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Springer Texts in Business and Economics

Michael R. Czinkota
Masaaki Kotabe
Demetris Vrontis
S. M. Riad Shams

Marketing
Management
Past, Present and Future
Fourth Edition
Springer Texts in Business and Economics
More information about this series at http://www.­springer.­com/series/10099
Michael R. Czinkota • Masaaki Kotabe
Demetris Vrontis • S. M. Riad Shams

Marketing
Management
Past, Present and Future

Fourth Edition
Michael R. Czinkota Masaaki Kotabe
Graduate School and McDonough School Professor of Marketing and International
Georgetown University Business
Washington, DC, USA Waseda University
Tokyo, Japan
International Business and Strategy
University of Kent University of Hawaii at Manoa
Canterbury, UK Honolulu, USA

Demetris Vrontis S. M. Riad Shams

Professor of Strategic Marketing Senior Lecturer in Marketing, Newcastle
Management, Vice Rector for Faculty Business School
and Research Northumbria University
University of Nicosia Newcastle upon Tyne, UK
Nicosia, Cyprus

Supplementary material of the book is available in springer.com

ISSN 2192-4333      ISSN 2192-4341 (electronic)

Springer Texts in Business and Economics
ISBN 978-3-030-66915-7    ISBN 978-3-030-66916-4 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-66916-4

© Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2005, 2000, 1997, 2021

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 V

To Ilona – MRC
To Kai and Cam, my grandchildren – MK
To my family – DV
To my parents – RS
Preface

Thank you for taking the time to explore what we have to say about marketing.
You are our customers, the targets of our marketing effort; it is you we aim to
delight!
We believe that exciting new changes are coming to the marketing field and that
we can help teach present and future marketers to do their work better. By improv-
ing your understanding of marketing, we hope to help you increase your efficiency
and effectiveness and leave a mark for the better on society. Our approach to mar-
keting sets us apart from the competition. Here are the features that make this
work special.

Our Applied Approach

Marketing used to be a very practical field. It was generally accepted that business
transactions could be carried out more effectively, that there were many needs that
had been left unsatisfied, and that the field of marketing could contribute to
improving the quality of life of individuals. Over time, however, the approach to
marketing in universities began to suffer from “lab coat” syndrome. Complexity
became fashionable, and esoteric approaches were in demand. Many researchers
and authors began to talk more about models than about people, to substitute
tools for insights, and to examine printouts instead of consumers. It seemed that
obscurity, not enlightenment, had become the ultimate goal.
Yet, in our minds, marketing is still a very practical discipline. People have prac-
tical needs, firms face practical problems, and solutions have to work in real life.
Most marketers cannot and should not hide in labs. Marketing is a social science
based on theories and concepts, but it also requires that most marketers interact
with people, observe them, talk to them, and understand their activities. In essence,
marketing is a “dialogue” between marketers and their customers.
We reflect this applied approach. Together with important traditional and
embryonic concepts and theories, we provide you with the experiences that we have
obtained through our collaboration with numerous companies—both large and
small, domestic and international—for many years. You will recognize this applied
orientation when we talk about advertising, trading, branding, selling, and seg-
mentation. You will sense it when we present you with “Manager’s Corners” fea-
tures and cases that show you how marketers face challenges and delight their
target audience. You will enjoy it when we provide you with down-to-earth “Mar-
keting in Action” examples that you can explore and analyze. Most importantly,
you will understand it when you get to your professional activities and discover the
direct relevance of what you have learned and how you will apply your learning in
real-life marketing management environment.
 VII
Preface

Our Global Perspective

Markets have become global. Mark Twain once wrote, “There is a road ahead of
you: If you stand still, you will get run over.” No longer is competition limited to
your home market. If you stand still in your domestic market, you will likely be
trampled by competitors or by local opponents who source their inputs from
abroad. Economies have become intertwined, firms have become linked to each
other across national boundaries, and markets are open to almost anyone. Never
before have the risks from unexpected market entrants been so large—and never
before have the opportunities for global success been so bountiful. But opportuni-
ties must be recognized and seized, and risks must be understood and evaluated.
We assist you in that task by removing national blinders and exposing you to the
interplay of global business forces. As you go through the material, you will benefit
from our combined in-depth expertise in North and South America, Asia, Ocea-
nia, and Western, Central, and Eastern Europe. You will understand how market-
ing can adapt to new environments and demands and see marketing for what it
really is: a discipline that knows no regional or political borders when it comes to
improving the way societies function. You will learn about the limited rewards that
are given to those who come in second, and you will appreciate the need to be
world class in your performance.

Our Incorporation of Technology

Societies, and the people within them, change. Never before has the change been so
rapid, resulting in the downfall of so many old icons and the emergence of new
paradigms. Consider technology: The separation of the location of production and
consumption in the services area offers us new ways to live and work. Banks are no
longer confined to their large buildings on Main Street; insurance companies no
longer need their downtown palaces; teachers are no longer limited to the class-
room; and analysts no longer have to stay in their offices. Rather, we can all spread
our wings and reach out to individuals and businesses or, better yet, have them
come into our homes.
This spatial freedom profoundly recasts the activities of marketers. We encoun-
ter new ways of communicating with our customers, presenting them with our
offerings, and reaching them with our services. We can structure our offers to be
more precise and distinct. We can use electronic data interchange and techniques
such as just-in-time delivery to make the marketing offering less expensive, more
precise, and more satisfying. However, unless marketers make use of these new
possibilities, they run the danger of falling behind, using the equivalent of bronze
tools in the Iron Age. We recognize these changes and have given much thought to
their implications for marketers. You will discover in every chapter our identifica-
tion of change drivers and our analysis of change. As a result, we believe you will
be empowered to deploy your judgment in preparation to work with change and its
challenges.
VIII Preface

Electronic and In-Print Versions

As an example of our incorporation of technology, Marketing Management, fourth

edition is available online in electronic version as well as in traditional print ver-
sion. You may choose to use just the online version of the text or both the online
and the print versions together. This gives you the flexibility to choose which com-
bination of resources works best for you. To assist those who use the online and
print versions together, the primary heads and subheads in each chapter are num-
bered the same. For example, the first primary head in 7 Chap. 1 is labeled 1.1, the
second primary head in this chapter is labeled 1.2, and so on. The subheads build
from the designation of their corresponding primary head: 1.1.1, 1.1.2, etc. This
numbering system is designed to make moving between the online and print ver-
sions as seamless as possible.

