 breast of this young woman — a growth born of 
 good waffles. 
 
 Then they stole back to the house, and, in 
 the spacious old kitchen, Mr. Bassett and Adele 
 played backgammon ; while Paul and the old 
 lady chatted together : she telling him of her 
 childhood days, when she had seen the Reserva- 
 tion Indians burning the hay-ricks in the valley, 
 and dancing around the flames in all the gaudy 
 horrors of their war-paint. And, meanwhile, the 
 hired man, four dogs, two cats and a sick chicken 
 slumbered placidly as near as they could get to 
 the red-brick chimney-piece that held the shining 
 black modern range. 
 
■^^ Cf?e HunatcaY Brotcns. "^ 
 
 And later on, Mr. and Mrs. Brown went to 
 bed in a great high four-poster bedstead, in a 
 great low dormer-windowed room. And, after 
 they had chucked the feather-bed on the floor, 
 they slept very comfortably. 
 
 r^S 
 
Chapter XIII. 
 
 |HEV talked over the situation while 
 they were dressing, next morning. 
 
 "Oh. m-m-m-m-vere,'' be- 
 gan Adele, " I h-m-m-m-t-tell-m- 
 
 nvM-f-s B-f-s-t " 
 
 " Take those hairpins out of 
 your mouth ! " commanded Paul. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, dear," said 
 Adfele ; "it was rude, but I only wanted 
 to say that I had to tell Mrs. Bassett something 
 about how we came to be here. I did n't tell 
 her anything you would n't have wanted me to, 
 I 'm sure, but when she asked me how long we 
 had known her son, I thought I ought to explain 
 just how he 'd met us, and — and — " 
 " Run us in ? " suggested Paul. 
 " I did n't know what to call it," said Adele, 
 "so I just said 'invited.' And she was awfully 
 nice about it, Paul. She did n't ask a single 
 question, but only said she was glad we had 
 come." 
 
 " Did n't she make any comments ? " asked 
 Paul, who began to wonder if Mr. Bassett often 
 enlivened his vacations by buccaneering for 
 guests. 
 
 " Not then, but a little later on, when we 
 were talking about something else, she said — I 
 
"^ Ct)e Hunaroay BrotDiif. "^ 
 
 wish you could have seen the corners of her 
 mouth when she said it, Paul — she said : ' It 's 
 Ezry's trade to suspicion folks, and I sometimes 
 think he 's most too devoted to business.' " 
 " Was that all ? " 
 
 "No; just before we went to bed, when 
 she was helping me put away our things in the 
 hall, she took up my hat and looked at it, and 
 she said : ' I don't see what Ezry saw wrong 
 about thee's bunnit, but if thee 'd come in a 
 bushel - basket or a golden crown I would n't 
 have suspicioned thee.' " 
 
 " I guess the old lady 's all right," said 
 Paul. 
 
 "Paul, she 's a dear!" 
 " So 's Bassett," said Paul, remembering the 
 schnapps. " I mean, he 
 's a first-rate fellow if 
 you don't have to run 
 up against him profes- 
 sionally. They 're both 
 good people; and they 
 mean well, and they 
 are certainly treating 
 us royally. But, really, 
 we can't stay here. 
 After all, you know, if 
 you come to thmk of 
 it, it 's a httle bit of an 
 imposition on our part. 
 We can't go on playing 
 suspicious characters 
 for our board and lodging, even if Bassett did 
 suggest it." 
 
 " No, of course ■ not," said Adele, as she 
 
 9 "7 
 
^ Cbe SunamaY Bromns. "V" 
 
 pulled aside the white dimity window-curtain and 
 gazed out on the broad valley below them ; all a 
 pale, cool green under the light morning mist. 
 " But it is so nice here ! And so you 're going 
 to tell them all about us, Paul ? " 
 
 " I '11 be hanged if I am ! " shouted Paul, 
 with so much vigor that the collar-button which 
 he was trying to put into place flew out of his 
 fingers. " I 'm as good a man as Bassett, any 
 day; and I don't propose to be bluffed by him 
 or anybody else." 
 
 " But what will you do, dear ? " 
 
 "Just go." 
 
 " But he '11 detain you — at the next town, 
 don't you know ? " 
 
 " No he won't. Yesterday, I think he would 
 have detained us, but if Bassett is n't a fool — 
 and I think he's far from a fool — he's had a 
 talk with his mother by this time, and he won't 
 say ' Boo ' when we tell him we 're going." 
 
 " I suppose he 's afraid we 'd sue him for 
 false imprisonment or damages or something, if 
 he arrested us, and then they found out that we 
 were n't robbers ? " 
 
 •'Hardly that," said Paul, doubtfully; "but 
 then, people might have their opinion of a detect- 
 ive who could n't detect any more than that, 
 with the chance he 's had." 
 
 " Oh," said AdMe, enhghtened. " You think 
 people would think it was a joke on him ? " 
 
 " I think people might be inclined to regard 
 it in that light," said Paul. 
 
 Paul's judgement proved to be correct. 
 After breakfast — suppawn, (and that's hasty- 
 
 Ii8 
 
■^ Cfje HuuaiDaY Brovoiis. ^ 
 
 pudding, if you 're not a Dutchman : Indian-meal, 
 what sinful folks call ' mush,') hot biscuit, flannel- 
 cakes, boiled eggs, salt pork, brawn, (that 's head- 
 cheese,) cornbread, apple-pie, fried hominy and 
 green tea — after breakfast Paul delivered his 
 little address to his host while they were inspect- 
 ing the cattle, which were Holstein stock. 
 
 " Mr. Bassett," said he, " there is no use in 
 our imposing ourselves any longer upon your 
 hospitality; nor is there any use in your cencern- 
 ing yourself for our welfare. I 'm noc going to 
 reconcile my present occupation with my choice 
 of a hatter, to please you or any man. But I can 
 assure you that the worst trouble I have ahead 
 of me is that of saying good-by to you and Mrs. 
 Bassett. And that, I am sorry to say, I shall 
 have to do to-day; for, as you may observe," and 
 he pointed to the red wagon, " I have a rather 
 large stock of tinware on hand, and I want to get 
 to work and peddle it off." 
 
y Ct?e SunatDay BrotDtis. "V 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Bassett, as he took 
 Paul's hand and pressed it thoughtfully, " well, 
 well, I am right glad to hear — not that you're 
 going away' — I'll be sorry for that, and Ma 
 Bassett will be sorry for it — but that you 're 
 going away without any trouble ... or worry . . . 
 or apprchcnsioji ... or alarm ... or unpleasant or 
 disagreeable or inconvenient outlook of any kind 
 ivhat — so — evcrP Mr. Bassett made this speech 
 with great deliberation, and with considerate 
 pauses, lingering on each suggestion of a possible 
 cause for discomfort, as though he were giving 
 Paul a last chance to seize on some word for a 
 text for a full confession. But Paul confessed 
 nothing, and Mr. Bassett sighed gently as he 
 released his guest's hand. 
 
 " Well," said Paul, " I guess I '11 hitch up." 
 
 " No, no, you won't," said Mr. Bassett. 
 " No; you won't do anything of the kind! Now 
 that everything 's settled, and we ain't got any 
 business on om" minds, we '11 just go fishing. 
 Tinware trade must be slack just now; most 
 families must be pretty well tinned up, and you 
 can just as well as not afford to take a few 
 days off. You 've got the makings of a fisher- 
 man in you, and I '11 bring them out.'' 
 
 Paul felt obliged to decline this invitation, 
 for he knew that he could not afford to trifle with 
 the first glow of his enthusiasm in the tinware 
 business. It was a tender thing, and might fleet 
 away before his eyes. But he soon saw that it 
 was a matter of delicacy with Mr. Bassett, and 
 that his recent captor would esteem highly the 
 favor of playing his host in a non-professional 
 capacity. So he finally compromised, and agreed 
 
1^ Ctje HunamaY Bromiis. 1^ 
 
 to stay to dinner, and to spend the morning 
 whipping the trout-stream, with his entertainer. 
 When this was settled, a pained look departed 
 from Mr. Bassett's face, and they went after 
 their rods. 
 
 After dinner — I do not think I will say 
 more about their dinner bill-of-fare, except that 
 it was bewildering — they found it very hard 
 parting from their new friends. You see, these 
 two young, people had swung out of their own 
 orbit, and had impinged upon a Home, and there 
 was a great attraction set up right off, so that 
 they hated to tear themselves away. There is a 
 good deal of difference between a Home and the 
 reddest of Wagons. 
 
 They had got their chariot out of the barn, 
 and their sorrel mare hitched up, when Ma 
 Bassett asked them to wait a minute, and she 
 and Ezra went back into the kitchen. Paul was 
 standing at the horse's head, and Adele noticed 
 a peculiar look come into his face. Now Adele 
 was the only person in the world who knew that 
 Paul had possibihties of being mischievous, and 
 she at once asked : 
 
 " Paul, what are you thinking about ? " 
 
 " I was only thinking," said Paul, " that I 
 might ask Bassett if he wanted anything in the 
 tinware line." 
 
 " You shan't do anything of the sort," said 
 Adele, " after they 've been so good to us. But 
 I '11 tell you what you might do, and it wo"uld be 
 awfully nice. Come here, I want to whisper 
 to you." 
 
 Five minutes later Paul presented himself at 
 the kitchen door, staggering under the burden of 
 
a large assortment of tinware, selected by Adele, 
 of which he begged Mrs. Bassett's acceptance. 
 And Mrs. Bassett after a while accepted it, and 
 she gave him her blessing, while Mr. Bassett put 
 a great package wrapped up in brown paper into 
 the red wagon, and there was no end of good- 
 byes, and then the Browns drove off up the 
 dusty road. 
 
 It was a beautiful Summer afternoon, and 
 their road wound its way up the hillside by easy 
 grades. It was warm; but there were little re- 
 freshing puffs of breeze every now and then ; and 
 the two Browns sat up on their high perch and 
 
■^ ^t)e HunatDay Srotnits. "^ 
 
 enjoyed the day and the drive and their own 
 company and the slow, gradual, happy digestion 
 of their dinners. The little sorrel mare had com- 
 pleted the digestion of Aer dinner, and now she 
 tried to show that she felt her oats, and was duly 
 grateful therefor, by switching her tail, snorting, 
 and from time to time trying to introduce a sort 
 of skip, or hitch-and-kick combination into her 
 regular trot. But the tranquil condition of joy 
 which enfolded the Browns grew more and more 
 
 hke simple old-fashioned slumber, until, late in 
 the afternoon, as the sun was beginning to settle 
 down in the western sky, Adele suddenly gave a 
 nervous start, grasped her husband by the arm, 
 and gazed in his face with a look of horror. 
 
 "Paul," she cried, "do you know what we 
 've done ? " 
 
 " N — No," said Paul, who was n't quite 
 awake yet ; " I did n't know we 'd done any- 
 thing." 
 
 " That 's just it," said AdMe, impressively. 
 " What have we done ? Nothing ; absolutely 
 nothing." 
 
■^ Ctje Sunamay Broirns. ^ 
 
 " I don't understand you at all, my dear," 
 said Paul, desperately puzzled. "First you say 
 we have done something, and then you say we 
 have n't done anything." 
 
 " Paul Brown," said Adele, with tragic so- 
 lemnity, as she held up the price-list before him 
 and pointed with her fore-finger to the line : 
 
 ■■ Lxx — 33 1/3 — 10 — 2, I off for cash 
 Zmx net. 30 days." 
 
 " What did we start out to do ? To sell 
 tinware ! At farm-houses ! Now look there ! " 
 
 She made Paul turn and look down the long 
 expanse of gently sloping hillside up which they 
 had been chmbing all the afternoon. They could 
 see the road back of them for miles and miles, 
 bordered right and left by a continuous succession 
 of thriving farms, every one of which might have 
 contained at that moment some faithful housewife 
 with a heart half breaking for a new outfit of 
 tinware. 
 
 They gazed in silence, but Adele's hps moved 
 softly. She was counting. 
 
 " There are twenty-three of them," she said 
 at last, " not including the flagman's little house 
 at the railroad crossing." 
 
■y 3Itje HuuamaY Brotrns. "^ 
 
 " I don't think he 'd want anything in our 
 Hne," said Paul, snatching at a crumb of comfort. 
 
 "You can't tell," Adele coiTected him with 
 severity. " He might want — a tin cup — or a 
 cuspidor — we have both." 
 
 " Well," Paul suggested, somewhat feebly, 
 " there are plenty more farm-houses left.'' 
 
 " They can never take the place of those 
 farm-houses to me," said Adele. " They are 
 twenty-three opportunities lost, and something 
 makes me feel sure that every one of them would 
 have bought something. The very next house 
 we come to," she concluded sternly, " you must 
 sell them something, even if you have to sell it at 
 a sacrifice. I don't mean to go to sleep to-night 
 without saying we really have peddled." 
 
 Paul shook his head doubtfully. 
 
 " We are getting pretty near the top of this 
 hill, or mountain, or whatever you call it," he 
 said, " and I don't believe we '11 come across any 
 more houses until we get over into the next 
 valley. I don't think anybody Uves up here." 
 
 But Paul was mistaken. A turn in the road 
 suddenly brought them in sight of a house, at 
 least a sort of house ^ — the sort of house that 
 somehow always seems to get into picturesque 
 situations on mountain-tops and in other desirable 
 pieces of scenery — a perfectly plain, square, 
 frame-house, with about as much architecture to 
 it as a shoe-box stood on end. A thin, gaunt 
 woman, with a forbidding face, sat m the door- 
 way. She had a wooden platter in her lap, and 
 was viciously hashing something. Paul objected 
 strongly to making her his first customer. 
 
 " Anyone who would build a house hke that 
 
 '^5 
 
"Y^ S^fje Kiiuaroay Broroils. "^ 
 
 in a place like this does n't deserve to have tin," 
 he said. " I don't beUeve that woman knows 
 what tin is. She probably uses galvanized iron, 
 or some such thing as that.'' 
 
 But A dele would not listen to him. 
 
 " No, Paul; it is business; and 
 you must sink your prejudi- 
 ces. Take her this sauce- 
 pan — I suppose she fries 
 evoything — and see if 
 you can sell her anything 
 else." 
 
 So Paul resignedly 
 
 took the saucepan, and 
 
 leaving Adele in the 
 
 wagon, marched off to the 
 
 house. He was gone about 
 
 three minutes. When he 
 
 returned, his face was very 
 
 red. He put the saucepan 
 
 back in the wagon, climbed to 
 
 his seat without saying a word, and started up 
 
 the horse. 
 
 " What was the matter, Paul?" asked Adele. 
 " Would n't she buy the saucepan ? " 
 " No," said Paul. 
 " What did she say, Paul ? " 
 " She said she did n't want any saucepans." 
 " Was that all ? " 
 " No," said Paul. 
 " What else did she say ? " 
 " She asked me if I sold boilers." 
 " And what did you say ? " 
 " I told her, 'yes.'" 
 « Well ? " 
 
^ Ctjc HinmiDay Srorotis. "V^ 
 
 " Then she asked the price." 
 
 " And you told her ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And then what did she say?" 
 
 " She asked me where I 'd buried the tin- 
 peddler." 
 
 " Oh, Paul ! What could you have told 
 her?" 
 
