Without compromise

Front matter

BY

LILIAN BENNET-THOMPSON

AND GEORGE HUBBARD

II

OLD Simeon Randolph had possessed a methodical soul. At his instance and insistence, the streets of the town which he had founded had been laid out in a pattern almost geometrically exact in its regularity, and given numerals instead of names. Old Simeon had believed sturdily in the future of the town. Until the day of his death, he had confidently predicted that it would one day be a great manufacturing and trading center. His son, Caton Randolph, the father of the Judge, had, however, cherished no such illusions.

"A poor imitation is worse than none at all," he had repeatedly declared. "We're a town; we'll never be anything else. Very well, then, let 's behave like a town, and stop trying to ape the cities." He it was who had introduced and carried through a resolution to name the streets, doing away with the numerals. He jeered down a motion to change the name of Squatter Creek to Silver River; "Malaria Brook" would be more suitable than anything else, he had declared. His one concession had been in the matter of Main Avenue.

"Hifalutin nonsense; why not Main Street, like any other one-horse town?" he had grumbled, even while yielding the point. And he had directed that he be buried in the queer little out-of-the-way cemetery on the Hill, "because the devil can't find me there."

Your true native never spoke of the business section of Randolph as "downtown"; it was "down street." "Downtown" was used to designate that portion of the town that lay to the south of Squatter Creek, where the great steel-mills were. Some of the better class of citizens had scarcely set foot downtown; a good many mothers never thought of it without a shudder, and when they said their prayers included a petition that the Almighty would protect their sons against its contaminating influence.

Its streets were narrow ; its houses were small and jerry-built, most of them of the same ugly pattern. They stood close together and close to the sidewalk, the cheap paint peeling from their slate-gray fronts, their steps and shutters sagging crazily. Some had tiny gardens, where a few pinched flowers straggled into anemic bloom; at some of the windows were curtains, looped back with bits of bright ribbon. But, for the most part, the only spots of color were at the corners, where saloons, garishly bright with plate-glass and mirrors, struck a note of gaiety that served to accentuate the somber gloom of the surroundings. Judge Randolph remembered when there had been no buildings at all south of the creek; when "the Flats" had been green with swamp-grass and yellow with cowslips. Dick Leighton himself remembered when "downtown" had been a clean, if unprepossessing, part of the community. Now —

The young man nodded soberly at the Judge's words.

"I 'm rather fond of Tommy," he said, "and 1 5ve been sorry to see the way he 's going. He used to be an awfully likable youngster. But ever since he flunked out of college he 's run wild, and he 's gotten pretty nearly insufferable. He needed careful discipline, good influences — "

"And he got tyranny and the crowd around Cory Jackson's bar," supplemented the Judge. "He did n't want to go to college, and Dave made him. He did want to go to work in New York, and Dave would n't let him. Every sensible idea he had of doing something for himself Dave warped and twisted until Tommy had no interest in it. Dave bossed him and bullied him until he lost what little backbone God gave him originally. He wanted to get out from under his father's shadow — somewhere where he 'd have a little light of his own — and the only place Dave would let him shine was over on the Flats. Jezebel ! If Dave Ainsworth had an ordinary eye in his head, instead of a capital I, he 'd see what he did when he started an information bureau out of a boy's natural curiosity."

"It 's a rotten shame !" Dick declared warmly. "I used to see him downtown once in a while, and I thought then that he was n't the sort of boy to fraternize with the bunch that hangs around there. Then he went off to college, and if he 'd stayed away he 'd have been all right. But he seems to be pretty much of a fixture now, and he 's more than just a sort of spy for Ainsworth. He 's always been a good mixer and a glib talker; he's worked up quite a bit of influence. He calls all the boys by their first names, and he can drink and swear with any of them. I suspect that Jean will be a good deal more upset over the change that 's taken place in him during the past four years than over this Congressional business, which may or may not amount to something. At present it 's just talk downtown."

"Um-hm," rumbled the Judge. "Just talk downtown. But in a couple of months, Jean or no Jean, it 's going to let you in for the fight of your life, catch-as-catch-can, and no holds barred. You '11 have to stand or fall by yourself, and you 'II need a damn clean record!" He shot out the last words sharply and then leaned back on his pillows, looking frailer, grayer, more skeleton-like than ever. Only his eyes still burned with clear, indomitable fire. "I wish," he said almost regretfully, "that I could stay and watch the thing out. It '11 be worth seeing. But I 'm past patching up."