Our Social Awareness

Today’s society demands more of marketers than was expected in the past. Issues
such as diversity, ethics, responsibility, concern about the natural environment, and
privacy are integral parts of the marketing discipline today. Marketing managers
are increasingly challenged not only to adapt to existing rules but to lead the way.
To be at the forefront of social transformation, marketers must encompass a new
breadth of perspective and embrace a much greater variety of social activities than
ever before. The marketing function can no longer confine itself to one organiza-
tion and the marketing activities within it. Instead, it needs to encompass a broad
range of stakeholders, suppliers, and customers. We help you gain such a perspec-
tive by presenting you with the primary elements of social change, developing the
implications of such change for the marketing discipline, and offering ways to syn-
thesize change into marketing strategy. For example, we develop a postmortem
perspective of the product cycle that considers producer responsibilities long after
the product has been withdrawn from the market.
Most importantly, we recognize the implicit promises of the market-based sys-
tem and its implications. We believe that on a global level, marketers are “selling”
the world on two key issues. One is the benefit of market forces that results from the
interplay of supply and demand. This interplay in turn uses price signals instead of
government fiat to adjust activities, thrives on competition, and works within an
environment of respect for profitability and private property. In exchange for the
chance to earn profits, investors allocate resources to the most productive and
effective uses. The second key proposition concerns the trust between managers
and investors. In return for high compensation, the non-owner managerial class
provides the absentee owners and other stakeholders with its best efforts to pre-
serve and increase stakeholder benefits. The key to making all this work is
 IX
Preface

­ anagerial and corporate virtue, vision, and veracity: Unless the world can believe
m
in what firms and managers say and do, it will be hard, nay impossible, to forge a
commitment between those doing the marketing and the ones being marketed to.
It is therefore of vital interest to marketers and to the proponents of globalization
to ensure that corruption, bribery, lack of transparency, and the misleading of
stakeholders are relegated to the scrap heap of history by exposing their negative
effects in any setting or society.

Our Research Orientation

Notwithstanding our practical emphasis, we fully recognize that marketing theory

has an important role to play. It provides us with the conceptual tools that allow us
to abstract, analyze, understand, and predict practical phenomena. Theory offers
broad perspectives and assists in the formulation of decision rules. It permits us to
recognize the underlying fundamentals, to discover commonalities, and to appreci-
ate differences. The use of theory allows us to avoid repetition of past mistakes,
provides us with context, and enables us to understand quality. Theory, when rele-
vant to the field, is quite practical in that it allows us to improve the practice of
marketing. Therefore, we have delved deeply into the traditional and embryonic
marketing theories and concepts and have incorporated them into our presenta-
tion. We have also made an effort to point out leading-edge work and use it to
highlight future developments in the marketing field. Because of our own extensive
international work, we have not been confined to the research literature of any one
country but can present you with cutting-edge information from the United States,
Europe, and Asia. At the same time, we have made an effort to present theory with
a critical eye, highlighting the benefits as well as the limits of its application.

Our Policy Orientation

Marketing does not function only in business environments. Rather, it needs to

interact closely with governments and legal frameworks that are expressions of
societal expectations and demands. The public policy dimensions of marketing
need to be incorporated into marketing planning if the firm is to be successful in
the long run. But marketing must also be an active player in the formulation of
such policy. Marketing’s closeness to the customer allows it to make a unique con-
tribution to the emergence of new policies when they are concerned with the well-­
being of individuals and the betterment of society. Our personal policy background
and ongoing work with government agencies enable us to bring a realistic
­perspective of this public/private interaction into our discussion of marketing
strategies.
X Preface

Our User Friendliness

Learning is, unfortunately, often seen as the mental equivalent of medicine: Unless
it is painful and tastes bad, many people do not believe that it works. While we can-
not argue on behalf of the medical profession, we do know that such a conclusion
is incorrect as far as marketing is concerned. Marketing is an exciting, energizing,
and enthusiastic discipline. One’s exposure to marketing should not deteriorate
into an onerous chore. We have therefore worked hard at making this material
intelligible, interesting, and a good read. We want this to be interesting for you, so
that you look forward to the next chapter or exercise or case. We intend to stimu-
late your curiosity and your desire to find out what happens next. We have provided
you with our best writing combined with superior design and layout to make this
material easy—and perhaps even fun—to work with.

Our Target Orientation

As you will discover, good marketing requires good customer identification. Trying
to be everything to everyone may cause one to miss all the targets. This book has
been written for postgraduate students and advanced undergraduates who wish to
go into business. It will provide you with the information, perspectives, and tools
necessary to get the job done in the marketing field. We intend to assist you in
practicing marketing by building on the skills and knowledge you already possess.
Our aim is to enable you to make better decisions.

Our Instructor Support

We have made a major effort to present both the instructor and the student with
the best possible pedagogical value. Some of the specific teaching features are as
follows:
55 The “Manager’s Corner” features deliver specific examples from the marketing
world. These features are intended to help students understand and absorb the
presented materials. The instructor can highlight them to exemplify theory or
use them as mini cases for discussion.
55 The “Marketing in Action” sections ask students to apply concepts and theory
to actual business situations.
55 “Review Questions” allow students to rapidly reassess the chapter content and
determine the degree of understanding gained.
55 “Discussion Questions” invite the instructor and the students to expand the
depth of the topics addressed and to explore further implications and
­applications.
55 “Practice Quizzes” for each chapter help students assess their knowledge and
understanding of the materials.
 XI
Preface

55 “Web Exercises” give students examples of real-world issues and suggest web-
sites for more information.
55 Twelve full-length cases present students with real business situations. They
encourage in-depth discussion of the material covered in the chapters and allow
students to apply the knowledge they have gained.
55 Complete Instructor’s Ancillaries for this text include questions and answers,
PowerPoint presentations for lectures, and a comprehensive Instructor’s Man-
ual, which contains teaching plans, supporting resources, notes, and suggested
answers to cases and exercises.

Most important, we stand by our work. Should you have any questions or com-
ments on this book, you can contact us, talk to us, and receive feedback from us.
We know the value of dialogue.