 " I told her correctly. I remembered about 
 the boilers, because the price was marked on 
 them. I said, 'fifteen cents.'" 
 
 " Oh, Paul, dear, will you never learn ? " 
 cried Adele. " Fifteen cents for a great big 
 wash-boiler, the largest thing we have in the 
 wagon ! " 
 
 " Big ? " repeated Paul, in a dazed way. 
 "A boiler big? Why I thought — " here a sud- 
 den light broke in on him — " Great Scott, 
 Adele!" he shouted, "I was thinking of j/m/zcry." 
 
 " Oh, you dear .stupid boy ! " said Adele. 
 " What a goose ! Well, you '11 have to drive 
 back and explain to her. You can say you 're 
 absent-minded, or something of that sort." 
 
 " My dear,'' said Paul, " I would n't go back 
 and face that woman again for all the tinware in 
 the civilized world ! " 
 
 isy 
 
Chapter XIV. 
 
 HEY drove on for ten minutes before Paul 
 spoke again, evidently at the end of a long 
 train of thought. 
 
 " Now, Bassett," he said, just as if Adele 
 
 had been following him all the time; "Bassett 
 
 would never have done that. Mr. Bassett 
 
 certainly had his suspicions, there 's no use 
 
 denying it. But he knew I was n't a horse-thief." 
 
 Adele smiled behind her hand to see the 
 
 conqueror of the mighty Bassett thus cast down 
 
 by a lone lorn woman. 
 
 " My dear," she said, " nobody in the ivorld 
 would take you for a horse-thief. That old crea- 
 ture has probably lived up here all alone until she 
 is half crazy." 
 
 This reflection seemed to <;heer Paul up im- 
 mensely; and, being reminded, by the mention 
 of the name of Bassett, of the fat parcel that 
 their late hosts had given them, they hauled it 
 forth and examined it. It was a characteristic 
 Bassett bundle. Its big folds contained four 
 Spring-chickens deliciously broiled, several kinds 
 of pie, some dairy-cheese and pot-cheese, slices 
 of cold ham, a little bottle of mustard, a paper 
 "screw" of pepper and salt, and a small flask of 
 the unapproachable schnapps. 
 
 The realization of the fact that they were 
 
hungry, which somehow came to them with the 
 sight of these good things, brought them face-to- 
 face with another exciting and interesting truth 
 — they were about to camp out for the first time, 
 and to sleep in their own wagon. This put them 
 suddenly into a new flutter of life. Speaking 
 in a general way, their situation was admirably 
 adapted to this end; for, as Adele remarked, 
 there was n't a soul within miles, except the old 
 woman, if she could properly be called a soul. 
 The only thing they had to do was to find water, 
 for they had quite forgotten to bring any with 
 them. Fortunately, they were not long in dis- 
 covering a little creek, almost dried up, but with 
 a thin thread of water still trickling among the 
 hillside rocks. Near by there was a patch of dry 
 mountain grass, where they tethered Sorrellina or 
 Tinnianna — for the choice of her name still 
 hung in the balance. They would have liked 
 to push on to the top of the hill while it was 
 yet light, but, as the little creek rose in a neigh- 
 boring bog, they concluded that it was best to 
 stay near the base of supplies. So, when the ani- 
 mal with the glut of names had been made com- 
 fortable, they began to build their fire. This was 
 rather a tedious operation, for there seemed to 
 
^ Ct)e 2luiiai»aY SrotDTis. ^ 
 
 be very little dead wood. Paul might have cut 
 some fat pine knots, but he had forgotten to pro- 
 vide himself with a hatchet or a saw, when he 
 was sampling the stock of Mr. Bassett's friend. 
 His entire tool-chest consisted of a can-opener 
 and a monkey - wrench, and was frankly and 
 shamelessly inadequate to the situation. 
 
 Paul's back was beginning to ache with 
 stooping down, when he heard Adele call him. 
 She had climbed to the top of a little rocky emi- 
 nence somewhat further up the mountain-side, 
 and there he followed her. 
 
 "Oh, Paul!" she said; "if we could only 
 have tkat, how it would burn!" 
 
 She pointed to a large sign, made of boards 
 that had once been neatly painted, but now so 
 sun-scorched and weather-beaten that it was not 
 quite easy to make out the lettering, which was 
 as follows : 
 
 DESIRABLE BUILDING LOTS 
 
 and 
 
 ELEGANT VILLA SITES. 
 
 LOCATION UNSURPASSED — 
 
 ALL MODERN IMPROVEMENTS. 
 
 "But, of course," she went on, "it belongs 
 to the owner of the lots, and so we must n't 
 touch it." 
 
 " It is a hving He," said Paul. "Stand aside, 
 my dear." 
 
 He raised a large round stone above his 
 head, and sent it crashing down upon the sign. 
 Then, silently and firmly gathering up the splin- 
 tered fragments, he bore them to the creek-side, 
 130 
 
and in five minutes the poor old sign was expi- 
 ating its iniquity in dancing flames. Then they 
 made tea, and fried a Httle bacon, just for the 
 sake of frying something; and, after they had 
 made an excellent meal, they sat down with their 
 backs against a boulder, Paul to smoke his pipe, 
 and Adele to give him a lesson in the price-list. 
 
 But the pipe was beginning to grow black 
 and sweet and highly enjoyable ; and the price- 
 list had long ceased to be anything but the abomi- 
 nation of desolation mentioned in the scriptures, 
 and by-and-by they contented themselves with 
 simply sitting there and watching the sunset, 
 which was making a series of beautiful trans- 
 formation scenes away down at the lower end 
 of the valley. 
 
 Their camping-ground was a little above the 
 winding road up which they had been traveling, 
 and they looked down upon it as they sat against 
 
 13' 
 
the rock. It was a lonely road, narrow and ill- 
 cared for, , and they were greatly surprised when 
 they saw a curious little figure climbing up it. 
 Adele drew a little closer to Paul. 
 
 "Oh, Paul!" she whispered; "it can't be — 
 tramps ! " 
 
 '■I think not,'' said Paul; "in fact, I am 
 sure. It 's only a boy, and he 's carrying a 
 bundle." 
 
 But Adele continued to look rather nervously 
 at the dark figure until it came fully into view in 
 
 the bright sunset light. Then she gave a little 
 sigh of relief and an apologetic laugh. 
 
 " How absurd ! " she said. " Why, it 's only 
 a little Italian boy — and, oh, Paul, dear, do look 
 at what he 's carrying!" 
 
 The boy was a brown-skinned youngster, 
 thirteen or fourteen years old, with dark, curly 
 hair; and he was bent almost double under the 
 weight of a great burden of tinware which he car- 
 ried on his back — a poor little outfit compared 
 
1? C[)e HunavDaY Brotcns. "^ 
 
 with the Browns', but still a heavy load for a 
 half-grown boy to carry. Yet he trudged cheerily 
 along, whistling and keeping step to his own 
 music; and, as he passed them, he hailed them in 
 a happy childish voice : 
 
 " Buona sera ! " 
 
 " Buona sera ! " Paul answered him. And, 
 as the httle figure vanished up the road, Adele 
 called softly after him : 
 
 " Buona sera ! " 
 
 But, as he passed on, they turned to each 
 other with troubled faces. 
 
 " Oh, Paul," said Adele, " was n't it pitiful ? 
 Such a load, and yet such poor little wretched 
 things ! " 
 
 "Yes, dy Jove/" said Paul, knitting his 
 brows. 
 
 Then they sat in silence until the light had 
 almost faded from the western sky. 
 
 " Oh, Paul," said Adele, at last, with a long- 
 drawn sigh and a shake of her little head, " I am 
 so thankful we forgot those farm-houses ! " 
 
 "Well, dear, we must go to bed," said Paul, 
 after a long silence. 
 
 "Yes; in our wagon!" said Adele, brighten- 
 ing up, for the little Italian boy had really weighed 
 heavily upon her mind. " Oh, Paul, won't it 
 be fun!" 
 
 And they very soon forgot their small com- 
 petitor in the tinware business, for they found that 
 going to bed in the wagon was quite a compli- 
 cated and protracted piece of work. In the first 
 place, they had to take all their stock out of the 
 wagon in order to get in themselves; and then, 
 when the stock was all out, they remembered the 
 
 10 ■/•J J 
 
■^ 'Lijc Hunaicay Bretons. "^ 
 
 evening dew, and were obliged to consider that 
 the tinware would surely rust if it were left all 
 night on the damp grass. 
 
 However, by this time they had grown quite 
 fertile in expedients, and, the night being warm, 
 Paul took one of their blankets and fastened it 
 by each of its four corners to the wagon-springs. 
 Into this he piled all of their stock, and over this 
 again he spread another blanket, and so tucked up 
 the tinware for the night. They had now three 
 blankets remaining, and two of these Paul spread 
 on the floor of the wagon, keeping the other to 
 cover them. Then Adele cHmbed into the hollow 
 box of the wagon to see how she liked their new 
 sleeping quarters. 
 
 Her report came out to Paul with a hollow, 
 booming sound, as though she were lost in a 
 distant cavern. She said, first, that it was dark; 
 and then she said that it was too hard for any- 
 thing. So she climbed out again, and Paul pro- 
 ceeded to despoil the tinware of its upper blanket. 
 Adele tried it once more, and said that it was 
 
V 
 
 ije HuuattJaY Sroteiis. ^ 
 
 better, but that she wished they had thought to 
 get a mattress. Then they both chmbed in and 
 tried to settle themselves for the night. 
 
 But Adhlt had 
 a tender conscience 
 and a deep sense of 
 responsibility. 
 
 " Paul," she said, 
 " I can not sleep while 
 I think what would 
 happen to that tin- 
 ware if any dew got 
 on it. I do wish you 
 'd try and think of 
 something else to do 
 with it." 
 
 So Paul got up 
 somewhat reluctantly, and devised another expe- 
 dient. This time he piled all the tinware on top 
 of the wagon, over their heads, and covered it 
 with its blanket. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, dear ! " said AdMe, when 
 he came back. 
 
 "You 're entirely welcome dear," rephed 
 Paul, but hardly in his very pleasantest voice. 
 "Do you think you could get ju.st the least little 
 bit over that way ? " 
 
 "I '11 try, dear," said Adele; "but there is n't 
 very much room, you know. Are you going to 
 shut the door, Paul ? " 
 
 " I can't, dear," said Paul ; " somehow my 
 feet seem to stick out." 
 
 " I 'm so sorry, dear," said his wife. " Do 
 you suppose we could have an extension put 
 on ? " 
 
 ^3S 
 
1^ tEbe HunatDay Brorons. "^ 
 
 " A — what ? " said Paul, sleepily. " I tell 
 you they 're too long.'' 
 
 " I did n't mean your feet, dear," said Adele. 
 " I meant an extension to the wagon." 
 
 "Oh, yes!" Paul groaned; "certainly — 
 just as you please, my dear — in the morning." 
 
 Then they tried to sleep. But the floor of 
 the wagon had something to say about that. It 
 made itself felt even through three thicknesses of 
 blanket, and it proved to be a singularly hard, 
 unyielding floor. Paul drowsily wondered if he 
 could n't some time have it taken out, and a 
 spring-board substituted. He was just sleepy 
 enough to make this plan seem quite feasible, and 
 he turned over on his back to think of it more 
 comfortably. In doing so his elbow landed 
 heavily upon his wife's head, while at the same 
 time he thrust her violently against the side of 
 the wagon. 
 
 " Oh, Paul ! " cried she, " you 're killing 
 me ! How could you be so cruel ? And just as 
 I was getting off to sleep so nicely, too ! " 
 
 This last clause was a fib. But the best 
 woman in the .world, when she has got a man 
 down, will rub it into him. Paul apologized 
 profusely, but not in a very clear or connected 
 manner. Then he tried to efface himself against 
 his side of the wagon, and he only gave a sub- 
 dued moan of pain when, shortly after, AdMe 
 plunged both her French heels vigorously into 
 the small of his back. 
 
 It was now Adele's turn to apologize, and 
 
 she felt so badly about it that she not only set 
 
 forth her regrets at great length, but made Paul 
 
 wake up to be sure that he understood how badly 
 
 13b 
 
V ^t?2 2liiuai»aY Broicns. "V^ 
 
 she did feel. And having once waked up, they 
 lay awake and talked it all over. They came to 
 the conclusion that they did not altogether like 
 sleeping in the wagon as it was arranged at 
 present. 
 
 " If," Adele said, " it only had a spring 
 bottom — " 
 
 " And a tail-board to let down for my feet," 
 suggested Paul. 
 
 " And a little more ventilation — " 
 
 " And about two feet more width — " 
 
 " And if it did n't smell quite so much of 
 the things we put in it — why, Paul, I can smell 
 sardines, and bacon, and pepper, and tobacco, 
 and axle-grease, and kerosene oil, and I don't 
 know how many other things, all at once." 
 
 " If we 'd built the wagon in the first place," 
 said Paul, " it would have been all right. But I 
 don't believe that man ever slept in this wagon." 
 
 "The" wretch! " Adele exclaimed. "Did 
 n't he tell you he did ? " 
 
 " Well, no," said Paul, " now I come to 
 think of it, he did not. I asked him if I could 
 sleep in the wagon, and he said I could if I 
 bought it." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Adele. 
 
 They gave it up after a while, and decided 
 that they did not really care about making a 
 bed-chamber of their vehicle until certain radical 
 faults in its construction had been remedied. 
 They thought they would get up and take a little 
 walk to stretch their legs and limber up the many 
 sore points which sprang into life all over their 
 frames. 
 
 They crawled painfully out of their box, 
 
 '37 
 
■^ ^i)e Hiinatpay Brotons. "^ 
 
 and, when they had got out into the open air, 
 they were astonished to find how large and cool 
 and generally delightful the world was. The 
 moon shone so brightly that, for a moment, it 
 seemed as if they were standing on a snow-clad 
 hill near the shore of a broad white lake ; for a 
 great mist filled the valley below them, and 
 buried in its cloudy depths the fields and farms 
 and woodlands. 
 
 " Oh, Paul," cried Paul's wife, " how beauti- 
 ful! I am not sleepy now, or even tired. Are 
 you ? Let 's walk to the top of the hill and look 
 down. It must be hke getting into heaven to 
 see it all from there ! " 
 
 r3S 
 
Chapter XVI. 
 
 ^/^^ 'gHE road kept doubling on itself, 
 L ' and it was the whitest thing in 
 
 ^^ the landscape, as it stretched out 
 
 V W r\ before them, for on each side 
 were the black hollows beneath 
 the bushes and the undergrowth 
 that bordered it. Each short 
 ascending reach lost itself in the darkness; and, 
 though they could not have told why, it gave 
 them a strange sort of quick, siu-prised pleasure 
 to come around the tui-n and find that silver path 
 leading them in just the opposite direction, and 
 yet ever tempting them upward with its wayward 
 beauty. At each turn they knew what they were 
 going to find, and yet each time it was a surprise ; 
 and the road kept the best surprise of all until 
 the last ; for suddenly they came around a thicket, 
 and there it lay before them running straight up, 
 and over the bare brow of the hill, as if it run 
 into the hollow of the sky. Paul felt Adele's 
 hand fall upon his arm, not in affright, but as 
 though she cautioned him not to break the 
 silence. 
 
 " Look, dear," she said very softly, pointing 
 to the side of the road. 
 
