Terrific sound waves beat upon the Arrowhead ranch house this night.  At five o’clock a hundred and twenty Hereford calves had been torn from their anguished mothers for the first time and shut into a too adjacent feeding pen.  Mothers and offspring, kept a hundred yards apart by two stout fences, unceasingly bawled their grief, a noble chorus of yearning and despair.  The calves projected a high, full-throated barytone, with here and there a wailing tenor against the rumbling bass of their dams.  And ever and again pealed distantly into the chorus the flute obbligato of an emotional coyote down on the flat.  There was never a diminuendo.  The fortissimo had been steadily maintained for three hours and would endure the night long, perhaps for two other nights.

At eight o’clock I sleepily wondered how I should sleep.  And thus wondering, I marvelled at the indifference to the racket of my hostess, Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill.  Through dinner and now as she read a San Francisco newspaper she had betrayed no consciousness of it.  She read her paper and from time to time she chuckled.

“How do you like it?” I demanded, referring to the monstrous din.

“It’s great,” she said, plainly referring to something else.  “One of them real upty-up weddings in high life, with orchestras and bowers of orchids and the bride a vision of loveliness ­”

“I mean the noise.”

“What noise?” She put the paper aside and stared at me, listening intently.  I saw that she was honestly puzzled, even as the chorus swelled to unbelievable volume.  I merely waved a hand.  The coyote was then doing a most difficult tremolo high above the clamour.

“Oh, that!” said my enlightened hostess.  “That’s nothing; just a little bunch of calves being weaned.  We never notice that ­and say, they got the groom’s mother in here, too.  Yes, sir, Ellabelle in all her tiaras and sunbursts and dog collars and diamond chest protectors ­Mrs. Angus McDonald, mother of groom, in a stunning creation!  I bet they didn’t need any flashlight when they took her, not with them stones all over her person.  They could have took her in a coal cellar.”

“How do you expect to sleep with all that going on?” I insisted.

“All what?  Oh, them calves.  That’s nothing!  Angus says to her when they first got money:  ‘Whatever you economize in, let it not be in diamonds!’ He says nothing looks so poverty-stricken as a person that can only afford a few.  Better wear none at all than just a mere handful, he says.  What do you think of that talk from a man named Angus McDonald?  You’d think a Scotchman and his money was soon parted, but I heard him say it from the heart out.  And yet Ellabelle never does seem to get him.  Only a year ago, when I was at this here rich place down from San Francisco where they got the new marble palace, there was a lovely blow-up and Ellabelle says to me in her hysteria:  ’Once a Scotchman, always a Scotchman!’ Oh, she was hysteric all right!  She was like what I seen about one of the movie actresses, ‘the empress of stormy emotion.’  Of course she feels better now, after the wedding and all this newspaper guff.  And it was a funny blow-up.  I don’t know as I blamed her at the time.”

I now closed a window and a door upon the noisy September night.  It helped a little.  I went back to a chair nearer to this woman with ears trained in rejection.  That helped more.  I could hear her now, save in the more passionate intervals of the chorus.

“All right, then.  What was the funny blow-up?” She caught the significance of the closed door and window.

“But that’s music,” she insisted.  “Why, I’d like to have a good record of about two hundred of them white-faced beauties being weaned, so I could play it on a phonograph when I’m off visiting ­only it would make me too homesick.”  She glanced at the closed door and window in a way that I found sinister.

“I couldn’t hear you,” I suggested.

“Oh, all right!” She listened wistfully a moment to the now slightly dulled oratorio, then:  “Yes, Angus McDonald is his name; but there are two kinds of Scotch, and Angus is the other kind.  Of course he’s one of the big millionaires now, with money enough to blind any kind of a Scotchman, but he was the other kind even when he first come out to us, a good thirty years ago, without a cent.  He’s a kind of second or third cousin of mine by marriage or something ­I never could quite work it out ­and he’d learned his trade back in Ohio; but he felt that the East didn’t have any future to speak of, so he decided to come West.  He was a painter and grainer and kalsominer and paperhanger, that kind of thing ­a good, quiet boy about twenty-five, not saying much, chunky and slow-moving but sure, with a round Scotch head and a snub nose, and one heavy eyebrow that run clean across his face ­not cut in two like most are.

“He landed on the ranch and slowly looked things over and let on after a few days that he mebbe would be a cowboy on account of it taking him outdoors more than kalsomining would.  Lysander John was pretty busy, but he said all right, and gave him a saddle and bridle and a pair of bull pants and warned him about a couple of cinch-binders that he mustn’t try to ride or they would murder him.  And so one morning Angus asked a little bronch-squeezer we had, named Everett Sloan, to pick him out something safe to ride, and Everett done so.  Brought him up a nice old rope horse that would have been as safe as a supreme-court judge, but the canny Angus says:  ’No, none of your tricks now!  That beast has the very devil in his eye, and you wish to sit by and laugh your fool head off when he displaces me.’  ‘Is that so?’ says Everett.  ‘I suspect you,’ says Angus.  ‘I’ve read plentifully about the tricks of you cowlads.’  ‘Pick your own horse, then,’ says Everett.  ‘I’d better,’ says Angus, and picks one over by the corral gate that was asleep standing up, with a wisp of hay hanging out of his mouth like he’d been too tired to finish eating it.  ‘This steed is more to my eye,’ says Angus.  ’He’s old and withered and he has no evil ambitions.  But maybe I can wake him up.’  ‘Maybe you can,’ says Everett, ‘but are you dead sure you want to?’ Angus was dead sure.  ‘I shall thwart your murderous design,’ says he.  So Everett with a stung look helped him saddle this one.  He had his alibi all right, and besides, nothing ever did worry that buckaroo as long as his fingers wasn’t too cold to roll a cigarette.

“The beast was still asleep when Angus forked him.  Without seeming to wake up much he at once traded ends, poured Angus out of the saddle, and stacked him up in some mud that was providentially there ­mud soft enough to mire your shadow.  Angus got promptly up, landed a strong kick in the ribs of the outlaw which had gone to sleep again before he lit, shook hands warmly with Everett and says:  ’What does a man need with two trades anyway?  Good-bye!’

“But when Lysander John hears about it he says Angus has just the right stuff in him for a cowman.  He says he has never known one yet that you could tell anything to before he found it out for himself, and Angus must sure have the makings of a good one, so he persuades him to stay round for a while, working at easy jobs that couldn’t stack him up, and later he sent him to Omaha with the bunch in charge of a trainload of steers.

“The trip back was when his romance begun.  Angus had kept fancy-free up to that time, being willing enough but thoroughly cautious.  Do you remember the eating-house at North Platte, Nebraska?  The night train from Omaha would reach there at breakfast time and you’d get out in the frosty air, hungry as a confirmed dyspeptic, and rush into the big red building past the man that was rapidly beating on a gong with one of these soft-ended bass-drum sticks.  My, the good hot smells inside!  Tables already loaded with ham and eggs and fried oysters and fried chicken and sausage and fried potatoes and steaks and hot biscuits and corn bread and hot cakes and regular coffee ­till you didn’t know which to begin on, and first thing you knew you had your plate loaded with too many things ­but how you did eat! ­and yes, thank you, another cup of coffee, and please pass the sirup this way.  And no worry about the train pulling out, because there the conductor is at that other table and it can’t go without him, so take your time ­and about three more of them big fried oysters, the only good fried ones I ever had in the world!  To this day I get hungry thinking of that North Platte breakfast, and mad when I go into the dining-car as we pass there and try to get the languid mulatto to show a little enthusiasm.