Michael R. Czinkota
Washington, D.C., USA

Masaaki Kotabe
Tokyo, Japan
Honolulu, USA

Demetris Vrontis
Nicosia, Cyprus

S. M. Riad Shams
Newcastle upon Tyne, UK
Acknowledgments

We thank the many colleagues, students, and executives who have permitted us to
work with them and allowed us to learn with and through them. We also thank the
following reviewers for the constructive and imaginative comments and criticisms,
which were instrumental in increasing the quality of the manuscript.
For their help on print editions and the particular needs of the distance-learning
markets:
Thomas L. Baker, University of North Carolina at Wilmington
Carol L. Bruneau, University of Montana
Debra K. Cartwright, Truman State University
Newell Chisel, Indiana State University
John DeNigris, University of Phoenix
Casey Donoho, Northern Arizona University
Gary Eckert, Nova Southwestern University
Craig Eslinger, University of Phoenix
James Finch, University of Wisconsin–La Crosse
Phyllis K. Goodman, College of Dupage
Stephen J. Gould, Baruch College, The City University of New York
John E. Hawes, MIM; American Graduate School of International M ­ anagement
Wesley H. Jones, University of Indianapolis
Pankaj Kumar, Cornell University
Richard C. Leventhal, Metropolitan State College
Faye S. Mclntryre, Rockhurst College
Satya Menon, University of Chicago
Bruce J. Newman, DePaul University
Richard D. Nordstrom, California State University-Fresno
Elaine M. Notarantonio, Bryant College
Alphonso O. Ogbuehi, Christopher Newport University
Yvonne Phelps, University of Phoenix
Marilyn Pike, University of Phoenix
Thomas L. Powers, University of Alabama at Birmingham
Donald L. Reinhart, University of Phoenix
Robert G. Roe, University of Wyoming
Al Rosenbloom, Benedictine University
Debbie Scrager, University of Phoenix
Peter B. Shaffer, Western Illinois University
Carolyn Simmons, Lehigh University
Philip C. Spivey, University of Phoenix
Mark T. Spriggs, University of Oregon
Allen K. Sutton, University of Phoenix
John Tsalikis, Florida International University
Ken Williamson, James Madison University
Shaoming Zou, University of Missouri, Columbia
 XIII
Acknowledgments

Thanks also go to the team at Springer (USA): Nicholas Philipson, Nitza Jones-
Sepulveda, Faith Su, Maria David, and Susan Westendorf. Throughout the devel-
opment and production of this new edition, they were always professional,
courteous, and helpful.
At Georgetown University, Sabrina Nguyen and Ida Shea were of great help in
producing the manuscript. At the University of Texas at Austin, Steve Giampor-
caro helped us with ever-changing technology issues in marketing, and Preet
Aulakh of York University and Arvind Sahay of The Indian Institute of Manage-
ment (Ahmedabad), both former Ph.D. students of the second coauthor, provided
intellectual insight. At Temple University, Sonia Ketkar and Crystal Jiang are
credited for their insight into many of the recent examples throughout the book.
James Wills at the University of Hawaii at Manoa offered the second coauthor a
homey environment for his intensive work toward completion of this edition.
Junzo Ishii of Kobe University, Japan, should be acknowledged for his insights
into the myths of many marketing concepts that helped us better formulate our
marketing textbook. Finally, Nazlı Uzunboylu at the University of Nicosia, a
Ph.D. student of the third coauthor, significantly helped in formatting the text
throughout the book.
We are deeply grateful to you, the professors, the students, and the professionals
using this book. Your interest demonstrates the need for more knowledge about
marketing. As our customers, you are telling us that our product adds value to your
lives. As a result, you add value to ours. We enjoy maintaining our dialogue with
our customers. Thank you!
 XV

Contents

1 An Overview of Marketing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

1.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
1.2 What Is Marketing? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
1.2.1 Definitions of Marketing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
1.3 A Brief History of Marketing Thought . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
1.4 The Structure of Marketing Theory . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
1.4.1 Goods Versus Services . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
1.4.2 Product Categories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
1.4.3 Consumer Versus Industrial Markets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
1.4.4 Profit Versus Nonprofit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
1.4.5 Intermediaries Versus End Users . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
1.4.6 Domestic Versus International . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
1.4.7 Small Firms Versus Large Firms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
1.4.8 Industry Sector Specificity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
1.4.9 Marketing and Double Bottom Lines . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
1.5 Marketing and Internal Resources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
1.6 The Complexity of Marketing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
1.6.1 Multiple Decision-Makers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
1.6.2 Multiple Factors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
1.6.3 Interaction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
1.6.4 Time Frame . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
1.6.5 Global Factors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
1.6.6 Enormous Flow of Information . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
1.7 The Marketing Mix . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
1.8 Selling Versus Marketing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
1.9 Marketing and Corporate Strategy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
1.10 The Difference Between Products and Benefits . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
1.11 Marketing and Service Cultures . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
1.12 Marketing and Nonprofit Organizations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
References . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40

2 Marketing Planning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43

2.1 Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
2.2 The Marketing Plan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
2.2.1 The Planning Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
2.3 The Corporate Plan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
2.3.1 Corporate Objectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
2.3.2 Objectives for Nonprofit Organizations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56
2.3.3 Corporate Mission . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56
2.3.4 Corporate Vision . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
2.3.5 Marketing Myopia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
kitchen about a worthless horse, about boys who would be late to
school, and the delayed work of the day.
“If that hoss could only keep up with my imagination!” said
Smead, mournfully.
“Dan'l, you must take care of the horse yourself in the morning,”
said Mrs. Smead.
“But my imagination keeps me so busy, mother,” said he.
“Montravers works it night an' day. It don't give me any sleep,
thinkin' o' the wealth that's just ahead of us. It pants with
weariness. Almost every night I dream of tossin' a whole basket of
gold into my wife's lap an' sayin', 'There, mother, it's yours; do as
you like with it.'”
She made no reply. That gold-tossing had revived her hope a little
and pacified her for the moment.
Such was a sample day in the life of the Smeads when Dan'l
Webster was at home. Every night and morning the boys were
helping father by rubbing the legs and body of the stallion. I soon
acquired the habit, partly because I admired the splendid animal,
partly to help the boys. I had never rubbed a horse's legs before,
and it appealed to me as a new form of dissipation.
We were all helping father while the mother worked along from
dawn till we had all gone to our beds—all save the head of the
house. He spent his evenings reading, or in the company of the
horsemen at the Palace Hotel.
I was now deeply interested in my school work. One night I had
sat late with my problems in algebra, and lay awake for hours after I
went to bed. The clock struck twelve, and still I could hear Mrs.
Smead rocking as she sewed downstairs. By and by there were
sounds of Mr. Smead entering the front door. Then I heard her say:
“Dan'l, you promised me not to do this again. The boys are growing
up, and you must set them a better example.”
She spoke kindly, but with feeling. “Mother, don't wake me up,” he
pleaded. “I've enjoyed an evening of great pride an' immeasurable
wealth. They've been praisin' my hoss, an' two men from New York
are comin' to buy him. I'm a Croesus. For the Lord's sake, lemme go
to bed with the money!”
I lay awake thinking what a singular sort of slavery was going on
in that house.
What a faithful, weary, plodding creature the slave was! She
reminded me of those wonderful words which my mother had asked
me and my sister to commit to memory:
“Entreat me not to leave thee or to return from following after
thee: for whither thou goest I will go; and where thou lodgest I will
lodge: thy people shall be my people and thy God my God. Where
thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me
and more, also, if aught but death part thee and me.”
Thy God shall be my God, indeed, even though He be nothing
better than a highbred stallion!
 CHAPTER III