"A complete change, Judge — sea air, might — "

"It 's no use steering a ship for the open sea when her boiler 's due to bust any minute," the Judge interrupted grimly. "I 've got one leg in the grave now, and the other is n't going gallivantin' to the seashore or the mountains or anywhere, except up Cemetery Hill. Never mind about me. I 'm going to die in my bed, as quietly as that fool of a nurse will let me. I 'm — well, I 'm pretty tired, Dick. I've lived all the days of my years and a few odd ones over, and I 've done my work. Sometimes I think I 've done part of it too well." The bushy brows converged and the furrow between them deepened. "I mean, as far as you 're concerned, Dick."

"You 've been a pretty apt pupil, you know. You 've got a good head on your shoulders, but I 'm not altogether easy in my mind about you; I'm afraid you Ve learned your lesson too thoroughly."

Dick shook his head smilingly.

"I 've never really confused your principles with your sense of humor, sir," he said. "As a matter of fact, very few people in town do. You 've never succeeded in convincing them that you 're an unscrupulous cynic; your practice hasn't trued up with your preaching."

The Judge's eyes fell away sheepishly from Dick's whimsical glance.

"Well," he said gruffly, fumbling under his pillow for a handkerchief, to cover his confusion, "it won't hurt you to remember that honesty is the best policy, although I suppose you 've never heard me say so before. It pays big interest, being honest. And," he could not help adding, "a reputation for being honest is better yet. You 've got the reputation. Hold on to it. Stand square with yourself. When you 're in the dark, keep still until you see light ahead. Then travel straight for it, no matter who or what gets in the way."

The door opened half-way; there was the glimmer of a white skirt in the hall.

"Get out!" shrilled the Judge. He grabbed a fresh cigar and shook it threateningly at the nurse. "Get out, do you hear*? And don't you dare come back until I send for you!" He waited until the door had closed before he continued :

"This being clever, Dick, affects you a good deal the way liquor does: it creates an appetite. You put over one smart trick, and then you want to see if you can't turn one that 's just a little smarter. You tell yourself that you can stop any time, but the first thing you know, it 's got a hold on you that you can't break; it 's just like drinking rum. And if you don't use discretion, you can do for yourself either way."

"I understand, sir."

"When I 'm tucked away in that nice little bed I 've made up for myself," the Judge said, "I can rest comfortably if I know your eyes and ears are open and that you 're taking an occasional squint at McAllister and Dave Ainsworth. They '11 both bear watching. Of course, McAllister 's just a blatherskite. He winds up his mouth and it goes off automatically, like an alarm-clock; the only way to stop it is to put your hand over it. He 's a nuisance, and he ought to be abated. He 'd be harmless enough, though, if it were n't for Dave. Dave 's got to thinking he 's the town, the county, and the State, all rolled into one bundle. Everybody kotows to him, and McAllister bows and scrapes and says, 'Yes, me Lord,' whenever he opens his mouth.

"Of course, he 's a strong man, Dick. He 's had things his own way so long that he 's got the notion there is n't any other way. When he finds out that you think differently, he '11 go after your scalp. If he can get anything on you, anything at all, he '11 use it for all it 's worth; and he won't sit up nights worrying over ethics, either. He 'd run a steam roller over his best friend if he could win by it. That 's Dave's idea of a fight : win it somehow, anyhow. He 's all self. And if you ever lock horns with him, you 've got to remember that you can't bend him ; you '11 have to break him. Make up your mind to that before you start anything."

The Judge was silent a moment, rubbing the back of one thin forefinger across his forehead.

"I 'm not leaving you any money, Dick," he said presently. "There won't be much, and it goes to my sister's children. If they 're anything like their mother I '11 regret it ; but I 've got to take a chance that they 're not. They won't want the house or Miriam, and they won't get 'em, anyway. You get 'em — and the shoes. Sometimes I think we made a mistake when we sent Dave to Washington instead of Miriam. Jezebel ! Put her in pants, and she 'd make an ideal Congressman ! She has n't the brains of a gnat, and she never hears anything she does n't want to hear. But I 've taught her to leave my room alone, and she hates cats and Dave Ainsworth."

The Judge reached out a withered hand and laid it over the young man's firm brown one.

"You '11 make good," he said. "You 've got the stuff in you to be a big man. They '11 send you to Congress; I 'd like to be there to see it. It 's been a joy to watch you growing — growing. I — " the old voice faltered ever so little — "I 'm mighty fond of you, Dick; I've loved you like a son. You were just the sort of boy I 'd always wanted — the sort I might have had if — she had n't married Dave.

Maybe I 've done you more harm than good — I don't know. But — "

The door opened again, wide this time, and the nurse came briskly into the room.