“Well, they had girls at that eating-house.  Of course no one ever noticed ’em much, being too famished and busy.  You only knew in a general way that females was passing the food along.  But Angus actually did notice Ellabelle, though it must have been at the end of the meal, mebbe when she was pouring the third cup.  Ellabelle was never right pretty to my notion, but she had some figure and kind of a sad dignity, and her brown hair lacked the towers and minarets and golden domes that the other girls built with their own or theirs by right of purchase.  And she seems to have noticed Angus from the very first.  Angus saw that when she wasn’t passing the fried chicken or the hot biscuits along, even for half a minute, she’d pick up a book from the window sill and glance studiously at its pages.  He saw the book was called ‘Lucile.’  And he looked her over some more ­between mouthfuls, of course ­the neat-fitting black dress revealing every line of her lithe young figure, like these magazine stories say, the starched white apron and the look of sad dignity that had probably come of fresh drummers trying to teach her how to take a joke, and the smooth brown hair ­he’d probably got wise to the other kind back in the social centres of Ohio ­and all at once he saw there was something about her.  He couldn’t tell what it was, but he knew it was there.  He heard one of the over-haired ones call her Ellabelle, and he committed the name to memory.

“He also remembered the book she was reading.  He come back with a copy he’d bought at Spokane and kept it on his bureau.  Not that he read it much.  It was harder to get into than ‘Peck’s Bad Boy,’ which was his favourite reading just then.

“Pretty soon another load of steers is ready ­my sakes, what scrubby runts we sent off the range in them days compared to now! ­and Angus pleads to go, so Lysander John makes a place for him and, coming back, here’s Ellabelle handing the hot things along same as ever, with ‘Lucile’ at hand for idle moments.  This time Angus again made certain there was something about her.  He cross-examined her, I suppose, between the last ham and eggs and the first hot cakes.  Her folks was corn farmers over in Iowa and she’d gone to high school and had meant to be a teacher, but took this job because with her it was anything to get out of Iowa, which she spoke of in a warm, harsh way.

“Angus nearly lost the train that time, making certain there was something about her.  He told her to be sure and stay there till he showed up again.  He told me about her when he got back.  ’There’s something about her,’ he says.  ’I suspect it’s her eyes, though it might be something else.’

“Me?  I suspected there was something about her, too; only I thought it was just that North Platte breakfast and his appetite.  No meal can ever be like breakfast to them that’s two-fisted, and Angus was.  He’d think there was something about any girl, I says to myself, seeing her through the romantic golden haze of them North Platte breakfast victuals.  Of course I didn’t suggest any such base notion to Angus, knowing how little good it does to talk sense to a man when he thinks there’s something about a girl.  He tried to read ‘Lucile’ again, but couldn’t seem to strike any funny parts.

“Next time he went to Omaha, a month later, he took his other suit and his new boots.  ‘I shall fling caution to the winds and seal my fate,’ he says.  ’There’s something about her, and some depraved scoundrel might find it out.’  ‘All right, go ahead and seal,’ I says.  ’You can’t expect us to be shipping steers every month just to give you twenty minutes with a North Platte waiter girl.’  ‘Will she think me impetuous?’ says he.  ‘Better that than have her think you ain’t,’ I warns him.  ’Men have been turned down for ten million reasons, and being impetuous is about the only one that was never numbered among them.  It will be strange o’clock when that happens.’  ‘She’s different,’ says Angus.  ‘Of course,’ I says.  ‘We’re all different.  That’s what makes us so much alike.’  ’You might know,’ says he doubtfully.

“He proved I did, on the trip back.  He marched up to Ellabelle’s end of the table in his other suit and his new boots and a startling necktie he’d bought at a place near the stockyards in South Omaha, and proposed honourable marriage to her, probably after the first bite of sausage and while she was setting his coffee down.  ‘And you’ve only twenty minutes,’ he says, ’so hurry and pack your grip.  We’ll be wed when we get off the train.’  ‘You’re too impetuous,’ says Ellabelle, looking more than ever as if there was something about her.  ‘There, I was afraid I’d be,’ says Angus, quitting on some steak and breaking out into scarlet rash.  ’What did you think I am?’ demands Ellabelle.  ’Did you think I would answer your beck and call or your lightest nod as if I were your slave or something?  Little you know me,’ she says, tossing her head indignantly.  ‘I apologize bitterly,’ says Angus.  ‘The very idea is monstrous,’ says she.  ’Twenty minutes ­and with all my packing!  You will wait over till the four-thirty-two this afternoon,’ she goes on, very stern and nervous, ‘or all is over between us.’  ’I’ll wait as long as that for you,’ says Angus, going to the steak again.  ’Are the other meals here as good as breakfast?’ ‘There’s one up the street,’ says Ellabelle; ’a Presbyterian.’  ‘I would prefer a Presbyterian,’ says Angus.  ’Are those fried oysters I see up there?’

“That was about the way of it, I gathered later.  Anyway, Angus brought her back, eating on the way a whole wicker suitcase full of lunch that she put up.  And she seemed a good, capable girl, all right.  She told me there was something about Angus.  She’d seen that from the first.  Even so, she said, she hadn’t let him sweep her off her feet like he had meant to, but had forced him to give her time to do her packing and consider the grave step she was taking for better or worse, like every true, serious-minded woman ought to.

“Angus now said he couldn’t afford to fritter away any more time in the cattle business, having a wife to support in the style she had been accustomed to, so he would go to work at his trade.  He picked out Wallace, just over in Idaho, as a young and growing town where he could do well.  He rented a nice four-room cottage there, with an icebox out on the back porch and a hammock in the front yard, and begun to paper and paint and grain and kalsomine and made good money from the start.  Ellabelle was a crackajack housekeeper and had plenty of time to lie out in the hammock and read ‘Lucile’ of afternoons.

“By and by Angus had some money saved up, and what should he do with bits of it now and then but grubstake old Snowstorm Hickey, who’d been scratching mountainsides all his life and never found a thing and likely never would ­a grouchy old hardshell with white hair and whiskers whirling about his head in such quantities that a body just naturally called him Snowstorm without thinking.  It made him highly indignant, but he never would get the things cut.  Well, and what does this old snow-scene-in-the-Alps do after about a year but mush along up the canon past Mullan and find a high-grade proposition so rich it was scandalous!  They didn’t know how rich at first, of course, but Angus got assays and they looked so good they must be a mistake, so they sunk a shaft and drifted in a tunnel, and the assays got better, and people with money was pretty soon taking notice.

“One day Snowstorm come grouching down to Angus and tells about a capitalist that had brought two experts with him and nosed over the workings for three days.  Snowstorm was awful dejected.  He had hated the capitalist right off.  ’He wears a gold watch chain and silk underclothes like one of these fly city dames,’ says Snowstorm, who was a knowing old scoundrel, ’and he says his syndicate on the reports of these two thieving experts will pay twelve hundred for it and not a cent more.  What do you think of that for nerve?’

“‘Is that all?’ says Angus, working away at his job in the new International Hotel at Wallace.  Graining a door in the dining-room he was, with a ham rind and a stocking over one thumb nail, doing little curlicues in the brown wet paint to make it look like what the wood was at first before it was painted at all.  ‘Well,’ he says, ’I suspected from the assays that we might get a bit more, but if he had experts with him you better let him have it for twelve hundred.  After all, twelve hundred dollars is a good bit of money.’

