The Plum Tree, by David Graham Phillips
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Title: The Plum Tree
Author: David Graham Phillips
Illustrator: E. M. Ashe
Release Date: January 25, 2007 [EBook #20449]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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[Illustration: SHE WAS AT THE STATION IN HER PHAETON TO MEET ME]
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THE PLUM TREE
By DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS
Author of The Cost, Golden Fleece, Etc.
Illustrated By E. M. ASHE
NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS
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Copyright 1905 The Bobbs-Merrill Company
March
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. HOW IT ALL BEGAN 1 II. AT THE COURT OF A SOVEREIGN 17 III. SAYLER "DRAWS THE LINE" 33 IV. THE SCHOOL OF LIFE-AS-IT-IS 44 V. A GOOD MAN AND HIS WOES 68 VI. MISS RAMSAY REVOLTS 78 VII. BYGONES 96 VIII. A CALL FROM "THE PARTY" 107 IX. TO THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY 123 X. THE FACE IN THE CROWD 136 XI. BURBANK 144 XII. BURBANK FIRES THE POPULAR HEART 163 XIII. ROEBUCK & CO. PASS UNDER THE YOKE 168 XIV. A "BOOM-FACTORY" 177 XV. MUTINY 193 XVI. A VICTORY FOR THE PEOPLE 199 XVII. SCARBOROUGH 209 XVIII. A DANGEROUS PAUSE 221 XIX. DAVID SENT OUT AGAINST GOLIATH 224 XX. PILGRIMS AND PATRIOTS 234 XXI. AN INTERLUDE 249 XXII. MOSTLY ABOUT MONEY 261 XXIII. IN WHICH A MOUSE HELPS A LION 271 XXIV. GRANBY INTRUDES AGAIN 282 XXV. AN HOUR OF EMOTION 292 XXVI. "ONLY AN OLD JOKE" 296 XXVII. A DOMESTIC DISCORD 306 XXVIII. UNDER A CRAYON PORTRAIT 314 XXIX. A LETTER FROM THE DEAD 327 XXX. A PHILOSOPHER RUDELY INTERRUPTED 333 XXXI. HARVEY SAYLER, SWINEHERD 345 XXXII. A GLANCE BEHIND THE MASK OF GRANDEUR 365 XXXIII. A "SPASM OF VIRTUE" 380 XXXIV. "LET US HELP EACH OTHER" 387
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THE PLUM TREE
I
HOW IT ALL BEGAN
"We can hold out six months longer,--at least six months." My mother's tone made the six months stretch encouragingly into six long years.
I see her now, vividly as if it were only yesterday. We were at our scant breakfast, I as blue as was ever even twenty-five, she brave and confident. And hers was no mere pretense to reassure me, no cheerless optimism of ignorance, but the through-and-through courage and strength of those who flinch for no bogey that life or death can conjure. Her tone lifted me; I glanced at her, and what shone from her eyes set me on my feet, face to the foe. The table-cloth was darned in many places, but so skilfully that you could have looked closely without detecting it. Not a lump of sugar, not a slice of bread, went to waste in that house; yet even I had to think twice to realize that we were poor, desperately poor. She did not hide our poverty; she beautified it, she dignified it into Spartan simplicity. I know it is not the glamour over the past that makes me believe there are no women now like those of the race to which she belonged. The world, to-day, yields comfort too easily to the capable; hardship is the only mould for such character, and in those days, in this middle-western country, even the capable were not strangers to hardship.
"When I was young," she went on, "and things looked black, as they have a habit of looking to the young and inexperienced,"--that put in with a teasing smile for me,--"I used to say to myself, 'Well, anyhow, they can't kill me.' And the thought used to cheer me up wonderfully. In fact, it still does."
I no longer felt hopeless. I began to gnaw my troubles again--despair is still.
"Judge Granby is a dog," said I; "yes, a dog."
"Why 'dog'?" objected my mother. "Why not simply 'mean man'? I've never known a dog that could equal a man who set out to be 'ornery.'"
"When I think of all the work I've done for him in these three years--"
"For yourself," she interrupted. "Work you do for others doesn't amount to much unless it's been first and best for yourself."
"But he was benefited by it, too," I urged, "and has taken life easy, and has had more clients and bigger fees than he ever had before. I'd like to give him a jolt. I'd stop nagging him to put my name in a miserable corner of the glass in his door. I'd hang out a big sign of my own over my own office door."
My mother burst into a radiant smile. "I've been waiting a year to hear that," she said.
Thereupon I had a shock of
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