LITMIR.BIZ

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went by; generation after generation of healthy guinea-pigs passed under his modifying hands; and after some five years he had in one small yard a fine group of the descendants of his gall-fed pair, and in another the offspring of the trained ones; nimble, swift, as different from the first as the razor-backed pig of the forest from the fatted porkers in the sty. He set them to race—the young untrained specimens of these distant cousins—and the hare ran away from the tortoise completely.

      Great zoologists and biologists came to see him, studied, fingered, poked, and examined the records; argued and disbelieved—and saw them run.

      "It is natural selection," they said. "It profited them to run."

      "Not at all," said he. "They were fed and cared for alike, with no gain from running."

      "It was artificial selection," they said. "You picked out the speediest for your training."

      "Not at all," said he. "I took always any healthy pair from the trained parents and from the untrained ones—quite late in life, you understand, as guinea-pigs go."

      Anyhow, there were the pigs; and he took little specialized piglets scarce weaned, and pitted them against piglets of the untrained lot—and they outran them in a race for "Mama." Wherefore Mr. Ross Warden found himself famous of a sudden; and all over the scientific world the Wiesmanian controversy raged anew. He was invited to deliver a lecture before some most learned societies abroad, and in several important centers at home, and went, rejoicing.

      Diantha was glad for him from the bottom of her heart, and proud of him through and through. She thoroughly appreciated his sturdy opposition to such a weight of authority; his long patience, his careful, steady work. She was left in full swing with her big business, busy and successful, honored and liked by all the town—practically—and quite independent of the small fraction which still disapproved. Some people always will. She was happy, too, in her babies—very happy.

      The Hotel del las Casas was a triumph.

      Diantha owned it now, and Mrs. Weatherstone built others, in other places, at a large profit.

      Mrs. Warden went to live with Cora in the town. Cora had more time to entertain her—as she was the one who profited by her sister-in-law's general services.

      Diantha sat in friendly talk with Mrs. Weatherstone one quiet day, and admitted that she had no cause for complaint.

      "And yet—?" said her friend.

      Young Mrs. Warden smiled. "There's no keeping anything from you, is there? Yes—you're right. I'm not quite satisfied. I suppose I ought not to care—but you see, I love him so! I want him to approve of me!—not just put up with it, and bear it! I want him to feel with me—to care. It is awful to know that all this big life of mine is just a mistake to him—that he condemns it in his heart."

      "But you knew this from the beginning, my dear, didn't you?"

      "Yes—I knew it—but it is different now. You know when you are married—"

      Mrs. Weatherstone looked far away through the wide window. "I do know," she said.

      Diantha reached a strong hand to clasp her friend's. "I wish I could give it to you," she said. "You have done so much for me! So much! You have poured out your money like water!"

      "My money! Well I like that!" said Mrs. Weatherstone. "I have taken my money out of five and seven per cent investments, and put it into ten per cent ones, that's all. Shall I never make you realize that I am a richer woman because of you, Diantha Bell Warden! So don't try to be grateful—I won't have it! Your work has paid remember—paid me as well as you; and lots of other folks beside. You know there are eighteen good imitations of Union House running now, in different cities, and three 'Las Casas!' all succeeding—and the papers are talking about the dangers of a Cooked Food Trust!"

      They were friends old and tried, and happy in mutual affection. Diantha had many now, though none quite so dear. Her parents were contented—her brother and sister doing well—her children throve and grew and found Mama a joy they never had enough of.

      Yet still in her heart of hearts she was not wholly happy.

      Then one night came by the last mail, a thick letter from Ross—thicker than usual. She opened it in her room alone, their room—to which they had come so joyously five years ago.

      He told her of his journeying, his lectures, his controversies and triumphs; rather briefly—and then:

      "My darling, I have learned something at last, on my travels, which will interest you, I fancy, more than the potential speed of all the guinea-pigs in the world, and its transmissability.

      "From what I hear about you in foreign lands; from what I read about you wherever I go; and, even more, from what I see, as a visitor, in many families; I have at last begun to grasp the nature and importance of your work.

      "As a man of science I must accept any truth when it is once clearly seen; and, though I've been a long time about it, I do see at last what brave, strong, valuable work you have been doing for the world. Doing it scientifically, too. Your figures are quoted, your records studied, your example followed. You have established certain truths in the business of living which are of importance to the race. As a student I recognize and appreciate your work. As man to man I'm proud of you—tremendously proud of you. As your husband! Ah! my love! I am coming back to you—coming soon, coming with my Whole Heart, Yours! Just wait, My Darling, till I get back to you!

      "Your Lover and Husband."

      Diantha held the letter close, with hands that shook a little. She kissed it—kissed it hard, over and over—not improving its appearance as a piece of polite correspondence.

      Then she gave way to an overmastering burst of feeling, and knelt down by the wide bed, burying her face there, the letter still held fast. It was a funny prayer, if any human ear had heard it.

      "Thank you!" was all she said, with long, deep sobbing sighs between. "Thank you!—O—thank you!"

      The Crux

       Table of Contents

       PREFACE

       CHAPTER I THE BACK WAY

       CHAPTER II. BAINVILLE EFFECTS.

       CHAPTER III. THE OUTBREAK

       CHAPTER IV TRANSPLANTED

       CHAPTER V CONTRASTS

       CHAPTER VI NEW FRIENDS AND OLD

       CHAPTER VII. SIDE LIGHTS.

       CHAPTER VIII. A MIXTURE.

       CHAPTER IX. CONSEQUENCES.

       CHAPTER X. DETERMINATION.

       CHAPTER XI. THEREAFTER.

       CHAPTER XII. ACHIEVEMENTS.

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