He was like a skeleton tree, narrow and fleshless and without juice. He had a face like the head of an ax, and hardly wider, and a shock of black hair stiff and lifeless like the quills of a porcupine, and as erect. His eyes, though not intelligent, were brilliantly intent and hazel, the eyes of an avid and predatory beast. His shoulders, including his neck, were no more than sixteen inches broad, and his hips appeared even more meager. But he had gigantic hands, the hands of a strangler, and feet resembling long slabs of wood crudely fashioned. His skin was withered and deeply lined, and he possessed few teeth and those like fangs and stained with tobacco juice. He could have been aged from thirty to fifty. His impression on Joseph was of a creature of witless ferocity. But Bill was strong. A word from Mr. Healey and he lifted the delirious Haroun in his arms without strain and carried him from the depot. He smelled of dirt and rancid sow belly. His voice was soft and subservient to Mr. Healey, and never questioning. He wore a filthy dark blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up over brown tendons and elongated muscles, and blackish overalls, and nothing else. His feet were bare. A thin stream of tobacco saliva dribbled from a corner of his mouth. He had glanced once at Joseph and that glance was as opaque as wood, and as interested. He showed no wonder at the sight of Haroun. Apparently what Mr. Healey ordained was sufficient for him, however strange or foreign, and Joseph thought, He would kill on command. When he found out later that Bill had indeed killed he was not surprised. Everyone appeared to know Mr. Healey's fine carryall with its fringed top, for there was an empty circle about it. Not looking to right or left Bill carried Haroun to the vehicle, which was drawn by two fine gray marcs with silken tails and manes. He laid the boy along one side and tucked Joseph's coat about him, then climbed down and awaited his employer, looking for him with half-wild and doglikc eyes. Mr. Healey was a procession in himself, accepting greetings affably, bowing and doffing his hat to the ladies, smiling and joking and smoking one of his endless rich cigars. Joseph walked at his side and attracted no more attention than if he had been invisible. In the presence of the gorgeous Mr. Healey all other human beings, and particularly a shabby and ragged youth, disappeared. Bill tenderly helped Mr. Healey into the carryall, then seemed startled when Joseph followed as if the youth had not been encountered before. Then he climbed to his seat, struck the mare with his whip and the iron- shod wheels rolled off smartly. Seeing that Haroun rocked on the long opposite seat and was in danger of rolling off, Joseph braced the boy's middle with his boots. Haroun never ceased his feverish moaning, and Joseph watched him with an inscrutable expression. "He'll live, strong and healthy, and if he don't there's no loss," remarked Mr. Healey. "Look about you, Irish, you're in Titusville now and ain't that where you want to be? We brought some life to this hick town, and you'd think they'd be grateful, wouldn't you?" Joseph thought that Winfield had been barren and repulsive enough, but he saw that what the "outsiders" had made of a once lovely and charming village was nothing short of desecration-in the name of progress and money. An apparently new and raw community had grown up swiftly in the vicinity of the depot, and the cold northern sun glared without the softening effects of trees and grass on wooden walks. The carriage rolled over broken slabs of stone and long dusty planks laid roughly and in a haphazard fashion on bare packed earth. Cheap houses, still unpainted, fashioned of crude siding or logs, huddled sheepishly between noxious saloons and tawdry shops. Small copses of trees had been chopped down to make plots of grassless clay, waiting for new and ugly buildings, a number of them in various stages of construction, and being built without regard for gracious space, inviting vistas or even regularity. Some had already been finished and Mr. Healey pointed to them and said, "Our new op'ry houses. Lively every night 'til early morning. Liveliest places in town, 'cept for the whorehouses, which does a good business all the time. Saloons never empty, neither. liven Sundays," and he chuckled fatly. "We put this town on the railroad, that we did." The "outsiders," who had come to ravish and exploit and not to create homes and churches and flowered lawns, had only alleys and bare ground and broken barrels where there should have been gardens. Swarms of dirty children played on the walks and on the streets. "Work here for everybody, even the town folk," said Mr. Healey, with pride. "You should have seen it when I first come. Like a graveyard; no life. Nothing." Joseph looked up at the green hills, steep or sloping, which surrounded the village, and he thought of the beautiful hills of Ireland, which were no greener nor more inviting. Would they soon be destroyed also, and left desolate and denuded of all that soft serenity? Joseph considered what greedy men can do to the holy earth and the splendor of the world, and to the innocent creatures who inhabited it harmlessly and had their simple being apart from men. Man, he reflected, destroys everything and leaves a wasteland behind him, and congratulates himself that he has improved the earth instead of raping and scarring it. In his hand lay the ax of death and desolation. The desert which was the mind of man made a desert beyond that mind, fruitless and evil, filled with burning stone and vultures. Joseph was not accustomed to mourning the wickedness