A wave of stillness blanketed the audience that had come to see—and maybe laugh at—the antics of a midget. Up to now, the address was not in the expected pitch. It was far afield from the anticipated humor of frivolous incidents. Dissertations on literature, science, and philosophy came as an unexpected jolt. Davy Lannarck, who had spent his adult life in facing the public, now knew that he had 'em mesmerized.

"Who, then, composes this exclusive class in the human family? Who are midgets?" Davy gave the question its full emphasis to include the dramatic pause. "Well, I've lived the life of one for more than a quarter of a century. If literature, dictionaries, encyclopedias, and Holy Writ fail to sort us into the proper herd, why, I'll heat my own runnin' iron and brand the ones I think are eligible.

"Midgets are people. Out of a million or more of babies born one, at least, is destined not to reach adult stature. Normal in every way and perfectly proportioned, this millionth babe stops growing, while yet a babe, and thereafter not an inch is added to his stature and very little to his Weight. 'Arrested development' the scientist terms it; 'a malfunctioning of the pituitary gland' is the doctor's diagnosis of the disaster.

"So, one out of a million or more babies born is destined to go through life bumping his head against other people's knees. If it's a boy, he can never bust one over the fence for a home run, never look squarely into the face of the receiving teller at the bank or of the room clerk at the hotel. He is never to referee a prize fight or run for president. If he wants a drink at the public fountain, he must ask someone to get it for him. If he goes to school, church, or a public meeting he must either get a front seat or he'll get a back view. On trains, busses, and Pullmans he pays the same adult fare as the two-hundred-pounder across the aisle.

"In the meager information about midgets, one writer, in an excellent article, estimates one midget to every million of population. He must have lived in New York City, as the little people flock to that metropolis, seeking employment in theaters and museums. My personal estimate of the ratio is that not one babe in two million is destined to go through life looking through the wrong end of opera glasses. In my brief career I have never seen more than twenty-two midgets in one group, and that only after Baron Singer had combed the civilized world in an effort to get 'em all in one assemblage.

"I have said that literature is almost silent concerning midgets and their activities. Yet, if one would compile all the scattered paragraphs of the ages past, it might be a sizeable volume. Back in the days when chivalry ran parallel with human bondage, midgets were rated as personal property. Kings and emperors called them to court for amusement purposes; offered them as gifts to appease the powerful or seduce the weak. And at courtly banquets, when the liquor was potent enough to inspire adventuresome bravery, midgets were tossed like medicine balls, from guest to guest, to provide entertainment for the ladies and gallants there present. However, the meager paragraphs failed to reveal if the ball was dribbled or if free throws were allowed in the event of fouls being made on the brave participants.

"Midgets marry same as other people, and strange to relate, fully half of them wed full grown adults. Just why this is I do not know. While I have acted the part of Dan Cupid in several stage productions, I've had no actual experience with the attachments and jealousies of humans—big or little. Midgets do have love-longings and jealousies, and love-making is carried on with all the zeal of modern warfare. Also, it has some of the elements of modern international diplomacy in its double-talk and duplicity. I witnessed one of these incidents as an innocent bystander.

"Andre, a very competent juggler, had come to America with the Singer Midgets. He was a Frenchman and spoke not a word of English. In America, the Singer Company was rallying to its organization all the little people it could induce to join up in a tour of the big circuit. Among the new arrivals was Lorette Sanford, a beautiful little trick of a girl. Andre was much impressed with her beauty and vivacity. Here was his soulmate! But he just couldn't tell her of his undying affection on account of the language handicap. Lorette knew not a word of French.

"But love laughs at locksmiths and Cupid has many assistants. Andre sought out Jimmy Quick, who had toured France and could make himself understood. Jimmy was commissioned to anglicize a proper proposal and Andre spent hours in repeating the verbiage as taught. At the proper moment, he met the object of his adoration back of the scenes and fired his volley of transposed endearments. It had a tremendous effect all right, but it was in reverse gear. Lorette screamed and ran, but quickly returned to slap Andre's face, kick his shins, and push him sprawling into a mess of paint cans and brushes. Surely a disastrous ending for a well meant intention.

"Of course it turned out that Jimmy Quick, who secretly had notions of his own as to the beauty and desirability of the object of Andre's affections, had composed a proposal of all the vile and abusive words in the English language. Jimmy was too big for Andre to chastise, but as the rumor of the incident spread and the comedians began to quote freely some of the indecent phrases of the hoax, Andre fled the scene of torment. He left the company at Buffalo and went to Quebec where English was in limited use, and the story unknown.

"But Andre's juggling act was invaluable among so many amateurs. The manager went to Canada to urge his return. But by the time he succeeded, Jimmy Quick had eloped with the fair Lorette and had joined up with Cairstair's Congress of Living Wonders. And to give the matter a modern and adult finish, it turned out that Andre already had a wife and child in France.

"Yes, midgets—small in size and few in number—marry and raise families in about the same proportions as 'the big ones.' It is a matter of record that Mrs. Judith Skinner, herself a midget, gave birth to fourteen children. They were all of normal size. In fact, the mystery of midget existence is further complicated by the added truth that no midget ever gave birth to a midget.

"Midgets never grow bald and are usually vain in the matter of dress, probably due to the fact that in the past they were attaches of royalty. A midget is usually suave in manners and not easily embarrassed in public. Several instances are related that midgets, back in the conspiring and deceitful days of royalty, gave their patrons much information of enemy intrigues and adverse plottings against the crown.

"This story is told of a midget's participation in imperial intrigue. Richebourg, only twenty-three inches tall, was an attache of the royal family of Orleans, deeply involved in the French Revolution. Swaddled in baby garments, he was allowed to be carried through enemy lines by an ignorant maid, bearing vital messages to friends of imprisoned royalty.

"But notwithstanding their limitations in size and number, midgets have made material contributions in science, art, and invention. Many of the present day comforts and much of our current beauty in art came from these Lilliputians. And set this down to the credit of the midget populace: few midgets, or maybe none at all, are ever convicted of the major crimes of murder, mayhem, arson, or theft. If the 'big ones' were as law-abiding as the 'little ones' there would be little need for criminal courts and jails.

"It was the establishment of democracies that gave midgets a status as a citizen. In the dark ages of the past, he had been a creature of derision, a thing to be bandied about in trade or gift. And it was in our own blessed United States of America that he began taking his proper place as a communal asset. Our own Tom Thumb and his genial wife, Lavinna Warren, traveled extensively over the world to prove that midgets were intelligent and companionable people. Later came Admiral Dot, Commodore Nutt, and others of the fraternity, to travel widely over the country, and by contact prove the worth of midgets.

"But it was Baron Leopold von Singer, an Austrian citizen and a man of great wealth, who lifted midgets out of the mental mire of being regarded as children and gave them their rightful place. The story is told that the baron became interested in little people through the pleadings of an invalid daughter. He invited several midgets to his home. Finding them agreeable and companionable, he founded a midget city with all the conveniences and accessories of a municipality to include a theater where much talent was revealed.

"In the midst of these activities Austria became a center of strife in the World War. The baron hastily moved his theatrical activities to London, and later to the United States where he toured all the larger cities to exhibit his little troupers and their talents.

"Really, the baron never planned this tour of the Singer Midgets as a money making venture. He had learned to love the little people and took keen pleasure and joy in the development of their genius to entertain the public. He paid good salaries with no thought of commercialism. But the enterprise did make money. It was a major means of revealing to the public that midgets have talents. And best of all, it furnished a wide field of employment to little people. The public wants to see midgets and fully fifty percent of these are now engaged in some form of show business.

"My personal contact with show business was made through the Singer Midgets. As a youngster I had planned to study architecture, as I had developed some talent at the drawing board. But the death of my parents interrupted my home life. I sought diversion. I visited the Singer Show at St. Louis. I had no specialty—no act—that would amuse the public, but the manager signed me up, hoping to develop something useful. And I did develop. On account of my voice being in the right pitch, I expanded into a spieler, a front man, the person who makes the announcements in front of the curtain, that does the ballyhoo for the side show or bawls out, from the center ring, the features of the concert 'that will immediately fallaawftah this pawfo'mance.'

"And for twelve years, winter and summer, night and day, I have traveled about to see our dear America at its best and its worst. In that time, I have looked into the faces of half the people of the nation and, as a corollary, I was the object of their scrutiny and comment. I got tired of the job. I wanted to get out where I could meet them, one at a time, to tell jokes, hear the news, complain about the depression, cuss Congress, and sympathize with those in distress.

