



Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover]




[Illustration: Gordon Marriott  Page 38]




                        THE TURN OF THE BALANCE


                                   By

                             BRAND WHITLOCK



                      Author of The Happy Average
                          Her Infinite Variety
                           The 13th District



                         With Illustrations by
                              JAY HAMBIDGE



                              INDIANAPOLIS
                       THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
                               PUBLISHERS




                             COPYRIGHT 1907
                       THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY

                                 MARCH




                            TO THE MEMORY OF
                            SAMUEL M. JONES
                           Died July 12, 1904




On the other hand, a boy was bound to defend them against anything that
he thought slighting or insulting; and you did not have to verify the
fact that anything had been said or done; you merely had to hear that it
had.  It once fell to my boy to avenge such a reported wrong from a boy
who had not many friends in school, a timid creature whom the mere
accusation frightened half out of his wits, and who wildly protested his
innocence.  He ran, and my boy followed with the other boys after him,
till they overtook the culprit and brought him to bay against a high
board fence; and there my boy struck him in his imploring face.  He
tried to feel like a righteous champion, but he felt like a brutal
ruffian.  He long had the sight of that terrified, weeping face, and
with shame and sickness of heart he cowered before it.  It was pretty
nearly the last of his fighting; and though he came off victor, he felt
that he would rather be beaten himself than do another such act of
justice.  In fact, it seems best to be very careful how we try to do
justice in this world, and mostly to leave retribution of all kinds to
God, who really knows about things; and content ourselves as much as
possible with mercy, whose mistakes are not so irreparable.

_From_ "A BOY'S TOWN"
       _By_ WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS




                        THE TURN OF THE BALANCE



                                 BOOK I



                        THE TURN OF THE BALANCE


                                   I


As Elizabeth Ward stood that morning before the wide hearth in the
dining-room, she was glad that she still could find, in this first snow
of the season, the simple wonder and delight of that childhood she had
left not so very far behind.  Her last glimpse of the world the night
before had been of trees lashed by a cold rain, of arc-lamps with globes
of fog, of wet asphalt pavements reflecting the lights of Claybourne
Avenue.  But now, everywhere, there was snow, heaped in exquisite drifts
about the trees, and clinging in soft masses to the rough bark of their
trunks.  The iron fence about the great yard was half buried in it, the
houses along the avenue seemed far away and strange in the white
transfiguration, and the roofs lost their familiar outlines against the
low gray sky that hung over them.

"Hurry, Gusta!" said Elizabeth.  "This is splendid! I must go right
out!"

The maid who was laying the breakfast smiled; "It was a regular
blizzard, Miss Elizabeth."

"Was it?"  Elizabeth lifted her skirt a little, and rested the toe of
her slipper on the low brass fender. The wood was crackling cheerfully.
"Has mama gone out?"

"Oh, yes, Miss Elizabeth, an hour ago."

"Of course," Elizabeth said, glancing at the little clock on the
mantelpiece, ticking in its refined way.  Its hands pointed to half-past
ten.  "I quite forgot the dinner."  Her brow clouded.  "What a bore!"
she thought. Then she said aloud: "Didn't mama leave any word?"

"She said not to disturb you, Miss Elizabeth."

Gusta had served the breakfast, and now, surveying her work with an
expression of pleasure, poured the coffee.

Beside Elizabeth's plate lay the mail and a morning newspaper.  The
newspaper had evidently been read at some earlier breakfast, and because
it was rumpled Elizabeth pushed it aside.  She read her letters while
she ate her breakfast, and then, when she laid her napkin aside, she
looked out of the windows again.

"I must go out for a long walk," she said, speaking as much to herself
as to the maid, though not in the same eager tone she had found for her
resolution a while before.  "It must have snowed very hard.  It wasn't
snowing when I came home."

"It began at midnight, Miss Elizabeth," said Gusta, "and it snowed so
hard I had an awful time getting here this morning.  I could hardly find
my way, it fell so thick and fast