Produced by Al Haines

A MAN AND A WOMAN

By STANLEY WATERLOO

[A NEW EDITION]

Published by

Way & Williams

Chicago

MDCCCXCVII

CHAPTER

I PROLOGUE II CLOSE TO NATURE III BOY, BIRD, AND SNAKE IV GROWING UP WITH THE COUNTRY V GRIM-VISAGED WAR VI THE SPEARING OF ALFRED VII HOW FICTION MADE FACT VIII NEW FORCES AT WORK IX MRS. POTIPHAR X THE BUILDING OF THE FENCE XI SETTLING WITH WOODELL XII INCLINATION AGAINST CONSCIENCE XIII FAREWELL TO THE FENCE XIV A RUGGED LOST SHEEP XV A STRANGE WORLD XVI THE REALLY UGLY DUCKLING XVII "EH, BUT SHE'S WINSOME" XVIII THE WOMAN XIX PURGATORY XX TWO FOOLS XXI "MY LITTLE RHINOCEROS-BIRD" XXII TWO FOOLS STILL XXIII JUST A PANG XXIV "AS TO THOSE OTHERS" XXV NATURE AGAIN XXVI ADVENTURES MANIFOLD XXVII THE HOUSE WONDERFUL XXVIII THE APE XXIX THE FIRST DISTRICT XXX THE NINTH WARD XXXI THEIR FOOLISH WAYS XXXII THE LAW OF NATURE XXXIII WHITEST ASHES

A MAN AND A WOMAN.

CHAPTER I.

PROLOGUE.

But for a recent occurrence I should certainly not be telling the storyof a friend, or, rather, I should say, of two friends of mine. Whatthat occurrence was I will not here indicate—it is unnecessary; but ithas not been without its effect upon my life and plans. If it be askedby those who may read these pages under what circumstances it becamepossible for me to acquire such familiarity with certain scenes andincidents in the lives of one man and one woman,—scenes and incidentswhich, from their very nature, were such that no third person couldfigure in them,—I have only to explain that Grant Harlson and I werefriends from boyhood, practically from babyhood, and that never, duringall our lives together, did a change occur in our relationship. He hastold me many things of a nature imparted by one man to another veryrarely, and only when each of the two feels that they are very closetogether in that which sometimes makes two men as one. He was proudand glad when he told me these things—they were but episodes, andoften trivial ones—and I was interested deeply. They added thedetails of a history much of which I knew and part of which I hadguessed at.

He was not quite the ordinary man, this Grant Harlson, close friend ofmine. He had an individuality, and his name is familiar to many peoplein the world. He has been looked upon by the tactful as but one of atype in a new nationality—a type with traits not yet clearly defined,a type not large, nor yet, thank God, uncommon—one of the best of thetype; to me, the best. A close friend perhaps is blind. No; he is notthat: he but sees so clearly that the world, with poorer view, may notalways agree with him.

I hardly know how to describe this same Grant Harlson. At this stageof my story it is scarcely requisite that I should, but the account isloose and vagrant and with no chronology. Physically, he was more thanmost men, six feet in height, deep of chest, broad-shouldered,strong-legged and strong-featured, and ever in good health, so far asall goes, save the temporary tax on recklessness nature so oftenlevies, and

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