"But please do not think that my aversion of the public extends to a meeting such as we have here tonight. Here, I feel happy in being permitted to meet my neighbors and grateful for the opportunity to give such publicity as I can to the accomplishments of the little people who for centuries were held in a bondage of ridicule and derision, but who now, by industry and mental accomplishments, stand side by side with all who seek to make this a better world.

"And now let's go to the circus where—"

Davy's further remarks were interrupted by applause. Led by the young minister, the seated audience rose to cheer his simple, earnest story of midget life and accomplishments.

"Now, I am doubly paid," said the little speaker, showing his first signs of embarrassment. "Maybe the double pay is for overtime; maybe you are glad that I am nearing the end of the story. At any rate, let's go out to the circus lot, even if we do not get inside the Big Top. That will shorten the program.

"I love the circus. Inside the ring of its glamorous pageantry is a circle of closely knit friendships and sociability not found in any other organization. From management to roustabout there are common ties of interest. And because a destination must be reached on the hour, and a pageant presented, there is teamwork such as I have never seen elsewhere. Personally, I think circuses, in their precision of movement and volume of property handled, have been used as models for our great United States' Armies in their muster of men and equipment and in the accuracy of transportation.

"Think of it! A big circus, in property and personnel, is the equal of a small city. On Monday, this city sets up shop in a Des Moines suburb to give two exhibitions. Tuesday it shows in Omaha; Wednesday, in Kansas City. It sets up and tears down, the same day. It changes location while you sleep. All details, from elephants to tent stakes, from kid-show banners to the great arena that shelters and seats ten thousand patrons, all must be torn down, transported, and set up between sunset and sunrise. I know of no other private enterprise that so truly represents the skill, aptitude, and energy of American genius.

"But pshaw! All of you have been to circuses! Yet there are erroneous impressions abroad that should be corrected. Circuses are, for the most part, privately owned and have grown up from small beginnings. The owners are business men such as you meet in other industries. They employ the best talent available in each department. They try to get young bank employees to handle bookkeeping and finances. Surely the man on the ticket wagon must be a wizard to handle the volume of business done within the limited time; and the boss canvasman, to lay out and erect a circus city in two hours, must know his men and property in every detail.

"But the important part of the circus business is transacted in the winter months and in remote and strange places. What are we to exhibit in the coming season? The entire world is scouted to find new and sensational features and spectacles. Not only are the jungles combed for the little known and strange creatures of earth, but the highly civilized quarters of the world should yield new accomplishments in the acrobatic field and in the latest achievements of science and art. And in these later years, all history is carefully explored for the dramatic incident that can be portrayed in glamorous pageantry for the amusement and education of those who come to the circus.

"And then comes the gravest problem of all. Where will we exhibit this planned program? Routing a circus is a technical matter. Every feature of the locale must be studied. Stock markets and boards of trade must be consulted as to the financial outlook. Crop estimates, factory production, and foreign markets are big factors in the planning. Droughts, floods, crop failures, labor troubles, and great fires are some of the many things to be avoided in the routings. All this must be planned before a pitch is made.

"Aside from the management the personnel of a circus naturally divides itself into three groups: the ring performers, the animal trainers, and the roustabouts. The first named, consisting of acrobats, tumblers, jugglers, aerial artists, and equestrians, are an exclusive class that eat at the same table and use the same Pullmans. They are not 'snooty,' just reserved. There are many foreigners among them. In some acts the entire family takes part. They are a sober lot. Hard liquor has no place on the refreshment list of a class whose life is dependent on a clear brain and a sure hand and foot. Many of them are good church folk. We could always tell when Sunday morning came by the bustle and stir to attend early Mass.

"Roustabouts, the labor battalion of the circus army, join up out of curiosity and quit when satiated. A wise boss never fixes a specific payday or else, on the day following, not enough of 'em would be left to light the cook's fire. They are the first to be rousted out in the morning and never go to bed. They are supposed to catch naps during the afternoon performance and of evenings before the menagerie is torn down for another move. However, these naps are canceled if they can contact the public for a 'touch' or gain an audience for their weird, fantastic tales of personal heroism in their life with the circus.

"And because Mister John Q. Public contacts these ne'er-do-wells and romancers, he forms wrong estimates of the business. Mister Public is further deceived in believing that the 'con man' who has a pitch nearby is connected with the enterprise. Circuses are widely advertised to appear at a certain place on a fixed date. The skin-game artists and shilabers, cheaters, flimflammers, and medicine men flock to these gatherings as flies to a picnic. They are as barnacles on a fast-moving ship, flies in the ointment of circus management. Happily much of this odium has been erased. By close cooperation with local authorities, the con man and shilaber is moved out before he starts. Unhappily the stigma of past incidents still persists.

"And now, you are happy that I am approaching the end of the chapter, and I am happy to say a final word in behalf of my favorites among the circus folks, the animal trainers. To me, these patient, hard workers are the cream of the crop. Whenever I had time to spare I was a visitor in their schools. We marvel that we can communicate by telephone and radio, but animal trainers not only make themselves understood, but they must first teach their subjects the language in which they speak. At these training schools I've seen horses, dogs, elephants, seals, and birds told in pantomime what certain words mean; they are then told to execute the exact meaning of the word. Those who teach young humans have an easy task as compared with these patient teachers of dumb, but brainy brutes.

"Animal trainers are born with the 'gift.' None, so far as I know, would shine in educational circles and none are dilettanti in the arts and sciences, yet they have that mysterious 'it' of influence and command. I've seen a great herd of elephants move in unison at a whispered word, and a dog will venture to death's door if a little, old ragged master bids him to do so. A queer relationship this! It has always fascinated me.

"But, I want you to understand, my admiration for the game does not extend to the cat family. I always turn my back and walk away when I see Beatty walk into a cage of tigers, leopards, lions, or cougars. I admire his pluck but condemn his judgment. I cannot join the general public in admiring the sinuous majesty of the cats. I was always glad to hear the final slam of the gate and to wonder if the latch caught as Clyde backed out.

"But with the rest of the trainees I am in good standing. I love to ramble around in the menagerie and hear the big talk of the gang in charge. Elephants like children and midgets. Old Mom always had a friendly greeting for me and knew in which pocket I had parked the peanuts. Seals know a lot more than they let on. However, they are a jealous set. They sulk and pout, worse than humans, if one act wins more applause than another.

"As a sort of a summary of my happy hours spent with animal trainers, I offer the opinion that dogs, because of their centuries of contact with man, are the most faithful creatures of the animal kingdom; that horses are the most useful, for this great western empire would still be a desert or a roaring wilderness had it not been for the horse. Elephants are smarter than many of the other creatures. They can reason from cause to effect. This I know, for one dark, rainy night when we were stuck in the mud trying to get off the lot at Columbus, old Canhead Fortney was using two of the smaller Asiatics to shove the big cages out of the mire. Jerry Quiggle had six horses on a chain and was surging away to get the wagons out to the pavement. Canhead moved the little elephants around back of the big rhinoceros cage and fixed the head-pads for the big shove. But they didn't shove. Canhead bawled and fussed around in the dark and thought he had a mutiny on his hands. Presently he heard Jerry, up in front, hooking on the chain and clucking to the horses. Then the little Asiatics, without further orders, bent to their task and the big cage rolled out to the hard surface. Canhead apologized for his error. He stopped at a hydrant and washed the mud off the elephants' legs and gave 'em an extra feed.

"But of all the animals under training, I think seals are the smartest. They are uncanny in their reasoning. They do unexpected things. When seals are associated with human beings as long as dogs they will speak our language and do it correctly. I think seals like to tour the country in the hope that some day they can go back to the ocean, to the rocks and cliffs and slides, to tell the other seals just how dumb we humans are.

"And that's about all, my friends. I realize that my rambling remarks are poor pay for the splendid little horse I got. Really, if my time and talk is the value of exchange, I would be here for a week, telling of the tragedies and comedies I've seen in this vast, fast-moving business. I could tell of the big blow-down we had in Texas; of the train wreck in the Carolinas; of the near elephant stampede we had when the woman raised her parasol as the parade was forming in Frankfort. And to show how closely tragedy and comedy are interwoven, I'll ring down the final curtain by telling this incident.

