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schein himself came in a roaring motor, in company with his pretty wife, she bejeweled like Sheba's queen, and effusively eloquent about art. At sight of her the dumb, half-naked Ezekiel made a wild dash behind the screen.

"Fine, fine!" remarked the banker, rubbing his hands. "And you will have it ready by October 17? Was I not right, Spektor, to say we could find a good Jewish model? Was I not right to say it must be a Jew-a monument of a Jew, by a Jew, for the Jews? It is Moses to the life."

Already little Pinchas saw his masterpiece cast in everlasting bronze to bear his name to after generations, saw it muffled in its white cloth upon its marble pedestal on the day of the unveiling. What multitudes were assembled to do honor to him and this heroic creation of his fancy! He heard the music play, heard the speeches of the mayor and the East Side celebrities, the shouts of the people-his people-as the covering fell and the glorious work blazed forth in all its beauty of gilded bronze high above Delancey Street. Ah, might but his mother in far-off Warsaw behold this triumph of her son! What, compared with joy such as this, were the mere ten thousand dollars of Banker Samoschein?

Ten feet high the great model stood; it was nearing completion. In a few days it would be ready for the founders. Possessed with a gust of mad inspiration, Pinchas worked along. Then, late one afternoon, he threw down his tools, gave a shout, clapped Yuski on the back, and cried out that his nowi was done.

Strangely enough, something like a deep sigh of relief came from the lips of Ezekiel. He left his platform at once and vanished behind the screen. He emerged with a clasp-knife in one hand and a small dark mass in the other, sat down upon the edge of the platform, tucked his prophet's robe about him, and crossed his long legs. It was a plug of tobacco he held in his hand. Slicing off a piece, he put it into his mouth, chewed deliberately, then spat against the base of the great

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BETWEEN SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS

(A PROBLEM IN COURTSHIP)

BY ANNE WARNER

Author of "Susan Clegg and her Friend, Mrs. Lathrop," etc.

HIS is the story of a handsome and

sit not only for his constituency, but also between Scylla and Charybdis. The ancient heroes sailed between those points of danger, as we know, but modern heroes sit more than they sail, even when not members of parliament.

Llexford was very handsome and most promising. With his past we have no concern, for it was all gone by before my tale begins. He was over thirty now, and the time, he reflected, had come for him to marry. Yes, most certainly the time had come for him to marry. He had not cared to marry young, but he certainly did not intend to put it off until he should be old, and he was now past thirty, and did not need to look in the British almanac to be reminded of the fact. He had his life quite to suit himself, and a part of that which had particularly suited him had been his adamant attitude as to marriage. He had thoroughly reveled in serene security, in the face of all manner of approaches, not to say attacks. No wily mother had ever tripped him up, nor had any clever girl succeeded in even becoming

an object of common gossip with him. He felt great satisfaction whenever he contemplated all this-almost as much satisfaction as when he contemplated himself in the mirror. He really had cause to be content in both cases. He was of good family, had tens of thousands of pounds of securities in the Bank of England, a seat both in parliament and on horseback that could not be shaken, a ready tongue, a ready pen, well-shaped calves, and a mustache that curled even when he was not thinking. What more could mortal ask? He certainly asked nothing more.

For it could not be said that he had asked a wife yet. He was only beginning to think at odd minutes during his life at large, and in listless hours during his life upon the dark leather benches, that it might be advisable to ask a wife after a while. He was jolly well tired of not having any fixed place for his belongings, and somewhat weary of not having any fixed place for himself. Vacant houses began to look inviting, and he noticed babies in the park. When friends fired attractive women at him, he felt no inclination to scorn the openly laid snare, but, instead, observed

the women with marked attention and wondered how they looked with their hair down, how much of it came down, and how much came off, and whether they would age young. It will be readily seen that he was not of a reckless, risky, romantic nature; no man who scans life with a calm and inappreciative eye ever is. He was simply a well-set-up member of parliament, with out a care in the world, who really thought that the time had come for him to marry. A few days after the beginning of the session he dined at the house of a friend whom he was pleased to style-to himself "a most inferior person.' The friend had no idea of his own caliber, gave splendid dinners, and always had interesting people at them. At this dinner the most interesting personality was Mme. Scylla. Mme. Scylla was the reasonably young widow of a Greek. The Greek had died three years before, leaving a fortune in the Argentine Republic. The fortune was so large that when towns were wrecked by earthquakes or thousands of square miles of precious pampas were burned over, it did not matter in the least to the widow. Perhaps if it had mattered, Mme. Scylla would not have betrayed the fact, for she was a most impenetrable lady, who liked to sit with her elbow on her knee and her chin supported in a crotch formed by her left hand's little finger and the finger next to it and stare thoughtfully straight into the eyes of a man, until, between her bewildering gaze and bewildering beauty and bewildering riches, the man stared at almost went mad with love. Ever so many men wanted to marry her, but she refused them all. She never gave her confidence to any one, so no one knew whence she came, what was her nationality, or why she would not marry again. No one ever guessed the truth, which was that she had a secret ambition to be everything in the world to some man, and contemplated a much more literal interpretation of that phrase than most women consider necessary. She intended the man whom she should marry to be a power, and she took no end of pains in fitting herself to make him so. Whether she should win out or not was a question that goes beyond the end of my story. My story deals only with the beginning of that end.