"I am sorry to turn you out, Mr. Leighton, but you 've already far over-stayed your time," she said. "I '11 let you know what time you may come to-morrow."

The Judge glared at her.

"He '11 come when he likes and stay as long as he likes!" he sputtered. "You — you — Jezebel! Whose house is this, anyway, yours or mine1?" He put out a hand to Dick. "You '11 come early, won't you*?"

"Of course," Dick promised. "I '11 see you by eleven, anyway."

But he was mistaken. It was barely eight o'clock when Miriam, a weeping, swollen-eyed Miriam, appeared at his rooms. She carried a brown paper parcel which she held out to Dick.

"The Judge, he says I 'm to bring you this as soon as ever he 's gone," she said, between sobs. "And he says you '11 be comin' to live at the house. I '11 have it clean for you, Mr. Dick. I '11 — oh, God love him, why — " She turned and fled, lumbering down the path with awkward steps, her apron to her eyes.

The parcel contained a pair of worn, square-toed shoes.

Ill

ALL that was conservative in the town of Randolph resented the Flats. In the first place, the presence of the big mills brought little if any revenue to the town. They were owned by outside capital, and their operatives, while of necessity resident, spent little or no money north of Squatter Creek. The offerings of mail-order catalogues held out a far more attractive lure than did the showwindows of the Full Value Department Store; and the Cooperative Grocery, receiving its stock in bulk from the mill corporation, was enabled to undercut local prices. The number of savings accounts at the Merchants and Mechanics' Bank was negligible, if not non-existent : the cash-register of Cory Jackson and his fraternity consistently absorbed any surplus wages. For the last five years of Judge Randolph's life, the shallow marshy bed of the creek had drawn as definite a line between the Flats and the Hill as Jean Ainsworth, in her innocently crude philosophy, drew between good and bad.

The two sections had, probably, but one mutual interest: their common allegiance to the political

party which dominated that whole section of the country and which was represented locally by David Ainsworth.

Ainsworth owned a large number of houses on the Flats, and was, perhaps, the only person in town not connected with the mills (Cory Jackson always excepted) to derive any substantial income from that source. He accepted the support of the workers in the same spirit as that in which he accepted their rents — as due him at certain specified times. Which was a very comfortable way of looking at it, but one to which exception could undoubtedly be taken. That Jackson himself had begun to question it, more or less openly, might have been regarded as significant if one took into consideration the fact that he was not only the owner of a prosperous saloon, but also that he and one or two others formed the hub around which the wheel of life on the Flats revolved.

The most important of Jackson's henchmen was Bill Murray, head teamster at the mills, and, next to Jackson himself, easily the most influential man downtown. Not even by the most ardent of his admirers had Bill ever been accounted handsome. His features were lean and saturnine. His mouth had a slant at one corner that gave his face a lopsided appearance, emphasized by the absence of the lobe of his right ear, which had been snipped off by a bullet intended to end his career.

Bill was always getting hurt. His muscular body bore innumerable scars. He was known as a "troublemaker," a somewhat unjust classification, since he himself never actually made trouble; he merely watched for it and, when he found it, plunged into it with joyous abandon. A fight, any kind of a fight, was as meat and drink to him. He could not see two school-boys scuffling, without edging toward them in the yearning hope that somebody might take up the quarrel of one or the other and thus give him a chance to "mix in."

He drank hard and steadily, but this habit had never once kept him away from his job at the mills. It was only when he had indulged too freely in his favorite form of recreation that he failed to punch the time clock at the usual hour.

His most recent injury was a knife thrust that had laid his left forearm open from elbow to wrist, narrowly missing an 'artery. The resultant loss of blood had weakened him a good deal, and the doctor, fearing possible complications, had ordered him to keep to his bed for a few days.

"Sure, I know who did it ! I '11 lay for him some time when I 've got the use of my fin again and beat his head off," he told Dick cheerfully. "He had n't no call to use a sticker, anyways; it was just a friendly little fight." The "friendly little fight" had involved a dozen men, three of whom had required medical attention; but Bill was an optimist. "Doc says I can go back to work Monday, so it won't be long afore I can fix the skunk," he added. "Doc 's a good sort, Leigh ton. You and him 's about the only reg'lar fellers on the other side of the creek" — he pronounced it "crick" — "as I can see. I could 've laid here till I rotted afore any the rest of 'em 'd come over. He '11 be in pretty soon. Jess, she 's gone home to see her mother, and the doc 's been mighty white. He 's a dam' good sort. The boys all like him."