"At Toledo, the Grand Entry was forming for the night performance. In the menagerie tent the animals, chariots, Roman soldiers, and attendants were being lined up for the Grand March. In the lineup were two hippopotamuses. It was a new feature, having these big brutes free and unrestrained in a parade. Just as the march started, old Fisheye Gleason, a seasoned old retainer who cleaned out cages, fed the animals, and who claimed he was with Noah when he landed his animal collection on Mount Ararat; old Fisheye was climbing down from the top of a cage when he stumbled and fell right on the back of a hippo. Now a hippo isn't classed with the smart animals. He makes up in bulk what he lacks in brains. He is billed as being the 'Blood-Sweating Behemoth of Holy Writ.'

"But it was Fisheye that did the sweating. He didn't want to fall off to be run over by the chariots and it was hard to stick on the round, fat hippo. And the poor, scared hippo ran through the band, scattering musicians and horns, ran round the arena with Fisheye aboard, and finally scrambled up about four tiers in the reserved seats to an entangling stop. So far as I know, this was the only parade that Fisheye ever headed, and Toledo was the only city to witness such a Grand Entry.

"Thank you, one and all, for your kindly indulgence."

Again the young minister headed the prolonged applause, but he motioned for the audience to remain seated for a final word.

"This is one of the happy events of my life," he said enthusiastically. "I have been well entertained, and have gained much valuable information on two subjects that I knew little about. And now that I am to add a further paragraph as to our material gains, I hope our guest and entertainer will understand our deep appreciation of his presence with us and his thoughtful remarks.

"Brother Peyton informs me that the receipts of the evening amount to four hundred and seventy-one dollars. This is a giant sum to be collected voluntarily, in a small community, in a time of depression and for an entertainment that was wholly home talent and given at little expense.

"Our parent church provides for loans to be made, to match sums donated for building purposes. I am making application for such a loan. I have contracted for the purchase of the old Hartman home at the corner of Laramie Street. It needs a new roof and new paint. If a partition is torn out it will be ample for our church needs just now. Tomorrow I will canvass the community for volunteers to do this work. I have already made some inquiry on this matter and feel sure that we can get donations of three hundred manpower hours for this task.

"So what you two have accomplished this night," said the youthful preacher in closing, "will be shown in our church records. It will be recorded that a handsome, enthusiastic young girl and a former circus performer made the initial contributions that established a church in a community where it was said that such a thing was impossible. I thank you all for your presence here, for your labors, and your contributions."



16

Sunday was a quiet day at the Gillis home. It was freighted with both doubt and hope. Landy and Davy were out of bed at four o'clock Monday morning. At five they were in the saddle; at six-thirty they were at the Carter filling station. Adine had just arrived and had introduced herself to old Maddy, seated on the porch. She heard a brief recital as to the cause of his injuries and as Landy and Davy rode up she invited the invalid to accompany the party.

"It will do you good," she explained, "for after the snows come you must stay in the house for a long time. We three ride the front seat but there is a long, narrow seat at the rear where you can prop up your injured feet and view the scenery."

Maddy laughed. "I've seen too much scenery already. I feel more like resting than I do gadding. I am, however, deeply interested in your project. If you take over that Barrow ranch and get Hulls out of the country, I want to recommend a tenant—a companionable fellow and a hard worker that will make a good neighbor and bring decency out of that disgrace. It's young Goff, who saved my life. He lives over the state line; raises sheep and cattle; has no family, and needs expansion. He would make that Tranquil Meadow area bloom like a rose."

"Well, I'm not the buyer," cautioned Adine, "but I will certainly use my influence. Your benefactor has already proven his worth as a citizen, and we need that kind of folks to live down the past. I will do my best."

Landy and Davy had parked their horses in the Carter corral to take their place in the awaiting car. At near the noon hour they parked in front of the National Bank in Cheyenne.

"What's your birthday?" inquired the gentlemanly cashier, as Davy made inquiry as to the receipt of the draft.

"May thirtieth," responded Davy promptly.

The cashier laughed as he produced the expected document. "Your sending party seems to know you very well, and know how to solve our problem of identification. Do you want to open an account?"

"Well, I suppose that's the way it should be handled. I want to pay the most of it to Mr. Logan, if he's prepared to accept it. I want to pay Mr. Spencer here one hundred dollars and he wants to add that to the account of Mrs. Gillis and I should add fully fifty dollars to that account to keep sweet with the best cook I ever encountered. Then, too, I should pay Mr. Finch fifty dollars. After that, if there is any left, I hope you can keep it for me until I can add it up to a profitable figure."

"Ah! here's Mr. Logan," interrupted the cashier. "You gentlemen just come into the customers' room and we will work out the details."

"You are prompt. I thought I would beat you here," said Logan to Davy and his party. "Saturday I had a deed prepared to the Barrow ranch and had the judge approve the sale with the conditions of possession as stated agreed. I have it here and ready for delivery."

It was Mr. Gore, the courteous cashier, who took charge of the business. He secured the endorsement of Davy's draft, took his verified signature, drew the required checks, saw them signed and exchanged. The entire transaction was completed in a few minutes.

"You will see Mr. Finch before I do," said Davy to Logan. "Will you please hand him this check for fifty which completes my obligations to him and tell him that I am having the cattle remaining on the ranch appraised. If the appraisal warrants, I will pay the balance of his bill and send the remainder to Hulls Barrow."

"Appraised! Bosh!" snorted the bank receiver. "You'll not get close to see any part of the ranch, let alone counting the scrub cattle. I've been up against old Hulls and his gun, and I know what I'm talking about."

"The cattle have already been counted," said Davy quietly, "and I had my first view of the Bar-O Friday. The cattle seem in good flesh but the general property needs a lot of repair. I was very sorry to see Mr. Barrow leave; I could have used a man of his firm determination...."

"Leave?" demanded Logan. "Is Hulls gone?"

"Left Friday morning early, taking with him his gun, dog, chickens, household plunder, and worst of all, Maizie. And that woman was the exact type I needed."

"Where did they go?" questioned the astonished receiver.

"Except for the coop of chickens and the household goods, it looked like a picnic. However, their guide, mentor, and boss had a faraway look in his eye—seemed impatient to get going. Who was he? Well, I don't know the folks hereabouts." Turning to Landy, Davy drawled, "Who was that fellow that was driving?"

"Hit was Collins, Ugly Collins, en from the way he was bossin' en pushin' along, he was tryin' to make hit to Denver by nightfall."

"Well, he certainly upset my plans," said Davy resignedly. "But that's what one encounters in making trades, Mr. Logan. You plan out what you are going to do, only to find out that others also make plans.

"Well, folks," said Davy, picking up the new account book and pad of checks, "where is that famous restaurant that you've been talking about? Landy's breakfasts have no stretch in 'em, don't last. I'm wolfish. Well, good-by, Mister Logan, and good-by, Mister Gore. I hope we have pleasant relations. Good-by all." And Davy ushered his party to the street.

Seated in the Little Gem, awaiting service, it was Adine Lough that opened the conversation. "I hardly know how I am to get home," she said. "I don't like driving alone, but I certainly don't want to be found in the company of two heartless comedians who seek to inject their comedy into staid business transactions. I thought Mr. Logan's lower jaw would drop off when you fastened the blame of the entire move on his friend Ugly Collins. I could hardly repress my tears in your great loss of Maizie's services. I think Mr. Logan was affected too. Shame on both of you for being so heartless."

"Yes, Logan kinda got his fingers bruised in his own b'ar trap," said Landy thoughtfully. "I hope his bankin' efforts won't git tangled up in some of his deep plannin'. Logan will git his bank started all right; but when this depression lifts en things git goin' Adot will still need a bank; this one will turn out to be 'Logan's Tradin' Post' er 'Logan's Deadfall.' Ye can revive a bank by man-made laws, but hit takes more than a slicker to keep hit goin'. Have you two settled the hay trade?"

"Yes," said Adine, "you are to have all the stacks and ricks in the south field. I think Mr. Potter estimated it at near one hundred tons. You can have the use of one of our trucks for hauling, but you will probably have to hire help to move it. Our folks have never exchanged work with the Bar-O. Our help will probably want to wait to see if the new management is any improvement on the former control." The raillery of the youngest and happiest of the trio was seemingly lost on the two, now immersed in heavy responsibilities.