“‘Twelve hundred thousand,’ says Snowstorm, still grouchy.

“‘Oh,’ says Angus.  ’In that case don’t let him have it.  If the shark offers that it’ll be worth more.  I’ll go into the mining business myself as soon as I’ve done this door and the wainscoting and give them their varnish.’

“He did so.  He had the International finished in three more days, turned down a job in the new bank building cold, and went into the mining business just like he’d do anything else ­slow and sure, yet impetuous here and there.  It wasn’t a hard proposition, the stuff being there nearly from the grass roots, and the money soon come a-plenty.  Snowstorm not only got things trimmed up but had ’em dyed black as a crow’s wing and retired to a life of sinful ease in Spokane, eating bacon and beans and cocoanut custard pie three times a day till the doctors found out what a lot of expensive things he had the matter with him.

“Angus not only kept on the job but branched out into other mines that he bought up, and pretty soon he quit counting his money.  You know what that would mean to most of his race.  It fazed him a mite at first.  He tried faithfully to act like a crazy fool with his money, experimenting with revelry and champagne for breakfast, and buying up the Sans Soosy dance hall every Saturday night for his friends and admirers.  But he wasn’t gaited to go on that track long.  Even Ellabelle wasn’t worried the least bit, and in fact she thought something of the kind was due his position.  And she was busy herself buying the things that are champagne to a woman, only they’re kept on the outside.  That was when Angus told her if she was going in for diamonds at all to get enough so she could appear to be wasteful and contemptuous of them.  Two thousand she give for one little diamond circlet to pin her napkin up on her chest with.  It was her own idea.

“Then Angus for a time complicated his amateur debauchery with fast horses.  He got him a pair of matched pacing stallions that would go anywhere, he said.  And he frequently put them there when he had the main chandelier lighted.  In driving them over a watering-trough one night an accident of some sort happened.  Angus didn’t come to till after his leg was set and the stitches in ­eight in one place, six in another, and so on; I wonder why they’re always so careful to count the stitches in a person that way ­and he wished to know if his new side-bar buggy was safe and they told him it wasn’t, and he wanted to know where his team was, but nobody knew that for three days, so he says to the doctors and Ellabelle:  ’Hereafter I suspect I shall take only soft drinks like beer and sherry.  Champagne has a bonnier look but it’s too enterprising.  I might get into trouble some time.’  And he’s done so to this day.  Oh, I’ve seen him take a sip or two of champagne to some one’s health, or as much Scotch whiskey in a tumbler of water as you could dribble from a medium-boilered fountain pen.  But that’s a high riot with him.  He’ll eat one of these corned peaches in brandy, and mebbe take a cream pitcher of beer on his oatmeal of a morning when his stomach don’t feel just right, but he’s never been a willing performer since that experiment in hurdling.

“When he could walk again him and Ellabelle moved to the International Hotel, where she wouldn’t have to cook or split kindling and could make a brutal display of diamonds at every meal, and we went down to see them.  That was when Angus give Lysander John the scarfpin he’d sent clear to New York for ­a big gold bull’s head with ruby eyes and in its mouth a nugget of platinum set with three diamonds.  Of course Lysander John never dast wear it except when Angus was going to see it.

“Then along comes Angus, Junior, though poor Ellabelle thinks for several days that he’s Elwin.  We’d gone down so I could be with her.

“‘Elwin is the name I have chosen for my son,’ says she to Angus the third day.

“‘Not so,’ says Angus, slumping down his one eyebrow clear across in a firm manner.  ’You’re too late.  My son is already named.  I named him Angus the night before he was born.’

“‘How could you do that when you didn’t know the sex?’ demands Ellabelle with a frightened air of triumph.

“‘I did it, didn’t I?’ says Angus.  ‘Then why ask how I could?’ And he curved the eyebrow up one side and down the other in a fighting way.

“Ellabelle had been wedded wife of Angus long enough to know when the Scotch curse was on him.  ‘Very well,’ she says, though turning her face to the wall.  Angus straightened the eyebrow.  ’Like we might have two now, one of each kind,’ says he quite soft, ’you’d name your daughter as you liked, with perhaps no more than a bit of a suggestion from me, to be taken or not by you, unless we’d contend amiably about it for a length of time till we had it settled right as it should be.  But a son ­my son ­why, look at the chest on him already, projecting outward like a clock shelf ­and you would name him ­but no matter!  I was forehanded, thank God.’  Oh, you saw plainly that in case a girl ever come along Ellabelle would have the privilege of naming it anything in the world she wanted to that Angus thought suitable.

“So that was settled reasonably, and Angus went on showing what to do with your mine instead of selling it to a shark, and the baby fatted up, being stall-fed, and Ellabelle got out into the world again, with more money than ever to spend, but fewer things to buy, because in Wallace she couldn’t think of any more.  Trust her, though!  First the International Hotel wasn’t good enough.  Angus said they’d have a mansion, the biggest in Wallace, only without slippery hardwood floors, because he felt brittle after his accident.  Ellabelle says Wallace itself ain’t big enough for the mansion that ought to be a home to his only son.  She was learning how to get to Angus without seeming to.  He thought there might be something in that, still he didn’t like to trust the child away from him, and he had to stick there for a while.

“So Ellabelle’s health broke down.  Yes, sir, she got to be a total wreck.  Of course the fool doctor in Wallace couldn’t find it out.  She tried him and he told her she was strong as a horse and ought to be doing a tub of washing that very minute.  Which was no way to talk to the wife of a rich mining man, so he lost quite a piece of money by it.  Ellabelle then went to Spokane and consulted a specialist.  That’s the difference.  You only see a doctor, but a specialist you consult.  This one confirmed her fears about herself in a very gentlemanly way and reaped his reward on the spot.  Ellabelle’s came after she had convinced Angus that even if she did have such a good appetite it wasn’t a normal one, but it was, in fact, one of her worst symptoms and threatened her with a complete nervous breakdown.  After about a year of this, when Angus had horned his way into a few more mines ­he said he might as well have a bunch of them since he couldn’t be there on the spot anyway ­they went to New York City.  Angus had never been there except to pass from a Clyde liner to Jersey City, and they do say that when he heard the rates, exclusive of board, at the one Ellabelle had picked out from reading the papers, he timidly asked her if they hadn’t ought to go to the other hotel.  She told him there wasn’t any other ­not for them.  She told him further it was part of her mission to broaden his horizon, and she firmly meant to do it if God would only vouchsafe her a remnant of her once magnificent vitality.

“She didn’t have to work so hard either.  Angus begun to get a broader horizon in just a few days, corrupting every waiter he came in contact with, and there was a report round the hotel the summer I was there that a hat-boy had actually tried to reason with him, thinking he was a foreigner making mistakes with his money by giving up a dollar bill every time for having his hat snatched from him.  As a matter of fact, Angus can’t believe to this day that dollar bills are money.  He feels apologetic when he gives ’em away.  All the same I never believed that report about the hat-boy till someone explained to me that he wasn’t allowed to keep his loot, not only having clothes made special without pockets but being searched to the hide every night like them poor unfortunate Zulus that toil in the diamond mines of Africa.  Of course I could see then that this boy had become merely enraged like a wild-cat at having a dollar crowded onto him for some one else every time a head waiter grovelled Angus out of the restaurant.