I
N a way Henry Dunbar was like Texas, whence he had come
with his sister Florence to go to school in Griggsby. Colonel
Buckstone had often referred to him as “The Lone Star.” He was
big, warm-hearted, and brave, could turn a hand-spring, and was
the best ball-player at the academy. He could also smoke and chew
tobacco.
“Have a chew?” he asked, the first day we met.
I confessed with shame that I was not so accomplished.
“If you get sick, take some more,” he said. “That's the only way.
Everybody chews that is anybody.”
It was almost true. Many of the leading men went about with a
bulge on one side of their faces. An idea came to me. I would show
Henry that I had at least one manly accomplishment. So I conducted
him to the Smead stable and began rubbing a leg of Montravers.
Henry was impressed; he wanted to try it, and did, and thereby the
horse got hold of his imagination also.
Next morning at daylight we went down to the fairground to see
Montravers driven. There were other horses at work, and the shouts
of the drivers and the swift tattoo of the hoofs quickened our pulses
before we could see the track. The scene, so full of life and spirit,
thrilled us. It was fine bait for boys and men. In our excitement we
thought neither of school nor of breakfast.
By and by the leading citizens began to arrive in handsome
runabouts and to take their places on the grand stand.
“That's Colonel Sile Buckstone,” Henry whispered.
There was no mistaking the Colonel's bovine head and scarlet
blossom. His voice roared a greeting to every newcomer. His son
Ralph, our schoolmate, arrived with his father, and joined us down
by the wire. Senator Griggs, Judge Warner, and a number of leading
merchants had also arrived. These men had what was called a fine
“delivery.” Most of them sat in broadcloth and silk hats,
expectorating with a delivery at once exact and impressive. There
was the resounding Websterian tone coupled with a rustic swagger
and glibness that could be found in every country village. What vocal
and pedestrial splendor was theirs as they rose and strode to the
sulky of Montravers, who had finished a trial heat! Much of the
splendor had been imported from the capitals by Smithers, Brooks,
and Buckstone; but more of it was natural Websterian effulgence.
Mr. Smead was right; the trotter was indeed the friend and ally of
the “conversationalist.” How well those high-sounding names fitted
the Websterian tone—Montravers, Hambletonian, Abdallah,
Mambrino Chief. And so it was with all the vivid phrases of the
racetrack. The sleek, high heads and spurning feet of the horses
seemed to stimulate and reflect the Websterian spirit. When a man
looked at one of those horses he unconsciously tightened his check
rein. If his neck was a bit weary, he felt for his flask or set out for
the Palace Hotel.
Those great men complimented Mr. Smead on his horse, and the
Senator bet a hundred dollars with the Congressman that
Montravers would win his race.
“Let us bet on that horse,” said Henry to me; “we can't lose.”
I confessed with some shame that I did not know how to bet.
“That's easy,” said Henry. “I'll show you how when the time
comes.”
Then we went round among the stables.
What a center of influence and power was that half-mile track and
the stables about it. It was a primary school of crime, with its
museum of blasphemy and its department of slang and lewdness.
What a place for the tender soul of youth!
There were the sleek trotters passing in and out, booted for their
work. In the sulkies behind them were those cursing, kinglike,
contemptuous jockeys, so sublime and exalted that they were even
beyond the reach of our envy. There were the great prancing,
beautiful stallions, and the swipes—heroic, foul-mouthed, proud,
free, and some of them dog-faced. Scarred, sniffing bulldogs were
among them, spaniels with grace locks on their brows, sleek little fox
terriers, and now and then a roaring mastiff. How we envied them!
We became their willing slaves, we boys of the school, fetching
water and sweeping floors for the sacred privilege of rubbing a
horse's leg. In the end some had been kicked out of the stables, but
they did not mind that. What was that if they could only play swipes
and rub a horse's leg? It only heightened their respect and their will
to return.
As my life went on I saw how these leading lights of Griggsby
shone, like stars, above the paths of the young who were choosing
their way.
We boys began to think that greatness was like a tree, with its top
in the brain and its roots in the human stomach, and that the latter
needed much irrigation. It seemed to us that poker, inebriety, slangy
wit, and the lavish hand were as the foliage of the tree; that fame,
wealth, and honor were its fruit; that the goat, the trot-ting-horse,
and the millinery store were as birds of the air that sometimes lit in
its branches.
We boys were wont to gather in an abandoned mill near the
Smead house, on the river bank, after school, for practice in chewing
and expectoration, and to discuss the affairs of the village.
One day Henry Dunbar and Ralph Buckstone had a little flask of
whisky, which they had stolen from the coat pocket of old Thurst
Giles as he lay drunk in the lumber yard. Henry held it up and gave
us an able imitation of John Griggs in the bar-room of the Palace
Hotel, through the open door of which we boys had witnessed
bloody and amusing episodes.
“Gentlemen, here's to the juice of the corn,” he began, in the
swelling tone of Griggs. “The inspiration of poetry, the handmaid of
eloquence, the enemy of sorrow, the friend of genius, the provoker
of truth.”
 It was rather convincing to the youthful mind, coming as it did
from the lips of the great Griggs. We wondered how it was that old
Thurst Giles and Billy Suds, and other town drunkards, had failed to
achieve greatness. They were always soaked; Ralph said that the
juice did not have a fair chance in such men, that they were too
poor and scrawny, and their stomachs too small. They lacked
capacity. It was like putting seed in thin soil. Everybody knew that
John Griggs could drink a whole big bottle and walk off as if nothing
had happened.
Henry Dunbar said that a man had to have money and clothes and
a good voice, and especially a high hat, as well as whisky and cigars,
to amount to anything.
Tommy West thought that the failure of Thurst and Billy was due
to the fact that they were dirty and mean, and could not make a
speech. In his view, also, they didn't shave often enough. If a man
used whisky just for the sake of keeping up appearances, it was all
right; but if he used it to get drunk with, it made him just naturally
comical.
Parents, ministers, and Sunday schools were temporary obstacles
to the wearing of beaver hats, the carrying of gold-headed canes,
and the driving of fast horses. It would not do for a boy to be
swelling around bigger than his father, but when we had become
large and strong and worthy, the beaver and its accompaniments
would be added unto us. Some of us got the idea—although none of
us dared to express it—that our fathers were not so great or so
grand as they might be, and we thought we knew the reason.
Luckily, from this last of our secret sessions I went home sick,
convinced that a humble life was best for me.
The next day Florence sent a note to my room, saying that she
wished to see me. We went out for a walk together.
“I'm going to look after you,” she said. “You haven't any mother
here, and you need me. You've simply got to behave yourself.”
She stopped, faced me, and stamped her pretty foot on the
ground, and there were tears in her blue eyes. She turned me about
and took my arm and held it dose against her side as we walked on
in silence.
“I don't know how—that's what's the matter with me,” I said,
helplessly.
“Don't worry,” she answered. “I'm only a girl, but I can give you
lessons in the art of being a gentleman if—if necessary. I owe much
to you, Havelock, and I can't forget it. I shall not let you be a fool.”
“I can't help it,” I said.
“Then I'll try to help it,” she answered. “At least, I'll make it hurt
you.”
I did my best after that—not very well, I fear, but my best, all
things considered—and kept my heart decently clean for her sake.
More than once I wept for sorrow over my adventure through the
ice, for it had made me give her up.
That night I told Ralph that Florence loved him, and how I knew.
It was a sublime renunciation. After all, what is better than the heart
of a decent boy? I wish it were mine again.
“I love her, too,” he said, “but I haven't dared to tell her of it. I'm
going to see her now.”
After that Ralph was a model student and a warm friend of mine.
 CHAPTER IV