Davy returned to the car; Adine Lough would telephone a school friend and window shop while Landy went to the hardware store to buy some needed kitchen accessories as directed in a brief note that he had crumpled in a deep pocket. Before two o'clock the party was well on the way to Carter's.

Less than a month ago David Lannarck had traveled this same road. Then he was amazed at the shifting changes, the glory of its loneliness, and the utter absence of the curious and gawking. In his decade of travel he never encountered the land of his dreams, the wide open spaces that reached from here to the horizon and free of human beings. His business led him to the congested spots on the earth. If and when he traveled with a circus he spent his spare hours in the animal tent. Here he was not taunted with verbal gibes. Maybe this was his reason for liking animals. Always, he dreamed of the day when he could own dogs, horses, or any living thing that didn't smirk or titter.

And now, on this fine October afternoon, all past hopes and dreams had come true; his foot was in the doorway to an earthly heaven. He was the owner of a ranch (maybe Ralph Gaynor would condemn the investment) and it had length and breadth and the desirable loneliness. He was the owner of a grand little horse (maybe Jess and the gang of the circus would scorn his size and color). He was the sole owner of a herd of cattle (surely the experts and maybe the general public would classify them as scrubs and yellow-hammers) and best of all, he had acquired a few understanding friends, true and loyal. During the time of the long trip back to their horses he was in deep thought. His meditations did not concern finances, nor that other pressing question: when will this depression end? Truly he was trying to muster arguments and reasons whereby he could persuade his mentor to move the scrub yearlings, now quartered at the Cliffs, up to the stables and corrals with the rest of the cattle.

For this midget, David Lannarck, was very human. Possessed of an alert and active mind, he had, throughout adulthood, ever been classified as a child. He would use his recent accomplishments and present status to frustrate that persistent impression. Secretly but in all details he planned the coup.

First, he would persuade Landy to round up those yearlings in a group with the rest of the cattle; second, on the basis that a general picture of the enterprise was sorely needed to bolster his financial standing, he would have a photographer present, taking views of all phases of the adventure; thirdly, and most important, he, Davy, would be astride Peaches, mingling with the several cow hands against a background of milling cattle, either in the wide open spaces or in the corrals at the stables. Copies of these pictures he would send to all his old associates in vaudeville or in the circus business. Particularly, he would send several copies to Ralph Gaynor, president of the Dollar Savings, hoping that one of them might be displayed where the general public could see that a midget, a former resident, was active with other adults in the most fascinating business in America. He was not seeking to establish financial credit; that he had, in substantial deposits and other well known securities, but he wanted to get away from the persistent notion of classifying midgets as children.

Meanwhile Adine and Landy, having exhausted merry quips and scornful comparisons of the past and future management of the Bar-O, now gave serious exchanges of opinions as to who would make a suitable tenant for the property that was to be built up to a going concern. Landy mentioned the names of a dozen old-time cattle men, now unemployed and surely available. None of these suited the notions of the young lady whose persistent idea was building up the neighborhood. She, too, mentioned the names of many, few of them known to the old timer. Finally the girl mentioned the name of Maddy's benefactor, young Goff, now residing across the state line. "He's in cramped quarters over there, I understand," said the girl casually.

"He's the best man in the deestrict," said Landy thoughtfully. "But he's got the same problems we have. He's got critters to feed, en he can't run two places when the snow is here. I hope, however, that Davy here can make him a permanent offer that will move him at once.

"But we've got to git them yearlin's outa the Cliffs en up to the stables," Landy announced emphatically. "We can't haul hay, wean calves, en be traipsin' all over ten sections to feed a few critters. We've got to bunch 'em en show 'em that we mean business."

"That's right, Landy," was Davy's prompt approval. "Can we get that young Goff tomorrow? Is there a good photographer in Adot? When can we haul the hay?"

"Thar ye go crowdin' the question chute," complained Landy as the party arrived at the filling station. "Tomorry we've got to be in Adot. We've got a deed to record; got to buy some ground feed, if them calves are to be weaned; got to hire a lot of exter hay hands en enough he'p to corral them yearlin's. En besides all that," he cautioned, "we've got to go to the register's office en git a substitute brand, fer old Hulls has shorely carried off the old irons outa pure cussedness. Kin ye he'p us tomorry?" His question was directed to Adine Lough as the two got out of the car.

"Yes, I've enlisted for the duration. I am anxious to learn if the new management is an improvement over the old. Recent happenings have created doubts. Come over in the morning; I want to see the finish."



17

A veteran cow hand or a frequenter of the modern rodeo would have walked out on the roundup of the scattered kine of the Bar-O ranch on this gray October day. There was scarcely a thrill in the entire performance.

At Welborn's insistence, Davy invited young Byron Goff to help out in the work to be done. "I may not be here always," explained Welborn, "and Landy won't be here forever. Young Goff is your bet. He's a square shooter, a good worker, and his sheep and your cattle are too few to awaken the old-time cattle and sheep wars. Tie in with Goff."

And Goff came to look the place over and make a tentative contract. A day or two before the general roundup Landy and Flinthead had turned out the gentle cattle that stayed around the barns and sheds to mingle with nervous yearlings that headquartered at the Cliffs. On the morning of the roundup young Goff and Flinthead made a wide detour to appear at the easternmost side. The startled kine moved west, and kept moving west as they found scattered riders on either side. At the gate, where trouble was expected, a few "yip-yips" and a hurried push sent the entire herd through the gates to a safe enclosure.

To David Lannarck, this was the climax of his varied career. He had a photographer present to take many successful shots, although the day was raw and gray. His circus friends may not have been impressed as they viewed the pictures but Davy spent happy hours in looking them over, especially the one where he, mounted on Peaches, was heading off an obstinate calf.

The hay hauling from the B-line was interrupted by a snow storm that persisted for several days. Davy had to stay at home to train Peaches in many fancy tricks and to keep a path open to the Gillis home. Welborn, however, took no part in these activities. He continued his work at the ravine and expressed joy that a heavy snow would prevent a deep freeze of the gravel. In fact, much of his time was consumed in insulating the pumps, the waterpipes and the area where he was to work. He was often delayed by the severity of the weather but as the dreary weeks passed the heap of little sacks that contained his gleanings grew to a considerable pile.

And in these monotonous months of near-solitude Davy Lannarck found the satisfaction and contentment of his former dreams. In five months he saw less than a half score of people. In his waking hours his time was spent in training Peaches and playing with the Gillis dogs. Most of the time he kept the way open to the Gillis demesne, but on two occasions at least, he was denied that privilege; the heavy, swirling snows that swept over this mountain region were too much for a midget man and a midget horse. It was Landy Spencer and the larger horses that conquered the big drifts and made a passable thoroughfare between the Point and the Gillis home. But spring came as is its wont; the great snowdrifts yielded to the demands of the sun and southern winds and the returning flights of birds heralded the change of seasons.

But the big change in conduct and occupation was in Sam Welborn. In the short, dark, snowy days he labored in the recesses of the canyon from early dawn to nightfall, but as the days lengthened and brightened, he puttered about the house sorting and packing some of his personal effects, pressing his limited supply of clothing, constructing a strong box to contain his gleanings, and losing no chance to learn of the conditions of the roads to Cheyenne and points beyond. It was apparent to his few acquaintances that he was now prepared to overcome some past adversities that had hindered his progress in other fields.

One evening after supper at the Gillis home Welborn made a limited disclosure of his future plans. "As soon as the roads are fit, I want to go to the assay office in Denver and cash up on past efforts," was his opening statement. "I hope Jim can take time out to drive me there and bring the car back, for I want to make a trip back East to be gone for a week or two. After I have finished up my business in that area I want to come back here and loaf around a spell and get acquainted with my neighbors and benefactors. As Davy has often said, 'The gold up in the ravine will keep.' The claims are registered in our names, and we can, from time to time, work 'em to keep 'em alive.

"At the assay office," Welborn continued, "I will cash in the little dab that I had accumulated before Davy advanced the money to buy the pump and accessories; the rest is partnership funds to be divided and depos—"

"Hold on!" interrupted Davy. "You've sheltered me, fed me—"

"—with grub bought with your money," interposed Welborn. "You can't avoid past contributions by present-day denials, Laddie. Without your help it would have taken me ten years to do what I've now done in six months. And speed was and is the important requirement. In addition to all you've done in the past months I've still got another problem for you to work on."

