AS Hugh Stanton walked along the street toward the hotel, after his call at Major Hampton’s house, he tried to analyze his feelings toward Ethel Horton. His conversation with Captain Osborn had filled him with a sense of responsibility and uneasiness. The assurance of Marie that Ethel did not take kindly to Lord Avondale was a confirmation of the captain’s assertion that she was not yet betrothed to the Englishman. Was it his duty and within his power to save Ethel Horton from a life of unhappiness? For such he believed would be her lot should she marry Lord Avondale. His interest may have been seasoned with a semblance of selfishness, for he did not, at the time, entertain a doubt in regard to his own ability to make her happy. Thus the days went on.

The Hortons and Captain Osborn seemed to be the only ones in the entire community who did not know of the relations existing between Mrs. Osborn and Lord Avondale. Of late, the Englishman had even neglected Ethel Horton in his mad passion for this fascinating woman. They set all discretion at defiance; and mutter-ings of a great scandal were whispered on every side among the lovers of gossip. In her skilfulness, Mrs. Osborn had entirely blinded Mrs. Horton into the belief that it was her personal interest in helping to make a match for dear Ethel that prompted her to take such deep solicitude in Lord Avondale.

The marriage between Lord Avondale and Ethel had been agreed upon, as far as Mrs. J. Bruce-Horton and the Englishman were concerned. Ethel, however, did not take kindly to the wooings of his lordship, and she repulsed all his advances of a sentimental nature. His attempts at sentiment had a harsh, metallic sound to Ethel, as compared to the divine melody that murmured forever in her heart,—a heavenly refrain as sweet as the oriole’s song in primeval forests,—telling of a deathless love for Jack Redfield. Lord Avondale regarded the matter, however, as practically settled, since he had received word of the death of his brother. The family titles were now his, and he determined to barter them for American dollars.

“All American girls,” said he, “have to be subdued—their spirits have to be broken—before they make good wives.”

Hugh tried to persuade himself that he had the courage to declare his love to Ethel, and to ask her hand in marriage. His regard for her was certainly very great, while her marked friendship and consideration for him had caused him to believe that she reciprocated his feelings. The more he thought it over, the stronger became his convictions that delay was dangerous. In proposing marriage he would be asserting his right, as an American gentleman, and, at the same time, discharging his duty, as Captain Osborn had put it, in saving her from a misalliance.

One evening when he returned to his hotel he found Judge Linus Lynn awaiting him.

“Good evenin’, Mr. Stanton,” said the judge, extending his hand in such a friendly way that it admitted of no refusal, “been waitin’ for you several minutes. Major Hampton wants to see you. He’s at the Patriot office.”

“Very well,” replied Hugh, and together they started down the street. Major Hampton admitted them and at once locked the door.

“My dear Stanton,” said he, “I am, indeed, delighted to see you. First of all let me apologize for locking the door and pulling down the curtains. The town is full of Barley Hullers to-night, and callers will besiege my office unless I take this precaution. There are potent reasons why I wish to talk with you. We want to bind you more closely to us by indissoluble bonds. This is why I have sent for you.”

All three seated themselves, while the major was yet speaking. Hugh observed that Judge Lynn’s eyes wore a particularly glassy expression, while the odor of liquor seemed completely to envelope his rotund figure. The judge frequently smacked his lips, as if he were tasting something, and affectionately caressed his side whiskers in an attempt to wear an expression of sobriety.

“Gentlemen, help yourselves to cigars,” said the major, waving his hand toward a well-filled box that occupied a prominent place on the table. “I find great pleasure in the soothing effect of a good cigar.”

Hugh and his host lighted cigars. Judge Lynn tipped over the box in his clumsy effort to lift one out.

“Gee whillikens!” exclaimed the judge, in self-derision, “I’m the tarnalest awkward man in the Southwest. Worse’n a bovine in a china-shop, bet yer life I am. Fact is, my nerves are clean knocked out. Overwork, Mr. Stanton, overwork! Say, Major, will you ‘scuse me a minit? I want ter see a feller ‘round the corner. Did n’t think of it till jest now.”

“Certainly,” said the major, as if he were glad of the judge’s desertion.

“Mr. Stanton, I have sought this interview for the purpose of making a suggestion, which, if you consider favorably, will result, I feel sure, for the good of the many.”

“I certainly feel honored,” replied Hugh, “that you take so deep an interest in me.”