 The little Italian boy lay there, stretched on 
 his back, with one arm under his head and his 
 
other hand clutching at his ragged shirt and 
 puUing it open at his brown chest, that rose and 
 fell in his sound, child-like sleep. His lips were 
 relaxed in a babyish smile, and the dew glistened 
 like frost on his curly black hair. Adele gazed at 
 him until the little picture blm-red and wavered 
 through tears. She slipped her hand into Paul's, 
 and he pressed it hard. 
 
 They turned back a little, and sat down on 
 the stones by the roadside. 
 
 " Paul," said Adele, after a long while, " do 
 you know what I 'm thinking of ? " 
 
 Paul nodded. " Give him something ! " 
 
 "Yes; give him a whole lot'of things. And 
 bring them up here, don't you know, while he 's 
 asleep, and leave them for him to find when he 
 wakes up. Would n't that be lovely ? " 
 140 
 
■^ Clje SiinaiDaY 8f0tr>ns. "^ 
 
 "First-rate," said Paul. 
 
 "Oh, you 're such a dear," whispered Adele, 
 "to think so, too. But then, I knew you would. 
 Now, what shall we give him?" 
 
 "A blanket, the first thing, I should think," 
 said Paul. 
 
 "Yes; of course," Adele said; "you 're 
 always so thoughtful, Paul. And what next ? " 
 
 Paul ruminated. 
 
 "'Nother blanket," he said at last. 
 
 "I meant tinware," Adele explained. 
 
 "Oh!" said Paul. "Well, give him the 
 wash-boiler. I would n't put that thing to bed 
 another night for a farm." 
 
 "It 's a nice wash boiler, Paul," said Adele 
 reproachfully; "and you ought n't to feel angry 
 with it because you got it mixed up with a 
 strainer. Besides, the poor httle fellow could n't 
 carry it.'' 
 
 "Well, if he won't take it any other way," 
 said Paul obstinately, "give him the horse and 
 wagon to carry it." 
 
 Then their eyes met. The same thought 
 came to both at once. It was born in a jest, but 
 it trembled into earnest before they knew it; and 
 there they sat looking at each other and silently 
 talking, with no need of speech to make each 
 other understand. It was Adele who first spoke 
 aloud. 
 
 " Oh, Paul ! do you think we really 
 might — ?" 
 
 "Why not?" said Paul. "After all, what 
 did we come out for except to have a good time ? 
 And I 'm not so stuck on that wagon as I was." 
 
 " Oh, Pa.ul, \ won't let you say that ! " cried 
 
*\^ Cf>e HunaiDay BrotDns. "^ 
 
 Adele. " You wrong yourself — you were n't 
 thinking of that at all. We were having a lovely 
 time with the wagon, if it was horrid to sleep in. 
 But then it would have to come to an end some- 
 time. And I 'm sure he 'd have an ever so much 
 better time with it, and it would mean a great 
 deal more to him than it would to some man 
 who could afford to buy it from us." 
 
 " Well, I 'm game," said Paul, cheerfully. 
 " It won't leave us with much ready cash, but 
 then I suppose we can load up again." 
 
 "You don't mean to say," Adele exclaimed, 
 somewhat horrified, "that we 've speijt all we 
 had when we came away ! " 
 
 " Pretty near," said Paul ; and then he 
 smiled at her shocked face. "You must re- 
 member, my dear, that we 're only experimenting, 
 so far. When we find out what we really want 
 to do, we can begin to economize." 
 
 This explanation greatly relieved Adele's soul. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course ! " she said ; " and we 
 can economize on om"selves ; and then what we 
 do for other people will be a luxury. That will 
 be nice, won't it?" 
 
 Anything that was nice for Adele was nice 
 for Paul. 
 
 " Let 's wake the little beggar up and tell 
 him about it." 
 
 "Oh, Paul, how can you think of such a 
 thing ? " said his wife, holding up her hands. 
 " Of course it 's got to be a surprise ! " 
 
 "Why, how on earth," inquired Paul, "can 
 you surprise a fellow with a horse and wagon ? 
 You can't slip it in his pocket, or put it in hiij 
 stocking." 
 
y CI?e HunamaY Brornns. ^ 
 
 "Don't be absurd, dear," his wife said 
 rebukingly, "and I '11 tell you just what we '11 do. 
 You '11 make out a deed of gift, or whatever you 
 call it, and we '11 stick it in his pocket — " 
 
 "He has n't got a pocket," interrupted Paul, 
 " any more than he has socks." 
 
 "You know what I mean, Paul, perfectly 
 well. Let 's come right along and do it." 
 
 So Paul obediently came along, and they 
 retraced their steps to the camping-ground. 
 
 • ' For one moment, as they gazed at the 
 embers' of their camp-fire, in which a little life 
 yet lingered > at Sorrellina (or Tinnianna,) waking 
 from her placid dreams to cast a look of friendly 
 inquiry toward them; at the tinware cosily put to 
 bed under its blanket, and at the wagon, which, 
 even under the moonlight, retained something of 
 its peculiarly red redness — for one moment a 
 pang smote them both at the thought of giving it 
 all up ; but they did not falter. 
 
 Adele began 'to pack their own personal 
 hand-bags while Paul got out his bill-of-sale, and 
 started out to make a transfer in something cal- 
 culated to suggest a legal form. But here, at the 
 very beginning, he struck upon a snag. 
 
 " I 'm afraid, my dear," he said, after 
 scratching his head in silence for a while, "that 
 I 've got to wake that little cuss up. How the 
 deuce can I transfer this thing to him if I don't 
 know his name ? " 
 
 Adele knit her brows in thought. 
 
 "Could n't you write it so badly that no- 
 body could read it ? and then they could n't say 
 it was n't his name, you know." 
 
 "I might do that," said Paul; "but there 
 
 143 
 
"1* tEbe Hunamay Bromns. "^ 
 
 ought to be enough of a name for him to rec- 
 ognize himself by." 
 
 "That 's true," said Adele. "I don't see 
 how we 're going to get around that." 
 
 " I 'II tell you," said Paul. " Don't you 
 know what an everlasting lot of names those 
 foreigners always have ? Well, let 's give him 
 all we can think of, and then we '11 be pretty 
 certain, among them all, to strike on the right 
 one." 
 
 So they made out the transfer with all the 
 Italian names they could think of, ending with an 
 
 illegible scrawl. Some of the names they put in, 
 not at all because they thought they mig'ht belong 
 to the boy, but because they sounded pretty. 
 
■^ Ctjc Kunairay Brotciis. "^ 
 
 This is what the result of their collaboration 
 looked like : 
 
 When they had finished, they regarded their 
 work in admiration. 
 
 " I always was a bad writer," said Paul, 
 proudly. 
 
 "Yes, dear," said Adele, very much pleased; 
 "but I never thought you could write as badly 
 as that." 
 
 Paul put the tinware and the stores back 
 into the bedroom. As the moon went down, he 
 
 r4S 
 
"^ Cbe Runaway 3vowns. "^ 
 
 was obliged to light the lantern, which added a 
 gypsy-like attraction to his work, and he dawdled 
 over it until Adele was obliged to remind him 
 that the sun would be up if he lingered much 
 longer. 
 
 But the eastern horizon was still cold and 
 gray, and the moon had not faded in the sky, 
 when they drove the mare up as near to the 
 place where the sleeping boy lay as they thought 
 they could safely advance without waking him. 
 There they tethered her, warmly blanketed, and 
 up the road they went and found the boy still 
 .sleeping. He had scarcely moved since they 
 left him. 
 
 Adele had written a little note in such 
 Italian as she had learned — and taught — at 
 Madame Chambray's school, to explain the situa- 
 tion, and to advise him as to the moderate and 
 appropriate use of such portion of his new name 
 as he might find convenient for business purposes. 
 And if any one were to endeavor to take his 
 property from him, he was to address Mr. Parkins, 
 at the nearest of the banks of deposit where Paul 
 had provided a cac/ie for that creature of his own 
 imagination. 
 
 Then they went back to say a last farewell 
 to the outfit that had been theirs; and Paul 
 patted SorreUina's neck, and Adele stroked Tinni- 
 anna's nose; and that team of one single horse 
 ate of a bush, and manifested no emotion. 
 
 There was nothing left now but to give 
 Paolo Etcetera his little packet of papers, which 
 they had tied up with the price-list. Paul stooped 
 down and slipped it under the grimy hand that 
 lay upon the brown breast. The small fingers 
 14b 
 
slightly closed upon it, and the boy breathed the 
 light sigh of contented sleep. Adele knelt down 
 by his side. 
 
 " Paul," she whispered, " do you think I 'd 
 wake him? — " 
 
 " No," said Paul ; " a child who could sleep 
 like that must be built like a time-safe." 
 
 Adele bent over and kissed the boy's fore- 
 head. Then she rose, and they went on their 
 way over the brow of the hill, where another 
 valley lay at their feet. 
 
 "I wonder — " said Paul, dreamily. 
 
 "What dear?" 
 
 " What in thunder he '11 make of the price- 
 hst,'' said Paul. 
 
 "Oh, Paul," said Adele, "please don't joke! " 
 
 141 
 
Chapter XVII. 
 
 T seems an easy thing to make a 
 spring-board, run up it, and dive 
 off into the deep water of a pleas- 
 ant swimming-place. Any boy can 
 tell you how it is done. You go to 
 the saw -mill, shortly after the fore- 
 man has gone home to dinner, and ask 
 permission of the back-door to take a nice, long, 
 springy plank, with considerable "lift" to it. Then 
 you lug it down to the water's edge, and you 
 cock it up over a big round stone, at the proper 
 angle over the water, and hold the shore end 
 down with a big fiat stone. Then you just stand 
 back, take your run, and dive. 
 
 Yes. And there is a point in that run when 
 you become conscious that you are made in two 
 parts, and the front part of you is collapsing and 
 tumbling right in on your rear elevation, which 
 seems to be composed principally of air; and 
 cold, very thin air, at that. You know you have 
 148 
 
■^ Cfje Huiiatpay Bvotcns. "^ 
 
 got some pores left — several billion of them — 
 for they are all pricking, especially those in the 
 place where your hair used to be. Otherwise 
 there is nothing solid about you, except a chok- 
 ing sensation in the throat and head, and a 
 feeling of about-to-be-brokenness all the way up 
 your .spine. That 's the point where you go back 
 and say you did n't get the right kind of run on ; 
 and the other boys say : " Ah, 'fraidcat ! " And 
 then you run and dive, somehow. You would 
 dive off the Rock of Gibraltar to cool off the red 
 feeling in your cheeks. 
 
 Paul Brown had never had any experience 
 with spring-boards at swimming-places, b"ut he 
 was getting the same outfit of sensations as he 
 walked down the broad, shady main street of 
 Greenhill Plains, on his way to the Greenhill 
 Bank, where he was going to cash Mr. Parkins's 
 first check. 
 
 Paul had prepared an excellent spring- 
 board. He had made a deposit for Mr. Parkins, 
 and he had constructed a signature for a key to 
 that deposit, and he had notified the people of 
 the bank that Mr. Parkins, in his wanderings in 
 search of health, was Hable to drop in on them 
 at any moment, and to check against his deposit. 
 And here he was in Greenhill Plains, and the 
 Greenhill Bank was down the street, and nobody 
 but his wife, who was at the Ontowasco House, 
 and he himself, knew that he was not Mr. Par- 
 kins, but Paul Brown. And only he himself knew 
 that he was not even that — he was Paul Brown 
 in a blue funk. 
 
 It had all seemed so simple — to walk 
 pleasantly and naturally into the bank, and to 
 
1^ Ctje SitnaicaY Sromns. '1^ 
 
 say to the Cashier : " Good morning, sir. How 
 do you do? Allow me to introduce myself — 
 Mr. Parkins, of New York. Beautiful town you 
 have here — beautiful ! " Then the Cashier was 
 to say: "Mr. Parkins? Oh, yes! Mr. J. P. 
 Parkins? Glad to see you, Mr. Parkins. What 
 can I do for you this morning ? " But now that 
 the time had really come to do it, somehow all 
 the simplicity went right out- of the scheme, just 
 as the jump goes out of the boy on the spring- 
 board. 
 
 For the first time in his life, Paul was about 
 to pretend to be something and somebody that he 
 was not. For the first time in his life he was 
 about to sign a check with a name that was not 
 his, and to which he had no legal right. And the 
 moment the last letter of that signature was 
 formed, Paul Brown would belong to a class of 
 men whom he had looked down upon all his life 
 — the class of men who have "alias" after their 
 names. Paul Brown, alias J. P. Parkins ! And 
 if it ever were discovered, how could he explain 
 to all the great world that reads newspapers that 
 he had put on that criminal's mask for no evil 
 purpose ? 
 
 He cast up his eyes, and saw that he had 
 come to the bank. It was only a small red-brick 
 building, and nothing in any way formidable, but 
 Paul hurried past it as if it were the mouth of the 
 cave of the Giant Despair. He went a few yards 
 beyond the bank, and then he turned and re- 
 traced his steps, trying to get something like a 
 determined sound into the soles of his shoes. 
 This time he got a few yards beyond the bank in 
 the other direction. He felt that he must put an 
 
appearance of naturalness on this last promenade, 
 so he turned abruptly in a cigar-store and asked 
 for a cigar. 
 
 " What price ? " inquired the clerk. 
 
 "Oh," said Paul, "about twenty cents.'' 
 
 He was not looking at the clerk, but he felt 
 that the clerk was looking at him, and in a very 
 peculiar manner. If he had ever smoked the 
 cigar that the clerk sold him for twenty cents, he 
 might have understood why the clerk's manner 
 was peculiar. But he never smoked the cigar. 
 
 After this there was nothing to do but to 
 go into the bank, and he went, thanking his stars 
 that the day was warm enough to account in 
 some measure for his general appearance of high 
 fever. 
 
 Now, Paul had selected the Greenhill Bank 
 as a depository of his traveling funds because he 
 had found that it was rated at the mercantile 
 agencies as a small, but old, sound and respect- 
 able institution. Greenhill Plains was an old and 
 
■^ Ctje HunaiDav BrotDns. 1Jf' 
 
 well-known town, and he had thought that it was 
 one that would probably support a thriving, well- 
 established bank, wherein a strange deposit would 
 attract no special attention. He did. not know 
 that Greenhill Plains was not only an old town, 
 but what might be called a senile town, whose 
 affairs had been at a stand-still for several genera- 
 tions; and that the one small bank of Greenhill 
 Plains did little more than a petty money-lending 
 business, as agent of larger institutions in other 
 cities. Its only depositors were, so to speak, the 
 local butcher, baker and candlestick-maker, and 
 among theirs, Mr. Parkins's new account shone 
 like a diamond in a handful of bird-shot. But, 
 as I said, he knew nothing of all this. 
 
 Paul was too nervous when he presented 
 himself at the Paying Teller's window to take 
 much notice of his sturoundings ; and, indeed, 
 there was nothing to see, except the usual 
 interior of a small country bank — a room di- 
 vided lengthwise by a counter surmounted by a 
 net-work of stout wire. The wire net was pierced 
 with the two little windows which we may see in 
 every bank — the one through which the Receiv- 
 ing Teller is condescending, and the one through 
 which the Paying Teller is rude. On the one 
 side of the railing were desks and stools, the big 
 safe, and the one bank-official in sight — a large, 
 gaunt, aggressive-looking young man with a 
 prominent chin and a mouth that would have 
 been very useful to a retriever. On the other 
 side of the counter were Paul, two chairs, two 
 spittoons and the Bank Note Detector on a broken 
 file. At the back of the room was a half-glass 
 door, marked "Private Office." 
 