Welborn paused, seemingly embarrassed as to how to proceed. His little audience waited breathlessly. "Folks, I am not a criminal!" he said after a prolonged pause. "But I did get involved with gangsters. Although I made a temporary clean-up on some of them, domestic affairs and financial disasters made it impossible to stay on. It seemed cowardly to quit but there was no other way. I had no plans, no trade, no profession. I simply stumbled in on this method of financial recovery, and thanks to your kindly indulgence I am prepared to go back and make good some financial matters that were not of my making.

"But in going back," Welborn continued, "I would like to know something about conditions there before they know who I am. There seems to be two ways to do this. One would be to camp nearby and send someone to investigate and report back as to conditions; the other would be for me to disguise myself and loaf around as a laborer, unemployed and looking for work.

"You know something about make-up and disguises, Laddie; could I be made up as a laborer or a village loafer so I could sit around and listen in?"

"You would have to let them shoulders down and pad a hump in your back," replied the little man. "Appearances can be radically changed but size is a handicap. There is a woman in Denver by the name of Wallace that can make you up to look like either an angel or a tramp. She used to be in vaudeville with costumes and makeup, now she's settled down in the legit—furnishes costumes for plays, charades, and the like. She's on one of those little side streets near the business district. She'll clip your head, deck you out in scraggy iron-gray hair and whiskers until a bank clerk would turn you down, even if you were identified. She'll tell you about your clothing; that's her specialty. Your ragged coat ought to have a hump in the back to offset erectness and if you carry a cane, you should use it—not twirl it like a baton.

"But there's one of your assets, or weaknesses, that she will not be able to disguise," said Davy earnestly. "I take a chance in wrecking a fine friendship, to tell you about it."

"Go right on, Sonny Boy," said Welborn, "you couldn't wreck our friendship if you were to spit in my face."

"Well, we folks here know nothing about your past. We don't want to know until you release it, but I'll bet my interest in the Bar-O against a thin dime that you've served in the army and were a tough old 'top-kick' at that. You want things done your way. You resist being told. You want to correct the other fellow if he's wrong; even if disguised, you would interrupt and correct and maybe jam the whole works. Of course we want you to win but you've got to be careful—even if it hurts."

Welborn's face flushed but he laughed sheepishly as he pondered the charges made. "You've got me dead-to-rights, Laddie; I am impatient and domineering, but I think I still have control. Just now I need information. I want to know if I am classed as a criminal or a citizen back in my home town. Personally, I would like to go back there, loaf around and listen in.

"Well, it can be done," said Davy emphatically, "and I think I ought to be an assistant. You saved my life, now I want to be a party to saving your reputation. You are not a criminal; you couldn't be one if you tried. Just tell me the name of your home town and I will go there as the advance man for Lannarck's Congress of Living Wonders. I'll be seeking a site to assemble the company and plan the rehearsals. While there I will want the history of the town and the chamber of commerce will give it to me. In that history, your affair in all its details will be recited. Later on, you can stumble in as a laborer, seeking work. I will be quartered at the leading hotel, and you at a boarding house out by the junction. But we will meet at the picture show or at a local poolroom and I will hire you to take care of the baggage and the accessories as they come in. It won't take us long to get your status, pay your fine, or get the judge to suspend your sentence.

"Let's get going, podner," said Davy, as he clambered down from his chair. "We'll both go to Cheyenne; you go to Denver to cash up and fade out; I'll go to your town to pay out and horn in."

Welborn smiled as he listened to Davy's enthusiasm and slang. He drummed his fingers on the table as he considered his proposals. "I hadn't thought of involving any of our home-folks in my troubles," said he thoughtfully, "but maybe your assistance and plan will be the thing that's needed. I want information. People will stare at and talk to a midget and they will pay little attention to the badly dressed old gent with whom he associates. Anyhow, it won't hurt to try it out."

Davy insisted that the party should start for Cheyenne the very next morning. James Gillis, who was to do the driving, would wait until he learned of road conditions. Welborn occupied much of the time in fitting himself with old shoes, overalls, hickory shirts, and a slouch hat. On Monday, Jim learned that the nearby trails were fit for travel to the paved highway and on Tuesday morning the party of three loaded the little car with boxes of metal, bundles of clothing, and the like, and started for Cheyenne.

During the long drive, Welborn took up much of the time in instructing Davy as to his destination and duties. "Bransford, a near suburb of Chicago, is your destination," he explained, "and the man who insulted the better element of the community by his insistence that the prevailing lawlessness was wholly due to their negligence was named Shirley Wells. And this same Wells, when he found that gangsters had taken over the management of the old family bank and brought disrepute to an honored name, staged a battle with these invaders that sent two of 'em to the hospital and maybe resulted in the death of one or both. Was he indicted? Did a mob form? He did not wait to see. With the family estate squandered, this Wells boarded a night freight train to avoid present responsibilities and to seek a new start in life. His linen and underwear was marked S.W. He changed his name to Samuel Welborn. You know the rest of the story, Davy, but there is a lost chapter in the tale. What's the present-day status of Shirley Wells in his home town?

"In Bransford, you will headquarter at the Grand Union Hotel. Following your 'broadcast' about establishing a training ground for the Kid Show, you must quietly go to the office of Fred Townsend for information. He's a lawyer. If he's alive, I've got a chance; if he's dead, Shirley Wells is still Sam Welborn and the Silver Falls district must continue as his hideout.

"In your contact with Townsend, tell him that I sent you—that you are my A.Z.—and he will understand. What you tell him is casual; your objective is to find out all about the standing of Shirley Wells. Shirley is surely a bankrupt, but is he a murderer? Are indictments pending? Can he be cleared of these charges? And what about the Wells National Bank? And where is Carson Wells? These are the things we must know if I am to live as a citizen or a criminal.

"I will be in Denver for a few days. We surely have more than sixty thousand dollars' worth of metal in those containers. Some of it may be in bad shape. Some of it may have to be rectified, as they term it, and that will cause delay. Then, too, I am not certain if your lady friend in Denver can do her job effectively. I wouldn't want to be caught in a disguise. At any rate, I will be in Chicago or Bransford some day next week."

At the railway station Jim Gillis maneuvered the ancient model to unload the metal and clothing at the Denver platform. Davy purchased a ticket for Chicago. Welborn's read "to Denver and return."



PART TWO



18

Because of duties in maintaining peace along the uncertain boundary lines that divided a defeated people from those who had triumphed, Captain Shirley Wells was detained in the border lands of France and Germany long after his badly reduced regiment had returned to their homeland. Wells had been the first sergeant of a company that became noted for its discipline within and its activities afield. His promotion to a commission had been earned.

Shirley had entered the service as an enthusiastic youth. In a few brief years he had grown to a serious-minded man. A six-footer, deep-chested, broad of shoulders, he had the physical ability to enforce the decrees and orders of his superiors while the general terms of boundaries were being formulated. Patiently and firmly he worked with the peasantry of any district where he was assigned to gain their confidence and earn the praise of his superiors. On July 2nd, 1921, his nation and the others interested having completed the general terms of boundaries and occupation, the service by regulatory groups was ended. Shirley Wells had been gratified in earning a commission, now he was happy indeed to know that he was to return to civilian pursuits, for he might have to work out some peace terms in his home town.

More than eighteen months ago, while his regiment was resting after an effective foray against the enemy in the vicinity of Lyons, he received a letter informing him of the death of his father and indicating that a telegram had been sent. He never received the telegram, and judging by a lack of replies to his letters, he doubted that one had been sent.

Now he was an orphan. In letters from friends he learned that his elder brother, Carson, was in charge of the family bank at Bransford, a suburb of Chicago, and that he was connected with active interests in that city. He learned, too, that Carson now lived in the ancient but beautiful home formerly occupied by his parents. What about the boys and girls with whom he was associated in school days? Was Loretta Young married? Was the strong little bank, the pride of two generations, still rendering the service that had made it famous? And what of the other family assets? This returning soldier was deeply involved in the complications that come to all veterans who are hastily transferred back to civilian duties and are to encounter the radical changes that have been made to maintain a vast fighting force in distant lands.

However, Shirley Wells noted little difference in conditions in the cities of Washington and Chicago as he hastened homeward. Buildings and streets appeared about as usual but the general populace appeared indifferent and unconcerned. Unemployment prevailed, but he seemed to contact more women in business places than he did in former days.

