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mightily　in　both　hands；　and　brought　it　down　full　on　the　head　of

the　uprearing　grizzly。　Not　even　the　skull　of　a　grizzly　could

withstand　the　crushing　force　of　such　a　blow；　and　the　animal

went　down　to　meet　the　worrying　of　the　hounds。　And　through　their

scurrying　leaped　the　man；　squarely　upon　the　body；　where；　in　the

white　electric　light；　resting　on　his　club；　he　chanted　a　triumph

in　an　unknown　tonguea　song　so　ancient　that　Professor　Wertz

would　have　given　ten　years　of　his　life　for　it。



His　guests　rushed　to　possess　him　and　acclaim　him；　but　James

Ward；　suddenly　looking　out　of　the　eyes　of　the　early　Teuton；　saw

the　fair　frail　Twentieth　Century　girl　he　loved；　and　felt

something　snap　in　his　brain。　He　staggered　weakly　toward　her；

dropped　the　club；　and　nearly　fell。　Something　had　gone　wrong

with　him。　Inside　his　brain　was　an　intolerable　agony。　It　seemed

as　if　the　soul　of　him　were　flying　asunder。　Following　the

excited　gaze　of　the　others；　he　glanced　back　and　saw　the　carcass

of　the　bear。　The　sight　filled　him　with　fear。　He　uttered　a　cry

and　would　have　fled；　had　they　not　restrained　him　and　led　him

into　the　bungalow。



　　。　　。　　。　　　。　　　　。　　　。



James　J。　Ward　is　still　at　the　head　of　the　firm　of　Ward；　Knowles

&　Co。　But　he　no　longer　lives　in　the　country；　nor　does　he　run　of

nights　after　the　coyotes　under　the　moon。　The　early　Teuton　in

him　died　the　night　of　the　Mill　Valley　fight　with　the　bear。

James　J。　Ward　is　now　wholly　James　J。　Ward；　and　he　shares　no

part　of　his　being　with　any　vagabond　anachronism　from　the

younger　world。　And　so　wholly　is　James　J。　Ward　modern；　that　he

knows　in　all　its　bitter　fullness　the　curse　of　civilized　fear。

He　is　now　afraid　of　the　dark；　and　night　in　the　forest　is　to　him

a　thing　of　abysmal　terror。　His　city　house　is　of　the　spick　and

span　order；　and　he　evinces　a　great　interest　in　burglarproof

devices。　His　home　is　a　tangle　of　electric　wires；　and　after

bed…time　a　guest　can　scarcely　breathe　without　setting　off　an

alarm。　Also；　he　had　invented　a　combination　keyless　door…lock

that　travelers　may　carry　in　their　vest　pockets　and　apply

immediately　and　successfully　under　all　circumstances。　But　his

wife　does　not　deem　him　a　coward。　She　knows　better。　And；　like

any　hero；　he　is　content　to　rest　on　his　laurels。　His　bravery　is

never　questioned　by　those　friends　who　are　aware　of　the　Mill

Valley　episode。　







THE　BENEFIT　OF　THE　DOUBT



CARTER　WATSON；　a　current　magazine　under　his　arm；　strolled

slowly　along；　gazing　about　him　curiously。　Twenty　years　had

elapsed　since　he　had　been　on　this　particular　street；　and　the

changes　were　great　and　stupefying。　This　Western　city　of　three

hundred　thousand　souls　had　contained　but　thirty　thousand；　when；

as　a　boy；　he　had　been　wont　to　ramble　along　its　streets。　In

those　days　the　street　he　was　now　on　had　been　a　quiet　residence

street　in　the　respectable　workingclass　quarter。　On　this　late

afternoon　he　found　that　it　had　been　submerged　by　a　vast　and

vicious　tenderloin。　Chinese　and　Japanese　shops　and　dens

abounded；　all　confusedly　intermingled　with　low　white　resorts

and　boozing　dens。　This　quiet　street　of　his　youth　had　become　the

toughest　quarter　of　the　city。



He　looked　at　his　watch。　It　was　half…past　five。　It　was　the　slack

time　of　the　day　in　such　a　region；　as　he　well　knew；　yet　he　was

