of the heart unconsciously took precedence over the sober judgment of the mind. He knew his father's influence with the Directors, but Mr. Stewart's sympathy and co-operation encouraged him to expect the impossible. For weeks he had worked on his problem, arguing with one man, urging another, pointing out the prosperity which must follow when the hated terms "capital" and "labor" were obliterated from the language and replaced by "employer" and "employed"; when the object of both was production, and each gave to the other the co-operation he needed to make this production maximum.

He had been successful with the men. In spite of the opposition of those who saw in the new industrial relations the passing of their power, there were enough in the labor ranks who were reasonable and loved peace to make the experiment possible, and Richard was confident that its success would allay their suspicions and give to it an enduring permanence. It was a real triumph to have accomplished this, and Richard knew it. Yet he had failed. His own father, fortified by precedent, blinded by habit, cherishing "what always was" as more precious than "what is to be," refused to see in this triumph anything save rebellion and sedition! He refused to read the handwriting on the wall, even though the letters seemed to Richard to be written in flaming symbols, foretelling with terrifying clarity the fate of the world unless the basic principles of democracy were embodied in industrial enterprise as they were guaranteed in the constitutions of nations. "Blind . . . blind... blind!" he shouted, though

there was no one to hear him in the small bedroom of the flat which he had occupied since he left his father's house. "Why can't they realize that indemnities won't give the world peace, nor the readjustment of boundary lines, nor treaties, nor armies, nor ships. Production . . . nothing but production will solve the problem, and without understanding and co-operation in industry there can be no production. We who offered our lives for the peace of the world know, and we have a right to be heard. We have a right. we have a right

Then something gave way, and Richard sank in a heap upon the floor. The mental strain had worn down his physical strength, never fully recovered since his wound, until the frayed nerves yielded. There Olga found him when she called later in the day to receive instructions. There the doctor, hastily summoned by the terrified girl, helped her to get him into bed, and prescribed absolute quiet and watchful nursing.

"Who is he?" Dr. Thurber inquired.

Being a new-comer to Norcross, he failed to recognize the son of the town's leading citizen.

"He's my man!" Olga declared defiantly, fearful lest this opportunity to serve him be taken away from her. "I mean, what is his name?"

"Richards," Olga lied, rejoiced that his identity was not disclosed.

There she nursed him day and night, jealously guarding and protecting him while the workers walked out from the plant; while the strike-breakers arrived; while Alec Sterling, taking Richard's place, struggled to hold

back Tony Lemholtz and his radicals in their lust for violence; while Lola worried over Richard's absence and silence; while the atmosphere of Norcross became intense in its anticipation of something unusual and malevolent.

Olga permitted no foot save the doctor's to cross the threshold of the little room, and was happy in the praise he gave her for her instinctive skill and devotion. Alec Sterling alone knew her secret. The men were told that Richard was away arranging matters with the union chiefs, and no one else inquired.

CHAPTER XVII

O

I

N Sundays, James Norton, deacon in the Congregational Church in Norcross, never failed

to sit in his family pew or to admit himself a miserable sinner. This was This was a condition he acknowledged solely to his Maker, and then only on Sundays. On other days he considered himself quite competent to look after his own affairs. Another invariable cus

tom was to walk to and from church. His father had made it a point to obey the Biblical injunction to rest his beasts upon the seventh day, and the early impression made upon James Norton's mind extended now even to his automobiles.

September in Norcross is the loveliest month in all the year. The air turns crisp and invigorating, the gardens give their final flare of color in the masses of chrysanthemums, asters, dahlias, salvia, and canna, and the trees vie with the gardens in the gorgeous brilliancy of their array.

Norton found it a relief on this September Sunday to get away from the great empty house, away from himself. Once inside the house of God he found a rest which came to him at no other time. He was sincere

in his belief that he was a consciencious, consistent Christian, and when he felt the pain of his son's defection and of his former friend Stewart's disloyalty, he turned to his Maker with a confidence that the words, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant," were spoken to him. He knew himself to be stern; that was but the expression of his duty to those who required discipline. No man could say that he was not just and honest. He contributed to the church and to charities; he had given of himself in the building of a business from which thousands gained their sustenance; except for him the town itself would lack its present individuality. As he sat in his pew this Sabbath morning he reconciled the bitterness of his personal experiences by recalling the comforting thought that "whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth."

Norton could not have repeated the text nor told much of the subject matter of the discourse. The minister did not interest him, and of what use were these theories of life after death and all that sort of thing when no one could prove anything one way or the other? Norton was at church not for what he could give to it or what he could receive from it, but because of the habit which years had established. The fact that he went gave him satisfaction, and the experience was soothing after six days of strife and turmoil.

The services over, behind Henry Cross. effect of the last hour

II

Norton found himself walking Perhaps it was the humanizing and a half, or it may have been