At Chicago he transferred to the morning local for Bransford. He was disappointed that he found no old-time acquaintances among those who were bound for the suburbs. The first person to recognize him was the station agent at Bransford and his greeting was casual as he trundled the truck of empty milk cans to the far end of the platform. "Maybe these London tweeds are taboo in this central zone," he grumbled as he made his way up the shaded street to the business district.

At the bank, he planned to walk right up to the receiver's window and ask old Powell if this was Tellson's bank and was Mr. Tellson in? As a schoolboy he had often kidded the aged cashier as to the close resemblance of these quarters to the little, gloomy, narrow affair described by author Dickens as being located at Temple Bar in the city of London. But the aged cashier's place was occupied by an alert young man who asked to be of service and Shirley could only inquire if Carson was in.

The aged woman working at a filing cabinet turned quickly when she heard the voice of the inquirer. She walked to the counter to get a better view. "Why, it's Shirley!" she cried as she ran out in the corridor. "It's Shirley!—twice as big!" She made ineffective attempts to hug and caress the big man, who laughingly lifted her up to plant a kiss on either cheek. "That's the first—and best—welcome I've had since I landed in America, Aunt Carrie," said he. "Now I feel that I am home."

Carson Wells came from the little private room at the rear. The greetings of the brothers were not so effusive. Shirley was invited to the private room by his brother.

"I want to loaf around for a week or two," the veteran explained. "I want to hunt up a few old friends and hear 'em detail the awful experiences they suffered during the war. If you can find me a temporary hangout where I can store some keepsakes while I get myself oriented, it will be quite all right."

"The housing situation is a little tight just now," said Carson, "but we should be able to find quarters somewhere. The Grand Union is badly congested of weekends and rooming houses are full up. I live in the three west rooms of our old home and Mr. Breen and his family occupy the rest. However, there's plenty of room at the farmhouse, and Davis, the tenant, certainly needs a lot of personal supervision, the way things have been going lately. At times I have felt that I should share the big house at the farm but my wife protests—"

"Are you married?" interrupted Shirley. "And who is the fortunate lady?"

"Why, sure I'm married. Didn't you get our announcement? I married Loretta Young a year ago last April."

Shirley Wells occupied quarters at the family farmhome for nearly four years. In the first few weeks he drove an ancient model back and forth to the little city to renew acquaintances. The American Legion, quartered in a small room over a meat market, was one of his hangouts. Here, two or three of the unimportant members were in constant attendance quibbling and complaining that the general public did not plan and build for their uses the ornate structure they had in mind. For a week or two he frequented the local movies, but compared with past experiences he failed to find the production up to the announcements that the portrayals were stupendous and thrilling. Social affairs in the community seemed confined to "groups." Luncheon clubs, such as Rotary, Kiwanis, and Lions seemed to dominate commercial activities while the Dramatic Club and P.T.A. organizations took care of other community gatherings.

But to Shirley Wells, the one big change from old-time conditions was in the liquor business. The saloons that flourished in the days before his enlistment were not now operating. Of the seven places where liquor was sold only one maintained a resemblance to former conditions. Dinty O'Neal's place, across the tracks, appeared about as disreputable as it was in former days. Some of the young sports laughingly insisted that Dinty's home-brew was in a fair way of making the city famous.

Two of the uptown places continued to operate a few pool tables and sell soft drinks. One room, formerly occupied by a saloon, was now the office of a trucking company with headquarters in Chicago. Shirley was later to learn that young Anzio, the new bank employee, was a nephew of the manager of the trucking company.

Shirley gave little attention to the affairs at the bank. Carson seemed unwilling to share the responsibilities of a business that was severely affected by the growing depression. As a youngster Shirley knew much of the details of the business but he realized that he had no present-day knowledge of credits and loans. He made no effort to intrude.

Knowing that he must rely on his own efforts to earn a living, Shirley secured desk-room in the elaborate offices of Fred Townsend, a personal friend and a leading lawyer in the community. Here he acted as a receiver in several complicated cases and was often busy in securing evidence. This employment occupied much of his time and gave opportunity to note the trend in community affairs.

Meanwhile, Carson found a customer for the family farm. "The Model Trucking Company wants the place for storage," he explained, "and they are the only concern on our books that has a growing account." Shirley moved into town to an apartment over the Banner office.

Indeed, the trucking company was an active concern. Trucks grew in number. Night shipping was a principal activity. Local "night hawks" were to learn that coal and corn composed most of the incoming loads, and the finished product went to Chicago. Local distributors were supplied only from that central city.

As is usually the case, revulsion follows negligence. Now sober-minded but financially distressed citizens would correct the prevailing evil. The eighteenth amendment must be repealed. The people of the nation were voting to undo what had been done.

Locally, Reverend James Branch of the Fourth Avenue Church called a meeting of ministers and church officials to discuss the probable loss of the amendment that was to have been the cure for liquor evils. The call to the meeting was announced in the local newspapers.

Shirley Wells had not been specifically invited to the conference. He was curious to learn, however, if there was a cure for this festering ailment that afflicted the nation other than the repeal of the amendment. He quietly took a back seat at the small but select gathering in the church parlors to listen to the protests and complaints. And there was little else in the several talks—protests against the lack of law enforcement; complaints that Chicago gangsters were broadening their sphere of activity to include adjacent cities and suburbs in the distribution and sale of raw alcohol and needled beer. In these discussions no speaker offered a solution to the problem.

The Reverend Branch presided. Following the several talks he recognized Shirley Wells and in an elaborate introduction, reciting his war service, he asked Shirley if he had a solution for the problem now under discussion.

"I came here seeking information," said Shirley quietly. "I surely must be the most ignorant one present. I wasn't in the States when the amendment was passed and have had limited opportunity to note the effects. It is apparent, however, that there is something wrong, radically wrong, with the whole population—both the criminal and the law-abiding."

"Why! what's wrong with the better element?" demanded the chairman quickly. "It was the law-abiding citizen that planned and urged and voted for the eighteenth amendment to the Constitution. Our planning and work was effective. And now, they would nullify our past labors."

"And then, what did you do?" demanded Shirley as he rose to his feet to emphasize what was to follow. "You, figuratively, folded fat hands across pudgy stomachs and left the enforcement of your edict to the officers who were friends of the bootleggers. Your failure to act causes this repeal."

"Is it your idea that the better element of a community must quit their business to take up the matter of law enforcement?" the chairman asked in scornful tones.

"It's my idea," retorted Shirley as he advanced from the rear to the center of the gathered group, "it's my idea that anyone who launches a new, untried craft in unexplored waters had better stay at the helm instead of leaving the management of the boat to those who deride the plan. It wouldn't have taken much of your time, Doctor Branch, to have organized an enforcement committee to assist the policeman who was a friendly acquaintance of the former liquor man, who has now turned bootlegger. Policemen are selected because of their acquaintance with the underworld and they are very human. Void of any contacts with the better element of the community, they allow their friends to run wild in lawlessness until the affair gets beyond control. That's what happened in Bransford; that's what happened everywhere. Lawless greed flourishes in the atmosphere of negligence.

"But I didn't come here to quarrel with the better element of my home town," concluded Shirley as he reached for his hat. "I had hoped that you had a solution, a plan, to meet the oncoming conditions. Just now the States are voting to repeal the amendment. It seems certain that it will be repealed and within the next year or two, the old saloon will be functioning as in former days. It will pay a tax to the government on the product sold, it will pay a tax to the city, it will furnish a bond to operate legally and at stated hours, and its return will be welcomed by many. But remember that the greedy and grasping back of it all will overdo, as always, and the amendment will be re-enacted. This time, if it has the support of a well-organized enforcement committee, it will function despite the efforts of the greedy."



19

The Bransford Morning Herald contained no account of the meeting at the Fourth Avenue Church. News of the rebuff as administered to the better element by a rank outsider was slow in gaining circulation. But the incident was not wholly suppressed. Judge Parker, who had been present, chuckled the incident to a few friends; Holstroff, the merchant, recited the details to a few customers as they discussed the probable outcome of the state elections now being held; and Joe Dansford, the church janitor, told the incident of how the meeting ended in a general row, without the formality of a motion to adjourn. Lacking a correct account, the general public of the little city elaborated the story to include fisticuffs and swear words.