Mme. Scylla, with green veils wreathed about a blue-and-yellow embroidered un

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der-sheath, and a great band of azure enamel and emeralds holding her hair à la Mme. Recamier, was wholly a new experience to Llexford, and when he found her at his side at the table, he was joyful indeed. She was on the wrong side, and he could not talk to her very much, but she was wonderful. Just to glance sidewise at her was like having a rainbow marry into the family, and before very long he discovered that she was quite the best educated woman whom he had ever met.

"You are the member of parliament, are you not?" she asked presently.

He was pretty sure that she knew the answer already, but he bowed.

"Why don't you say something of the United States' new industry?" she asked then; and added immediately, "You know that they are beginning to plant poppyseed there?"

He had not happened to hear of it. Of course it startled him. Poppy-seed means opium, China trade, commissions of inquiry, and many other interesting things.

"Come and see me some day, and I will tell you all that I know," she said; "it may be of service to you. I have a friend whose brother lives in America-in the States. All that I know is quite the truth."

He felt what a tidbit, politically considered, her information would make. Yes, certainly he would call; oh, most certainly.

He called.

After the third or fourth call she began to be very friendly, and she was so beautiful and so rich and so brilliant, that he gave himself over to the delicious sense of not having to care if they were falling in love. The sensation of being free from the need of precaution was marvelous to him. When their eyes met he did not look away. It was perfectly safe, whatever happened. He sent her flowers without caring if they did betray sentiment. He sometimes came informally early or stayed confidentially late. And when she asked him why he did not bring in a bill to illuminate country sign-posts at night, he felt a vague mental wonder as to whether the two-halves-of-one-soul theory were not true after all, for the bill was drafted in his desk at home, "home" being the club this month. He told her of the coincidence, and she opened her great eyes in

surprise. "How extraordinary!" she murmured. And he thought so, too.

It is a real epoch in a man's life when he finds that the cleverest woman whom he has ever met is interested in him and in his life and in his work. A day or so later he felt a sudden impulse to prove to her how brilliant he was, and so he said something in the House. What he said did not develop quite as he had expected. In fact, it turned out to be a mistake, and later it grew into a terrific blunder, which had the honor of much scathing comment. He felt much perturbed, and was inexpressibly soothed on going to see her to find the first smiles that had been turned his way for three days illuminating her lovely face.

"Do you know what you can do?" she asked him, holding his hand in both of hers and looking up into his face with an expression of almost masculine intelligence in her eyes.

He did not ask her to what she referred. He was silent, but in his answering smile she found encouragement to speak.

"There's a speech in Hansard-a speech of a chancellor of the exchequerthat will turn the tables completely." Then she named the day, the year, and that particular chancellor of the exchequer. He was dum founded. He could not speak.

"You see, it is n't where any one would look for such a reference," she went on, "but it is there. I would n't quote it, if I were you; I would simply refer to it. It will be more impressive."

He was no end grateful. He had no doubt as to the other half of his soul now. He took her hand and kissed it, and she smiled again. She did not seem to be a very passionate person, but, then, he was not a passionate person himself. And she knew all about Manchurian railway concessions, what ailed Mauritian credit, and why reciprocity seemed so loath to reciprocate. He was almost positive as to what the outcome was to be. Really, no man could possibly do better. And she was beautiful, and rich, and, then, last, but not least, so clever.

He wondered whether she were Oriental enough to be going to get too stout later in life. She was perfect now. And her hair?

had to make a speech at a banquet, and told her so.

"I'll tell you something very original to say," she said. And then she told him.

"How did you ever think of that?" he asked in real wonder.

"I don't know," she laughed; "but do

say it."

He said it, and it created a tremendous amount of talk, all of the most soothing and delightful kind.

He made up his mind to offer himself on Sunday. It was eminently the right thing for him, and he was positive that he loved her, too. "I am positive," he repeated thrice over to himself.