A little later, Judge Lynn returned through the back door. “Bet yer life,” he interposed, “I settled that feller mighty quick; don’t take me long to do business; no sirree.”

“The condition of the times,” the major went on, paying no attention to Judge Lynn’s interruption, “suggests the necessity of better organization among the masses. It is the old doctrine taught by the bundle of sticks. The interests of the poor and lowly can be advanced only by teaching them that in union there is strength. This has been made necessary to the world’s progress, because of greed and selfishness, which grow like tares, choking out the wheat of altruism.”

“Bet yer life,” interposed Judge Lynn, in a hobbled, thick voice, “bet yer life, the major knows what he’s talkin’ ‘bout. Gosh all fishhooks! Think I don’t know facts when I hear ‘em gurglin’ down ‘round me like water. Oh, I’m gay an’ genial-like to-night, I am.”

“Lynn, will you keep silent!” said the major, sternly.

“Jest remin’s me,” said the judge, getting on his feet in a rather uncertain manner, “I’ve got to pay a bill to Buck Truax that’s over a day past due. ‘Scuse me, gentlemen, fur ‘bout five minits. Will I be back? Well, I should say I would. Course I will. You can’t lose me. Bet yer life you can’t.”

“As district organizer of the Farmers’ Alliance,” continued the major, “I am brought into contact with the bone and sinew of the country. I frequently meet progressive spirits—the advance-guards, as it were, of a higher development—who will lose nothing when the progress of civilization overtakes them. To meet the requirements of the hour, and with the hope of bettering the condition of mankind, I conceived the idea of organizing a secret society, where these advance-guards might meet and deliberate upon all live, progressive topics of the day, and especially upon the problems most vitally affecting the welfare of humanity—an organization free from political influences. One of its objects is the diffusion of knowledge, which surely will be followed by a general advancement of the human race. Now, I wish to ask you, Mr. Stanton, if its conception and its objects are not most worthy?”

“Without question,” replied Hugh, “to diffuse knowledge and to better the conditions of the human race are most important motives, underlying the superstructure of all good government.”

“It is not the government as set forth by the laws of a nation, so much as it is, my dear Stanton, obedience to the unwritten laws emanating from the first Great Cause. The hope of humanity is happiness, and happiness consists of a great love, and much service and sacrifice to the children of men and to the Omnipotent Ruler of the universe, who will hold us responsible if we are derelict in our duties to those who are helpless and incapable of self-protection. This work approaches holiness, which might be defined as an infinite compassion for others.”

“Bet yer life,” said Judge Lynn, as he staggered into the room. “When the major speaks, it’s nachral we want to lis’n, that’s what I say—golden thoughts are droppin’ ‘round here from lips of wisdom—reckon I know.”

“Judge Lynn, will you please be quiet?” said the major..

“Course I will; gimme a cigar. Maybe I don’t know brains when I hear ‘em workin’.”

“Our organization,” continued the major, “embodying these great principles, is known as the Barley Hullers. Its principles and the intricacy of its beneficent workings partake somewhat of the accumulated wisdom of the centuries. In the secret haunts of earth, far removed from the busy marts of commerce, lives are being dedicated to the work of solving the mighty problems of humanity. The leaching out of selfishness, through the sieve of much suffering and self-denial, is having its effect. The world is to become better through the practical advocates of these mighty principles. Mr. Stanton, you are needed in the vineyard. We want our deliberations enriched by your words of wisdom. You certainly owe some of your time to this great work of human advancement.”

“I do not see,” replied Hugh, hesitatingly, “how I could benefit your organization. Besides, I am a banker, and most of the members of the Barley Hullers, I take it, are directly engaged in agricultural pursuits.”

Judge Lynn here interrupted, shutting one eye in a knowing way. “Great Scott! man, that’s where you, as a member of the Barley Hullers, would have a special lead-pipe cinch on these other bankers. Yes, sirree! Jine the Barley Hullers, and you’ll scuttle your contemporaries in the seethin’ sea of desperation. Gee, that’s easy.”

“Yes, there would doubtless be a personal gain,” said Hugh. “In a business way I can readily see the advantages, but, if there were no other reasons, that in itself is sufficient to decide me against permitting my name to be offered as a candidate for membership.”

“Judge Lynn,” said the major, sternly, “will you confine yourself to your cigar and let me discuss this subject with Mr. Stanton!”