Carson Wells, of the Wells National, heard the story and was much concerned. It affected his leading customer. Just now, banks were closing in increasing numbers, local factories were shut down, retailing limited to bare necessities, and only one concern in the community earned money. Carson, as well as the managers of the Model Trucking Company, realized that in the event of the repeal of the amendment, ruin was inevitable. It was Carson's problem to stop such publicity. Shirley must be silenced. He was found at the public library and was invited to come to the bank after three o'clock.

"That vindictive speech you made at the church meeting is proving very costly," said Carson as the brothers seated themselves in the little consultation room in the rear of the bank. "It affects your own personal affairs, and seeks to wreck the only concern in the city that is functioning and making money. Your interest in this bank demands a retraction of what you said at that meeting."

"Why, I didn't know I had an interest in this bank," said Shirley in even tones. "In the years past, I have been shunted around from pillar to post, living on the few small fees received from receiverships and bankruptcy petitions. And I didn't think that I had banking interests. I certainly am an object of personal negligence, but hereafter the matter will have my attention."

Carson was nonplused at both the answer and attitude. He had planned his remarks, however, and he proceeded along prepared lines.

"Your remarks at that meeting were uncalled for. Your insistence created enemies. No one at the meeting was in favor of repealing the amendment and restoring the unwanted saloon. Yours was the attitude of the drinking ne'er-do-wells of the underworld. Two of those present at that meeting have withdrawn their account, others will do the same. You were simply undermining your own foundations."

"And just what sort of a structure stands on my foundations?" drawled Shirley. "I am a sort of a misfit in the community structure. I do not live in my family home, am not employed in my family bank, was moved away from my family's farm, have never been consulted on business or social affairs since my parents died. Really, I have no foundations that could be undermined."

Carson's face reddened as he listened to the truth. He walked to the water-cooler, took a drink, and returned to his seat. "In some things you are right," he confessed. "When you came home from France, I hoped you would seek a professional career—would turn to politics and make a name for yourself and the family. It seemed my business to work hard and aid in building that career, but you didn't go the way I hoped."

"Just what aid did you render in building such a career? It takes money to acquire a profession. How much did you contribute?"

Again Carson was unable to make a specific answer to the cutting, personal questions. He cleared his throat. "I didn't make any contributions. I wasn't asked. I was...."

"Do you have to ask for your own property, in this day and age?" demanded Shirley. "When Father died, I was an heir to one half of what he possessed: home, farm, bank, bonds, and money on hand. Very properly, in the absence of the other heir, you took charge of the property and managed the business. But on the return of the other heir you made no accounting. In fact, you resented his interest in anything connected with the business."

"When you returned from the war," said Carson, "we were approaching a depression that grew to disastrous proportions. Banks are the first to feel such a calamity. My whole time has been devoted to curtailment—to restricting loans and seeking deposits. Truly, we haven't earned a cent since the war ended."

"So that's the reason you bought the fancy, high-priced limousine and gave several parties at the country club! That's the reason why you maintain those luxurious quarters in Chicago! You were wanting to show the public that...."

"Never mind what I was doing," interrupted Carson angrily. "It's what you have done that is the matter under discussion, and we are getting nowhere. We might as well adjourn."

"Not yet," demanded Shirley hastily. "Keep your seat. The show has now reached the second act. Let's sit it out." It was Shirley who stood up as Carson resumed his seat.

"Our family was always reticent. We avoided publicity; didn't want Mister John Q. to know about our affairs. You surely remember how reluctant our father was when it was found that his private bank must be nationalized. One little share was issued to Aunt Carrie, one to John Powell, his old, trusted employee, and he held the rest. He didn't want the public to know about his private affairs.

"I think I inherited most of his secretive qualities," Shirley continued. "I listened to a lot of rumors and then I began to investigate. My findings lead to but one conclusion: you allied yourself with gangsters in the hope of participating in their enormous gains only to find that you are the biggest sucker on their list."

"I didn't favor anybody," said Carson hotly. "Our relations were simply that of banker and customer."

"And to maintain cordial relations you deeded to them a fine but isolated farm where, uninterrupted, they could produce 'rotgut' to supply the entire Chicago area. Have you been out there lately? Father used to call it Forest Home. The Hereford cattle that he reared topped the market. It's different now. The gates are locked. A thug stands out in the roadway to divert traffic. In the night, truckloads of corn and coal arrive to produce the 'hell-fire' that is bottled, labeled, and distributed over the district."

In the midst of this recital Carson dropped his head down on his arms, folded on the table.

"I don't know a thing about the conditions here at the bank," Shirley continued in softer tones, "but there are public records that tell an incriminating story. The records at the courthouse show a mortgage to the Reliable Insurance Company on our home here in the city. My signature on such a mortgage was forged. I didn't know about this until I was forced into this investigation. You, and your bank, must have needed money very badly and you committed forgery to get it. Based on this fact alone, one has a right to believe that you are fooling the busy bank examiners with forged securities. It's just a question as to what hour you will be uncovered and convicted."

Carson still reclined his head on folded arms. Shirley was preparing to leave. "We are broke, Carson. I haven't a dime and you have less. But I am not going to stay in Bransford and be a party to your downfall. My word alone would prove your guilt. I don't know where I am going, but I intend hiding out until this thing blows over. But before I go, Carson, I want an interview with your criminal friends to tell 'em what a set of dirty, crooks they are."

Late in the afternoon, as Shirley was busy in clearing his desk of unneeded papers, his friend Townsend dropped in to confer on some pending matters.

"I am sorry, Fred, to tell you I am leaving," said Shirley as he closed the desk. "I don't know where I am going and I don't want the public to know where I am located. If you have the time, I would like to tell you the cause of it all and put you wise to some incidents that seem sure to happen."

"I think you are going to confirm some suspicions I had formed in connection with the Larwell estate. The account at the Wells Bank didn't conform to the little credit slips as issued."

"You are on the right road, oldtimer," said Shirley, and he proceeded to relate what was said in his recent conference with Carson. He cited the incident of the forged deed and detailed conditions at the farm. "The Wells National is not only broke," he added, "but Carson is involved in several criminal activities. I don't want to be present when the crash comes; I don't want my evidence to convict him. I am going to hide out where a summons-server cannot find me."

"Maybe you are right," said Townsend thoughtfully, "but there are some things you should do before you leave. The crash will come, no doubt; Carson's share of the estate will be charged with his criminal actions; yours is not involved. Before you go, you should give to someone a full power of attorney to take care of your interests. In the midst of juggled accounts and forgeries, there may be something left, and anyhow, the receivership cannot be closed without your consent."

"You are right, as always, Fred, and you are the very person to have that power. Let's get it done right away. I have another thing on hand that must be taken care of after supper."

"When are you leaving, and have you enough money to get you out of town?" asked Townsend as the two returned from across the hall where the instrument had been notarized.

"I think I will leave tonight. The bubble may not burst for a while. I want the public to become accustomed to my absence. As for money, when I pay for my supper, I may have as much as forty cents left."

"You are braver than I thought and as stubborn as I suspected," said Townsend as he searched his pocketbook. "Here's a twenty. That may get you across the river and on your way. You will make your way all right, but if your case becomes desperate draw on me under the name A.Z., and I will understand. Your financial affairs are in desperate condition but the case is not hopeless. You are young and healthy but you lack a definite plan of life. If someone will throw you a line while you are floundering in this slough you will come out all right. Now what's this thing you are to do after the evening meal?"

"I've made a phone date to tell Anzio and his set of crooks what a rotten set of gangsters they are. It won't take me long to tell 'em and then I am ready to leave."

"You might not be able to make a get-away from those mobsters. Taking an enemy for a final 'ride' is one of their favorite pastimes. And anyhow, you can't tell 'em anything that they don't already know. You have no right to do such an uncalled for thing."

"Oh, yes I have," said Shirley as he took his hat preparing to leave. "My visit might precipitate an incident. Anyhow, I'm on my way."

Shirley left the office. Townsend went to the telephone in the front room.



20

Shirley had delayed his evening meal to fit his appointment at the Model Trucking Company. Near eight o'clock he crossed the street to go up the alley to Cherry Street. At the crossing of the dark alley he encountered a policeman and was greeted casually by that officer. In front of the lighted office he accosted another officer, standing in a darkened area near a car parked in front. "Maybe this is a warning," he thought, as he stepped into the well-lighted office.