That evening he went to an informal little theater-party with some friends whom he had not met in years, and they had with them the sweetest, most unsophisticated, blue-eyed child of seventeen. She was not in society yet; he was the first "man" whom she had ever met. It is dazing to be the first man whom a really sweet girl has ever met. He had a seat next to hers. She was Charybdis.

The others talked of his clever speech, and he shrugged his shoulders and made light of it. Any one could make speeches like that, he said, and felt a slight stab as he said it, remembering that he could not have made it if Mme. Scylla had not outlined it for him. Miss Charybdis had not known that he had made a speech, and felt freshly overwhelmed at such a state of things. It was wonderful to be sitting in the same box with a member of parliament, and to think that he had also made a speech! To what dizzy heights might not so great a being aspire! Her blue eyes were afraid to contemplate the sun too closely for fear of some Phaëtonic catastrophe, but she looked at his hand hanging loosely on the back of her chaperon's chair, and the mere sight of that brought the color to her pretty face. was able to be romantic and to love. likely as not, in ten years she would be as interesting as lots of other people.

She

As

He went home in an odd state of mind.

The next day was Saturday, and he had intended offering himself to Mme. Scylla, who was out of town, on Sunday. He felt still more odd to think that that time next week all sorts of new emotions would be

It was a day or two after this that he running riot within him, -at least he

but

hoped and trusted that they would, he did feel odd.

He rode in the Row the next morning, and contemplated the proposal with some trepidation and some satisfaction. He still felt odd. He did not think that the proposal would be any special strain; she must know that he loved her. "I must have shown it," he told himself, and then he repeated firmly, "I must have shown it." Perhaps there would not even be anything said. Perhaps he would simply kiss her. Anyway, it would be quite easy. He would start to show her something, would drag a chair close to her side, would take out a pencil to point out the particular passage, she would turn her head to watch what he was elucidating, perhaps she would be seated on the divan-oh, it would be quite easy.

He raised his eyes at that, and there, right in front of him, rode the exceedingly pretty girl with a groom in attendance. She smiled and blushed and bowed, and he-well, he rode home with her.

And now began the sitting between Scylla and Charybdis in good earnest. Notthat he knew it then, for he was still too certain that he loved the widow to be able to give the lie to his opinion so quickly. But he felt very odd, vaguely uncomfortable. There was no denying that Mme. Scylla was brilliant, brilliantly beautiful, and beautifully rich; but, dash it all! there is a charm in a young, innocent girl who knows nothing of anything and least of all of men.

But he went to make his proposal just as he had planned, feeling that Monday would find everything settled and two people ecstatically happy. And yet, he told himself over and over most irrelevantly, that he did not need to marry a fortune and that he was jolly well sure that he could get on without the brilliant brains. And yet he was not so sure, after all. And she was stunning. But the young girl was lovely, too. Altogether his thoughts, as he walked through the park, were most uncomfortable. But he always knew that he was going to propose and that they were going to be ecstatically happy. No man doubts that or demands details of his imagination. Why under the sun should he?

He came to the house and went in. She was alone. He went straight to her, took

her in his arms, and kissed her. It is the simplest way, and the most effective. She drew back, laughed, and began to adjust her hair-pins. There was no use denying that she was beautiful. "Such a man!" was all that she said. And after that they were very happy for some time. It was quite wonderful to sit beside her, have his arm around her, and feel her sinuous, jeweled fingers tapping his hand. "You shall be a great man," she said, confidentially. "I'll manage it all for you."

That was a fearful mistake for so clever a woman to make. Despite himself, he felt his eyebrows shoot upward. He could not share that view of his brilliant future in any circumstances.

"You see, I am a very gifted woman," she continued happily; "I have tact and intuition. You'll make no more stupid blunders now."

Well! He drew a long breath and withdrew his arm. "The cigarettes are there, just at your hand," she said, pointing; but although he could, and did, get one without rising, he did not replace his arm. She sprang quickly up and brought him matches. "I will make you prime minister," she said, with her glowing gaze. "I am sure that I can do it, for all that you lack I have in abundance."

He colored hotly. For a moment he thought that his temper had slipped its ball and chain. He took a match from her and lit a cigarette. "My odalisque," he said then, trying to speak naturally, "don't forget that women are, after all, a very small part of a man's life." And then he looked at the rug, and his look was severe. He was not a bit happy.

“Not when it is a woman like me and a man like you," she said. "You know as well as I do that of us two I am the stronger character."

He bit his lip and moved his fingers curiously. He drew in a tremendous breath.

But then it came over him with a horrid gasp that she was right, that she was certainly right. But she loved him. And all men would envy him. And, after all, she would be a help.

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So he smiled in a ghastly sort of way, said, Conceited baby!" and noted that she liked it, and then he pretended that his declaration had burst from him unawares,

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