“The novelty of that life wore off after about a year, even with side trips to resorts where the prices were sufficiently outrageous to charm Ellabelle.  She’d begun right off to broaden her own horizon.  After only one week in New York she put her diamond napkin pincher to doing other work, and after six months she dressed about as well as them prominent society ladies that drift round the corridors of this hotel waiting for parties that never seem on time, and looking none too austere while they wait.

“So Ellabelle, having in the meantime taken up art and literature and gone to lectures where the professor would show sights and scenes in foreign lands with his magic lantern, begun to feel the call of the Old World.  She’d got far beyond ’Lucile’ ­though ‘Peck’s Bad Boy’ was still the favourite of Angus when he got time for any serious reading –­ and was coming to loathe the crudities of our so-called American civilization.  So she said.  She begun to let out to Angus that they wasn’t doing right by the little one, bringing him up in a hole like New York City where he’d catch the American accent ­though God knows where she ever noticed that danger there! ­and it was only fair to the child to get him to England or Paris or some such place where he could have decent advantages.  I gather that Angus let out a holler at first so that Ellabelle had to consult another specialist and have little Angus consult one, too.  They both said:  ’Certainly, don’t delay another day if you value the child’s life or your own,’ and of course Angus had to give in.  I reckon that was the last real fight he ever put up till the time I’m going to tell you about.

“They went to England and bought a castle that had never known the profane touch of a plumber, having been built in the time of the first earl or something, and after that they had to get another castle in France, account of little Angus having a weak throat that Ellabelle got another gentlemanly specialist to find out about him; and so it went, with Ellabelle hovering on the very edge of a nervous breakdown, and taking up art and literature at different spots where fashion gathered, going to Italy and India’s coral strand to study the dead past, and so forth, and learning to address her inferiors in a refined and hostile manner, with little Angus having a maid and a governess and something new the matter with him every time Ellabelle felt the need of a change.

“At first Angus used to make two trips back every year, then he cut them down to one, and at last he’d only come every two or three years, having his hirelings come to him instead.  He’d branched out a lot, even at that distance, getting into copper and such, and being president of banks and trusts here and there and equitable cooperative companies and all such things that help to keep the lower classes trimmed proper.  For a whole lot of years I didn’t see either of ’em.  I sort of lost track of the outfit, except as I’d see the name of Angus heading a new board of directors after the reorganization, or renting the north half of Scotland for the sage-hen and coyote shooting, or whatever the game is there.  Of course it took genius to do this with Angus, and I’ve never denied that Ellabelle has it.  I bet there wasn’t a day in all them years that Angus didn’t believe himself to be a stubborn, domineering brute, riding roughshod over the poor little wreck of a woman.  If he didn’t it wasn’t for want of his wife accusing him of it in so many words ­and perhaps a few more.

“I guess she got to feeling so sure of herself she let her work coarsen up.  Anyway, when little Angus come to be eighteen his pa shocked her one day by saying he must go back home to some good college.  ’You mean England,’ says Ellabelle, they being at the time on some other foreign domains.

“‘I do not,’ says Angus, ’nor Sweden nor Japan nor East Africa.  I mean the United States.’  ‘You’re jesting,’ says she.  ‘You wrong me cruelly,’ says Angus.  ’The lad’s eighteen and threatening to be a foreigner.  Should he stay here longer it would set in his blood.’  ’Remember his weak throat,’ says Ellabelle.  ‘I did,’ says Angus.  ’To save you trouble I sent for a specialist to look him over.  He says the lad has never a flaw in his throat.  We’ll go soon.’

“Of course it was dirty work on the part of Angus, getting to the specialist first, but she saw she had to take it.  She knew it was like the time they agreed on his name ­she could see the Scotch blood leaping in his veins.  So she gave in with never a mutter that Angus could hear.  That’s part of the genius of Ellabelle, knowing when she can and when she positively cannot, and making no foolish struggle in the latter event.

“Back they come to New York and young Angus went to the swellest college Ellabelle could learn about, and they had a town house and a country house and Ellabelle prepared to dazzle New York society, having met frayed ends of it in her years abroad.  But she couldn’t seem to put it over.  Lots of male and female society foreigners that she’d met would come and put up with her and linger on in the most friendly manner, but Ellabelle never fools herself so very much.  She knew she wasn’t making the least dent in New York itself.  She got uncomfortable there.  I bet she had that feeling you get when you’re riding your horse over soft ground and all at once he begins to bog down.

“Anyway, they come West after a year or so, where Angus had more drag and Ellabelle could feel more important.  Not back to Wallace, of course.  Ellabelle had forgotten the name of that town, and also they come over a road that misses the thriving little town of North Platte by several hundred miles.  And pretty soon they got into this darned swell little suburb out from San Francisco, through knowing one of the old families that had lived there man and boy for upward of four years.  It’s a town where I believe they won’t let you get off the train unless you got a visitor’s card and a valet.

“Here at last Ellabelle felt she might come into her own, for parties seemed to recognize her true worth at once.  Some of them indeed she could buffalo right on the spot, for she hadn’t lived in Europe and such places all them years for nothing.  So, camping in a miserable rented shack that never cost a penny over seventy thousand dollars, with only thirty-eight rooms and no proper space for the servants, they set to work building their present marble palace ­there’s inside and outside pictures of it in a magazine somewhere round here ­bigger than the state insane asylum and very tasty and expensive, with hand-painted ceilings and pergolas and cafes and hot and cold water and everything.

“It was then I first see Ellabelle after all the years, and I want to tell you she was impressive.  She looked like the descendant of a long line of ancestry or something and she spoke as good as any reciter you ever heard in a hall.  Last time I had seen her she was still forgetting about the r’s ­she’d say:  ‘Oh, there-urr you ah!’ thus showing she was at least half Iowa in breed ­but nothing like that now.  She could give the English cards and spades and beat them at their own game.  Her face looked a little bit overmassaged and she was having trouble keeping her hips down, and wore a patent chin-squeezer nights, and her hair couldn’t be trusted to itself long at a time; but she knew how to dress and she’d learned decency in the use of the diamond except when it was really proper to break out all over with ’em.  You’d look at her twice in any show ring.  Ain’t women the wonders!  Gazing at Ellabelle when she had everything on, you’d never dream that she’d come up from the vilest dregs only a few years before ­helping cook for the harvest hands in Iowa, feeding Union Pacific passengers at twenty-two a month, or splitting her own kindling at Wallace, Idaho, and dreaming about a new silk dress for next year, or mebbe the year after if things went well.

“Men ain’t that way.  Angus had took no care of his figure, which was now pouchy, his hair was gray, and he was either shedding or had been reached, and he had lines of care and food in his face, and took no pains whatever with his accent ­or with what he said, for that matter.  I never saw a man yet that could hide a disgraceful past like a woman can.  They don’t seem to have any pride.  Most of ’em act like they don’t care a hoot whether people find it out on ’em or not.

“Angus was always reckless that way, adding to his wife’s burden of anxiety.  She’d got her own vile past well buried, but she never knew when his was going to stick its ugly head up out of its grave.  He’d go along all right for a while like one of the best set had ought to ­then Zooey!  We was out to dinner at another millionaire’s one night ­in that town you’re either a millionaire or drawing wages from one ­and Angus talked along with his host for half an hour about the impossibility of getting a decent valet on this side of the water, Americans not knowing their place like the English do, till you’d have thought he was born to it, and then all at once he breaks out about the hardwood finish to the dining-room, and how the art of graining has perished and ought to be revived.  ‘And I wish I had a silver dollar,’ he says, ’for every door like that one there that I’ve grained to resemble the natural wood so cunningly you’d never guess it ­hardly.’