He was greeted cordially by Anzio and was introduced to the two others present. "This is Don Carlin, our custodian here, and this is Jan Damino, our most trusted employee." Carlin was a slight young man, but his companion differed much in size and considerably in age. Damino, aging to baldness, was a commanding figure. Thick-chested, with arms and legs of considerable size, his seamed face revealed a ragged scar from temple to chin. Both nodded acknowledgment of the introduction and Carlin brought a chair for the visitor.

"I'm glad you've come," said Anzio in pleasing tones. "Your brother reports that you have been badly informed as to what this company is doing. We want to correct any such wrong ideas."

"No one has given me any information about you," said Shirley scornfully. "I was out to the old farm and saw with my own eyes just what's going on."

"Ah! You paid us a visit and we didn't know it. Somebody has been negligent."

"That's right! Your carefully guarded distillery had a visitor. I used to live out there. Knowing about your locked gates and posted guard, I went on the farm from the rear. I edged up to see your still in operation in the old shed. I saw your bottling plant in the big barn. It recalls the old adage: 'You can't fool all the people all the time.'"

Anzio's face clouded as he planned a reply. "You didn't go in close enough to see what was being bottled and labeled? You are willing to spread a false report without having the facts?

"What you glimpsed in your casual snooping was the details of the one business in this community that is prospering. Out in your family's old farm, Doctor David Allen, formerly of St. Louis, is preparing, mixing, bottling, and labeling 'Allen's Stomach Bitters' that has been famous in the South and Southwest for many years. He is now pushing sales in the North and East. Because of its vegetable content, just a small amount of alcohol is a part of the mixture.

"You saw only the sidelines in your snooping and you are putting out a lot of misinformation," concluded Anzio, "and to set you right, I have arranged for our trusted employee, Damino, to take you out there and show you the whole works. The night shift is on and I want 'em to show you every detail of the business."

"Will Damino furnish a round trip ticket?" asked Shirley, as he arose from his chair.

"I don't quite know what you mean," countered Anzio.

"Oh, yes you do," said Shirley emphatically. "Damino here is a 'one-way' man. It's his business to destroy opposition. I wouldn't ride with him down State Street, let alone a country road. With him at the wheel, we couldn't get past that thicket down by the bridge."

"Get him out of here," roared Anzio as he waved to Damino to obey his commands.

Damino approached his quarry cautiously. With his right hand he fingered an inside pocket of his coat; withdrew the hand to place it on Shirley's shoulder. "Let's git goin'," he said as he shoved Shirley toward the door.

Shirley had seen a move that he thought important. He grabbed the extended right arm to give it a jujitsu move up and to the back of the body. It made the assailant grunt and his left knee buckled in its uncertain stance. Quickly Shirley reached in the inside pocket to withdraw a lengthy Colt revolver. Shifting the weapon to his right hand, he brought it down in a mighty blow on the temple of his assailant. Damino fell to the floor. Carlin fled the room by the back door. Shirley turned to find Anzio frantically searching the contents of a drawer in the nearby cabinet. Placing the gun in his pocket, Shirley seized a tall, steel-legged stool to bring it down on Anzio's unprotected head. Anzio joined Damino on the floor. Shirley walked out the front door.

On the sidewalk Shirley encountered the policeman. "What's going on in there?" he demanded.

"Not much, just now," was the reply, "but I was certainly busy for a short time. Why are you here?"

"Your friend, Fred Townsend, is responsible. Fred is seemingly not in touch with our present city administration, but he sure has a strong pull with our chief. Fred phoned him to send two or three of the force down here to see that you were not killed or taken for a ride. We don't know what it's all about, but we're here. Ah, here's company," the officer added as another policeman came out of the alley, shoving Carlin in front of him.

"Is this the finish?" inquired the alley officer. "This fellow," pointing to Carlin, "came out of the back door rather hurriedly and began searching in a pile of junk. I thought that was a part of that play. What's it all about anyway?"

"This is the finish, my friends, and I am very much obliged for your presence," said Shirley as he prepared to leave. "But there's a couple in there that may need first aid. Go right in; give what assistance you can, and call me if I'm needed."

Shirley watched the perplexed officers as they went into the front office. Then he walked leisurely up the alley to Oak Street. Nearing the railroad, he heard a freight train slowing down at the water-tank. Now he hurried to pass down the train to a boxcar with an open door. He crawled in. As the train pulled out, he went to a front corner, sat down to pull off his shoe and place a neatly folded twenty-dollar bill on the inner sole.

Whatever his future was to be, Shirley Wells was on his way.



PART THREE



21

David Lannarck arrived in Chicago in the late afternoon. Wanting to see Bransford in the daylight hours, he stayed the night with a friend at the Miami Patio to take a morning train to his destination. He had never been in Bransford and he preferred to take an open cab to the Grand Union so that he might look around. At the hotel he was assigned the parlor suite with telephone and bath, probably because the clerk had never before registered a three-footer with the face and voice of an adult.

Davy was not yet ready to announce his plans for rehearsals. He wanted to know more of local conditions. He phoned the Fred Townsend office. "Mr. Townsend is in court this morning," the secretary reported, "but he will be available this afternoon."

"Save me the first hour," said Davy. "It's important to both of us."

After luncheon Davy tipped the bellhop to accompany him. "I could probably find the place," he explained, "but I go better if I am haltered and led to the spot." As the caller hoped, Townsend was in. The secretary ushered Davy into the private office.

"I was sent here by a Mister Sam Welborn," Davy explained. "He wants to learn of the legal status and community standing of a former resident by the name of Shirley Wells."

"Shirley Wells! Do you know Shirley Wells?" Townsend sprang to his feet and walked around the desk. "Is Shirley Wells alive? Available? Can I get in touch with him right away?"

"Say, Mister Townsend, out in my blessed locality, where men are men, and the women are glad of it, they accuse me of asking eight or ten questions before the first one is answered. I want to take you out there to show 'em I am an amateur. For a year or more I have been associated with an upstanding gent who gave out his name as Sam Welborn. In all my public career I've never met a person more honest in business or more fearless with thugs and undesirables. Ten devils couldn't stop him if he thought he was right and even a midget could, and did, shame him out of some of his atrocious efforts. When he reached a certain goal in his persistent activities he disclosed to us four at the home where he headquartered that he was going back to his old home town to find out just where he stood—criminal or citizen. He planned to go back there in disguise; to listen in, to read old newspaper files, and to learn the truth.

"And then I horned in. This man Welborn had saved my life; he got me planted where I wanted to be; I owed him everything. I didn't ask—I just told him—that I would go to his town and, under the pretext of rehearsing a midget show, I would get the needed dope. He fell right in with my proposal. He disclosed that his name was Shirley Wells, that his home town was Bransford, and here I am."

Townsend went to the door of the office. "I will be busy for the next hour," he said to the secretary as he closed the door.

"Just where, and how soon, can I contact this Shirley Wells?" Townsend asked as he seated himself alongside of Davy. "This is really the only time I've needed him since he left. Where is he? I'll send him all the funds needed to get him home."

"He's in Denver, just temporarily. I do not have his address, but he will be in this Chicago vicinity by the end of this week. Maybe he will be disguised, but I hope not. He will phone me at the Grand Union to know how he stands in his home town. That's what I've come here to find out. Is he under indictment? Will he have to serve time? How much money is needed to clean his slate? Will a mob form if he shows up on your city streets? What was it he did, anyhow?"

Fred Townsend laughed quietly. "We are both so anxious to get information that our cross-questioning is confusing. However, when you described your man as honest, persistent, and fearless in dealing with crooks and thugs, I would have known that you were talking about Shirley Wells, even if you had omitted the name. He's just that!

"Shirley Wells is not under indictment, and when he returns the general public will give him a hearty welcome. In fact, had he stayed here for a day or two after the incident he would have been a hero. Would have been carried at the head of the mob of women that paraded the streets of our city in protest of conditions. He would have been a part of the orderly crowd of men that went out to the old farm to destroy the offending distillery. Shirley Wells started the clean-up here, and it spread to all affected localities. This is the story."

Then Fred Townsend told the story, to include the history of the Wells bank, of Shirley's army service, of Carson's banking relations with the Chicago mobsters. "For nearly a decade this Shirley Wells was a silent do-nothing. He seemingly hesitated to claim his property rights and yet had nerve to invade the stronghold of these gangsters and tell 'em the truth. He nearly killed two of 'em and the other disappeared."