F
AIR-TIME had arrived. The Smead boys had worked every
night and morning on the legs and body of that splendid horse.
His coat was satin, and his plumes were silk when he went out
of the stable. He returned dripping with sweat and foam.
I wonder what Daniel Webster Smead would have accomplished
with those boys if they had had the care and training of his “hoss.”
But they were only descended from Thankful Smead and Remember
Baker and Winfield Scott, and what was that in comparison with the
blood of Hambletonian X.?
I gave to Henry, to be wagered, a part of the money which my
father had provided for the term's expenses. Henry promised that he
would surely double it, and that is what happened. Montravers won,
our pockets bulged with money, but the horse did not sell. A buyer
from New York made an offer, which was refused. Mr. Smead
informed us that the buyer had said that if Montravers showed that
he could repeat his performance the price was not too high. Hope
realized maketh the heart strong; and our imaginations, lighted by
the gleam of gold, worked far into the night after full days of labor.
The next week the stallion was entered at Diddlebury. Henry and I
were going over to get rich. Early in the morning of the race we
skipped school and took a train to Diddlebury. Such riches have
never come to me as we had in our minds that morning. We
considered what we should do with the money. I secretly decided
that I would buy a diamond ring for Florence Dunbar, his sister, and
that, if there were any money left, I would give it to my mother.
Henry had his mental eye on a ranch in Texas, near his father's—
not a very big one—he explained to me. As Henry knew the art of
betting, I gave all my money to him, except a dollar and fifty-four
cents.
 We spent the morning at the stables by the track, and endured a
good deal of abuse from the swipe boys, who looked down upon us
from that upper level of horsedom. We knew it was justified, and
made only a feeble response. We stood near with eyes and ears of
envy while they jested with many a full round oath of their night's
adventures. And I remember that one of them called to me:
“Here, sonny, keep away fr'm that mare's legs. She'll kick a hole in
ye. If she don't I will. Come, now, take a walk. Run home to yer
mammy.”
That was the mildest brand of scorn which they ladled out to us
when we tried to show our familiarity with the “trottin'-hoss.” We
found the stall of Montravers, but the trainer would not have us
there despite our friendship for the owner. Driven by the contempt
of our superiors from this part of the grounds, we haunted the rifle
ranges and the gingerbread and lemonade stalls until the grand
stand was thrown open. Henry left me for a while, and on his return
said that he had wagered all our money on Montravers. I sat in a
joyful trance until the bell rang.
The race began with our favorite among the five leaders of a large
field. Suddenly the sky turned black. Montravers had broken and
begun bucking, and acted as though he wanted to kick. He fell far
behind, and when the red flag came down before him and shut him
out of the race, I had to believe it, and could not. It was like having
to climb a tree with a wolf coming, and no tree in sight.
Now, the truth is, Montravers might have won, but his driver sold
the race, as we were to learn by and by—sold it for ten dollars and
two bottles of whisky. He pulled and bedeviled the horse until the
latter showed more temper than speed. The horse made every effort
to get free and head the procession. He was on the square, that
horse, but the ten-dollar man kept pulling. The horse was far more
decent, more honest, more human than his driver; but the latter
blamed the horse, and the New-Yorker got him for a thousand
dollars less than he would have had to pay by any other method.
 The ten-dollar man proved to be one of the few philanthropists in
Griggsby. He became one of the great educators of the village. He
stood by the gate that opened into the broad way of leisure. His
cheap venality was like a dub in his hands, with which he smote the
head of the fool and turned him back. If he had been a hundred-
dollar man, the farms of the county would have gone to weeds.
Henry and I had only twenty-four cents between us. We met Mr.
Smead coming from the stables. He was awfully cut up, in spite of
that happy way he had of taking his trouble. We soon saw that
something like an earthquake had happened to him.
“My education is complete,” said he, sadly. “I have got my degree;
it is D.F. I have honestly earned it, and shall seek new worlds to
conquer. The man who mentions hoss to me after this day shall
perish by the sword of my wrath.”
He carried his little driving-whip in his hand.
“I have sold everything but this whip,” he added; “I keep that as a
souvenir of my school days. Boys, are you ready to join me in a life
of industry?”
“We are,” said both of us, in concert. “Then, in the language of D.
Webster, follow me, strike down yon guard, gain the highway, an'
start for a new destination. Boys, we will walk home; let us shake
from our feet the dust of Diddlebury.”
“We have got to walk,” said Henry. “We lost every dollar we had
on the race.”
“We are all of equal rank,” said Smead, with a smile. “I will share
with you my distinction. There is enough of it for all of us. Evenly
divided, it should satisfy the ambition of every damn fool in Vermont.
Now let us proceed to the higher walks of life, the first of which shall
be the walk to Griggsby.”
The sun was low when, beyond the last house in the village of
Diddlebury, we came out on the turnpike with our faces set in the
direction of Griggsby, nine miles away—and destinations far better
and more remote.
Henry and I were weary, but the talk of Smead helped us along.
 By and by he said: “Boys, as workers of iniquity we are failures;
let us admit it. For the weak the competition is too severe. The ill-
trained, half-hearted, third-rate, incompetent criminal is no good. He
is respected neither by God, man, nor the devil. Let's be respectable.
If we must have something for nothing, let's go to cuttin' throats, or
boldly an' openly an' without shame go into the railroad business.
Then we might have our mansions, our horses, an' our hounds.
Whether we died in bed or on the gallows, we should be honored in
song an' story, like Captain Kidd.”
He gaily sang a verse of the ballad, very familiar in the days of
which I am telling:

“Jim Fisk was a man, wore his heart on his sleeve,

No matter what people might say,
And he did all his deeds—both the good and the
bad—
In the broad, open light of the day.
If a man was in trouble Jim helped him along
To drive the grim wolf from the door;
He often did right, and he often did wrong,
But he always remembered the poor.