 15^ 
 
y tElje HunatnaY Broiwns. "^ 
 
 The bank clerk was sitting on a high stool, 
 writing in a large book. He paid no attention 
 whatever to Paul, until the latter, after fidgeting 
 for a few moments, began : 
 
 "I — I — I beg your pardon — " 
 
 Then the bank-clerk turned slowly, looked 
 at Paul with anything but a pleasant expression, 
 turned back to his work, and slowly added up 
 two long columns of figures. Then he carefully 
 descended from his stool, walked to the window, 
 and said : " Well ! " so abruptly that it made Paul 
 start. 
 
 " I — I 'm Mr. Parkins," began Paul, feeling 
 all the blood in his body go suddenly to his 
 head, but still conscious of an inexpressible sense 
 of relief that the fib was positively told. 
 
 "Well?" said the bank-clerk again, still 
 more disagreeably than before. 
 
 "Mr. J. P. Parkins," said Paul. 
 
 " Well ? " said the bank-clerk, so impatiently 
 that Paul hastened to stammer on. 
 
 "I 've got some money here," he said. 
 
■*J^ Clje 2?unatt)ay Brorons. "^ 
 
 " So 've other folk," said the bank-clerk, 
 curtly. 
 
 "I 'd like to draw about two hundred and 
 fifty dollars," said Paul. 
 
 " How much ?" the bank-clerk asked sharply. 
 
 "About two hundred and fifty dollars," said 
 Paul, feebly. 
 
 The bank-clerk regarded him with a more 
 stern expression than any he had so far assumed. 
 
 " Uo you know," he demanded severely, 
 ''how much money you want to draw?" 
 
 This time Paul managed to say two hundred 
 and fifty dollars. The clerk gave a sort of snort. 
 
 "Where 's your check?" he asked. 
 
 "I have n't drawn it yet," said Paul. "I — " 
 
 " Where 's your check-book ? " the bank- 
 clerk interrupted him. 
 
 " It 's here," said Paul, producing it. 
 
 The bank-clerk gave him his instructions in 
 a voice so loud that any one passing in the street 
 must have heard every word. 
 
 "Take that pen and ink there," said the 
 bank-clerk, "and write out a check for the 
 amount you want. Put the amount in writing 
 on this line, and the figgers down there, and your 
 name here. Top line 's for the date." 
 
 And then the clerk drew back a step, and 
 stood watching, while the millionaire Mr. Brown, 
 his face burning red, and his heart beating so 
 hard that his hand shook, set to work to forge 
 the signature of Mr. J. P. Parkins. 
 
 Paul had taken the pen in his hand. He 
 held it suspended over the paper. He was just 
 about to bring it down to make the first down- 
 stroke of the letter P, when he remembered that 
 
 '54 
 
"V Ctje HmiaujaY BrotDiis. It 
 
 he had to make the upstroke of the letter J. 
 For one moment of agony it seemed to him as 
 if he could more readily lift a ton than push the 
 point of his pen over that little quarter-of-an-inch 
 of paper. But somehow 
 he did it, and there was 
 the signature of J. P. 
 Parkins staring him in 
 the face. He looked 
 at it curiously, some- 
 what as a man might 
 look at a corpse of 
 his own killing; and 
 he wondered idly if 
 it bore the slightest 
 resemblance to the 
 signature which he 
 had sent in with his 
 deposit. The harsh 
 voice of the bank-clerk 
 woke him out of his daze. 
 
 "Ever drawn on this deposit before?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "No," said Paul. He did not know why, 
 but his heart sank within him. 
 
 The bank-clerk pushed the check back to 
 him across the counter, and turned sharply away 
 from him. 
 
 "You '11 have to be identified," he said. 
 
 " But," said Paul, " I don't know anybody in 
 this town." 
 
 The bank-clerk merely repeated his last 
 words, curtly and wearily : 
 
 "You '11 have to be identified." 
 
 But, at this old familiar injustice, Paul's 
 
1^ Cl)e Hunaroay Brotcns. ^ 
 
 courage began to come back to him. He ex- 
 plained that he had made the deposit for the 
 very purpose of having a sum of money at his 
 disposal in a strange place. That this had been 
 fully understood when the deposit was received. 
 That it was utterly impossible for him to find 
 anybody to vouch for his identity in a town 
 which he had never seen before in his life. 
 That he was willing to answer any questions 
 that might serve to identify him, and that his 
 signature was there for comparison with the one 
 held by the bank. 
 
 "We don't do business in that way," said 
 the bank-clerk. But he looked at the signature, 
 and then hunted up Paul's account in two or 
 three big books, and found Paul's autograph on 
 a file, and compared the two with a quick and 
 experienced glance. It was an awful moment 
 for Paul, but the comparison was apparently satis- 
 factory, for the bank-clerk showed some symp- 
 toms of relenting, or, at least, of being wilhng 
 to consider the matter. 
 
 "It 's entirely irregular,'' he said. "What 
 business are you traveling in ? — sewing ma- 
 chines ? — " 
 
 " No," said Paul ; " I 'm not engaged in 
 active business at present." 
 
 He was going on to say that he was travel- 
 ing for his health, but it occurred to him that he 
 did not look like a man who was traveling for his 
 health; and he was wondering what business he 
 could find for himself, when the clerk helped 
 him out. " Buying real estate ? " he inquired. 
 
 "I — I may look at some," answered Paul, 
 hastily. 
 
 ^S6 
 
The bank-clerk went to the safe, and returned 
 with the money, which he counted out very 
 slowly in front of Paul. It was mostly in small 
 bills. Paul took it, and was putting it in his 
 pocket, when he was startled by the sound of a 
 voice speaking hastily and excitedly, but in a 
 low tone, on the other side of the door marked 
 " Private Office." Paul felt himself growing cold. 
 
 " What 's that ? " he asked, before he had 
 time to think. 
 
 The bank-clerk had climbed back on his 
 high stool. He did not reply to Paul's question, 
 but he did turn his head to cast one chilly glance 
 toward him as he said : 
 
 " You '11 probably find prices pretty stiflf." 
 
 Paul walked toward the Ontowasco House, 
 nursing the tail end of the bluest funk he had 
 ever known . in his life ; and wondering whether 
 he was safely through it. He did not know what 
 happened in the bank before he had been out 
 of it thirty seconds. 
 
 A short, fat man, with a bald head and flow- 
 ing black side-whiskers, rushed furiously out of 
 the door marked " Private Office," ran behind the 
 
 ^S7 
 
y^ Ct?e Kuutttpav 8i-ot»ns. "V 
 
 counter, and, laying violent hands upon the bank- 
 clerk, dragged him off his high stool and shook 
 him as few door-mats ever get shaken. All the 
 while he sputtered forth oaths and imprecations ; 
 and the most kindly thing he said of the bank- 
 clerk was. that he was a dod-gasted dunder-headed 
 fool jackass. The fat man literally foamed at 
 the mouth as he shook his fist in the direction 
 which Paul had taken. 
 
 " He '11 never come back ! " yelled the fat 
 man. " That man will never come back, you 
 feather-brained mule, do you hear that? You 
 pudding-headed shoat, you Ve lost the only new 
 customer we 've had in two years, with your 
 blamed infernal freshness. Oh, wAai was you 
 let into this world for ? " 
 
 " Why, you told me to do it ! " gasped the 
 bank-clerk, when he had time to speak. " Did 
 n't you tell me to stand him off, and give him the 
 impression we were doing a high-toned business 
 and had folks like him dropping in every day ? 
 Did n't you tell me to meet him with dignity ? " 
 
 " Meet him with dig-grandmother ! " shouted 
 the fat man. " I did n't tell you to jump on his 
 neck, did I ? I did n't tell you to insult him and 
 treat him like a sack of meal, did I ? I did n't 
 tell you to make a confounded wild ass of the 
 prairie of yourself, did I ? And now he 's gone, 
 and we 've lost him ! Dignity ! Dignity ! Get 
 out of this, you gibbering loon, and go home ! 
 You may be fit to saw wood, but you ain't fit 
 for one other blasted thing on this green earth. 
 Git ! " 
 
 ^js 
 
Chapter XVI II. 
 
 1"' — *feY the time Paul got back to the 
 Gntowasco House he had suf- 
 ficiently emerged from his blue 
 funk to begin to look around 
 him with an interested eye. 
 
 He found himself in the typi- 
 cal old town of the middle states. 
 Greenhill Plains was eminently respectable, of a 
 decent antiquity, conservatively lazy, well-to-do in 
 a comfortable, provincial way, extremely aristo- 
 cratic in exactly the same way, mildly pretty, 
 thoroughly homelike, and perfectly, wholly, com- 
 pletely, unshakably satisfied with itself. 
 
 Greenhill Plains had one long, wide business 
 street with four parallel lines of trees running its 
 whole length. All around this were modester 
 streets, and these were again circled by the resi- 
 dences of the rich and great of Greenhill Plains, 
 who dwelt in spacious squat houses of brick and 
 stone, half citified and half countrified, each 
 standing in the very centre of its ample grounds. 
 In every place was a greenhouse, and the pattern 
 of the greenhouse was an index of the owner's 
 social character. The old conservative people of 
 the town had greenhouses with brick foundations 
 and sloping glass roofs. Those who belonged to 
 the more progressive set, the leaders of advanced 
 
 ^59 
 
thought, and the members of the Browning Club, 
 had iron-frame houses with curved roofs. But 
 all this Paul found out later. 
 
 At present he was content to interest himself 
 in the Ontowasco House. He had walked in 
 there with his wife, in time for a late breakfast, 
 and the appearance of two dusty strangers carry- 
 ing hand-bags had attracted no particular atten- 
 tion ; for Greenhill Plains was the terminus not 
 only of two semi-paralyzed railroads, but of three 
 stage-routes so old that they had forgotten how 
 to die, and of one line of horse-cars. Many 
 country people "came up" to Greenhill Plains. 
 They found it more convenient than New York, 
 being much nearer, and in all other respects just 
 as satisfactory. 
 
 The Ontowasco House was the regular first- 
 class hotel which you will find in every town 
 Hke Greenhill Plains. It was a long, three-story 
 brown-stone building, standing on the main street, 
 under a row of great elms. On the first floor 
 were the hotel-office, the barroom, the barber- 
 shop, the drug-store and the sewing-machine 
 
 f6o 
 
■y Ct?e HuiuimaY Bromiis. ^ 
 
 agency, which was also a real-estate office. On 
 the broad brick sidewalk in front, the respectable 
 loafers of the town sat all day long, tilted back 
 in Shaker chairs, telling each other who was 
 going to be the next President of the United 
 States. From time to time the barroom sucked 
 them in through its swinging doors, and then 
 ejected them — as you may have seen a jelly-fish 
 idly winnowing his interior with little gargles of 
 salt water. 
 
 Paul went in at the ladies' entrance, and 
 climbed a steep and nan-ow stair, with slippery 
 brass plates on the steps. From the hall above, 
 he turned into the ladies' parlor, guided by a 
 smell of dried Seneca-grass, horse-hair furniture 
 and American-Brussels carpet. Adele had agreed 
 to wait for him there because their room was very 
 close and small and stuffy, and looked out only 
 on a court above the hotel kitchen. 
 
 "I 'm afraid you 've had a stupid time wait- 
 ing, my dear," he said as he entered. 
 
 "Why, not in the least, Paul," she replied, 
 cheerfully. " I 've had a lovely time ! Oh, Paul, 
 do you think we could stay here a few days ? 
 I 've enjoyed myself so much watching the 
 people, that I want to know what it feels like 
 to live here a little while. Have you ever been 
 in a place like this before, Paul ? " 
 
 No, Paul had not. Neither of them had 
 ever known the deeply human joy of putting up 
 at a second or third class hotel and getting some 
 life for your money. On their wedding-trip they 
 had gone to the best hotels, and had been prop- 
 erly bored. 
 
 "You don't know how much I know al- 
 
 /6/ 
 
■^ Ct)e 2lunat»aY Srorons. "^ 
 
 ready, Paul, from just sitting here in this corner 
 by the window. There! do you see that old 
 gentleman down there with his chair tilted back 
 against the barber-shop sign? I mean the one 
 with a bald head and the red 
 handkerchief and the funny lit- 
 tle whiskers under his chin. 
 Paul, that man has had 
 seven drinks since you 
 have been away ! 
 And do you see the 
 little thin old man 
 in the long coat? 
 Well, he says that 
 some railroad, the 
 something Pacific rail- 
 road, is going to run a 
 branch to Greenhill Plains; 
 and then it 's going to be the 
 greatest distributing centre of the state; and that 
 Syracuse and those places won't be anythiiir^ in 
 comparison. He says if he had a hundred thou- 
 sand dollars he 'd invest it all in real estate here, 
 this minute. Put I should think if a man like 
 that had a hundred thousand dollars, it ought to 
 satisfy him, should n't you, Paul ? " 
 
 " Why, yes,'' said Paul, looking down at the 
 group on the sidewalk. " That and a new neck- 
 tie. A clean collar would n't hurt him much, 
 either." 
 
 " And then, Paul," went on Adele, " I saw a 
 hotel-call, and it was very interesting. A lady 
 came in and sent up her card to another lady 
 who staid in the hotel, and pretty soon the other 
 lady came down. They were sitch queer people, 
 
 lbs 
 
V" Ct)e 2tunaicaY SrotBiis. ^ 
 
 Paul. They were n't old and they were n't young, 
 and they wore their hair in the funniest little spit- 
 curls you ever saw, and their clothes were so 
 queer. They were expensive, you know, and I 
 don't mean to say that they were loud or vulgar; 
 but they had a sort of upholstery look about 
 them." 
 
 " I know," said Paul. " ' This elegant 
 parlor suit, $19.49.' " 
 
 " That 's just it," said Adele. « And the 
 ladies sat there, talking so that I could n't help 
 hearing every word they said. It was just like 
 rehearsing a play or something. And I found 
 out that they both lived together in some place 
 that they both thought a great deal of, and one 
 of them had married a Greenhill Plains man and 
 had come on here to live; and, as he traveled 
 a great deal, they did n't think it worth while 
 to keep house, and so they had come to the 
 hotel to live. And the other lady was visiting 
 somewhere near here, I could n't make out 
 where, but she still lived at this place they were 
 so fond of, and they kept talking about how the 
 first one must miss this place she used to live in, 
 and how delightful the society was there, and 
 how it kept up just as it used to, and how 
 they 'd had a perfectly lovely time last Winter, 
 only that, of course, it was getting a little more 
 exclusive every year. And after a while I found 
 out what the place was — and Paul, it was She- 
 boygan — in Wisconsin. I did n't know that 
 there was a real Sheboygan, did you ? I thought 
 it was only a name that the funny papers had 
 made up." 
 
 " Well," said Paul, " do you want to stay 
 
 /6j 
 
V Cf?c ^unainaY Brotons. V 
 
 here and make the acquaintance of Mrs. She- 
 boygan ? " 
 
 " Not exactly that," said Adele ; " but I 
 thought we might stay here a few days just — 
 just to take breath." 
 
