The Web of Life

ay in indulging a parcel of incoherent prejudices at the expense of even that somewhat nebulous thing popularly called a "career." Dr. Lindsay made flattering offers; the work promised t

e who had made the city what it is, and were making it what it

t would he have to say to other people-to the Hitchcocks? Yet he made his reservations to himself at least: he was not committed to his "career"; he should be merely a spectator, a free-lance, a critic, who keeps the precious treasure of his own independence. Almost at the start, however, he was made to realize that this nonchalance, which vindicated himself in his own eyes, c

rivial annoyance was accentuated by the effusive cordiality of the great Lindsay, whom he met in the elevator. Sommers did not like this camaraderie of manner. He had seen Lindsay snub many a poor interne. In his mail, this same morning, came a note from Mrs. E. G. Carson, invitin

already crowded with waiting patients of the second class, those who could not command appointments by telephone. Whenever the door into this room opened, these expectant ones moved nervously, each one hoping

Spring had bustled into town from the prairies, insinuating itself into the dirty, cavernous streets, sailing in boisterously over the gleaming lake, eddying in steam wreaths about the lofty buildings. The subt

he comfortable, ugly houses, anxious to escape them and their associations, pressing on for a beyond, for something other than this vast, roaring, complacent city. The great park itself was filled with people, carriages, bicycles. A stream of carts and horse-back riders was headed for the Driving Club, where there was tennis and the new game of golf. But Sommers turned his horse into the disfigured Midway, where the Wreck of the Fair began. He came out, finally, on a broad stretch of sandy field, south of the desolate ruins of the Fair itself. The horse picked his way daintily among the debris of staff and wood that lay scattered about for acres. A wagon road led across this waste land toward the crumbling Spanish convent. In this place there was a fin

g city. Absorbed, charmed, grimly content with the abominable desolation of it all, he stood and gazed. No evidence of any plan, of any continuity in building, appeared upon the waste: mere sporadic eruptions of dwellings, mere heaps of brick and mortar dumped

he horse with his crop and was about to gallop on, when something in the way the woman held herself caught his attention. She was l

usband?" he as

smile of glad recognition, but

u are Mrs. Preston, aren't you? I am the doctor who op

," she replied,

idore's the next day. Is

Monday," Mrs. Preston answ

h he held in his left hand and prepared

sionately. "You knew, you knew that couldn't

head and walked on by her side. She looked down

the doctor asked, f

ind the irregular lines of buildings two miles to the west. A block south, a huge red chimney was pouring tranquilly its volume of dank smoke into the air. On the southern horizon a sooty cloud hovered above the mills of South Chicago. But, except for the monster chimney, the country ahead of the two was bare, vacant, deserted. The avenue traversed empty lots, mere squares of sand and marsh, cut u

young doctor exclaimed. "The

nquilly, while her glance roam

in spring, and the nights are calm. It seems the least little bit like what it used to be in Wisconsin on the lake. But there we h

ere?" the doctor

d more easily, "and until he died and I was sent to Rockminster College to school, my life was

ews, which she could not follow aloud. After wait

you go ba

apid, indignant

ck to what?

He had been stupid

never understand. There is never any going back-and, sometim

roken. The swamp on either side of the road was filled with birds, who flew in and out and perched on the dry planks in the walks. An abandoned electric-car track, raised aloft on a high embankment, crossed the avenue. He

asked, after his searching eyes had roamed over t

" she pointed vaguely toward the southwest. "I could not afford to live any

the professional air, the faded niceness of face and m

"only about a year. First I was over by Li

he teaching?"

how of passion. "It takes a little of one's lif

a few minutes, and then Mrs

now it can do no good, and it is worse to have any one-you-know the hateful thing.

plied calmly, compassionate

ce came back to i

ke it worse. It is b