“That's the thing!” he went on. “Cut the throats of the people,
grab a million, an' throw back a thousand for charity.
“As it is, we are neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. Satan scorns our aid.
I, for one, resent it. After all, a man of my gifts an' attainments
deserves some recognition. Le's resign our commissions in his army
an' go in for reform.
“Le's take up the idee o' givin' somethin' fer somethin', an' see
how that 'll work. In my opinion, it 'll pay better. For one thing, we
shall not have much competition in Griggsby. Of course, there are
the churches, but they are busy with the sins of the Philistines an'
Amalekites an' the distant heathen.
“Satan has made Griggsby his head-quarters as bein' more
homelike than any other part of the universe. That is the place to
begin operations. We'll be lonesome an' unpopular, but we'll raze hell
—I mean, of course, that we'll cause it to move from Griggsby.
There is nothing else for us to do. We are driven to it. Griggsby is
untouched; it is virgin soil. As we have been coming along I have
been counting on my fingers the young men of good families who
under my eye have gone down to untimely an' dishonored graves in
that little village. There are twenty-six that I can think of who have
followed the leading lights to perdition. Of course, there are more,
but that is enough. It's a ghastly harvest, boys. First, we will attack
the leading lights; we will put them out.”
Henry and I were rather deeply impressed by this talk, so new, so
different, so suited to our state of mind. It hit us straight between
the eyes.
I was in a bad way, and dreadfully worried, without a cent for
books or tuition or spending money, or the courage to appeal to my
father.
“I've got some money in my pocket, boys,” he went on. “If I could
only buy The Little Corporal [our weekly paper] it would be just the
jaw bone with which to slay the Philistines. Wholesome publicity is
the weapon we need. With it we could both demolish an' build up.”
Black clouds had covered the sky, and now we were walking in
darkness, with a damp wind coming out of the west. We were some
miles from the village of Griggsby when a drenching rain began to
fall. We could see a light in a window close by the road, and we
made for it.
A woman timidly opened the door as we rapped. Smead knew her.
“Sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Bradshaw,” said he. “Where is Bill?”
“He an' Sam Reynolds went over to Diddlebury Fair,” said she.
“Well, it is time the prize pumpkins were rollin' home,” said
Smead; “but I'm 'fraid we have rolled about as far as we can tonight.
A heavy rain has set in, an' we're nearly wet through.”
“We ain't much to offer you,” said the woman, “but if one o' you
can sleep with the hired man there's a bed for the other two
upstairs.”
“Do you think the hired man would sleep with me?” asked Smead,
in playful astonishment.
“I guess so,” said the woman.
“Well, if you don't think he'd be offended, if he wouldn't git mad
an' throw me out, I'd take it as a great compliment to sleep with the
hired man.”
The woman put aside her sewing, rose wearily, lit a candle, and
went upstairs to make the bed for Henry and me. She moved heavily
in big shoes. Her face was pale and care-worn, her hands were
knotted with toil. She was another slave.
“Her girl is away teaching school,” Smead explained to us. “One
boy has worked his way to the grave—worn out as ye'd wear out a
hoss. Another is working his way through college.”
We went to bed, but my sorrows kept me awake. Henry and I
discussed them in whispers for half an hour. He said that he felt sure
his sister Florence could lend us some money. Their bank account
was in her name.
He fell asleep by and by, but I lay thinking of Florence and of my
folly. I could hear Mrs. Bradshaw singing softly downstairs as she
rocked in her sewing-chair. Near midnight I heard a carriage, and
soon there was an entrance at the front door. Then I heard the
woman speak in a low tone, and the angry answer of the man.
Had it come to this, he said, with an oath. A man couldn't do as
he liked in his own house? He would see. Then he proceeded to
break the furniture. Oh, the men were always at the bat in those
days, and the women chasing the ball!
When we left in the morning, on a muddy road, Mr. Smead said to
us:
 “That man is another Simon Legree. The women are mostly slaves
about here. If they could have their way, how long do you suppose
the leading lights would be leading us? What would become of the
trottin'-hoss an' the half-mile road to bankruptcy, an' perdition an'
the red noses?
“Now, look at me. I went an' grabbed the earnings o' my wife an'
children an' staked 'em on a hoss. Not that I've anything agin the
hoss; hosses would be all right if it wa'n't for their associatin' with
men. You put a five-thousan'-dollar hoss in the company of a ten-
dollar man, an' the reputation o' the hoss is bound to suffer. If it's
hard on a hoss, it's harder on a woman.
“Boys, I shall not buy the Corporal. I shall give every dollar in my
pocket to Mrs. Smead an' throw in myself. It ain't much, but it may
be more.”
That week he lettered a placard with great pains, and had it
framed and hung in the “drawing-room,” and it said:
Proclamation of D. W. Smead:
In the name of God, amen. I hereby declare my wife to be a free
woman and entitled to the rights of a human being in my home; the
same right that I have to be wise or foolish. She shall have a part of
the money that she earns by her own labor, and the right to rest
when she is weary, and to enjoy a share of my abundant leisure. All
persons are warned against harboring or trusting me any further at
her expense.
 CHAPTER V