 Paul thought so, too, if they could secure 
 more comfortable quarters. And he went off to 
 negotiate with the hotel - keeper. The hotel- 
 keeper was rather doubtful as to whether he 
 could find any better rooms, until Paul, who was 
 learning something every day, asked for a large 
 envelope, sealed up the greater part of his $250, 
 and ostentatiously deposited it in the hotel-safe. 
 
 Five minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Brown had 
 the bridal apartment, consisting of three front 
 rooms and a bathroom, on the main floor of the 
 hotel. 
 
 "And if you should want to show samplers," 
 ,said the hotel - keeper, "we won't charge you 
 nothing for an elegant room right across the hall, 
 with three of the nicest tables you ever set your 
 eyes on." 
 
 164 
 
Chapter XIX. 
 
 INNER was served at one o'clock at 
 the Ontowasco House, and it was 
 just a section of that great dinner 
 which is served at one o'clock on 
 week days, and two on Sundays, 
 v;::;^^ in one hundred thousand hotels like 
 
 f22^ the Ontowasco House, from Maine to 
 
 Mendocino, and from the Mouth of the Mis- 
 sissippi to the Margin of Manitoba. 
 
 One day it begins with fish, and the next 
 with soup. The soup is called barley soup or 
 beef soup, according as the barley or beef gets 
 the upper hand. If there are bones in the soup, 
 it is ox-tail soup or chicken soup, according to 
 the headwaiter's diagnosis of the bones. 
 
 Then comes roast beef, corned beef or mut- 
 ton-hash, which is pronounced as if it were 
 spelled "mutnash." Vegetables accompany this 
 course — succotash, mashed potato with turnip, 
 canned corn and canned tomatos — pale vege- 
 tables that died too young, because they took no 
 interest in life; all laid out around each plate in 
 httle white china bath-tubs, and all having much 
 the same warm, damp taste. . 
 
 Then came two kinds of pie or one kind 
 of pudding, and the bill-of-fare said "nuts and 
 raisins.'' They were there, too, in the tall lattice- 
 
 12 i6s 
 
V tEtje 2?iinairay Brotniis. ^ 
 
 work china dish in the middle of the table, and 
 they had been there ever since last ^^'inter. 
 
 Now, perhaps, you are pitying the Runaway 
 Browns for running into sucli a bill-of-fare as this. 
 If you are, you waste the pity which you prob- 
 ably need for your neighbors. Let me tell you, 
 that with youth and appetite and an earnest 
 desire to ha\'e a good time it is possible to eat 
 that dinner, enjoy it, and thrive on it. But, 
 none the less, it is well to be careful about get- 
 ting bits of tin-can solder between your teeth. 
 
 The Browns looked for Mrs. Sheboygan, as 
 they liad already named her, at the dinner-table, 
 but slie was not there. Except for the people of 
 
 the hotel and a few hurried drummers, they had 
 the great, low dining-room all to themselves. 
 It was evidently the slack season at the Onto- 
 wasco House. 
 
 After dinner, Ad^le wanted to "go some- 
 where," and Paul went to inquire of the proprietor 
 where that somewhere might be. 
 
 "Well," said the proprietor, musingly, "you 
 '\'e been to Greenhill Park — " 
 
 "Why, no; I have n't," said Paul. 
 
 ibb 
 
■^ iEbe SimaiDay Broiuns. t^ 
 
 "Oh,'' said the proprietor, looking at him as 
 though he had said he had never been to church ; 
 " you 'd better go." 
 
 "And how do I go?" inquired Paul. 
 
 "Well," said the proprietor, in an injured 
 tone, " you can walk, I suppose, if you choose, 
 but most people take the horse-cars." 
 
 The proprietor turned sadly and sternly 
 away, and Paul went out to search for the horse- 
 cars. He found them, or, rather, it, for he en- 
 countered no other horse-car in Greenhill Plains, 
 waiting in the street by the side of the hotel. 
 The driver, an affable, red-faced person, said he 
 would start in five minutes; so Paul hurried up 
 Adele, and they set off, with a deal of jingling, 
 for Greenhill Park. There was no conductor, but 
 the driver very kindly showed them how to put 
 their fare in the box; and after they had gone a 
 few blocks, he courteously invited them to come 
 out and sit with him on the front platform, where 
 he kept two camp-stools for the accommodation 
 of his friends. 
 
 As they drove along, he enlightened them 
 as to the personal, social, financial and com- 
 mercial history and topography of the town of 
 Cireenhill Plains. 
 
 " The man who owns that house there," he 
 said, " is what I call a gentleman. He keeps his 
 business in Serracuse, and just lives here; and 
 he 's worth $450,000. The man next him is 
 worth half a million; the man next him ain't 
 worth more than $50,000 or $60,000, but he 's 
 a professor and principal of the seminary, and I 
 suppose he 's an awful learned man. Don't seem 
 to me, though, that if I had brains like him, I 'd 
 767 
 
"^ ilbe 2?imai»ay Srotcns. "^ 
 
 waste them on I.atin and Greek, and have the 
 only house in the street without a cupalow." 
 
 Paul remarked upon the fact that he and his 
 wife were the only passengers. 
 
 "Why, yes," said the driver, cheerfully. " I 
 seen you Avas strangers in town just as soon as I 
 set eyes on yer. This ain't the time for the real 
 fashionable folks. You won't find nobody at the 
 Park but nurses and children. But you wait an 
 hour, and you '11 see more elegant people there 
 than you ever saw in your life before. They 
 come out there and tilt at them rings every after- 
 noon, just like a tournament of ancient times. 
 Oh, it 's grand there, along about half-past three 
 or so! " 
 
 AVhen they came in sight of Greenhill Park, 
 Adele gave a little cry, half of deHght and half of 
 disappointment. The delight was at Greenhill, 
 and the disappointment was at the Park. The 
 
Browns had made their entrance into the town by 
 the way of the valley road from the south, and 
 they had been somewhat puzzled by the name of 
 the place. But now, as they came out from 
 among the trees and houses, going northward, 
 they saw at once the reason of the name. 
 
 "You might say the rhyme and the reason, 
 too, Paul, for it is simply poetical!" 
 
 Right before them stretched out a broad 
 green plain, miles of level pasture land with 
 hardly a tree to break the smooth expanse of 
 green — or, rather, of greens. 
 
 " Paul, I never knew how many colors 
 green was until now," said Adele ; " there 's 
 almost everything there from blue to yellow." 
 
 "Them 's the market-gardens," explained 
 the driver. 
 
 They did n't pay any attention to him. 
 
 That was the Plain. And beyond the 
 Plain was the Green Hill — a beautiful, great, 
 satisfying green hill, such as you rarely see, 
 except on Sunday-school merit-cards; towering 
 up, a sort of big spur from a chain of 
 smaller hills that faded away from it on each 
 side, modestly receding into the background. 
 
 It was certainly a delightful view, and 
 it gave some reason for the self-complacency 
 with which Greenhill Plains regarded itself. 
 Not that a provincial town needs any reason 
 for self-complacency; it always has the self- 
 complacency, with or without reason, else it 
 would not be a provincial town. But Green- 
 hill Park was distinctly a disappointment. It 
 was a spacious enclosure within a high board 
 fence, whitewashed, except for a dozen painted 
 ibg 
 
"^ d)c Jvunatpay Browns. "^ 
 
 panels. On one of these a sign directed the 
 stranger to go to the Greenhill Pants Company 
 for pants. The other eleven panels bore the 
 statement, over a date of the year before 
 last, that applications for space in this valuable 
 advertising privilege should be promptly made 
 to P. \V. Skee, Greenhill Park. An arching 
 sign over the entrance of the Park told that Mr. 
 Skee was its proprietor. 
 
 "That 's Pete Skee's house there at the 
 gate,'' said the driver; "and that 's Mrs. Skee 
 sitting on the piazza with the other lady. You 
 get your tickets of her." 
 
 When she saw them coming, Mrs. Skee 
 descended from the verandah of her house. Her 
 residence was small but ornate, like a gothic 
 dog-kennel. Her companion remained seated 
 with her hands in her lap. She wore an ex- 
 pression of not having noticed that the con- 
 versation had been interrupted. Mrs. Skee sold 
 them two tickets for fifteen cents each, and the 
 Browns passed in. As they went by the 
 verandah, Paul noticed that Adele's eyes were 
 earnestly fixed upon Mrs. Skee's friend, who 
 was just remarking to Mrs. Skee in a tone of 
 stately compHment : 
 
 " How elegantly you do take to public 
 life, Almeena ! " 
 
 Allele touched Paul's arm. " That 's her 
 — she, I mean." 
 
 "Who?" asked Paul. 
 
 "The lady from Sheboygan!" 
 
 The Browns found Greenhill Park inter- 
 esting, not- so much for what there was in 
 (ireenhill Park, but because they were quite 
 
willing to find anything interesting. iVs the 
 driver had told them, the only visitors beside 
 themselves were, so far, a few nurse-maids and 
 their charges, and nothing was going on, except 
 a large merry-go-round worked by steam, which 
 was slowly revolving, bearing one solitary pas- 
 senger, a yellow-haired child on a giraffe. From 
 time to time the child wailed dismally, where- 
 upon his nm'se broke off her conversation with 
 the other nurses long enough to transfer him 
 to an elephant or a sheep, on the back of which 
 he was trundled around until he wailed again, 
 when he was put back on the giraffe. 
 
 The Browns wandered contentedly around 
 and examined the various attractions of the Park. 
 There were a stand and seats for camp-meetings 
 and political gatherings. There was a sort of 
 race-track. There were stalls to hold cattle at 
 the time of the county fair. There was an ex- 
 hibition hall vyrhich might have held the merry- 
 
V Cf)e Hunaipay 23rot»ns. "^ 
 
 go-round when it was stored away for the Winter. 
 There was a base-ball ground. There were two 
 wooden swings or scups. Then there were horse- 
 sheds. And everywhere there was whitewash. 
 
 By-and-by a young man came in at the 
 gate. He wore very fashionable clothes, includ- 
 ing a light overcoat too short for him, a collar 
 too tall for him, a fawn-colored derby hat too 
 small for him, and a pair of yellow "spats'' too 
 conspicuous for him or for anything less notice- 
 able than a hghthouse. 
 
 "That 's one of the aristocrats," said Paul; 
 " it 's . half-past-three o'clock, and the others will 
 be along soon, I guess. Let 's get up here and 
 take in the tournament." 
 
 They climbed up on what did duty for a 
 grand stand at the finish of the sort of race-track, 
 and sat down to await the coming of the proud 
 world of Greenhill Plains. 
 
 ITS 
 
Chaptek XX. 
 
 yHEY really are coming, Paul," 
 said Adele, her eyes lighting 
 up with a pleased expression. 
 And they certainly were 
 coming, any number of them. 
 Within fifteen minutes the waste 
 places of Mr. Skee's park were 
 transformed into veritable garden 
 spots, blooming with the flower of 
 Greenhill Plains society. Some came on foot, but 
 more came in carriages — carriages which were 
 perhaps a little old-fashioned, but stately and re- 
 spectable — drawn by very good horses — only 
 they were all roadsters; not steppers. From the 
 elevated seats which Paul and Adele had taken, 
 they could see the long procession strung out 
 upon the straight highway, leading out from the 
 town to the park, and it was a cheerful and en- 
 gaging sight. 
 
 The aristocrats of Greenhill Plains seemed 
 to be a pleasant lot of people, and to know each 
 other very well. The men ran a little too much 
 to spats and elegance, and the ladies all looked 
 as though they took their fashion magazines a 
 trifle too hard. But what do such things matter 
 where everybody is perfectly and entirely satisfied ? 
 Greenhill Plains's society moved around 
 

 among itself with an air of considerable distinc- 
 tion. Nearly every one carried his or her head a 
 little to one side, and smiled with both corners of 
 the mouth down. In a lower plane of usefulness 
 the twinkling of the spats kept up the pleasant 
 impression created by the animated faces and the 
 New York hats. 
 
 The Browns noticed with surprise that 
 although a great number of people had already 
 gathered in the Park, they all kept together in 
 that portion of the grounds nearest the gate ; and 
 not one of them so much as looked toward the 
 race-track, across whose desolate e.xpanse the two 
 strangers gazed wonderingly at the interesting 
 scene. 
 
 "^^'hy do you suppose they don't have the 
 tournament, Paul?" said Adele. "Do you sup- 
 pose they don't want to ha\-e it before us, and are 
 waiting for us to go away ? " 
 
 " I should think not, my dear," said Paul. 
 "There goes a gong, now. Perhaps that will start 
 something." 
 
 '74 
 
^ Clje HiiiiairaY Broirns. ^ 
 
 Sure enough, the sudden clung of a gong 
 seemed to send a sharp agitation through the 
 crowd of fashionables. It grew dense for a 
 moment, then it opened out, and finally ten or 
 twelve young men stepped forward into a bare 
 space in front of the merry-go-round, and there 
 removed their covert-coats, which they handed 
 with dignity to other young men who took the 
 coats over their arms and retired respectfully into 
 the throng. Then a man in his shirt slee\es 
 appeared, who looked, somehow, as if he must be 
 Mr. Skee, accompanied by a negro bearmg an 
 armful of short wooden spears, each with a gilded 
 
 point. These spears he distributed among the 
 young men, who then, apparently quite un- 
 conscious of the admiring gaze of a hundred 
 bright feminine eyes, advanced proudly upon the 
 merry-go-round. 
 
 "Oh, Paul," whispered Adele, hysterically, 
 quivering from head to foot as she touched his 
 arm, " don't tell me that they 're really going to 
 — Oh, Paul, is that the tournament ? — It 's too 
 absurd ! I shall shriek, I know I shall ! " 
 
Tt ^1)2 Runaway Bvowns. 'V 
 
 "Sh-h-h-h-h-h! " whispered Paul; "behave 
 yourself." 
 
 Each of the young men mounted one of the 
 animals of the merry-go-round ; those on the 
 elephant and other dark-colored mounts making a 
 particularly effective display of their spats. The 
 negro connected the steam-engine with a small 
 orchestrion, and the machine started up, this time 
 with an accompaniment of lively music; and, as 
 the riders were whirled around, they endeavored, 
 with varying degrees of skill, to catch upon their 
 .spear-points the brass curtain-rings which Mr. 
 Skee, standing upon a three-legged stool, hung 
 upon a lofty peg as often as was necessary. 
 
 "I 'm betting on the pearl derby, the one on 
 the dromedary," whispered Paul. 
 
 But Adele's eyes were running over with 
 happy tears. 
 
 Paul would have lost his bet. The winner 
 of the tournament was a gentleman in a" white 
 high hat, who bestrode the moolley cow. He 
 descended from his charger amid the acclamations 
 of his fellow-contestants and the entire gathering; 
 and a beautiful young lady, with the prettiest 
 possible blush on her cheeks, stepped out from the 
 crowd and fastened a bow of red satin ribbon 
 upon his breast with a gold baby-pin. 
 
 "My dear," said Paul, "you do wrong to 
 laugh. This is one way of being happy; and it 
 is far, far better than bull-fighting." 
 
 i-jb 
 
Chapter XXI. 
 