of his fellows, for he was innured to it, but he felt a surly rage against what he saw now and what he suspected had already been done in other communities. Forests, hills, mountains, rivers, and green streams had no protection in the face of rapacity. Was it possible that most men were blind and did not realize what they were doing to the only home they could ever know, and the only peace available to them? He said to Mr. Healey, "Do you live here, sir?" "Me? Hell, no. Got a house here where I stay in town, bought it cheap from some high-and-mighty snot-nose never worked a day in his life and went bankrupt. Hard to believe in this here territory where there's so much lumber, and salt mines and good land, but he managed, that he did. Feckless. That was before the oil come in. I live in Philadelphia and sometimes Pittsburgh, where I got a lot of interests, too." Joseph reflected that Mr. Healey told as little about his affairs as did he, Joseph, and he smiled sourly to himself. "Now here's the square, as they call it, and the City Hall, and the best stores and the law fellers' offices, and the doctors," said Mr. Healey as the carryall entered the square. It was apparent that once this small section of land had been as entrancing and gently lovely as any other spot in the vicinity, for trees still stood on it in cool dark clusters, their leaves glittering in the sunlight, and there were gravel paths winding through dead earth which formerly had been green and soft. There was a broken fountain in the center, and a stone plinth with carved words on it, and nothing else except clay and weeds. The square was surrounded by buildings which still hinted of grace before the "outsiders" had come, ravening here, of fieldstone, and the windows were still bravely polished, but there was a sad look about them as if they were shrinking.
The square was full of traffic, high bicycles, buggies, carryalls, hacks, surreys, and even a few handsome carriages of shining black lacquer with gorgeously painted scenes on their sides and drawn by lively horses in silver harness. People moved rapidly on the bald walks. The wind was strong, and it lifted the women's shawls and tossed their wide skirts and showed yards of ruffled petticoats, and bonnet ribbons streamed from bent heads. Men held their hats. Here the atmosphere was harsh with voices, the rattle of iron-shod wheels, the rumble of loaded wagons, and it smelled highly of manure. Doors swung open and banged vehemently. Everything was much louder than in drab and staid Winfield, where vice and avarice lived quietly. Joseph suspected that here they lived noisily and with gusto and he wondered if that were not an improvement. At least there was something rawly innocent about open vileness. The air of festival and anticipation was almost palpable here, and all faces reflected polished greed and lively busyness, even the faces of young girls. Everyone seemed to skip, as if about to break into an eager and laughing run, full of excitement and hurry. Voices, greeting others, were quick and breathless, and men raced off replacing lifted hats. The earn-all moved briskly towards the opposite end of the square and suddenly Joseph, half-disbelieving, caught the scent of grass and fresh trees and roses and honeysuckle. The carryall swung down the far street and at once everything changed abruptly. Pretty small houses and lawns and gardens and tall elms and oaks appeared as if one walked from a prison yard into comparative and blooming heaven. The cobbled street began to broaden, as if smiling as it revealed treasures, and the houses became bigger and taller, the lawns wider, the trees higher and more profuse and the gardens luxurious. This area was not Green Hills in the least, but to Joseph it was a refreshment to the eye and a green touch on the spirit. "Pretty, ain't it?" said Mr. Healey, who noticed everything. "Old families. Own lots of farmland, good rich lumber farms, and fields where we're drilling. Been here before the Revolution, and sometimes I think none of them ever died but just live on like mummies or something, or what is that thing that turns to stone?" "Petrified wood," said Joseph. "You're right smart, ain't you?" said Mr. Healey, with a little friendly rancor. "Never held it against a man, though. What else do you know besides everything, Joe?" "I've read a lot most of my life," said Joseph. "And I write a fine hand." "Is that so? Need an honest man to keep my books. Maybe you'll do." "No," said Joseph. "I'm not going to be a clerk in some dark office. I am going to drive one of the wagons to the oil fields. I hear the wages are very good." "You want to blow all those brains of yours to kingdom come, eh?" Joseph shrugged. "Better that than live the way I have been living, Mr. Healey. I need a great deal of money. I want to make my fortune. The little life is not for me. That is why I came to Titusville. As I told you before, I'll do anything-for money." Mr. Healey squinted at him. "It's that way, eh?" "Yes," said Joseph. "Reckon I can use you," said Mr. Healey. "I'll think on it. But don't despise ledgers. You can learn a lot that way." He thought a moment or two, as he clung, swaying, to the straps of the vehicle. Then he said with a positive air, "The law for you, boyo. That's the ticket." "Law?" said Joseph, his small blue eyes widening in incredulity. "Why not? Legal plunder, that's what it is. Don't dirty your hands, and gold sticks to 'em. Other people's gold." His body shook with his fruity laughter. "It ain't necessary to be a lawyer to go into politics, but it helps. Don't look at me as if I'm demented, boyo. I know what I'm talking about. We'll put