It was not strange that Doctor Evans should be popular downtown as well as in the better district of Randolph. A homely little man, frank to the point of bluntness, sturdy, resolute, he went unhesitatingly when and where he was needed, answering the summons to attend a poverty-stricken farmer or laborer from whom he would never receive a penny, as promptly as he went to the house of, for example, Squire Moore. Rich and poor were all alike to him; his services were given as gladly to one class as to the other. If a patient could not pay for medicines, the little doctor had them charged to his own account. He was quick, resourceful, tireless. And he was afraid of nothing and nobody.

Bill Murray had reason to be grateful to him. On many occasions he had patched the teamster up, freely dispensing medicine and good advice. Bill took the medicine and placidly disregarded the advice.

"He told me yesterday, Jess and me 'd ought to move. He says this place ain't fit for a pig to live in. And" — the crooked mouth twisted into a sardonic grin — "I tells him we ain't aimin' to keep pigs, Jess an' me ain't. Still, he 's more 'n two thirds right about the place; it is lousy, ain't it?"

Dick admitted that he had seen more desirable residences. Indeed, as he looked about him, he wondered that human beings could live in such abominable surroundings. There seemed to be absolutely no reason or excuse for the squalid dilapidation of the place. Built on the side of a hill, the house was one of four "three families," each less prepossessing than its fellows. Windowframes and door-casings leaned awry; ceilings were cracked and seamed; and great patches of plaster had fallen from them and from the walls. The sanitary conditions were shocking.

At the back the ground rose in a gradual slope to the summit of the low hill, from which, during every storm, the rain and drainage water ran down, collecting in numerous depressions and forming slimy mud that never really dried out. Refuse of every description — old clothes, broken bottles, tin cans, decaying vegetable matter — had been dumped indiscriminately. The whole block was a breedingplace for disease, and the slightest reference to it was sufficient to arouse the ire of Doctor Evans, who considered, and had no hesitancy in openly declaring, that its existence was a disgrace to the town.

"I 've walked into this pest hole for the last time, Bill," he announced, when he appeared, just as Dick was about to take leave of Murray. "I 've done all the talking I propose to do; I mean to act."

"What are you going to do, Doc*?" Bill wanted to know.

"You'll see," returned the doctor grimly; and Cory Jackson, who had come in with him, grinned sympathetically at Murray.

"Doc 's got his back up, Bill," he said. "You an' Jess '11 have to hunt new quarters, I guess."

Evans turned to Dick.

"Have you ever seen such conditions in a supposedly civilized community, Leighton*?" he demanded. "Why, they 're rotten — just simply rotten! The miracle is that an epidemic hasn't started here long ago. If it ever does, it will wipe out the town. I 've talked and argued until I 'm black in the face, and not a thing has been done. Why, good heavens!" — the doctor was warming to his subject — "just suppose somebody came down with typhoid or smallpox. How long do you think it would take the contagion to spread? And how could we deal with it? No hospital nearer than Cresston — and they won't take contagious cases there, anyway — the worst sort of housing conditions downtown here; no proper sanitation — why, the very thought of what may happen any day makes my blood run cold!"

"Does n't seem to be runnin' none too cold now, Doc," put in Murray, with a crooked smile.

The doctor whirled on him.

"If fellows like you would only help, instead of hindering, it would be more to your credit! But you 're away all day' and half the night, and you don't care. As long as the place does n't fall down around your ears you 're satisfied. There are plenty of decent houses on the other side of the creek, owned by men with enough self-respect to keep 'em in some sort of repair; but you're too lazy and slovenly to take the trouble to move! Suppose Jess came down with pneumonia, from standing on that damp, moldy kitchen floor. What would you do then, eh?'

"Take her to Dave Ainsworth's new hospital," returned Murray, promptly. "It '11 be done by the time she gets home ; she 's goin' to stay in Cresston another two weeks, she says."

The saloon-keeper brushed away a grin with the back of his stubby hand.

".That's what the hospital's for, ain't it, Doc1?"

he inquired gravely; "to look after the folks that have to live in Dave's rotten, houses'? Of course, you 'd think it would be cheaper to fix the houses and put in a drainage system; but maybe it would n't be so philanthropic. / don't know. I guess it 's a pretty wise guy that spends his money on big things that show up well.

"Of course," he went on, affecting not to notice the doctor's surprise, "most people think this block belongs to the Bolton estate, but title was passed to it six years ago. Dave mebbe has reasons for not havin' the deed recorded, but he owns it, all right; that 's why the agent for the estate don't mind your writin' him you '11 raise hell if he don't fix it up."

Jackson's bland and child-like smile added to the irritation of the doctor, who was aware that his fulminations must have furnished considerable amusement to those who knew him to be closely associated with Ainsworth in the plans for the new hospital. But his discomfiture lasted only a moment.