 'T was but a little past four o'clock 
 when Paul and Adele slipped un- 
 noticed from the scene of mer- 
 riment in the Park, and found 
 themselves alone with the market- 
 gardens and the green hill. Far 
 down the road Greenhill Plains' 
 one horse-car jingled merrily on its way back to 
 the town, and they saw that they would have to 
 wait at least an hour before it would come back 
 to pick them up. So they decided to stroll on 
 and examine the merit-card eminence at close 
 quarters. 
 
 The road took them to the hill as straight as 
 a string, but it was a long walk and a hot one. 
 The market-gardens looked cool in their varying 
 shades of green, but the sun has to be very low 
 indeed, as Paul remarked, before beet-tops and 
 lettuce-heads and tomato - vines cast a grateful 
 shade. When they got to the hill they were quite 
 warm, and so they set out to climb to the top to 
 see if they could catch a breeze there. They found 
 the breeze half-way up, and then, as they gazed 
 down upon the market- gardens on the plain, that 
 variegated expanse looked cool again. 
 
 But they knew well that the walk back would 
 not be cool; and, as they reached the summit, 
 m 
 
k 1S& >'" '*^** the tliDUsht of the 
 
 r fW 4 •' ^ong' hot high-road far 
 
 1p-**^f;{^ below them made them 
 
 burst out in the simultaneous 
 
 expression of two widely differing 
 
 but equally natural wn'shes. 
 
 "I wish," cried Adele, "that we did n't have 
 
 to go bark at all, but could just stay here and 
 
 live." 
 
 "I wish I had a drink," said Paul. 
 The sound of a human snore fell upon their 
 ears. They looked up and saw that both their 
 wishes might be readily granted, for right in front 
 of them was a large, weather-beaten sign : 
 
 CiREENHILL SUMMIT HOUSE. 
 
 The sign was the largest thing about the 
 house, which was perhaps as small a structure as 
 e\-er did duty for a hostelry. It looked like a mis- 
 calculation for a bird-house — "just as though," 
 Adek- suggested, "some liberal-minded carpenter 
 had been told to built a home for a family of 
 pehcans, and, never having seen a pelican, had 
 misconceived the creature's size, and guessed 
 roughly at something half-way -between an eagle 
 and a dodo." 
 
 A sound of snoring came from the Summit 
 
 f7S 
 
House, although there seemed to be nobody in- 
 side. They looked in through the open door and 
 saw a barroom not much larger than a butler's 
 pantry. Back of this was a still smaller room with 
 a bunk in the wall. The third room of the house 
 was as big as the other two put together, and 
 served as a kitchen and dining-room. All three 
 were empty, and yet the snoring went on, heavy 
 and regular, except when it was broken by an 
 occasional, thick, asthmatic wheeze. 
 
 "Hi, there!" shouted Paul; "any one 
 around ? " But no answer came to him save the 
 steady snore. 
 
 "It 's almost uncanny," said his wife. "It's 
 as though some one had left the ghost of a snore 
 here." 
 
 "That 's no ghost of a snore," said Paul; 
 "that snore 's alive, and I '11 bet you a dollar it 
 weighs two hundred pounds at the least. ^Vhat 's 
 more, I 'm going to find it." 
 
 He entered, the house and carefully exam- 
 ined every room. Then he went around the 
 house; and presently he called to Adele from be- 
 hind the kitchen chimney. Adele hastened around 
 and found him gazing at a very fat man with 
 enormous clean-shaven dewlaps hanging down 
 like wattles from the gloomiest face that ever was 
 put on a fat man. He was fast asleep, in his shirt 
 sleeves, his wooden chair tilted back in the angle 
 of the projecting chimney. In front of him was 
 an untidy ash-heap picked out with tin cans and 
 broken crockery. Beyond this were the tangled, 
 scrubby woods of the hilltop. His back was 
 against the house, and the house stood between 
 him and the broad prospect of Greenhill's check- 
 
 179 
 
■^ tEbe Jvunairay Bretons. V 
 
 ered plain, and the pretty town nestling in its far- 
 off woods. It was a strange place to choose for 
 a nap, the more so that the evening sun shone 
 right in the fat man's face and brought the per- 
 
 spiration out in a sort of shining veil, all over his 
 huge features. 
 
 "Wake up!" Paul called; but he might as 
 well have called out to the chimney or the house. 
 He had to shake the fat man violently before he 
 could even get him to open his eyes, and then he 
 only stared sleepily at his visitors, and said : 
 
 "What do you want ?" 
 
 " We want something to drink," said Paul. 
 
 "AVater, I suppose," said the fat man, in a 
 dismal, despairing sort of way. 
 
 "No," said Paul; "lemonade, beer, ginger- 
 ale, anything." 
 
 "Only two of you?" said the fat man. 
 
 "Only two." 
 
 rSo 
 
■^ CEjc HimaiKaY Brotuns. "^ 
 
 "What 's two drinks?" the fat man demand- 
 ed, as though he were deeply impressed with the 
 hoUowness of Hfe. 
 
 "Two drinks," Paul replied with decision, "is 
 two drinks." 
 
 "That 's so," assented the fat man, more 
 cheerily, as he left his seat; "you ain't nobody's 
 fool, be ye ? " 
 
 He mopped his face with his shirt sleeve, 
 and led the way around the house. 
 
 " Do you generally select that spot to take 
 your afternoon nap ? " Paul politely inquired. 
 
 The fat man said "Yes.'' 
 
 " I should n't think it was a very good place 
 for custom," suggested Paul. 
 
 "'T ain't," said the fat man; "ain't no cus- 
 tom." 
 
 "And then," remarked Adele, dreamily, "you 
 don't get the view; but I don't suppose you want 
 the view when you 're asleep ? " 
 
 They were just coming around the corner of 
 the house. The fat man stopped short, and shook 
 his fat fist at the entire landscape spread out be- 
 fore him. 
 
 "I don't want that view,'' he cried savagely, 
 " when I 'm asleep nor when I 'm awake ; when I 
 'm drunk, nor when I 'm sober; nor no other time. 
 Nor you would n't," he added, impressively, "if 
 you was in my place." 
 
 " Why, what 's the matter with it ? " asked 
 Paul. 
 
 " Matter ! " said the fat man, with great sol- 
 emnity. "Why, look there! " 
 
 He pointed with a gesture of tragic dignity 
 to Mr. Skee's far distant Park, from which the tide 
 
 13 iSr 
 
of fashion was just beginning to set back toward 
 the town. Between one and two hundred of 
 Greenhill's fairest and bravest were stirring up a 
 cloud of dust that shone hke gold in the late 
 sunlight. 
 
 "There!" said the fat man; "how would 
 you like to set here day after day and watch that, 
 and not have one of them monkeys ever set his 
 foot on this here hill ? No, nor nobody else,'' he 
 continued bitterly; "exceptin' you two, and you 
 don't look like real drinkin' folks. I ain't had a 
 customer this week ■ and last week I did n't hsive 
 
 nobody, only a total abstinence sewing-machine 
 agent, who came here, by thunder, and give me a 
 track headed ' Why Spoil Good Water ? ' Derned 
 if he wer'n't crusadin' against root beer ! " 
 
 The fat man brought his one table and his 
 two chairs out from the kitchen, and his guests sat 
 
down by the front door and ordered lemonade 
 and lager beer. It was evident that the resources 
 of the house were not calculated to meet any 
 great rush of custom. It took the fat man ten 
 minutes of arduous search to find three shriveled 
 and fly-specked lemons, which he assassinated 
 with a clasp-knife for Adele's lemonade ; then he 
 took his spade and began to dig in the earth in 
 front of the house. 
 
 "Can't I have any beer?" asked Paul. 
 
 "You can," said the fat man, reassuringly, 
 "just as soon as I dig it up. I can't afford to 
 have no ice up here this weather, and I have to 
 keep my beer cool the best way I can." 
 
 And after a few minutes of industrious dig- 
 ging, he disinterred a bottle of lager and gave it 
 to Paul. 
 
 The fat man brightened up and became 
 quite cheerful as he saw his guests enjoying their 
 beverages, and when Paul purchased two \'ery 
 dry cigars from him, and presented him with one, 
 he came to the conclusion that life was worth 
 living, after all ; and turned suddenly talkative. 
 
 He told them all about himself and his 
 affairs; and it seemed to afford him so much 
 pleasure to do so that they had not the heart to 
 stop him. His position was a peculiar one. The 
 hill and the hotel belonged to a stock-company 
 that was some day going to erect a great hotel 
 on the hilltop, and run a switchback railroad to 
 the summit. As yet, however, they had got no 
 further than to procure several valuable franchises, 
 and it was to keep these alive that they had en- 
 gaged the fat man to conduct the Summit House, 
 paying him both salary and commission, so that he 
 
could neither evade the responsibility nor yet be 
 his own master. 
 
 " If I hang on and they hang on,", said the 
 fat man, grimly, "we 're both of us winners some 
 day, sure ; but whether we can hang on or not 
 depends on how long we can buck against that 
 place of Skee's down there. The company, they 
 say it 's pretty hard work paying my salary under 
 these circumstances, but I tell 'em that payin' my 
 salary ain't nothin' to the moral strain of settin' 
 here day after day and seein' that man Skee 
 gatherin' in his ill-gotten wealth while I 'm wearin' 
 my shirt-sleeves to save my coat." 
 
 They agreed with the fat man, whose name 
 was Jepp, that his lot was certainly a hard one, 
 and their assurances seemed to comfort him 
 greatly. 
 
 "You're right," he said; "I knowed you'd 
 say so. I seen discrimination in your face the 
 1S4 
 
■^ ^tje KuuaipaY Broirns. "^ 
 
 minit I set eyes on you. Where might you be 
 from, now ? " 
 
 And to their surprise they found that Mr. 
 Jepp seemed to take quite as much interest in 
 them as he did in himself. He was not unduly 
 inquisitive. He seemed to care more for their 
 opinions, tastes and views in general; as though 
 he were grateful for a treat in the way of intel- 
 lectual companionship. They both found his con- 
 versation so soothing and agreeable that they 
 hardly noticed how late it was getting, until the 
 factory-whistles began to blow in Greenhill Plains. 
 Then Paul said he was afraid they must start, or 
 they would be late for supper at the Ontowasco 
 House. 
 
 " Supper ! " said the fat man, in astonishment. 
 " My ! you ain't figgerin' to get back to the Onto- 
 wasco House in time for supper, are you ? How 
 '11 you do that ? " 
 
 "Why,'' said Paul, "we thought we 'd walk 
 down and get the horse-car.'' 
 
 "The horse-car don't run no more after Mr. 
 Skee's Park closes. Ain't been runnin' this hour." 
 
 " Dear me ! " cried Adele. " Oh, Paul, I 
 can't walk all that way ! " 
 
 "No, surely you can't" assented the man. 
 "It 's better than three miles from the foot of 
 the hill." 
 
 " Can't we get a carriage ? " inquired Paul. 
 
 "Carriage?" repeated the fat man, scorn- 
 fully. "Why, my dear man ahve, there ain't no 
 carriage this side of Greenhill Plains! I '11 tell 
 you what, though — " 
 
 But he did not tell them what. He fell 
 into a profound meditation, with his chin on his 
 
^ Ct)e KinmixiaY Brotrns. "^ 
 
 hand, raising his eyes occasionally to look from 
 Paul to Adele. Adele had done her best to be a 
 brave little girl so far; but sometimes small things 
 are trying out of all proportion to their size, and 
 the little woman who had uncomplainingly borne 
 a night in a river flood felt her hp beginning 
 to quiver as she thought of the long walk over 
 that dusty road, in the silent, lonesome, yearning, 
 hungry twilight. Her eyes also began to get 
 big, and to wink a little, but all she said as she 
 stood and waited was : 
 
 "Oh, Paul!" 
 
 Paul hastened the current of Mr. Jepp's re- 
 flections. 
 
 " Look here," he said; "I have goi to have 
 a carriage or some sort of vehicle. You fix it 
 for me, and I '11 make it all right with you." 
 
 This is the American's password, his magic 
 formula, in which he puts his whole faith and 
 trust. There are hundreds of thousands of Ameri- 
 cans at this A'ery moment who are laying out to 
 get into Paradise on that phrase. 
 
 Its eff'ect upon St. Peter remains to be seen, 
 but it was amply sufiicient for Mr. Jepp. He 
 pointed out that by the terms of his contract, 
 and the franchises owned by the company, he 
 was legally bound to keep the Summit House 
 open every minute of the twenty-four hoxirs; and 
 that in consenting to go where his partners might 
 see him, even though he left a substitute in his 
 place, he incurred a risk of serious monetary loss. 
 But when Paul showed a willingness to meet this 
 danger half-way, Mr. Jepp said frankly that he 
 could not forbear to act as one gentleman should 
 to another, and he would walk to Greenhill Plains 
 
1^ 2I[je Huiiaiuay Sroiwn?. ^ 
 
 himself, and send a carriage out within an hour 
 and a half — the Browns agreeing to keep the 
 Summit House technically in full swing during 
 his absence. 
 
 This cost Paul very nearly all the money 
 that he had in his pocket, for the most of his 
 two-hundred-and-fifty dollars was in the hotel 
 safe. But then it would have been simply absurd 
 to put a money value on the look which came 
 into Adele's face when she found that she did not 
 have to walk back. 
 
 Mr. Jepp got into his coat, which was hang- 
 ing in his bed-room, with remarkable agility for 
 one so stout, and hastily gave Paul directions for 
 the conduct of the establishment during his ab- 
 sence. 
 
 "There won't nobody come," he said, "ex- 
 cept the boy with the milk; but in case anybody 
 should, I might as well show you through the 
 cemetery.'' 
 
 " The cemetery ? " repeated Paul. 
 
 "Why, yes," said Mr. Jepp; "where the 
 stuff 's buried. See ? Ginger ale," he continued, 
 pointing to the ground with his foot, " lager, 
 sasspreller, lemon sody, root-beer; but there ain't 
 no use diggin' for the root-beer, 'cause we 're 
 out of it." 
 
 Here Mr. Jepp paused and looked doubt- 
 fully at Paul. "And if you, personally," he said; 
 "I ain't speaking for the general public, should 
 want a little drop of anything more reachin' than 
 slops, why I '11 show you where to get it.'' And, 
 leading Paul behind the bar, he discovered to 
 him a small cupboard in whose depths lurked 
 several uninviting bottles, each of which con- 
 
tained what might be called sample dregs of 
 ardent spirits. 
 
 "There!" said Mr. Jepp, with so much 
 pride that Paul could only thank and pity him. 
 
 " Make yourself free of everything," was 
 Mr. Jepp's parting injunction ; " the house is 
 yours, and if your lady wants to lay down on my 
 bed she '11 find it clean and comfortable. If 
 there 's anything in the house you want to eat, 
 why, it 's yours. Make yourself right to home. 
 But I '11 be back inside of one hour and a half 
 Call it,'' he concluded, with an air of cautious 
 
 speculation, " one hour and twenty minutes — me 
 and the carriage." 
 
 He started down his winding way, and once 
 
T^ Cfje HunamaY BrotDiis. ^ 
 
 more the Browns were left alone; and the cool 
 shades of the evening began to settle down upon 
 the sylvan gloom around them. 
 