“At that his break didn’t faze any one but Ellabelle.  The host was an old train-robber who’d cut your throat for two bits ­I’ll bet he couldn’t play an honest game of solitaire ­and he let out himself right off that he had once worked in a livery stable and was proud of it; but poor Ellabelle, who’d been talking about the dear Countess of Comtessa or somebody, and the dukes and earls that was just one-two-three with her on the other side, she blushed up till it almost showed through the second coating.  Angus was certainly poison ivy to her on occasion, and he’d refuse to listen to reason when she called him down about it.  He’d do most of the things she asked him to about food and clothes and so forth ­like the time he had the two gold teeth took out and replaced by real porcelain nature fakers ­but he never could understand why he wasn’t free to chat about the days when he earned what money he had.

“It was this time that I first saw little Angus since he had changed from a governess to a governor ­or whatever they call the he-teacher of a millionaire’s brat.  He was home for the summer vacation.  Naturally I’d been prejudiced against him not only by his mother’s praise but by his father’s steady coppering of the same.  Judiciously comparing the two, I was led to expect a kind of cross between Little Lord Fauntleroy and the late Sitting Bull, with the vices of each and the virtues of neither.  Instead of which I found him a winsome whelp of six-foot or so with Scotch eyes and his mother’s nose and chin and a good, big, straight mouth, and full of the most engaging bedevilments for one and all.  He didn’t seem to be any brighter in his studies than a brute of that age should be, and though there was something easy and grand in his manner that his pa and ma never had, he wasn’t really any more foreign than what I be.  Of course he spoke Eastern American instead of Western, but you forgive him that after a few minutes when you see how nice he naturally meant to be.  I admit we took to each other from the start.  They often say I’m a good mixer, but it took no talent to get next to that boy.  I woke up the first night thinking I knew what old silly would do her darndest to adopt him if ever his poor pa and ma was to get buttered over the right of way in some railroad accident.

“And yet I didn’t see Angus, Junior, one bit the way either of his parents saw him.  Ellabelle seemed to look on him merely as a smart dresser and social know-it-all that would be a 98 cent credit to her in the position of society queen for which the good God had always intended her.  And his father said he wasn’t any good except to idle away his time and spend money, and would come to a bad end by manslaughter in a high-powered car; or in the alcoholic ward of some hospital; that he was, in fact, a mere helling scapegrace that would have been put in some good detention home years before if he hadn’t been born to a father that was all kinds of a so-and-so old Scotch fool.  There you get Angus, fills, from three different slants, and I ain’t saying there wasn’t justification for the other two besides mine.  The boy could act in a crowd of tea-drinking women with a finish that made his father look like some one edging in to ask where they wanted the load of coal dumped.  But also Angus, peer, was merely painting the lily, as they say, when he’d tell all the different kinds of Indian the boy was.  That very summer before he went back to the educational centre where they teach such arts, he helped wreck a road house a few miles up the line till it looked like one of them pictures of what a Zeppelin does to a rare old English drug store in London.  And a week later he lost a race with the Los Angeles flyer, account of not having as good a roadbed to run on as the train had, and having to take too short a turn with his new car.

“I remember we three was wondering where he could be that night the telephone rung from the place where kindly strangers had hauled him for first aid to the foolish.  But it was the boy himself that was able to talk and tell his anxious parents to forget all about it.  His father took the message and as soon as he got the sense of it he begun to get hopeful that the kid had broke at least one leg ­thinking, he must have been, of the matched pacing stallions that once did himself such a good turn without meaning to.  His disappointment was pitiful as he turned to us after learning that he had lit on his head but only sustained a few bruises and sprains and concussions, with the wall-paper scraped off here and there.

“‘Struck on his head, the only part of him that seems invulnerable,’ says the fond father.  ‘What’s that?’ he yells, for the boy was talking again.  He listened a minute, and it was right entertaining to watch his face work as the words come along.  It registered all the evil that Scotland has suffered from her oppressors since they first thought up the name for it.  Finally he begun to splutter back ­it must have sounded fine at the other end ­but he had to hang up, he was that emotional.  After he got his face human again he says to us: 

“’Would either of you think now that you could guess at what might have been his dying speech?  Would you guess it might be words of cheer to the bereaved mother that nursed him, or even a word of comfort to the idiot father that never touched whipleather to his back while he was still husky enough to get by with it?  Well, you’d guess wild.  He’s but inflamed with indignation over the state of the road where he passed out for some minutes.  He says it’s a disgrace to any civilized community, and he means to make trouble about it with the county supervisor, who must be a murderer at heart, and then he’ll take it up to the supreme court and see if we can’t have roads in this country as good as Napoleon the First made them build in France, so a gentleman can speed up a bit over five miles an hour without breaking every bone in his body, to say nothing of totally ruining a car costing forty-eight hundred dollars of his good money, with the ink on the check for it scarce dry.  He was going on to say that he had the race for the crossing as good as won and had just waved mockingly at the engineer of the defeated train who was pretending to feel indifferent about it ­but I hung up on him.  My strength was waning.  Was he here this minute I make no doubt I’d go to the mat with him, unequal as we are in prowess.’  He dribbled off into vicious mutterings of what he’d say to the boy if he was to come to the door.

“Then dear Ellabelle pipes up:  ’And doesn’t the dear boy say who was with him in this prank?’

“Angus snorted horribly at the word ‘prank,’ just like he’d never had one single advantage of foreign travel.  ’He does indeed ­one of those Hammersmith twin louts was with him ­the speckled devil with the lisp, I gather ­and praise God his bones, at least, are broke in two places!’

“Ellabelle’s eyes shined up at this with real delight.  ‘How terrible!’ she says, not looking it.  ’That’s Gerald Hammersmith, son of Mrs. St. John Hammersmith, leader of the most exclusive set here ­oh, she’s quite in the lead of everything that has class!  And after this we must know each other far, far better than we have in the past.  She has never called up to this time.  I must inquire after her poor boy directly to-morrow comes.’  That is Ellabelle.  Trust her not to overlook a single bet.

“Angus again snorted in a common way.  ‘St. John Hammersmith!’ says he, steaming up, ’When he trammed ore for three-fifty a day and went to bed with his clothes on any night he’d the price of a quart of gin-and-beer mixed ­liking to get his quick ­his name was naked ‘John’ with never a Saint to it, which his widow tacked on a dozen years later.  And speaking of names, Mrs. McDonald, I sorely regret you didn’t name your own son after your first willful fancy.  It was no good day for his father when you put my own name to him.’

“But Ellabelle paid no attention whatever to this rough stuff, being already engaged in courting the Hammersmith dame for the good of her social importance.  I make no doubt before the maid finished rubbing in the complexion cream that night she had reduced this upstart to the ranks and stepped into her place as leader of the most exclusive social set between South San Francisco and old Henry Miller’s ranch house at Gilroy.  Anyway, she kept talking to herself about it, almost over the mangled remains of her own son, as you might say.