T
HE physical as well as the mental and moral boundaries of the
community of Griggsby, in northern New England, were fitted
to inspire eloquence. The town lay between two mountain
ranges crowned with primeval forests, and near the shore of a
beautiful lake, with the Canadian line a little north of it. There lived
among us a lawyer from the state of Maine who had sung of its
“forests, lakes, and rivers, and the magnificent sinuosities of its
coast,” but he had been silenced by Colonel Buckstone's “towering,
cloud-capped, evergreen galleries above the silver floor of our noble
lake.”
There were also our mental and moral boundaries; on the east,
hard times and history; on the west, the horse-traders of York State,
mingled with wild animals and backed by pathless woods; on the
north, the Declaration of Independence; on the south, the
Democratic party; while above was a very difficult heaven, and
beneath a wide open and most accessible hell.
Our environment had some element that appealed to every
imagination, and was emphasized by the solemn responsibilities of
the time. Our ancient enemies in the South had begun to threaten
the land under the leadership of Seymour and Blair. The oratory of
New England was sorely taxed.
My own imagination had been touched by all these influences, and
by another—the dear and beautiful girl of whom I have said not half
enough. There was no flower in all the gardens of Griggsby so
graceful in form or so beautiful in color as Florence Dunbar. I felt a
touch of the tender passion every time I looked into her eyes. No,
she was not of the “sweet Alice” type; she was too full-blooded and
strong-armed for that. She never entered a churchyard without
being able to walk out of it, and if she had loved “Ben Bolt” she
would have got him, to his great happiness and advantage. She was
a modest, fun-loving, red-cheeked, sweet-souled girl, with golden
hair and hazel eyes, and seventeen when first I saw her. Candor
compels me to admit that she had a few freckles, but I remember
that I liked the look of them; they had come of the wind and the
sunlight.
The father of my chum Henry and his sister Florence had gone
West from Griggsby with his bride in the early fifties, and had made
a fortune. Florence and her brother had grown up on a ranch, and
had been sent back to enjoy the educational disadvantages of
Griggsby. They could ride like Indians, and their shooting had filled
us with astonishment. With a revolver Florence could hit a half dollar
thrown in the air before it touched the ground.
Her brother Henry was two years older, and as many inches taller
than I, and always in my company, as I have said. He had begun to
emulate the leading lights of the neighborhood. He and Ralph
Buckstone, the handsome and gifted son of the great Colonel, were
friends and boon companions.
Having been chastened by misfortune, like the great Dan'l
Webster Smead, and being in dire need of money, Henry and I went
straight to Florence's room the morning of our return from the horse
races at Diddlebery, and confessed our ruin and the folly that had
led to it. Henry urged me to do it, and said that he would do all the
talking, for I told him that I would ask no favor of Florence—coward
that I was.
She was kind, but she added to our conviction of guilt a sense of
idiocy which was hard to bear. I secretly resolved to keep my brain
unspotted by suspicion thereafter, whatever might happen to my
soul. We gladly promised to be good. We would have given our
notes for a million acts of virtue.
“We are for reform,” I assured her. “Henry and Mr. Smead and I
have had a long talk about ourselves and the village. We are going
to do what we can to improve the place. He spoke of buying The
Little Corporal and drowning out the gamblers and drunkards with
publicity.”
 “That would be fun!” she exclaimed. “I will write to my father
about that. Maybe it's lucky after all that you have had this trouble. I
am grateful to you, Havelock, and I am going to help you, but you
—” She hesitated, and I was quick to say: “I will not take your help
unless you will let me return the money. I can work Saturdays in the
mill and do it.”
“Oh, don't think of it again!” she said, with sympathy.
“I must think of it,” was my answer, “and with God's help I will not
be so unfair to you again.”
She did not know how deeply I felt the words, and added:
“I am afraid that Mr. Hall may send you both home.”
That, indeed, was our great fear.
I have tried to make it dear that there were some good men in
Griggsby; and I must not fail to tell of one of them, the Rev.
Appleton Hall, head of the academy, a plain, simple, modest citizen.
What a splendid figure of a man he was—big, strong-armed, hard-
handed, with black eyes and a beautiful, great head crowned with a
wavy mass of blonde hair. That and its heavy, curling beard were as
yellow as fine gold. What a tower of rugged strength and fatherly
kindness! We loved the touch of his hand and the sound of his voice
—when we did not fear them. As he stood with his feet in the soil of
his garden and his collar loose at his throat he reminded me of that
man of old of whom it was written: “A thousand shall fall at thy side,
and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.”
He fought against the powers of darkness for the sake of the
boys. He was handicapped; he could not denounce the great men of
the village by name as pestilential enemies of decency and order.
Perhaps that should have been done by the churches. Old “App”
Hall, as some called him, warned and watched us; but, with his
rugged figure, his old-fashioned clothes, and his farmer dialect, he
had not the appeal—the darling appeal of Websterians like Griggs
and Colonel Buckstone. However, there was something fatherly
about him that made it easy to confess both our truancy and our
money loss. Of course, he forgave us, but with stern advice, which
did not get under our jackets, as had that of Dan'l Webster Smead.
He said we were fools; but we knew that, and would have admitted
more.
I began to attend to business as a student, but Henry went on
with his skylarking. Dan'l Webster Smead went to work buying
produce for the Boston market, and spent every evening at home.
He got his wife a hired girl, and the poor woman soon had a happier
look in her face. The children wore new clothes, and a touch of the
buoyant spirit of the racer Montravers, now cast out of his life, soon
entered the home of Smead.
Ralph Buckstone and I had become the special favorites of
Appleton Hall. Florence had managed to keep me out of mischief for
some time. Naturally, my love for her had led to the love of decency
and honor, which meant that I must do the work set before me and
keep on fairly good terms with myself. It was Florence, I am sure,
who had had a like effect upon Ralph. We took no part, thereafter, in
the ranker deviltry of the boys and did fairly good work in school.
One evening Ralph came to my room and told me that he had had
a quarrel with his father. It seemed that a clever remark of Florence
about the last spree of the Colonel had reached his ears. The
Colonel, boiling with indignation, had made some slighting reference
to her and all other women in the presence of his son. High words
and worse had followed, in the course of which the sacred, gold-
headed cane of the Colonel, presented to him by the Republican
electors of the town, had been splintered in a violent gesture. The
cane had been used, not for assault, but for emphasis. Ralph had
been blamed by the Colonel for the loss of his temper and the loss
of his cane. The great man might have forgiven the former, but the
latter went beyond his power of endurance. So he turned the boy
out of doors, and Ralph came directly to my room, where his father
found and forgave him with great dignity in the morning, and bade
him return to his home.
There was some drunken brawling in the streets by night, and
now and then a memorable battle, followed by prosecution and
repairs. About then Appleton Hall gave a lecture on the morals of
Griggsby, which was the talk of the school and the village for a
month or more. In it were the words about Daniel Webster and the
first Bunker Hill oration which I quoted at the beginning of this little
history. People began to wake up.
Our preachers came back from Samaria and Egypt, “from Africa's
sunny fountains and India's coral strands,” and began to think about
Griggsby. At last they seemed to recognize that foreign heathens
were inferior to the home-made article; that they were not to be
compared with the latter in finish and general efficiency. They turned
their cannons of oratory and altered the range of their fire. A public
meeting was held in the town hall, and the curses of the village were
discussed and berated. A chapter of the Cadets of Temperance was
organized, and Ralph and I joined. We carried torch lights in a small