 Ad^le slipped her hand into Paul's. From 
 far below them Mr. Jepp's voice rose with a 
 cheerful ring. 
 
 " One hour," it said, " a/id twenty minutes." 
 
murmurs 
 
 Chapter XXII. 
 
 OR a while it was pleasant sitting up there 
 with all the world at their feet. There is 
 always something agreeable about be- 
 ing on a mountain-top and feeling 
 exalted above the rest of humanity. 
 That is why we figure heaven as a 
 place high up in the air, and why Bos- 
 tonians live on Beacon Hill. Broken 
 of the busy hfe below them came up, 
 as they lay on the short, wiry grass under the 
 gnarled trees, and watched the setting sun. Cows 
 mooed afar off, and their bells tinkled faintly. The 
 thrushes were singing their evening song, which, 
 with some thrushes at least, is quite different from 
 their matinee performance, and particularly appro- 
 priate to the season ; which has led me to beheve 
 that the thrush is rather a superior bird in his way. 
 But after a while it grew monotonous, and 
 they began to speculate as to when the boy would 
 arrive with the milk. They had watched Mr. 
 Jepp out of sight. They had explored every 
 nook and corner of the Summit House, and now 
 there was nothing between them and utter mental 
 stagnation but the coming of the boy with that 
 milk. It was a quarter of eight, and Mr. Jepp had 
 been gone an hour and forty-five minutes when 
 the boy appeared. He was a common-place boy 
 199 
 
■y Ctjc Xunaroav Broit>n«. "^ 
 
 with a freckled face, who did not look as sur- 
 prised at seeing them as they somehow thought 
 he ought to look. 
 
 " Where 's he ? " the boy inquired carelessly. 
 
 "Do you mean Mr. Jepp?" asked Paul. 
 
 "Yep," said the boy. 
 
 "Mr. Jepp," said Paul, "has gone to Green- 
 hill Plains; he will be back shortly." 
 
 "No he won't," said the boy. 
 
 "What do you mean?" demanded Paul. 
 
 "Did he leave you here to take care of 
 things till he came back ? " the boy asked, in a 
 decisive tone. 
 
 " Yes," rephed Paul, ■ rather faintly. 
 
 "Then he won't come back till he 's had his 
 drunk out," said the boy. " He never does when 
 he can get 'em to stay. Did he get any money 
 out of you?" 
 
 "Some — " stammered Paul; "that is — well 
 — four dollars — " 
 
 The boy whistled. 
 
 "That will keep him going 'most a week," 
 he said, as he slung his empty milk-pail over 
 his arm. 
 
 " But here, hold on ! " cried Paul, for the 
 boy was already starting off, "there must be some 
 mistake about this. Are you sure ? How do 
 you know ? " 
 
 " He 's my dad," said the boy, as he moved 
 out into the tangled hollow of the wood. 
 
 Paul was almost afraid to face Adele with 
 this piece of news; but she took it much more 
 
philosophically than he had any reason to expert 
 she would. 
 
 " I 'm sure it might be a great deal worse, 
 Paul," she said. " The bed-room is perfectly 
 nice and clean, for I 've looked to see, and if we 
 could find something for supper we should do 
 very well. If I could get something to eat I 
 think I could stand anything; and really, do you 
 know, Paul, I was getting very tired of the Onto- 
 wasco House. I was just thinking about it when 
 you were talking to the boy.'' 
 
 "Adele, you are an angel," said Paul. 
 
 " Nonsense!" said Ad^le, "though of course 
 I am glad, dear, if you think so." 
 
 They investigated the larder of the Summit 
 
House with hettei' results than they had dared to 
 hope for, although these results were no more 
 than ham and potatos, and something that had 
 aspirations in the way of being coffee. The sight 
 of a couple of lonely, gawky hens, that looked 
 as if they were trying to make up their minds to 
 give over domesticated life altogether and adopt 
 the profession of wild-fowl, suggested the pos- 
 sibility of eggs; and search under the bushes 
 behind the house was rewarded with a couple in 
 delightfully fresh condition. And as folks who 
 have a ham-and-egg appetite and the ham-and- 
 eggs to go with it are not in the least to be 
 pitied, it was naturally enough two contented and 
 happy Browns who stretched themselves out an 
 hour or so later to watch the Summer moon climb- 
 ing up the sky. 
 
 When a young couple can only look back 
 on a courtship conducted in a Philadelphia semi- 
 nary for young ladies, under what may be called 
 circumstances of aggravated bread-and-butter and 
 slate-pencil, mountain-tops and Midsummer moon- 
 light nights come in uncommonly handy, even if 
 they are a little late. Paul Ht. his pipe, and they 
 lay out in the white glare and looked up at the 
 stars. 
 
 "They were very good, Paul," said Adele, 
 " and I am glad you liked them ; but where was 
 it that we had such delicious ones on our wed- 
 ding trip ? " 
 
 "At Saratoga, dear. Don't you remember? 
 they were Saratoga chips." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " said Adele ; " how stupid of me 
 to forget it! I must learn to make those. Do 
 you think I could?" 
 
 tQ3 
 

 4 * 
 
 " Oh, you could learn to make anything ! " 
 said Paul, with perfect confidence. 
 
 May be you don't think that was romance. 
 ^\'ell, you don't know; you simply don't know. 
 
 It was so much romance that they both 
 started up almost guiltily, as a strange sound 
 suddenly reached them from far down the moun- 
 tain-side. 
 
 " Why, Paul I " cried Adele ; " it must be 
 Mr. Jepp with the carriage. What shall we do ? 
 1 don't want to go back to the Ontowasco House 
 after making up that lovely bunk." 
 
 " Well, we '11 tell him to go back," said 
 Paul. " He can have our room at the Ontowasco 
 House, and Ave '11 swop with him. Perfectly 
 simple." 
 
 The sound of wheels slowly drew nearer as 
 the vehicle crawled up the mountain-side. At 
 last it came to a place where the twisting and 
 
 194 
 
doubling road ran through a cleared spot, and 
 here the Browns, looking down, saw that it was 
 not a carriage, nor yet Mr. Jepp, but a ram- 
 shackle farm-wagon driven by a singularly lean 
 man, with a weedy, long, goat-like beard. Adele 
 looked a Httle frightened. 
 
 " Who can it be, Paul ? " she whispered. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Paul. " Some farmer 
 going home, I suppose. I only hope he does n't 
 want to stay here to-night, because — " 
 
 " Because what ? " asked Adele. 
 
 " Because he shan't." 
 
 But it looked as though their hospitality was 
 to be put to the test, for when the stranger 
 reached the summit of the hill, he hitched his 
 horse, which was as ramshackle as the wagon, 
 to a convenient tree, and slowly advanced toward 
 them. 
 
 " Evenin'," said he. 
 
 " Good evening," said Paul. 
 
 "Seasonable night," said the stranger. "Jepp 
 ground ? " 
 
 " Mr. Jepp," said Paul, " is in Greenhill 
 Plains." 
 
 " Yes,'' said the stranger, reflectively ; " yes, 
 I seen him there. Fuller 'n a tick.'' 
 
 " May I ask," inquired Paul, " if it is cus- 
 tomary for Mr. Jepp to get intoxicated ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes!" said the stranger; "quite so." 
 
 He still stroked his beard, while his eyes 
 wandered vacantly around. 
 
 " Quite so,'' he repeated reflectively; "quite 
 so." 
 
 Paul grew impatient. 
 
 "Can I do anything for you?" he said at 
 
 ^9S 
 
last. " I am in charge here during Mr* Jepp's 
 absence. I am sony I can't put you up, as the 
 accommodations of the estabhshment are rather 
 limited; and I can't give you any supper, for 
 my wife and I have eaten all there was; but 
 anything else that I can do for you — " 
 
 " I 'm going home," said the man with the 
 beard, "and I don't want no supper." Still he 
 stood in a doubtful, uneasy sort of way, as 
 though he wanted something and did n't care 
 to mention it. 
 
 " Is there anything you 'd hke to drink ? " 
 inquired Paul. " There is some nice, cool 
 ginger-ale.'' 
 
 The strange man pulled at his beard in an 
 agony of indecision. At last he spoke. 
 
 iql> 
 
" I '11 take a cocktail," he said.- 
 
 " I am afraid," began Paul — but the stran- 
 ger raised a pair of mournful eyes toward heaven. 
 
 " I could n't take nothing only a cocktail," 
 he said. "I feel a kind of goneness here."' He 
 laid his hand upon his stomach, and Paul per- 
 ceived that he did, indeed, look faint and pale, 
 and appeared to be suffering. 
 
 "I hate to do it," he said sadly, as though 
 he were speaking to himself. 
 
 Paul felt his sympathies aroused. " I '11 do 
 what I can, sir," he said; "but I 'm afraid this is 
 not the place to come to for a good cocktail. 
 However, if you feel faint, I suppose the liquor 
 will do you good, any way." 
 
 He started for the bar, but the man held 
 out a hand as if to detain him. 
 
 " No ; don't," he said ; and then he checked 
 himself as suddenly. 
 
 "Yes," he said; "go ahead, I '11 take it." 
 
 Paul went behind the bar and lit the kero- 
 sene lamp. There he was joined by Adele. 
 
 "Paul," said she, "that man is deceiving 
 you. I know it.'' 
 
 "How do you know?" asked Paul. 
 
 "Because I saw his expres.sion as soon as he 
 saw you go in here. Paul, I don't believe he 's 
 got any more stomach-ache than you or I have." 
 
 " Hush, my dear," said Paul, for the man 
 had already followed them in, and was standing 
 by the doorway. 
 
 " I don't care, dear,'' said his wife ; " I 'm 
 
 right; you '11 see if I 'm not. That man 's a 
 
 humbug and a hypocrite. You may trust a 
 
 woman's instinct. I am perfectly certain of it." 
 
 14 igy 
 
1^ T,i)e HuiiatDay Brotrii?. "^ 
 
 Now, there are few harder moments in a 
 man's Hfe than the moment when his wife tells 
 him that another man in whom he has trusted 
 is abwsing his confidence. It is a moment that 
 has been too much for the good sense and dis- 
 cretion of experienced and middle-aged men, 
 long past hugging the delusions of their youth; 
 and that it should move a comparatively green 
 youngster to indiscretion is not to be wondered 
 at. Paul looked in angry doubt at the dark figure 
 by the door, and thought he could detect some- 
 thing deceitful and dishonest in the very turn of 
 the stranger's head. He felt all the irritation of 
 the honest man, who takes his drink and sees no 
 harm in it, for the man who takes it in violation 
 of his own principles. And, just as a sense of 
 this feeling came over him, temptation in its most 
 trying form put itself in his way. For I take it 
 that no American is more keenly tempted than 
 when the spirit of revenge and his sense of humor 
 work together. Paul's eye had fallen upon a 
 bottle labeled "benzine." 
 
 "By thunder!" he said to himself; "that 
 fellow shall have a cocktail, and he shall not 
 forget it in a hurry, either." 
 
 "There!" he said, pushing across the counter 
 the drink he had mixed, and his gorge rose as 
 he saw the stranger come forward and continue 
 his curious pantomime of hesitancy. 
 
 " What a humbug ! " thought Paul ; " and 
 all that nonsense for the benefit of two people 
 who don't care a stiver what he drinks, or how 
 he drinks it." 
 
 The stranger came up to the bar in a doubt- 
 ful, nervous way, as though even yet he had not 
 /9S 
 
■y Ctje 2?itnaii>aY Sromiis. "^ 
 
 made up his mind, and Paul gave the drink a 
 final, disgusted shove. This seemed to decide 
 him. He pushed back a coin to Paul, and Paul 
 slung it contemptuously into the till. The man 
 grasped his glass and drained it at one draught. 
 Then an expression of horror came over his face 
 — an expression of horror which Paul . never 
 forgot to his dying day. The expression of 
 horror was succeeded by one of profound doubt 
 and wonderment. Then the man smelled of his 
 glass, then he Hfted the flap of his old- 
 fashioned frock coat and smelled 
 of that ; and Paul knew that his 
 sin had found him out; and 
 that whatever that man knew 
 about cocktails, he knew ben- 
 zine when he smelled it. He 
 stood almost paralyzed while 
 the stranger walked solemnly 
 around the bar, peered into 
 the little cupboard, found the 
 benzine bottle, examined the 
 label, and then straightened 
 himself up with a sigh of 
 satisfaction. All trace of 
 hesitancy had disappeared frMti 
 the countenance of the man with 
 the goat-like beard. He looked at 
 Paul for one moment with an expression of 
 withering calm. 
 
 "I did n't mean to," he said, "but I don't 
 mind doing it now. Young man, I 'm the Sheriff 
 of North Greenhill County, and I arrest you for 
 selling liquor without a Ucense." 
 
Chapter XXIII. 
 
 ^HE moonlight shone brightly down 
 upon the upper end of North Green- 
 hill County — not the upper end of 
 Greenhill County, which is a pleasant 
 and civilized lowland, but of North 
 Greenhill County, which is a lonely 
 northward upland, spotted with aban- 
 doned farms. 
 With its last rays that night it looked down 
 upon one of the most desolate of all these neg- 
 lected ghosts of homesteads. It may have been 
 a large farm at one time, but it had evidently 
 been so many kind of farms in the course of its 
 struggle for existence, that its unlucky acres had 
 long ceased to give the faintest suggestion of pride 
 
■\^ Clje HunainaY Bromns. "^ 
 
 or promise, or even of plain, ordinary self-respect. 
 There were wrecks of stock-barns and stables; 
 there were stubble-fields where corn and rye had 
 grown; there were broad patches where stray 
 pumpkins and lonely watermelons were all that 
 was left to tell of some forgotten period of culti- 
 vation; there were pear and apple orchards gone 
 to wrack and ruin. And apparently one of the 
 latest phases of the farm's struggle for existence 
 had been a desperate attempt at poultry-raising, 
 for two or three home-made bi'ooder-houses and 
 chicken-runs stood in the back yard of the old 
 frame farm-house, and showed fewer signs of 
 decay than the dismal homestead itself 
 
 At the end door of the newest of these struc- 
 tures — a low building with a narrow-paned sky- 
 light in its sloping roof — stood three figures: a 
 good-looking young man and a good-looking 
 young woman, both quite pale in the flooding 
 moonlight, and a lean, long man with a goat-like 
 beard. This latter was speaking in a tone be- 
 tween dubiousness and determination. 
 
 "It may be an outrage," he said, "but it 's 
 
 all the place I 've got to put you, and it 's all the 
 
 lock-up the town 's had in three years. If your 
 
 'lady don't like it, she can sit outside; she ain't 
 
 under no arrest.'' 
 
 "Oh, no, Paul!" cried Adele; "I '11 go in 
 ihere with you." 
 
 "Very well, Marm," said the Sheriff; "the 
 last man in there was a nigger, and he was per- 
 fectly satisfied." 
 
 A minute later he had locked the door upon 
 his two captives. He took a step toward the 
 house, then he stopped and seemed to hesitate. 
 
"f*' Ctje HmmroaY Sromiis. T^ 
 
 But, after a moment, as though to give himself 
 courage, he Ufted the skirt of his coat to his nose ; 
 and, as he smelled of it, a look of stern resolution 
 came into his face, and he proceeded with a firm 
 step toward the house. 
 