“A year later the new mansion was done, setting in the centre of sixty acres of well-manicured land as flat as a floor and naturally called Hillcrest.  Angus asked me down for another visit.  There had been grand doings to open the new house, and Ellabelle felt she was on the way to ruling things social with an iron hand if she was just careful and didn’t overbet her cards.  Angus, not being ashamed of his scandalous past, was really all that kept her nerves strung up.  It seems he’d give her trouble while the painters and decorators was at work, hanging round ’em fascinated and telling ’em how he’d had to work ten hours a day in his time and how he could grain a door till it looked exactly like the natural wood, so they’d say it wasn’t painted at all.  And one day he become so inflamed with evil desire that Ellabelle, escorting a bunch of the real triple-platers through the mansion, found him with his coat off learning how to rub down a hardwood panel with oil and pumice stone.  Gee!  Wouldn’t I like to of been there!  I suppose I got a lower nature as well as the rest of us.

“After I’d been there a few days, along comes Angus, fills, out into the world from college to make a name for himself.  By ingenuity or native brute force he had contrived to graduate.  He was nice as ever and told me he was going to look about a bit until he could decide what his field of endeavour should be.  Apparently it was breaking his neck in outdoor sports, including loop-the-loop in his new car on roads not meant for it, and delighting Ellabelle because he was a fine social drag in her favour, and enraging his father by the same reasons.  Ellabelle was especially thrilled by his making up to a girl that was daughter to this here old train-robber I mentioned.  It was looking like he might form an alliance, as they say, with this old family which had lived quite a decent life since they actually got it.  The girl looked to me nice enough even for Angus, Junior, but his pa denounced her as a yellow-haired pest with none but frivolous aims in life, who wouldn’t know whether a kitchen was a room in a house or a little woolly animal from Paraguay.  We had some nice, friendly breakfasts, I believe not, whilst they discussed this poisonous topic, old Angus being only further embittered when it comes out that the train-robber is also dead set against this here alliance because his only daughter needs a decent, reputable man who would come home nights from some low mahogany den in a bank building, and not a worthless young hound that couldn’t make a dollar of his own and had displayed no talent except for winning the notice of head waiters and policemen.  Old Angus says he knows well enough his son can be arrested out of most crowds just on that description alone, but who is this So-and-So old thug to be saying it in public?

“And so it went, with Ellabelle living in high hopes and young Angus busy inventing new ways to bump himself off, and old Angus getting more and more seething ­quiet enough outside, but so desperate inside that it wasn’t any time at all till I saw he was just waiting for a good chance to make some horrible Scotch exhibition of himself.

“Then comes the fatal polo doings, with young Angus playing on the side that won, and Ellabelle being set up higher than ever till she actually begins to snub people here and there at the game that look like they’d swallow it, and old Angus ashamed and proud and glaring round as if he’d like to hear some one besides himself call his son a worthless young hound ­if they wanted to start something.

“And the polo victory of course had to be celebrated by a banquet at the hotel, attended by all the players and their huskiest ruffian friends.  They didn’t have the ponies there, but I guess they would of if they’d thought of it.  It must have been a good banquet, with vintages and song and that sort of thing ­I believe they even tried to have food at first ­and hearty indoor sports with the china and silver and chairs that had been thoughtlessly provided and a couple of big mirrors that looked as if you could throw a catsup bottle clear through them, only you couldn’t, because it would stop there after merely breaking the glass, and spatter in a helpless way.

“And of course there was speeches.  The best one, as far as I could learn, was made by the owner of the outraged premises at a late hour ­when the party was breaking up ­as you might put it.  He said the bill would be about eighteen hundred dollars, as near as he could tell at first glance.  He was greeted with hearty laughter and applause from the high-spirited young incendiaries and retired hastily through an unsuspected door to the pantry as they rushed for him.  It was then they found out what to do with the rest of the catsup ­and did it ­so the walls and ceiling wouldn’t look so monotonous, and fixed the windows so they would let out the foul tobacco smoke, and completed a large painting of the Yosemite that hung on the wall, doing several things to it that hadn’t occurred to the artist in his hurry, and performed a serious operation on the piano without the use of gas.  The tables, I believe, was left flat on their backs.

“Angus, fills, was fetched home in a car by a gang of his roguish young playmates.  They stopped down on the stately drive under my window and a quartet sung a pathetic song that run: 

    “Don’t forget your parents,
    Think all they done for you!

“Then young Angus ascended the marble steps to the top one, bared his agreeable head to the moonlight, and made them a nice speech.  He said the campaign now in progress, fellow-citizens, marked the gravest crisis in the affairs of our grand old state that an intelligent constituency had ever been called upon to vote down, but that he felt they were on the eve of a sweeping victory that would sweep the corrupt hell-hounds of a venal opposition into an ignominy from which they would never be swept by any base act of his while they honoured him with their suffrages, because his life was an open book and he challenged any son-of-a-gun within sound of his voice to challenge this to his face or take the consequences of being swept into oblivion by the high tide of a people’s indignation that would sweep everything before it on the third day of November next, having been aroused in its might at last from the debasing sloth into which the corrupt hell-hounds of a venal opposition had swept them, but a brighter day had dawned, which would sweep the onrushing hordes of petty chicanery to where they would get theirs; and, as one who had heard the call of an oppressed people, he would accept this fitting testimonial, not for its intrinsic worth but for the spirit in which it was tendered.  As for the nefarious tariff on watch springs, sawed lumber, and indigo, he would defer his masterly discussion of these burning issues to a more fitting time because a man had to get a little sleep now and then or he wasn’t any good next day.  In the meantime he thanked them one and all, and so, gentlemen, good-night.

“The audience cheered hoarsely and drove off.  I guess the speech would have been longer if a light hadn’t showed in the east wing of the castle where Angus, peer, slept.  And then all was peace and quiet till the storm broke on a rocky coast next day.  It didn’t really break until evening, but suspicious clouds no bigger than a man’s hand might have been observed earlier.  If young Angus took any breakfast that morning it was done in the privacy of his apartment under the pitying glances of a valet or something.  But here he was at lunch, blithe as ever, and full of merry details about the late disaster.  He spoke with much humour about a wider use for tomato catsup than was ever encouraged by the old school of house decorators.  Old Angus listened respectfully, taking only a few bites of food but chewing them long and thoughtfully.  Ellabelle was chiefly interested in the names of the hearty young vandals.  She was delighted to learn that they was all of the right set, and her eyes glowed with pride.  The eyes of Angus, peer, was now glowing with what I could see was something else, though I couldn’t make out just what it was.  He never once exploded like you’d of thought he was due to.

“Then come a note for the boy which the perfect-mannered Englishman that was tending us said was brought by a messenger.  Young Angus glanced at the page and broke out indignantly.  ‘The thieving old pirate!’ he says.  ’Last night he thought it would be about eighteen hundred dollars, and that sounded hysterical enough for the few little things we’d scratched or mussed up.  I told him he would doubtless feel better this morning, but in any event to send the bill to me and I would pay it.’

“‘Quite right of you,’ says Ellabelle proudly.

“’And now the scoundrel sends me one for twenty-three hundred and odd.  He’s a robber, net!’

“Old Angus said never a word, but chewed slowly, whilst various puzzling expressions chased themselves acrost his eloquent face.  I couldn’t make a thing out of any of them.

“‘Never patronize the fellow again,’ says Ellabelle warmly.

“‘As to that,’ says her son, ’he hinted something last night about having me arrested if I ever tried to patronize him again, but that isn’t the point.  He’s robbing me now.’

“‘Oh, money!’ says Ellabelle in a low tone of disgust and with a gesture like she was rebuking her son for mentioning such a thing before the servant.

