"Oh, James, pray for grace to be a man once in your life and send her back

to us! Be a man--try to be a man! Remember the angel you killed! Remember

all we have done for you and what a return you have made, and be a man for

the first time. Try and be a man!

"Your unhappy sister-in-law, "MARTHA SHERWOOD."

Mr. Fisbee read the letter with a great, rising delight which no sense of

duty could down; indeed, he perceived that his sense of duty had ceased to

conflict with the one strong hope of his life, just as he perceived that

to be a man, according to Martha Sherwood, was, in part, to assist Martha

Sherwood to have her way in things; and, for the rest, to be the sort of

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man she persuaded herself she would be were she not a woman. This he had

never been able to be.

By some whimsy of fate, or by a failure of Karma (or, perhaps, by some

triumph of Kismetic retribution), James Fisbee was born in one of the most

business-like and artless cities of a practical and modern country, of

money-getting, money-saving parents, and he was born a dreamer of the

past. He grew up a student of basilican lore, of choir-screens, of Persian

frescoes, and an ardent lounger in the somewhat musty precincts of Chaldea

and Byzantium and Babylon. Early Christian Symbolism, a dispute over the

site of a Greek temple, the derivation of the lotus column, the

restoration of a Gothic buttress--these were the absorbing questions of

his youth, with now and then a lighter moment spent in analytical

consideration of the extra-mural decorations of St. Mark's. The world

buzzed along after its own fashion, not disturbing him, and his

absorptions permitted only a faint consciousness of the despair of his

relatives regarding his mind. Arrived at middle-age, and a little more, he

found himself alone in the world (though, for that matter, he had always

been alone and never of the world), and there was plenty of money for him

with various bankers who appeared to know about looking after it.

Returning to the town of his nativity after sundry expeditions in Syria--

upon which he had been accompanied by dusky gentlemen with pickaxes and

curly, long-barrelled muskets--he met, and was married by, a lady who was

ambitious, and who saw in him (probably as a fulfilment of another

Kismetic punishment) a power of learning and a destined success. Not long

after the birth of their only child, a daughter, he was "called to fill

the chair" of archaeology in a newly founded university; one of the kind

which a State and a millionaire combine to purchase ready-made. This one

was handed down off the shelf in a more or less chaotic condition, and for

a period of years betrayed considerable doubt as to its own intentions,

undecided whether they were classical or technical; and in the settlement

of that doubt lay the secret of the past of the one man in Plattville so

unhappy as to possess a past. From that settlement and his own preceding

action resulted his downfall, his disgrace with his wife's relatives, the

loss of his wife, the rage, surprise, and anguish of her sister, Martha,

and Martha's husband, Henry Sherwood, and the separation from his little

daughter, which was by far to him the hardest to bear. For Fisbee, in his

own way, and without consulting anybody--it never occurred to him, and he

was supposed often to forget that he had a wife and child--had informally

turned over to the university all the money which the banks had kindly

taken care of, and had given it to equip an expedition which never

expedited. A new president of the institution was installed; he talked to

the trustees; they met, and elected to become modern and practical and

technical; they abolished the course in fine arts, which abolished

Fisbee's connection with them, and they then employed his money to erect a

building for the mechanical engineering department. Fisbee was left with

nothing. His wife and her kinsfolk exhibited no brilliancy in holding a

totally irresponsible man down to responsibilities, and they made a

tragedy of a not surprising fiasco. Mrs. Fisbee had lived in her

ambitions, and she died of heartbreak over the discovery of what manner of

man she had married. But, before she died, she wisely provided for her

daughter.




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