curious　to　see。　In　all　his　score　of　years　of　wandering　and

studying　social　conditions　over　the　world；　he　had　carried　with

him　the　memory　of　his　old　town　as　a　sweet　and　wholesome　place。

The　metamorphosis　he　now　beheld　was　startling。　He　certainly

must　continue　his　stroll　and　glimpse　the　infamy　to　which　his

town　had　descended。



Another　thing：　Carter　Watson　had　a　keen　social　and　civic

consciousness。　Independently　wealthy；　he　had　been　loath　to

dissipate　his　energies　in　the　pink　teas　and　freak　dinners　of

society；　while　actresses；　race…horses；　and　kindred　diversions

had　left　him　cold。　He　had　the　ethical　bee　in　his　bonnet　and　was

a　reformer　of　no　mean　pretension；　though　his　work　had　been

mainly　in　the　line　of　contributions　to　the　heavier　reviews　and

quarterlies　and　to　the　publication　over　his　name　of　brightly；

cleverly　written　books　on　the　working　classes　and　the

slum…dwellers。　Among　the　twenty…seven　to　his　credit　occurred

titles　such　as；　〃If　Christ　Came　to　New　Orleans；〃　〃　The

Worked…out　Worker；〃　〃Tenement　Reform　in　Berlin；〃　〃The　Rural

Slums　of　England；〃　〃The　people　of　the　East　Side；〃　〃Reform

Versus　Revolution；〃　〃The　University　Settlement　as　a　Hot　Bed　of

Radicalism'　and　〃The　Cave　Man　of　Civilization。〃



But　Carter　Watson　was　neither　morbid　nor　fanatic。　He　did　not

lose　his　head　over　the　horrors　he　encountered；　studied；　and

exposed。　No　hair　brained　enthusiasm　branded　him。　His　humor

saved　him；　as　did　his　wide　experience　and　his　con。　conservative

philosophic　temperament。　Nor　did　he　have　any　patience　with

lightning　change　reform　theories。　As　he　saw　it；　society　would

grow　better　only　through　the　painfully　slow　and　arduously

painful　processes　of　evolution。　There　were　no　short　cuts；　no

sudden　regenerations。　The　betterment　of　mankind　must　be　worked

out　in　agony　and　misery　just　as　all　past　social　betterments　had

been　worked　out。



But　on　this　late　summer　afternoon；　Carter　Watson　was　curious。

As　he　moved　along　he　paused　before　a　gaudy　drinking　place。　The

sign　above　read；　〃The　Vendome。〃　There　were　two　entrances。　One

evidently　led　to　the　bar。　This　he　did　not　explore。　The　other

was　a　narrow　hallway。　Passing　through　this　he　found　himself　in

a　huge　room；　filled　with　chair…encircled　tables　and　quite

deserted。　In　the　dim　light　he　made　out　a　piano　in　the　distance。

Making　a　mental　note　that　he　would　come　back　some　time　and

study　the　class　of　persons　that　must　sit　and　drink　at　those

multitudinous　tables；　he　proceeded　to　circumnavigate　the　room。



Now；　at　the　rear；　a　short　hallway　led　off　to　a　small　kitchen；

and　here；　at　a　table；　alone；　sat　Patsy　Horan；　proprietor　of　the

Vendome；　consuming　a　hasty　supper　ere　the　evening　rush　of

business。　Also；　Patsy　Horan　was　angry　with　the　world。　He　had

got　out　of　the　wrong　side　of　bed　that　morning；　and　nothing　had

gone　right　all　day。　Had　his　barkeepers　been　asked；　they　would

have　described　his　mental　condition　as　a　grouch。　But　Carter

Watson　did　not　know　this。　As　he　passed　the　little　hallway；

Patsy　Horan's　sullen　eyes　lighted　on　the　magazine　he　carried

under　his　arm。　Patsy　did　not　know　Carter　Watson；　nor　did　he

know　that　what　he　carried　under　his　arm　was　a　magazine。　Patsy；

out　of　the　depths　of　his　grouch；　decided　that　this　stranger　was

one　of　those　pests　who　marred　and　scarred　the　walls　of　his　back

