: Over the border by Robertson Morgan - Short stories American; American fiction 20th century

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rse than slavery--responsible for more crime, sin, sorrow, suffering, and murder than anything that ever afflicted the human race."

"Well," I answered, somewhat amazed, "what will you substitute for marriage, admitting that what you say may be true?"

"Association of two who love, until each is tired of the association, then separation."

"And do you apply such a code to your interest in Miss Madison?"

"Of course; but she's old-fashioned in her notions. Likes to be loved, but wants to be married. She resists my philosophy."

"She's right, you young scoundrel," I said. "Get out of my office."

My anger, of course, has no place in this story, and I soon forgot it, trusting in the girl's nobility of soul; and a letter from Dunbar, the first he had written, roused my hopes that there might soon be an antidote for Lance. It was a long communication, written from Liverpool, which apprised me that he had obtained a first mate's license and was in a fair way soon to obtain command; but the diction and style of that letter surprised me. With all my acquirements, coming of a university education and a daily correspondence with educated people, I could not have edited that letter. It was a masterpiece of English, and I answered it, giving him the news of Miss Madison that he asked for, and advising him to appear.

But he did not appear; and four years went on--years of fruitless suit on the part of Lance, and fruitful pursuit on the part of Dunbar, as evidenced by his letters. Miss Madison remained invulnerable; Lance steadily disintegrated, becoming more masculine, more dissipated, more fixed in his reactionary philosophy of life. He resigned from the navy two months after his return and remained in the small town, except for occasional visits to New York. His father died, and with all the property in his control, he bought a schooner yacht, and invited me to a trip--which invitation I declined. Dunbar had become a first mate, and later a captain of a small bark which, in a letter, he said would sail from Honolulu for New York. I hoped he would come home, for in every letter he had written was the request for news of Ella Madison, and his assurance of a soul-born worship of her. I knew something of feminine psychology. I felt that here was the need of a strong man; for in my few talks with the girl I had not impressed her with Lance's unworthiness.

Lance continued in his reversion to type. His dissipated habits brought him into contact with men who expounded only the physical. He had a fight, in the small town, with a bartender, and actually thrashed the man--a feat I would not have accredited to him. Again he stopped a runaway horse and saved from certain death the occupants of the carriage. He bore these honors modestly, but I could not help speculating upon the question as to whether or not he was drawing upon his affinity, Dunbar, a sailor who risked his life daily in the earning of his daily bread. Dunbar's increasing refinement, as evidenced by his letters, bore out such a speculation, and it seemed that each, without knowing the other, was benefiting by the psychic association. But Miss Madison the link between the two, who was lifting Dunbar up and dragging Lance down, remained normal, uninfluenced by Lance and unremembering of Dunbar; for, in a short talk with her, I found that she had forgotten him.

Now Sheriff Madison died, and as the girl was without friends or relatives, I took her into my home as a member of the family, satisfied to have such a rare and beauteous creature under my care, and glad of my vested power to keep Lance at a distance. But it came too late; I noticed her abstraction, then saw tears in her eyes, and, long before my professional knowledge told me, I guessed that Lance had won.

There was a stormy scene when I met him, upbraided him, and appealed to his manhood, and was met by flippant philosophy, ridicule, and defiance. In that talk I caught him by the throat and only relinquished my grip as I realized that his death would not avail. He must marry her, I thought, and that thought saved his miserable life. He went out, angry at me and insistent that his position was justified by human experience.

I read this to Miss Madison. She was pleased at Lance's heroism, but expressed no interest in Captain Dunbar, the last to leave his sinking ship.

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