you to study law with some fine thief of a lawyer, and your fortune's made." He slapped his fat thighs happily. "I need a private lawyer, that I do. "Of course," said Mr. Healey, "that ain't tomorrow. In the meantime, we can make a good thing together, you working for me." "At what?" "My interests," said Mr. Healey. "Collecting, managing, and such. Had a feller up to a month ago and he stole me blind. Almost. Got sent up for twenty years and he was almost hanged." He looked at Joseph intently. "In places like this, they ain't soft on thieves-except legal ones. Ever stole anything, Joe?" Joseph immediately thought of Mr. Squibbs. He said, "I borrowed some money-once. At six percent interest." "All cleared up now?" He winked knowingly. But Joseph remained without expression. "No. And that is why I've got to make a lot of money, soon." "Why'd you borrow the money?" Joseph considered him. "Mr. Healey," he said at last, "that is my own affair. I've not questioned you about your affairs." "Sassy tongue on you, don't you?" said Mr. Healey. "Well, I like a man with spirit. Knew you had guts minute I saw you. Hate snivelers. Would you say you was an honest man, Joe?" Joseph smiled his cold and ironic smile. "If it is to my interest, yes." Mr. Healey laughed. "Knew you was a born lawyer! Well, here we are." It was a ponderous three-story house, baronial, in Joseph's first appraisal, of rose brick and white stone, tall if narrow, with pedimented windows and white shutters, and a wide porte-cochere of brick and snowy pillars. It did not have the smooth grandeur of Tom Hennessey's house in warm Green Hills, but it had a hard and compact strength, and lace curtains and velvet hung against polished glass and the doors were double and white and high. It stood like a wall, a sentinel, somewhat forbidding, beyond a rolling lawn, and a winding gravel driveway moved towards it past a clump of stiff green poplars, sentinels themselves. No flower beds softened the hard light on the grass. Joseph could glimpse a glass conservatory in the rear, and a number of outbuildings including a stable. The house spoke of age and solidity and money. "Nice, ain't it?" said Mr. Healey as the carryall rolled towards the portecochere. "It does me well when I'm here. Got it for a song." The carryall passed under the roof of the porte-cochere and the door flew open and on the threshold stood a young lady of uncommon beauty and obvious vivacity. Joseph's mouth opened in surprise. Mr. Healey's daughter? She was no more than twenty, if even of those years, and had a lovely figure which her rich gown of wine-red merino draped over enormous hoops could not entirely hide. There were deep cascades of vveblike lace about her throat and wrists, and the throat and wrists were remarkable for their whiteness and delicacy, and were jeweled. Her pointed face glowed and dimpled, and her checks were the color of apricots and so were her beautiful lips which had parted in a smile of great delight, showing her square white teeth. Her nose was impertinent, her eyes extraordinarily large and shiningly brown, with shadowy long lashes. Glossy ringlets of brown hair tumbled to her shoulders. She had a look of intense life and gusto, and she stood on the middle step of a white flight of four, laughingly holding out her arms and regarding Mr. Healey with radiant glee. He climbed from the carryall and bowed and lifted his hat, and shouted, "Miss Emmy! God bless you, my child!" Joseph had not been prepared for such a house nor for such a girl, and he stood dumbly beside Mr. Healey, conscious as never before of his shabby state and dirty boots and soiled shirt and scarf, and hatless head, his cardboard box under his arm. The girl looked at him with open surprise, at his shaggy mass of russet hair tumbled and uncombed, at his pale and freckled face, at his general air of indigence. Then she ran clown the rest of the stairs and flung herself, laughing and trilling, into Mr. Healey's arms. He kissed and embraced her with enthusiasm, then smacked her on the backside with pleasure. "Miss Emmy," he said, "this here is Joe. My new friend, foe, who's thrown in his lot with me. Look at him, now: Gawking like a chicken with the roup. Never saw such a pretty sight as you, Miss Emmy, as he sees now, and his mouth's awatering." "Pish!" exclaimed Miss Emmy, in the prettiest voice, like that of a happy child. "I swear, sir, that you make me blush!" She dropped a light little curtsey, full of demureness, in Joseph's general direction, and he bowed his head stiffly, full of silent bewilderment. "Joe," said Mr. Healey, "this here is Miss Emmy. Miss Emmy, love, I don't rightly know his name, but he calls himself Joe Francis, and he's got a close mouth and so we make the best of it." Sunlight flashed on the glossiness of Miss Emmy's ringlets and on the side of her bright cheek and now she looked at Joseph with more interest, seeing, as Mr. Healey had already seen, the latent young virility of him and the capacity for violence about his eyes and wide thin mouth. "Mr. Francis," she murmured. Bill appeared with the unconscious Haroun in his arms, Joseph's greatcoat swathing the slight body. Miss Emmy was astounded. She looked to Mr. Healey for enlightenment. "Just a young spalpeen, penniless beggar from the train," he explained. "Joe here's friend. Think we got a bed for him, and a bed for Joe?" "Why, Mr. Healey, sir, it is your house and there is room for all-for all your friends," said the girl. But her fair brow puckered in bafflement. "I will tell Miz Murray." She swung about, hoops and ringlets and lace swaying, and ran up the stairs and into the house, as blithely as a kitten.