rooms　by　tacking　up　or　pasting　up　advertisements。　The　color　on

the　front　cover　of　the　magazine　convinced　him　that　it　was　such

an　advertisement。　Thus　the　trouble　began。　Knife　and　fork　in

hand；　Patsy　leaped　for　Carter　Watson。



〃Out　wid　yeh！〃　Patsy　bellowed。　〃I　know　yer　game！〃



Carter　Watson　was　startled。　The　man　had　come　upon　him　like　the

eruption　of　a　jack…in…the…box。



〃A　defacin'　me　walls；〃　cried　Patsy；　at　the　same　time　emitting　a

string　of　vivid　and　vile；　rather　than　virile；　epithets　of

opprobrium。



〃If　I　have　given　any　offense　I　did　not　mean　to〃



But　that　was　as　far　as　the　visitor　got。　Patsy　interrupted。



〃Get　out　wid　yeh；　yeh　talk　too　much　wid　yer　mouth；〃　quoted

Patsy；　emphasizing　his　remarks　with　flourishes　of　the　knife　and

fork。



Carter　Watson　caught　a　quick　vision　of　that　eating…fork

inserted　uncomfortably　between　his　ribs；　knew　that　it　would　be

rash　to　talk　further　with　his　mouth；　and　promptly　turned　to　go。

The　sight　of　his　meekly　retreating　back　must　have　further

enraged　Patsy　Horan；　for　that　worthy；　dropping　the　table

implements；　sprang　upon　him。



Patsy　weighed　one　hundred　and　eighty　pounds。　So　did　Watson。　In

this　they　were　equal。　But　Patsy　was　a　rushing；　rough…and…tumble

saloon…fighter；　while　Watson　was　a　boxer。　In　this　the　latter

had　the　advantage；　for　Patsy　came　in　wide　open；　swinging　his

right　in　a　perilous　sweep。　All　Watson　had　to　do　was　to

straight…left　him　and　escape。　But　Watson　had　another　advantage。

His　boxing；　and　his　experience　in　the　slums　and　ghettos　of　the

world；　had　taught　him　restraint。



He　pivoted　on　his　feet；　and；　instead　of　striking；　ducked　the

other's　swinging　blow　and　went　into　a　clinch。　But　Patsy；

charging　like　a　bull；　had　the　momentum　of　his　rush；　while

Watson；　whirling　to　meet　him；　had　no　momentum。　As　a　result；　the

pair　of　them　went　down；　with　all　their　three　hundred　and　sixty

pounds　of　weight；　in　a　long　crashing　fall；　Watson　underneath。

He　lay　with　his　head　touching　the　rear　wall　of　the　large　room。

The　street　was　a　hundred　and　fifty　feet　away；　and　he　did　some

quick　thinking。　His　first　thought　was　to　avoid　trouble。　He　had

no　wish　to　get　into　the　papers　of　this；　his　childhood　town；

where　many　of　his　relatives　and　family　friends　still　lived。



So　it　was　that　he　locked　his　arms　around　the　man　on　top　of　him；

held　him　close；　and　waited　for　the　help　to　come　that　must　come

in　response　to　the　crash　of　the　fall。　The　help　camethat　is；

six　men　ran　in　from　the　bar　and　formed　about　in　a　semi…circle。



'Take　him　off；　fellows；〃　Watson　said。　〃I　haven't　struck　him；

and　I　don't　want　any　fight。〃



But　the　semi…circle　remained　silent。　Watson　held　on　and　waited。

Patsy；　after　various　vain　efforts　to　inflict　damage；　made　an

overture。



〃Leggo　o'　me　an'　I'll　get　off　o'　yeh；〃　said　he。



Watson　let　go；　but　when　Patsy　scrambled　to　his　feet　he　stood

over　his　recumbent　foe；　ready　to　strike。



〃Get　up；〃　Patsy　commanded。



His　voice　was　stern　and　implacable；　like　the　voice　of　God

calling　to　judgment；　and　Watson　knew　there　was　no　mercy　there。



〃Stand　back　and　I'll　get　up；〃　he　countered。



〃If　yer　a　gentleman；　get　up；〃　quoth　Patsy；　his　pale　blue　eyes

aflame　with　wrath；　his　fist　ready　for　a　crushing　blow。



At　the　same　moment　he　drew　his　foot　back　to　kick　the　other　in

the　face。　Watson　blocked　the　ki