"I 'm not going to start an argument with you, Cory," he said. "It makes no difference who the owner is ; it 's up to him to keep his property in repair. Since he does n't do it, it 's up to his tenants to teach him common sense, if not common decency, by clearing out and leaving his houses vacant. I '11 see Ainsworth to-morrow, and something will be done here, or I '11 know the reason why!"

"Oh, he'll have a reason, Doc," Jackson said cheerfully. "Dave Ainsworth always has a reason for the things he don't do. Ain't he got a fine brand-new hospital just finished? Mebbe he don't want to see it stand empty. Or, again, mebbe he 's boostin' trade for you."

The doctor turned his back on him and again attacked the delighted Murray.

"I warn you!" he said wrathfully, "you can get chopped up as much as you like, and have every one of the ten plagues of Egypt in succession, and I won't set foot inside this place to save your life! That goes! As for Dave Ainsworth," — he nodded fiercely over his shoulder at Jackson — "he '11 fix these houses, or I '11 have 'em condemned at the next meeting of the Town Board of Trustees. And that goes, too !" He stamped out.

"By jux! he means it, Bill," Jackson said, with deep satisfaction. "He '11 speak his little piece, and Dave '11 hem and haw and make excuses ; and the whole thing will get an airin' that will cost Dave some votes on the Hill. You 'd better see about gettin' moved to-morrow."

"Have you found a place, Bill*?" Dick inquired.

"Oh, sure. Right nice house, above the bridge. Jess, she 's buyin' new furniture for it in Cresston.

But we did n't want to move until the doc come over and got mad. Things has been so kind o' quiet, I was gettin' tired o' waitin' till we needed to send for him. But it 's all right now. You spoken to Dick, Cory1?"

"Not yet. Guess he don't need more 'n a hint, though," drawled the saloon-keeper. "You know, Dick, some of the boys 've been wantin' to know if you 'd make a' good Congressman. Told 'em I guessed you would. Like to talk it over when you got time." He reached into his hip pocket, and took out a villainous-looking pipe, the deep bowl of which he proceeded to fill. He struck a match on the leg of his trousers and applied the flame to the tobacco.

"Ought to — be — easy — enough," he said, between puffs. "And — good thing for you — mighty good thing. Think it over. Or — wait. I 'm goin' back to the joint now. Suppose you walk along with me." He gave Murray a breezy good-by, and followed Dick down the rickety stairs to the street.

"Of course," he went on, as he fell into step beside the young man, "this ain't any real news to you. It 's been in the air for some time now, and I never heard there was anything the matter with your nose. It 's a grand little chance, and you 're not the man to let such slip. I s'pose it 's all right for me to see the boys and pass 'em the word to go right ahead, eh?"

Dick shook his head.

"No, Cory," he said. "Not yet. I— well, I have n't quite made up my mind. You '11 have to give me a little more time."

Jackson stared at him in undisguised amazement.

"More time"? Have n't made up your mind? Why, man alive! what in the name of the sacred ring-tailed monkey is there for you to make up your mind about? You know, or you ought to know, that you can lick Dave Ains worth, if you put your mind to it. I ain't sayin' it won't be some scrap; but you 're not afraid to buck him, are you?"

"Hardly!" said Dick, and laughed. No; he was not afraid of the fight, bitter though he knew it would be. Indeed, his blood fairly tingled at the thought of it. It would be no simple, trivial matter, but a real battle, in which brains and personality alone would count. Nor did he belittle the magnitude of the opportunities opening up before him.

But it was one thing to run in opposition to a man — any man — who was unsatisfactory to the rank and file of the voters, and it was quite another to come out against the father of the girl he loved.

He must lay the matter before her in its entirety, and ascertain her views, before he gave to his supporters any definite decision.

"Well," prodded Jackson, "then what in the devil are you hesitatin' for? It 's all plain, open and shut. We 're goin' to fight Ains worth, that 's sure ; but it 's a big question whether any one but you can beat him. I don't know whether you know it or not, but I had a bit x>f a talk with Judge Randolph just before he took sick. He never thought much of me — you know that — but he talked to me. He was satisfied you could win, if you had the right backin'. He wanted you to win."

"Yes," said Dick, "I believe he did."

"Well, the Judge knew what he was about. He worked over you and groomed you, and got you all ready; and now you say you ain't ready! What am I to tell the boys'?"

"Tell 'em what I 've told you : that I want a little more time to think it over."

The saloon-keeper shrugged.

"Oh, all right! If you don't know your own business, nobody else does, I guess. Only — well, never mind. Come on in a minute, will you*?"