“Well, why not?” said the judge, as he blinked and looked with an intoxicated blankness at the major. “Bet yer life; course I will; I’m not hankerin’ after any man’s job. Not a Barley Huller no way. But I can tell, on short acquaintance, a good article of barley juice when I taste it, bet yer life I kin.”

Major Hampton’s face wore a look of irritation, but, as he turned from the judge to Hugh, the latter noticed that an expression of kindly sympathy had gained the mastery.

“The unwritten manual of the Barley Hullers,” said the major, “aims at the betterment of the human race, and advancement must surely mark its onward course. The organization is destined to be a power for good. Its influence will be felt, both in the state and in the nation.”

“Bet yer life,” interposed Judge Lynn, in maudlin tones. “There’s Mrs. Fleece, the blue-stockin’ catamount of the Sunflower State; she’s in this ‘ere great work heart an’ soul, while her henpecked husband runs a drug store. Hully gee! how I wish I owned a drug store. By the way, that reminds me,” and here the judge staggered to his feet again, and said he had to see a man “‘round the corner.” He, however, soon returned. His intoxication was becoming more noticeable, and his interruptions increased with each trip “‘round the corner.”

The major contained himself with fortitude, and went on addressing Hugh with great energy. “New lodges are daily being organized in different parts of our State; indeed, the influence of the Barley Hullers is beginning to be felt even beyond the borders of the Sunflower Commonwealth. Assistance, my dear Stanton, of which you know not, will help to scatter the seeds, looking toward the equality of the people in every neighborhood throughout this nation; and I prophesy that in the very near future the members of this society will rise in Herculean might, and sweep the Augean stables of plutocracy and of plutocrats, and will never stop until they organize a lodge of Barley Hullers in the Green Room of the White House. The rich must contribute to the needs of the poor, and an equalization of wealth must conform to the equality of men, as foreordained by the Supreme Ruler.”

“How can you accomplish all this,” asked Hugh, “if the Barley Hullers is a non-political organization?”

“A general uprising of the people,” said Major Hampton, “an uprising of advanced thinkers and their proselyted followers who, with one accord, will rise like the high-capped waves on the limitless deep, and, in a phalanx that cannot be stayed, will march against the strongholds of capital, financial conspiracies, and legalized robbery. Of course many things may conspire to blind the people. Gifts by millionaires to so-called ‘charitable institutions,’ such as churches, hospitals, and asylums, have a tendency to lull the people into inaction. These pretended philanthropies, given to be seen of the world, are but hollow mockeries, and will prove, instead of robes of spotless white for the donors, only worthless rags of shame and disgrace.”

“Your earnestness and sincerity, Major,” said Hugh, “I cannot doubt or question, but I do believe that it is not proper for me to join the Barley Hullers.”

The major looked grieved. “Well, Stanton, think it over,” said he, “think it over, and after awhile you may decide differently.”

“Give it to my way farin’ frien’, Major, them’s my sentiments to a dot; bet yer life they are.”

“Judge Lynn,” said the major, “keep quiet; you’re drunk.”

“A’ right, Major,” replied the judge, hazily. “Heerd some’un shay speech wazn only silver-plated anyhow, an’ silence wazh golden. I know two or three legerdemain tricks, bet yer life I do. Gimme ‘nother drink.”

“Major Hampton,” said Hugh, when the judge had subsided, “your words have made a great impression upon me. Do you know that sometimes I am filled with a vague sense of mystery when listening to your impassioned words in behalf of the multitude? Your charities have also caused me to marvel. It matters not in what part of the country I travel, I find where your secret charities have blessed the poor and needy, and then—”

“That’s all right, Stanton, it is not I to whom thanks are due. There is a higher power that is responsible for every benevolent act of my life. I am but an instrument—a missionary—doing the work that has been assigned to me, and I am far from being satisfied with the results of my labor. It is growing late, and perhaps we had better go.”

In the meantime Judge Lynn had ceased his interruptions. He had fallen into a drunken stupor.

“Assist me, Stanton,” said the major, sorrowfully, “and we will let him rest here for the night.”

Soon Hugh and the major were walking thoughtfully homeward along the deserted streets beneath a myriad of twinkling stars, while Judge Lynn was snoring lustily in drunken stupor on a large, leather-covered lounge, muttering incoherently the while, “Bet yer life! Bet yer life!”