“‘But I don’t like to be taken advantage of,’ says he, looking very annoyed and grand.  Then old Angus swallowed something he’d been chewing for eight minutes and spoke up with an entirely new expression that puzzled me more than ever.

“’If you’re sure you have the right of it, don’t you submit to the outrage.’

“Angus, Junior, backed up a little bit at this, not knowing quite how to take the old man’s mildness.  ’Oh, of course the fellow might win out if he took it into court,’ he says.  ’Every one knows the courts are just a mass of corruption.’

“‘True, I’ve heard gossip to that effect,’ says his father.  ’Yet there must be some way to thwart the crook.  I’m feeling strangely ingenious at the moment.’  He was very mild, and yet there was something sinister and Scotch about him that the boy felt.

“‘Of course I’d pay it out of my own money,’ he remarks generously.

“‘Even so, I hate to see you cheated,’ says his father kindly.  ’I hate to have you pay unjust extortions out of the mere pittance your tight-fisted old father allows you.’

“Young Angus said nothing to this, but blushed and coughed uncomfortably.

“‘If you hurt that hotel anything like twenty-three hundred dollars’ worth, it must be an interesting sight,’ his father goes on brightly.

“‘Oh, it was funny at the time,’ says Angus boy, cheering up again.

“‘Things often are,’ says old Angus.  ‘I’ll have a look.’

“‘At the bill?’

“‘No, at the wreck,’ says he.  The old boy was still quiet on the outside, but was plainly under great excitement, for he now folded his napkin with care, a crime of which I knew Ellabelle had broken him the first week in New York, years before.  I noticed their butler had the fine feeling to look steadily away at the wall during this obscenity.  The offender then made a pleasant remark about the beauty of the day and left the palatial apartment swiftly.  Young Angus and his mother looked at each other and strolled after him softly over rugs costing about eighty thousand dollars.  The husband and father was being driven off by a man he could trust in a car they had let him have for his own use.  Later Ellabelle confides to me that she mistrusts old Angus is contemplating some bit of his national deviltry.  ’He had a strange look on his face,’ says she, ’and you know ­once a Scotchman, always a Scotchman!  Oh, it would be pitiful if he did anything peculiarly Scotch just at our most critical period here!’ Then she felt of her face to see if there was any nervous lines come into it, and there was, and she beat it for the maid to have ’em rubbed out ere they set.

“Yet at dinner that night everything seemed fine, with old Angus as jovial as I’d ever seen him, and the meal come to a cheerful end and we was having coffee in the Looey de Medisee saloon, I think it is, before a word was said about this here injured hotel.

“‘You were far too modest this morning, you sly dog!’ says Angus, peer, at last, chuckling delightedly.  ’You misled me grievously.  That job of wrecking shows genius of a quality that was all too rare in my time.  I suspect it’s the college that does it.  I shouldn’t wonder now if going through college is as good as a liberal education.  I don’t believe mere uneducated house-wreckers could have done so pretty a job in twice the time, and there’s clever little touches they never would have thought of at all.’

“‘It did look thorough when we left,’ says young Angus, not quite knowing whether to laugh.

“‘It’s nothing short of sublime,’ says his father proudly.  ’I stood in that deserted banquet hall, though it looks never a bit like one, with ruin and desolation on every hand as far as the eye could reach.  It inspired such awe in the bereaved owner and me that we instinctively spoke in hushed whispers.  I’ve had no such gripping sensation as that since I gazed upon the dead city of Pompeii.  No longer can it be said that Europe possesses all the impressive ruins.’

“Angus boy grinned cheerfully now, feeling that this tribute was heartfelt.

“‘I suspect now,’ goes on the old boy, ’that when the wreckage is cleared away we shall find the mangled bodies of several that perished when the bolts descended from a clear sky upon the gay scene.’

“‘Perhaps under the tables,’ says young Angus, chirking up still more at this geniality.  ‘Two or three went down early and may still be there.’

“‘Yet twenty-three hundred for it is a monstrous outrage,’ says the old man, changing his voice just a mite.  ’Too well I know the cost of such repairs.  Fifteen hundred at most would make the place better than ever ­and to think that you, struggling along to keep up appearances on the little I give you, should be imposed upon by a crook that undoubtedly has the law on his side!  I could endure no thought of it, so I foiled him.’

“‘How?’ says young Angus, kind of alarmed.

“Angus, peer, yawned and got up.  ’It’s a long story and would hardly interest you,’ says he, moving over to the door.  ’Besides, I must be to bed against the morrow, which will be a long, hard day for me.’  His voice had tightened up.

“‘What have you done?’ demands Ellabelle passionately.

“‘Saved your son eight hundred dollars,’ says Angus, ’or the equivalent of his own earnings for something like eight hundred years at current prices for labour.’

“‘I’ve a right to know,’ says Ellabelle through her teeth and stiffening in her chair.  Young Angus just set there with his mouth open.

“‘So you have,’ says old Angus, and he goes on as crisp as a bunch of celery:  ’I told you I felt ingenious.  I’ve kept this money in the family by the simple device of taking the job.  I’ve engaged two other painters and decorators besides myself, a carpenter, an electrician, a glazier, and a few prolétariats of minor talent for clearing away the wreckage.  I shall be on the job at eight.  The loafers won’t start at seven, as I used to.  Don’t think I’d see any son of mine robbed before my very eyes.  My new overalls are laid out and my valet has instructions to get me into them at seven, though he persists in believing I’m to attend a fancy-dress ball at some strangely fashionable hour.  So I bid you all good evening.’

“Well, I guess that was the first time Ellabelle had really let go of herself since she was four years old or thereabouts.  Talk about the empress of stormy emotion!  For ten minutes the room sounded like a torture chamber of the dark Middle Ages.  But the doctor reached there at last in a swift car, and him and the two maids managed to get her laid out all comfortable and moaning, though still with outbreaks about every twenty minutes that I could hear clear over on my side of the house.

“And down below my window on the marble porch Angus, fills, was walking swiftly up and down for about one hour.  He made no speech like the night before.  He just walked and walked.  The part that struck me was that neither of them had ever seemed to have the slightest notion of pleading old Angus out of his mad folly.  They both seemed to know the Scotch when it did break out.

“At seven-thirty the next morning the old boy in overalls and jumper and a cap was driven to his job in a car as big as an apartment house.  The curtains to Ellabelle’s Looey Seez boudoir remained drawn, with hourly bulletins from the two Swiss maids that she was passing away in great agony.  Angus, Junior, was off early, too, in his snakiest car.  A few minutes later they got a telephone from him sixty miles away that he would not be home to lunch.  Old Angus had taken his own lunch with him in a tin pail he’d bought the day before, with a little cupola on top for the cup to put the bottle of cold coffee in.

“It was a joyous home that day, if you don’t care how you talk.  All it needed was a crepe necktie on the knob of the front door.  That ornery old hound, Angus, got in from his work at six, spotty with paint and smelling of oil and turpentine, but cheerful as a new father.  He washed up, ridding himself of at least a third of the paint smell, looked in at Ellabelle’s door to say, ’What!  Not feeling well, mamma?  Now, that’s too bad!’ ate a hearty dinner with me, young Angus not having been heard from further, and fell asleep in a gold armchair at ten minutes past nine.

