The Clarion

Clarion, The

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Clarion, by Samuel Hopkins
Adams This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and
with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Clarion
Author: Samuel Hopkins Adams
Illustrator: W. D. Stevens
Release Date: August 5, 2005 [EBook #16447]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
CLARION ***

Produced by Robert Shimmin, Robert Ledger and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

[Illustration: "THEN IT'S ALL LIES! LIES AND MURDER!"]

THE CLARION
BY

SAMUEL HOPKINS ADAMS
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W.D. STEVENS

_Published October 1914_
TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER MYRON ADAMS WHO
LIVED AND DIED A SOLDIER OF IDEALS THIS BOOK IS
REVERENTLY INSCRIBED

CONTENTS
I. THE ITINERANT
II. OUR LEADING CITIZEN
III. ESMÉ
IV. THE SHOP
V. THE SCION
VI. LAUNCHED
VII. THE OWNER
VIII. A PARTNERSHIP
IX. GLIMMERINGS
X. IN THE WAY OF TRADE
XI. THE INITIATE
XII. THE THIN EDGE

XIII. NEW BLOOD
XIV. THE ROOKERIES
XV. JUGGERNAUT
XVI. THE STRATEGIST
XVII. REPRISALS
XVIII. MILLY
XIX. DONNYBROOK
XX. THE LESSER TEMPTING
XXI. THE POWER OF PRINT
XXII. PATRIOTS
XXIII. CREEPING FLAME
XXIV. A FAILURE IN TACTICS
XXV. STERN LOGIC
XXVI. THE PARTING
XXVII. THE GREATER TEMPTING
XXVIII. "WHOSE BREAD I EAT"
XXIX. CERTINA CHARLEY
XXX. ILLUMINATION
XXXI. THE VOICE OF THE PROPHET
XXXII. THE WARNING

XXXIII. THE GOOD FIGHT
XXXIV. VOX POPULI
XXXV. TEMPERED METAL
XXXVI. THE VICTORY
XXXVII. MCGUIRE ELLIS WAKES UP
XXXVIII. THE CONVERT

ILLUSTRATIONS
"THEN IT'S ALL LIES! LIES AND MURDER!"
HELP AND CURE ARE AT THEIR BECK AND CALL
"KILL IT," SHE URGED SOFTLY
"DON'T GO NEAR HIM. DON'T LOOK"

THE CLARION
CHAPTER I
THE ITINERANT
Between two flames the man stood, overlooking the crowd. A soft
breeze, playing about the torches, sent shadows billowing across the
massed folk on the ground. Shrewdly set with an eye to theatrical effect,
these phares of a night threw out from the darkness the square bulk of
the man's figure, and, reflecting garishly upward from the naked
hemlock of the platform, accentuated, as in bronze, the bosses of the
face, and gleamed deeply in the dark, bold eyes. Half of Marysville
buzzed and chattered in the park-space below, together with many

representatives of the farming country near by, for the event had been
advertised with skilled appeal: cf. the "Canoga County Palladium,"
April 15, 1897, page 4.
The occupant of the platform, having paused, after a self-introductory
trumpeting of professional claims, was slowly and with an eye to
oratorical effect moistening lips and throat from a goblet at his elbow.
Now, ready to resume, he raised a slow hand in an indescribable
gesture of mingled command and benevolence. The clamor subsided to
a murmur, over which his voice flowed and spread like oil subduing
vexed waters.
"Pain. Pain. Pain. The primal curse, the dominant tragedy of life. Who
among you, dear friends, but has felt it? You men, slowly torn upon the
rack of rheumatism; you women, with the hidden agony gnawing at
your breast" (his roving regard was swift, like a hawk, to mark down
the sudden, involuntary quiver of a faded slattern under one of the
torches); "all you who have known burning nights and pallid mornings,
I offer you r-r-r-release!"
On the final word his face lighted up as from an inner fire of inspiration,
and he flung his arms wide in an embracing benediction. The crowd,
heavy-eyed, sodden, wondering, bent to him as the torch-fires bent to
the breath of summer. With the subtle sense of the man who wrings his
livelihood from human emotions, he felt the moment of his mastery
approaching. Was it fully come yet? Were his fish securely in the net?
Betwixt hovering hands he studied his audience.
His eyes stopped with a sense of being checked by the steady regard of
one who stood directly in front of him only a few feet away; a
solid-built, crisply outlined man of forty, carrying himself with a
practical erectness, upon whose face there was a rather disturbing
half-smile. The stranger's hand was clasped in that of a little girl,
wide-eyed, elfin, and lovely.
"Release," repeated the man of the torches. "Blessed release from your
torments. Peace out of pain."

The voice was of wonderful quality, rich and unctuous, the labials
dropping, honeyed, from the lips. It wooed the crowd, lured it,
enmeshed it. But the magician had, a little, lost confidence in the power
of his spell. His mind dwelt uneasily upon his well-garbed auditor.
What was he doing there, with his keen face and worldly, confident
carriage, amidst those clodhoppers? Was