The Rise of Roscoe Paine

he paid for his sin with his life. Death is said to pay all debts, but there are some it cannot pay. To my father I owed

My other name, the name I was born with, the name that Mother took when she married, we dropped when the disgrace came upon us.

h was all I experienced of University life-I enjoyed myself as much as possible, and studied as little. Then came the telegram. I remember the looks of the messenger who brought it, the cap he wore, and the grin on his young Irish face when the fellow sitting next me at the battered black oak table

ews to me. Not of the illness or death which I had feared and dreaded, but of something worse-disgrace. My father was an embezzler, a thief. He had absconded, had run away, like the coward he was, taking with him what was left of his stealings. The ba

remembers him as something quite different, and I suppose it must be true, otherwise she would not have married him; but to me he was a source of supply coupled with a bad temper, that was all. That I was not utterly impossible, that, going my own gait as I did, I was not a complete young blackguard, I know now was due entirely to Mother. She and I were as cl

upposed were friends! Mother bore them all, wore a calm, brave face in public, and only when alone with me gave way, and then but at rare intervals. She clung to me as her only comfort and hope. I was sull

iven a minor position in a small bank. Oddly enough, considering my former life, I liked the work, it interested me, and during the next few years I was made, by successive promotions, bookkeeper, teller, and, at last, assistant cashier. No news came from the absconder. The

mouths in this family and only one pair of hands. One of the mouths is so big that the hands can't fill it, let alone the mouth that belongs to THEM." Mother-as Mrs. Paine, a widow-went there first as a boarder, intending to remain but a few months. Dorinda took to her at once, being attracted in the beginning, I think, by the name. "They call you Comfort Paine

e, if I had been with her. But she was never really happy when we were separated, a condition of mind which grew more acute as her health

my questions she always declared that she was ever so much

sudden bad news or shock might-well, goodness knows what effect it might have. She must not be worried. Ros-" after one has visited De

ged to the creditors. I said nothing to Mother about this: she supposed that we had a sufficient income for our needs, even without my salary. Without telling her I gave up our city apartment, stor

police came. I read it with scarcely more than a vague feeling of pity for him. It was of Mother that I thought. The news must be kept from her. If she should hear of it! What should I do? I went first of all to the lawyer's office: he was out of town for the day. I

er, but Dorindy had some everlastin' chore or other for me to do-I believe she thinks 'em up in her sleep-and I left the paper on the dinin'-room table and went out to the barn. Dorindy she come along to boss me, as usual. When we went back to the house there was Mrs. Comf

bank for three months. By that time she was herself, so far as her reason was concerned, but very weak and unable to bear the least hint of disturbance or worry. She must not be moved, so Doctor Quimby said, and he held out no immediate hope of her recoverin

re, sold the rest, and resigned myself to a period of idleness in the country. Dorinda I hired as ho

d sailed and loafed, losing ambition and self-respect, aware that the majority of the village people considered me too lazy to earn a living, and caring little for their opinion. At first I had kept up a hit or miss correspondence with one or two of my associates in the ban

and I did not consider him that, was George Taylor, the Denboro bank cashier. He w

kept from her the fact that our little income was but half of what it had been. Our wants were few, and if my clothes were no longer made by the best tailors, if they were ready-made and out-of-date and lacked pressing, they w

al appearance. I looked like a hayseed-not the independent countryman who wears old clothes on week days from choice and is proudly conscious of a Sunday suit in the closet-but that other variety, the post-offi

. Because I was a failure, a country loafer with no prospect of ever being anything else, because I could not ride in automobiles and others could-these were no good re

could "Yours truly, James W. Colton" have with me? And Captain Jed also had talked business. I supposed that I had given u

expression of the Wall Street magnate's habit of mind, and nothing more. He was used to having people jump when he snapped his fingers. But now it made me angry. I sympathized with Dean and Alvin Baker. The possession o

g fast-fast for him, that is-and seemed to be excited. His excitement, however, did not cause him

ence I've been gone, has s

in the house since I got back. But I

'cross the Lane for a jiffy, that's all.

t of millionai

have money they couldn't be millionaires, could

now. I nev

n' 'round their place. You never see such a place! Why,

e to be rake

r heard of rak

at I have heard of raking a yard. I th

d up the rake which was lying near the barn, a pi

e mention it

erred to it occasionally since. She was mentioning it

Well, I'm rakin' it, ain't I? Say, Ros," he added, eagerly, "did you go

you think

pilots the automobiles, asked him where the post-office was and he see the add

?" I interrupted. I had known Lute a long ti

y. "You never see such a young-one for dodgin' the truth. Wh

e say about

said Mr. Colton told him to mail it r

es

hat did a man like Mr. Co

hort of tact. This was no time for him to ask me

e write to me?"

HIM-writi

ps once in a while. Rea

ere, what are you

l right. The god I refer

u; she's down on swearin', heathen or any other

he wants

ou? Wh

rhaps he wants

believe yo

! don't look at me like that. Here's

ked it up with as much care as if it was a diamond, and holding it a foot from his nose-he had broken his sp

nts to see you at his house this forenoon! And-and-why, the

watching you rake the yard. It

, you are out of your head!

N

AIN

N

u jined in with the

now? What fool

d the rest of 'em. They was goin' on about Mr. Colton last night; said THEY wan't goin' to run at hi

y that to C

, you ain't foolish enough to side with Jed Dean. Just think! Here's Mr. Colton, richer'n King Solomon and a

om the wa

te," I interrupted. "And

re anything h

nts to see me he may. I expect to b

ire like him to come cruisin' after Y

now," I said. "I shoul

ack yard and, seeing how little raking had been done, announced that until the job was finished there would be "no dinner for some folk

ed myself and which I had bought second-hand two years before, was jacked up in the middle of the floor. The engine, which I had taken apart to clean, was in pieces beside it. On the walls hung my two shot guns and my fishing rod. Outside, on the beach, was my flat-bottomed skiff, which

ave it up. It did not interest me then. I shut the door at the side of the building, that by which I had entered-the bi

to Almena, but they did not elevate my spirits. As for the story-well, the hero was a young gentleman who was poor but tremendously clever and handsome, and the heroine had eyes "as dark and deep as starlit pools." The poor but beaut

on the door. It was Lute, of course. Probably mother wanted me for

ck was

" I said,

chting cap on the back of his gray head, and a cigar in his mouth. He lo

aid, curtly. "Is

rapidly, but I was to

oe Pa

es

sent you a letter this m