procession led by Samantha Simpson, and cheered and shouted and
had a grand time; but we failed to overawe the enemy. Nothing
resulted that could be discerned by the naked contemporary eye
save the ridicule that was heaped upon us. If one wanted to create a
laugh in a public speech he would playfully refer to the Cadets of
Temperance. Good people were wont to say, “What's the use?”
The people are a patient ox. A big woolen mill polluted the stream
that flowed through the village. It was our main water supply. The
people permitted the pollution until the water was not fit to use.
Then they went back to the wells and springs again. There was
some futile talk about the shame of it. Letters of complaint were
printed in The Little Corporal, our local paper. By and by a meeting
was held and a committee appointed to see what could be done.
They made sundry suggestions, most of which were ridiculed, and
the committee succeeded only in getting themselves disliked.
As a matter of fact, the leading merchants and lawyers, and even
the churches, derived a profit from the presence of the woolen mill.
Then, too, about every man in Griggsby had his own imperishable
views, and loved to ridicule those of his neighbor. Indolence,
jealousy, and conceit were piled in the path of reform, which was
already filled with obstacles.
 Now, in those evil days a thing happened which I wish it were not
my duty to recall. Unpleasant gossip had gone about concerning
Florence and me. As to its source I had my suspicions. Colonel
Buckstone had seen us sitting together by the roadside adjoining the
meadow where we had gathered flowers. To Colonel Buckstone that
was a serious matter, especially in view of the fact that Florence had
expressed strong disapproval of his general conduct. Men like him
are ever trying to hold the world in leash and to pull it back to the
plane of their own morals.
Griggsby was like most country towns. The county fair had
passed; the trotters had retired; Colonel Buckstone had not slid off
his eminence for some time, and the material for conversation had
run low; somebody had to be sacrificed. The inventive talent of the
village got busy. It needed a gay Lothario, and I was nominated and
elected without opposition, save that of my own face. It ought to
have turned the tide, but it did not. My decency was all assumed. At
heart I was a base and subtle villain.
Florence naturally turned to me for advice, and I felt the situation
bitterly.
“You poor thing!” said she, with a tearful laugh. “I'm sorry for you,
but don't worry. Your honor shall be vindicated.”
“I'll fight the Colonel,” I said.
“You shall not fight him,” said she. “Go and fight somebody else. I
want to save him for myself.”
That is the way she took it, bravely, calmly. She did not ask any
one to be sorry for her. A less courageous spirit would have given up
and gone home in disgust; but she stood her ground, with the
fatherly encouragement of Appleton Hall, and stored the lightning
that by and by was to fall from her hand upon the appalled citizens
of Griggsby.
I was at work in my room one evening when Dan'l Webster Smead
came to my door.
“Florence Dunbar and a friend have called to see you,” he said.
“They are waiting in the parlor.”
 I went down to meet them at once. Florence and Miss Elizabeth
Collins, Colonel Buckstone's stenographer, rose to greet me.
Neither I nor any other man knew at that time that Florence had
done her family a great favor when the Collins home had been
threatened by a mortgage. Years after it helped me to understand
the conduct of Elizabeth. In a moment I had heard their story.
Before going home that evening the Colonel had dictated a letter
to Roswell Dunbar, Florence's father, calculated to fill his mind with
alarm and cause him to recall her from Griggsby. Miss Collins had
left the office with her employer, who had put the letter with others
in his overcoat pocket, intending to mail them in the morning, the
post office having closed for the night. She said that the Colonel had
been imbibing freely that day and had gone to the Palace Hotel for
supper.
“I have decided to start for home in the morning,” said Florence.
“I must reach there before the letter does, and probably I shall not
come back.”
“Don't go,” I said. “I'll attend to the letter.”
“How?” she asked.
“I don't know, but in some way,” I said, with the strong confidence
of youth in its own capacity. “I only ask that you give me permission
to consult my friend Dan'l Webster Smead in strict confidence. It
won't do to let the Colonel drive us out of town. He is the one to be
driven out.”
Florence agreed with me, and I walked home with the girls, and
left them in a better frame of mind.
I asked Smead to come to my room with me, and laid the facts
before him. He sat smoking thoughtfully, and said not a word until I
had finished. Then he said in that slow drawl of his:
“I take it that you are willing to suffer, if need be, for the sake of
decency and fair women.”
“I am,” was my response.
 “Then again I ask you to follow me,” he said, rising; and together
we left his house as the old town dock was striking nine; Mr. Smead
wore his great overcoat with its fur collar and cuds.
“The Colonel has often admired it,” said he. “He's a great swapper
when he's drinking, and perhaps—”
“I shall fight the Colonel, if necessary,” I suggested.
“Hush, boy! Let us first try eloquence,” said he. “It is only the
vulgar mind that resorts to muscle when the tongue may do as well.
Eloquence, my dear boy, is the jimmy of Griggsby; it is also the gold
brick, the giant powder, the nitroglycerin of Griggsby. Let us see
what it can accomplish.” We went on in silence, and soon heard
sounds of revelry in a bar-room. We stopped and listened a moment,
after which he led me farther up the street.
“The Colonel began to slide from his eminence to-day,” my
companion whispered. “I doubt not he is still sliding, and what I
hope to hear are sundry deep-voiced remarks about the 'witchin'
hour of night.”'
We came soon to the lighted windows of the Palace Hotel, through
which a loud and mirthful joy floated into the still night. We listened
again. I could hear the rumbling words, “When churchyards yawn
and graves give up their dead.”
“Those graves and churchyards are counterfeit,” Smead
whispered. “They have not the Buckstonian ring to them. Let's go in
for a minute.”
We entered. About the stove in the office was the usual crowd of
horsemen with meerschaum pipes. I took the only vacant chair by
the side of a maudlin old soldier who did chores for his keep, and
who addressed me with incoherent mumbles. The air was heavy
with tobacco smoke and the odor of rum and molasses. “Rat”
Emerson, a driver, was telling how he had worn out a faster horse
than his in the scoring and won a race. Through the open door of
the bar-room I could see a man with his glass raised, and hear him
saying in a stentorian tone:
 “Ye call me chief, and ye do well to call him chief who for twelve
long years has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the
broad empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his
arm.”
This tournament of orators was interrupted by Smead, who was
suddenly and almost simultaneously embraced by every member of
the group, while the barkeeper was preparing to minister to his
needs.
“Again I am in the grasp of the octopus of intemperance,” I heard
Smead say, whereat the others roared with laughter.
Soon he disengaged himself, and I saw him speaking to the
bartender. In a moment he came out, and we left the place together.
“Colonel Buckstone is taking the nine-thirty train to St.
Johnstown,” he whispered. “We must hurry and get aboard. There is
yet time.”
We ran to the depot and caught the train. Colonel Buckstone sat
near the center of the smoking-car with Thurst Giles, a town
drunkard, of Griggsby. Fortunately, we got a seat just behind them. I
remember that, of the two, Thurst was much the soberer. Shabby
and unshaven, he was an odd sort of extravagance for the imposing
Colonel to be indulging in. The latter was arrayed in broadcloth and
fine linen, and crowned with a beaver hat.
“Giles, I like you,” said Buckstone, in a thick, maudlin voice; “but,
sir, I feel constrained to remind you that in the matter of dress and
conduct you are damnably careless. You, sir, are in the unfortunate
position of a man climbing to a great height. You are all right as long
as you do not look down.”
Giles laughed, as did others near them.
“But be of good cheer,” the Colonel went on, as he passed him a
roll of greenbacks. “I appoint you Chancellor of the Exchequer, and
shall at once look after the improvement of your person. All I
demand of you is that you pay the bills and keep sober, sir. Do not
worry about me, but rest assured that I can drink enough for both of
us, and that your occupation as paymaster will be sufficient.”