 Paul Brown gazed after him through the 
 narrow parallel bars of the skylight-frame, in 
 which a few panes of glass were still to be seen. 
 
 He clenched his hands, and his chest heaved. 
 When he saw the farm-house door close behind 
 the Sheriff, he slowly took off his coat, folded it, 
 laid it upon an inverted water-pail in the corner, 
 and with a courtly gesture invited his wife to take 
 the seat thus prepared. Then, without saying a 
 word, he proceeded to try the roof and the sides 
 of the house with his shoulder. 
 
 The gentlemen who can put their shoulders 
 through inch plank and two-by-three joist may be 
 seen almost any evening at any well-regulated 
 Bowery theatre, escaping from loathsome diin- 
 
1^ Clje HuiiatDaY Brorons. "^ 
 
 geonsand burning garrets, generally with a lovely 
 heroine thrown over the shoulder that is not 
 doing the bucking. But then they have six nights 
 practice a week, to say nothing of matinees ; and 
 as this was the first time that Paul Brown had 
 tried it, it was no wonder that he failed. When 
 he found that he could not break out, he sat 
 down on a box by the side of his wife and hid 
 his face in his hands. Something shook his 
 shoulders. They were only flesh and blood, after 
 all. When his wife saw his shoulders shake, she 
 put both her arms around his head and said : 
 
 " I don't mind, dear." 
 
 But Paul minded, and he knew in his inmost 
 soul that he had good reason to mind. So far, in 
 their little journey into the world, they had met 
 with ill-luck, discomfort, privation, and even with 
 physical danger. They had encountered suspicion 
 and rude treatment: they had been cheated and 
 imposed upon. And they had taken all that had 
 come with light and contented hearts, as their 
 share of the bad chances in the game of life. 
 
 But now they stood face to face with the 
 bitter opposition of personal malignity, and Paul 
 knew that all the pleasant and joyous spirit had 
 gone out of their wayfaring, even if he were able 
 to save this brave little wife from cruel annoyance 
 and humiliation, such as a mean and narrow- 
 minded yokel might delight to inflict, in the 
 gratification of a petty spite. 
 
 And, no matter how long out of service it 
 may be, a chicken-house never entirely recovers 
 from the smell. 
 
 Suddenly Paul felt his wife's encircling arms 
 twitch violently. 
 
■^ CE)e Hiinaipay Bromns. "^ 
 
 "Paul," she whispered, releasing him, "look 
 there ! " 
 
 As Paul looked up, he could not check a 
 quick, cold chill about the roots of his hair. 
 Straight in front of him, clearly visible through 
 the skylight, stood a gigantic coal-black negro, 
 stock-still in the moonhght, like some uncanny 
 monster out of the Arabian Nights. There was 
 something frightful about the huge creature as he 
 stood there, silent and motionless, staring at them 
 with his broad, brute-like face. It was not until 
 Paul observed a slight but regular lateral move- 
 ment of the lower jaw, that he recognized the 
 fact that a tie of common humanity bound him 
 to the strange apparition. Paul smoked and the 
 negro chewed, but tobacco belongs to the world 
 of men and not to the world of spirits. 
 
 A gleam of hope sprang up before the 
 prisoners, as the negro, with a sudden, cat-like 
 mo\-ement, ad\'anced toward them, and grinned 
 
"V ^iii 2?unamay Brotuns. "^ 
 
 » 
 
 at them through a broken pane. It was a friendly 
 grin; a kindly grin; a broad grin, perhaps; but it 
 seemed to them a \-ery beautiful grin. 
 
 "D' ye want to get out, boss?" he whis- 
 pered. And the first twang of angel harps could 
 not have sounded more sweet. 
 
 " I DO ! " said Paul, with a vehemence and 
 emphasis which he had been saving up for some 
 time. 
 
 " What 's it wuth ? " asked the negro, flashing 
 his white teeth in the moonlight. 
 
 " Anything ! " said Paul, who felt for the 
 moment that if that negro wanted the Congo 
 River he ought to have it. 
 
 "Anything ain't nothing, once you get out,'' 
 said the negro with a cheerful laugh. 
 
 Paul saw that he had to deal with a man of 
 the world, and went down into his pocket for his 
 last handful of change. 
 
 He held it to the light in the hollow of his 
 palm. The negro's face lit up with the illumina- 
 tion of avarice. 
 
 " Hand it out here, boss," he said. 
 
 " Hand us out," Paul said briefly and deci- 
 sively. 
 
 Caucasian and Ethiopian gazed into each 
 other's eyes. It v/as a struggle of will ; and the 
 Caucasian triumphed. The Ethiopian's eyes fell. 
 
 " I 've got to trust to your honor as a gentle- 
 man, boss," he said. " What are you in for ? 
 Horses?" 
 
 " Confound your black impudence ! " began 
 Paul; and -instantly a smile of happy confidence 
 irradiated the hitherto doubtful face of the col- 
 ored stranger, 
 
■y ^il^ SunatDaY Broirns. "^ 
 
 " A'uowai you was a gentleman, boss," he 
 said, promptly. "Now, just step to that eend 
 over there and put yo' hand up to the roof. Feel 
 a hook and staple thah, sah ? Yas ? Well, jest 
 onhitch that hook. Now push the skylight up. 
 Dere you are, sir. Lemme hold it open till your 
 lady gets out." 
 
 In a dazed sort of way, Paul stepped out 
 and helped Adele after him, while the negro stood 
 by, amiably grinning and holding the ventilating 
 skylight open. In a dazed sort of way Paul paid 
 over the remaining change in his pocket, to the 
 last cent. In a dazed sort of way he inquired in 
 what direction the railroad lay; and in a dazed 
 sort of way the two Browns went toward the 
 station. 
 
 When the midnight train roared on its 
 southward way, after a brief 
 stop at a little branch station 
 just above the border-line of 
 ,., New York and New Jersey, 
 it left behind it a station- 
 agent and a flagman, who 
 gazed speculatively, by the 
 light of a couple of lan- 
 terns, at a curious little 
 heap of personal belong- 
 ings on the shelf in front 
 of the ticket-seller's win- 
 dow. 
 
 "Mighty fis^hy security 
 for two tickets to thejunction, 
 Jim," said the station-agent, reflectively; "but I 
 206 
 
y CEjc SunaTOay Brotons. V 
 
 done it on /ler face, and I '11 bet I don't get left, 
 neither." 
 
 He turned over the articles in the heap 
 before him. They were as follows : 
 
 One nickel-plated Waterbury watch, 
 
 One lady's pencil case, 
 
 One gentleman's silk pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 One penknife with a corkscrew in it, 
 
 One small onyx scarf-pin. 
 
 One silver match-safe. 
 
 One very dry cigar, 
 
 One visiting card : 
 
Chapter XXIV. 
 
 T was just six o'clock of a Summer's morn- 
 ing. The sun was lifting a soft opal mist 
 from off a little Jersey town which peeped 
 out of a nest of young green trees. A 
 
 couple of young people, who looked some- 
 what the worse for wear, turned into a broad 
 cheerful street with taller trees along the edge of 
 the roadway, and with a row of low, spreading- 
 roofed cottages on each 
 side. Every house stood 
 in a large generous patch 
 of lawn or garden. At 
 the further end of the 
 street stood an old 
 white church with a 
 great pillared portico 
 in front. 
 
 The young people 
 turned into the gateway 
 of one of the prettiest 
 houses on the street. 
 The roses were bloom- 
 ing in the front yard. 
 The gra\'el walks were 
 as neat as a new pin, Ampe- 
 lopsis climbed over half the house; and 
 were scarlet runners on the sunny side. 
 
 Z08 
 
 there 
 
l(^."1fr 
 
 
 One of the couple was a young man. The 
 other was a young woman. When they got inside 
 the gate they looked at each other, and the young 
 woman said to the young man : 
 
 "Paul, do you know where we are?" 
 
 The young man looked with inquiring inter- 
 est at the ampelopsis and the scarlet-runners. 
 
 "Paul," said the young woman, "we are 
 At Home." 
 
 Paul felt that some religious ceremony was 
 needed, so he took off his hat. Then they went 
 into the house. The bright morning light filtered 
 through the closed blinds into a pretty little 
 parlor. The two young people, who seemed very 
 disheveled, indeed, once they were inside the 
 house, stood in the middle of the room and 
 looked about them. 
 
 "It needs pictures," said Adele, "and flow- 
 ers and books and nonsense things. And, Paul, 
 it 's going to have them ! " 
 
 2og 
 
■^ ^be 2?iinatraY Brotons. ^ 
 
 But Paul was not thinking about the future 
 adornment of the room. He was a man, and he 
 hated to be laughed at. His eyes sought his 
 open desk. He walked straight across the room, 
 picked up a large unopened envelope that was 
 lying upon it, and with a look of rapture he held 
 it up for his wife to see. 
 
 " Yes, sir; I took the liberty of not deliver- 
 ing it, sir," said a familiar voice. 
 
 They turned, and saw Mrs. Wimple standing 
 in the doorway. 
 
 " Lord bless yom- dear souls ! " said Mrs. 
 Wimple. " I knew you would n't be no year 
 away." She took off Adele's hat and gave her 
 a motherly kiss. " Now you go right upstairs,'' 
 and get yourselves ready, and I 'II have breakfast 
 on the table in no time. You look like you 've 
 been traveling all night. I kinder s'picioned 
 you 'd be home to-day, and so I raised some of 
 them biscuit over night, that you say you like so 
 dreffle much. And there 's five cucumbers on the 
 vine in the back yard." 
 
 And she sailed off, leaving a stream of talk 
 behind her, and went into the kitchen, where she 
 talked right on, to the cat, in the gladness of her 
 heart. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Paul Brown went upstairs, 
 where they had an orgy with cold water, clean 
 soap, and soft towels. Then they came down- 
 stairs, and Adele led the way out-doors, and they 
 walked down the neat paths among the flowers. 
 Paul thought she was going to pluck a nosegay 
 for the breakfast table, but she was not. She 
 only moved among the flowers, caressing them 
 with the tips of her fingers, patting their heads, 
 
V Ctje SuimujaY Brooms. "^ 
 
 and tpuching their cool cheeks as though they 
 had been so many children. A great fat sleepy 
 stock shook down a dash of water, and wet her 
 hand, as she chucked him under his white double 
 chin; but she only laughed. 
 
 "Paul," she said, "do you know how long 
 our year has been?" 
 
 " What year ? " asked Paul. 
 
 He was doing so much thinking that he was 
 stupid for the moment. 
 
 " The year that we ran away for," said 
 Adele. "It began last Monday, and it ends 
 to-day; and to-day 's Saturday." 
 
 " I knew it was n't a year," said Paul ; " but 
 there was a good deal of it while it lasted." 
 
 "Yes," assented Adele; "and do you know 
 what we 've been ? " 
 
 "A pair of fools," answered Paul promptly. 
 
 " Yes, dear,'' said his wife, taking his face 
 between the tips of her dewy fingers and pulling 
 it down, so that she could look into his eyes ; 
 " but nice fools, don't you think ? " ' 
 
 "Breakfast is ready," said Mrs. Wimple. 
 
 The End. 
 
One of the special weekly attractions 
 of our humorous contemporary Puck, is a 
 short story which does n't much resemble 
 short stories published elsewhere. 
 
 " MAVERICKS " 
 
 they have been called of late, and " Maver- 
 icks " is the title of a pretty volume just 
 published, containing about twenty of them 
 by as many writers. Among the contribu- 
 tors are W. J. Henderson, Brander Mat- 
 thews, Madeline Bridges, George H. Jessop, 
 Tudor Jenks, Flavel S. Mines, R. K. Mun- 
 kittrick, and Puck's editor, Mr. Bunner, 
 whose " Short Sixes " formed the initial 
 volume of the series of which " Mavericks" 
 is the latest issue. To any one in search 
 of something which will make him laugh 
 this little book may be safely commended. 
 The pictures, of which there are many, are 
 quite as funny as the tales, and are all by 
 Puck's artists. - i^. r. H^raia. 
 
 In Boards, $i.oo. In Paper, jo Cents. 
 
 All Booksellers. 
 
 By Mail, from the Publishers, on receipt of pice. 
 
xWW' 
 
 In Boards, $1.00. 
 Ih Paper, 50c. 
 
 the t^ndk burnS'i 
 
 ."•Or 
 
 U """en 
 
 I CJ-T»yl.i- 
 I F-o/ftr 
 
 AUNTY." 
 
 OF SMITH." 
 
 
 y 
 
 asa X3Z3. 
 
 "THE TENOR." 
 "COL. BRERETON'S 
 "A ROUND-UP." 
 
 "THE Love-letters 
 
 "HECTOR." 
 
 "THE NICE PEOPLE." 
 
 "MR. COPERNICUS AND 
 
 THE PROLETARIAT. 
 "A SISTERLY SCHEME." 
 "ZOZO." 
 
 "THE OLD, OLD STORY." 
 "THE TWO CHURCHES OF 'QUAWKET." 
 
 Illustrated by F. OPPER. 
 
 "ZENOBIA'S INFIDELITY." 
 "THE NINE CENT-GIRLS." 
 
 Illustrated by SYD B. GRIFFIN. 
 
 3< 
 
 For Sale by all Booksellers and Newsdealers 
 
 Mailed on Receipt of Price by the 
 
 " PUBLISHERS OF PUCK," New Yorl<. 
 
The beauty of James L. Ford's 
 HYPNOTIC TALES 
 
 is that they are intensely full of modern 
 New York. Those who read them simply 
 because they suspect that they are humor- 
 ous will find to their surprise a lot of 
 admirable satire. It is hard to imagine a 
 better presentation of certain blemishes on 
 the police department than " The Detect- 
 ive's Tale." In "The Genial's Tale" he 
 has for the first time classified a type and 
 given it a name ; so that now when you 
 speak of a Genial, everybody knows what 
 you mean. Among the other sketches the 
 best are " The Rich Presbyterian's Tale," 
 and "At the Chromo- Literary Reception" 
 — the latter a perfect picture of the sort of 
 thing that the " New York Correspondent" 
 of the Bungtown Bugle revels in. — Life. 
 
 In Boards, $l.oo. In Paper, jo Cents. 
 
 All Booksellers. 
 
 By Mail, from the Publishers, on receipt of price. 
 

 By C. H. AUGUR. 
 
 Stories founded on Fiction. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Illustrated by C. J. TAYLOR. 
 
 The Man Who Went A -Fishing. 
 The Little Store Around the Corner, 
 
 The IVlan in the Box. 
 
 The Finding of the Finn. 
 
 The Style of Benjamin. 
 
 Teacher. 
 
 A Fresh -Water Affair. 
 
 A Romance of the Forest. 
 
 A Summer Morning. 
 
 At the Lonely Port. 
 A Brief Account of Himself. 
 A Night at McNaughton's. 
 The Five Works of Art. 
 The Switching of a Kicker. 
 Cheviot's Downward Career. 
 Mr. Stubb Penn, Humorist. 
 
 Handsomely Bound in Boards, $1.00. In Paper Cover, 50o. 
 Of all Booksellers. By mail from the publishers on receipt of price. 
 
 TO rUCK, 
 
 luJiose enduring confidence in tlie foolishness of vtorials has brought abo^tt ike 
 publication of tltcsf HALF- TRUE TALES, tiiis volume is respectfully dedicated.