“He was off again next morning.  Ellabelle’s health was still breaking down, but young Angus sneaked in and partook of a meagre lunch with me.  He was highly vexed with his pa.  ’He’s nothing but a scoundrelly old liar,’ he says to me, ’saying that he gives me but a pittance.  He’s always given me a whale of an allowance.  Why, actually, I’ve more than once had money left over at the end of the quarter.  And now his talk about saving money!  I tell you he has some other reason than money for breaking the mater’s heart.’  The boy looked very shrewd as he said this.

“That night at quitting time he was strangely down at the place with his own car to fetch his father home.  ‘I’ll trust you this once,’ says the old man, getting in and looking more then ever like a dissolute working man.  On the way they passed this here yellow-haired daughter of the old train-robber that there had been talk of the boy making a match with.  She was driving her own car and looked neither to right nor left.

“‘Not speaking?’ says old Angus.

“‘She didn’t see us,’ says the boy.

“‘She’s ashamed of your father,’ says the old man.

“‘She’s not,’ says the boy.

“‘You know it,’ says the old scoundrel.

“‘I’ll show her,’ says his son.

“Well, we had another cheerful evening, with Ellabelle sending word to old Angus that she wanted me to have the necklace of brilliants with the sapphire pendant, and the two faithful maids was to get suitable keepsakes out of the rest of her jewels, and would her son always wear the seal ring with her hair in it that she had given him when he was twenty?  And the old devil started in to tell how much he could have saved by taking charge of the work in his own house, and how a union man nowadays would do just enough to keep within the law, and so on; but he got to yawning his head off and retired at nine, complaining that his valet that morning had cleaned and pressed his overalls.  Young Angus looked very shrewd at me and again says:  ’The old liar!  He has some other reason than money.  He can’t fool me.’

“I kind of gathered from both of them the truth of what happened the next day.  Young Angus himself showed up at the job about nine A.M., with a bundle under his arm.  ‘Where’s the old man?’ his father heard him demand of the carpenter, he usually speaking of old Angus as the governor.

“‘Here,’ says he from the top of a stepladder in the entry which looked as if a glacier had passed through it.

“‘Could you put me to work?’ says the boy.

“‘Don’t get me to shaking with laughter up here,’ says the old brute.  ‘Can’t you see I’d be in peril of falling off?’

“Young Angus undoes his bundle and reveals overalls and a jumper which he gets into quickly.  ‘What do I do first?’ says he.

“His father went on kalsomining and took never a look at him more.  ’The time has largely passed here,’ says he, ’for men that haven’t learned to do something, but you might take some of the burnt umber there and work it well into a big gob of that putty till it’s brown enough to match the woodwork.  Should you display the least talent for that we may see later if you’ve any knack with a putty knife.’

“The new hand had brought no lunch with him, but his father spared him a few scraps from his own, and they all swigged beer from a pail of it they sent out for.  So the scandal was now complete in all its details.  The palatial dining-room that night, being a copy of a good church or something from ancient Italy, smelled like a paint shop indeed ­and sounded like one through dinner.  ’That woodwork will be fit to second-coat first thing in the morning,’ says old Angus.  ’I’ll have it sandpapered in no time,’ says the boy.  ‘Your sandpapering ain’t bad,’ says the other, ‘though you have next to no skill with a brush.’  ’I thought I was pretty good with that flat one though.’  ’Oh, fair; just fair!  First-coating needs little finesse.  There!  I forgot to order more rubbing varnish.  Maybe the men will think of it.’  And so on till they both yawned themselves off to their Scotch Renaysence apartments.  Ellabelle had not yet learned the worst.  It seemed to be felt that she had a right to perish without suffering the added ignominy of knowing her son was acting like a common wage slave.

“They was both on the job next day.  Of course the disgraceful affair had by now penetrated to the remotest outlying marble shack.  Several male millionaires this day appeared on the scene to josh Angus, peer, and Angus, fills, as they toiled at their degrading tasks.  Not much attention was paid to ’em, it appears, not even to the old train-robber who come to jest and remained to cross-examine Angus about how much he was really going to clear on the job, seriously now.  Anything like that was bound to fascinate the old crook.

“And next day, close to quitting time, what happens but this here robber chieftain’s petted daughter coming in and hanging round and begging to be let to help because it was such jolly fun.  I believe she did get hold of a square of sandpaper with which she daintily tried to remove some fresh varnish that should have been let strictly alone; and when they both ordered her out in a frenzy of rage, what does she do but wait for ’em with her car which she made them enter and drove them to their abode like they belonged to the better class of people that one would care to know.  The two fools was both kind of excited about this that night.

“The next day she breezes in again and tries to get them to knock off an hour early so she can take them to the country club for tea, but they refuse this, so she makes little putty statues of them both and drove a few nails where they would do no good and upset a bucket of paste and leaned a two-hundred-dollar lace thing against a varnished wall to the detriment of both, and fell off a stepladder.  Old Angus caught her and boxed her ears soundly.  And again she drove them through the avenues of a colony of fine old families with money a little bit older, by a few days, and up the drive to their own door.

“Ellabelle was peeking between the plush curtains on this occasion, for some heartless busybody during the day had told her that her son and husband was both renegades now.  And strangely enough, she begun to get back her strength from that very moment ­seeing that exclusive and well-known young debby-tant consorting in public with the reprobates.  I’m darned if she didn’t have the genius after that to treat the whole thing as a practical joke, especially when she finds out that none of them exclusives had had it long enough to look down on another millionaire merely for pinching a penny now and then.  Old Angus as a matter of fact had become just a little more important than she had ever been and could have snubbed any one he wanted to.  The only single one in the whole place that throwed him down was his own English valet.  He was found helpless drunk in a greenhouse the third day, having ruined nine thousand dollars’ worth of orchids he’d gone to sleep amongst, and he resigned his position with bitter dignity the moment he recovered consciousness.

“Moreover, young Angus and this girl clenched without further opposition.  Her train-robber father said the boy must have something in him even if he didn’t look it, and old Angus said he still believed the girl to be nothing but a yellow-haired soubrette; but what should we expect of a woman, after all?

“The night the job was finished we had the jolliest dinner of my visit, with a whole gang of exclusive-setters at the groaning board, including this girl and her folks, and champagne, of which Angus, peer, consumed near one of the cut-glass vases full.

“I caught him with young Angus in the deserted library later, while the rest was one-stepping in the Henry Quatter ballroom or dance hall.  The old man had his arms pretty well upon the boy’s shoulders.  Yes, sir, he was almost actually hugging him.  The boy fled to this gilded cafe where the rest was, and old Angus, with his eyes shining very queer, he grabs me by the arm and says, ’Once when he was very small ­though unusually large for his age of three, mind you ­he had a way of scratching my face something painful with his little nails, and all in laughing play, you know.  I tried to warn him, but he couldn’t understand, of course; so, not knowing how else to instruct him, I scratched back one day, laughing myself like he was, but sinking my nails right fierce into the back of his little fat neck.  He relaxed the tension in his own fingers.  He was hurt, for the tears started, but he never cried.  He just looked puzzled and kept on laughing, being bright to see I could play the game, too.  Only he saw it wasn’t so good a game as he’d thought.  I wonder what made me think of that, now!  I don’t know.  Come ­from yonder doorway we can see him as he dances.’

“And Ellabelle was saying gently to one and all, with her merry peal of laughter, ‘Ah, yes ­once a Scotchman, always ­’

“My land!  It’s ten o’clock.  Don’t them little white-faced beauties make the music!  Honestly I’d like to have a cot out in the corral.  We miss a lot of it in here.”