A scheme like this he had prepared for “Enoch Crane”--a story which, like “Felix O’Day,” he had very much at heart. Once he had begun a novel it occupied his whole mind. He lived--as it were--with the characters he was developing, to the exclusion of all other work. He would talk to me constantly of their welfare or vicissitudes, and was often in grand good-humor when any of them had proved themselves worthy by their wit, their courage, or their good breeding. They all seemed to be old personal friends of his, whom by some chance I had never met. My father had written three chapters of “Enoch Crane” when his brief illness came. Thus there has remained to me as a legacy of his unquenchably youthful spirit an unfinished novel, which to reach his readers needed to be wrought out on the lines he had so carefully laid down with that untiring enthusiasm with which he undertook everything; and this--his last story--it has been my privileged task to complete. F. BERKELEY SMITH. NEW YORK, 1916. ILLUSTRATIONS Lamont was again beside her pleading to take her home _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE “I forbid you,” he cried, facing him savagely, “to drag that child’s name before this company” 210 “Well, neighbor, ain’t a minute late, am I?” 230 “Tell me you love me,” he insisted 298 ENOCH CRANE CHAPTER I Joe Grimsby stood on the door-mat--a very shabby and badly worn door-mat, I must say--trying to fit his key into the tiny slit which, properly punctured, shot back the bolt which loosened the door, admitting him to the hallway leading to his apartment on the third floor of No. 99 Waverly Place. “Somebody must have--no, here it is. Hello, Moses, is that you? I was just going to put my knee against it and----” The old negro janitor bowed low. “I wouldn’t do dat, sir; ’spec’ yo’ hand is a little unstiddy. You young gemmen gets dat way sometimes, ’specially when so much is goin’ on. Hold on till I turn up de gas. It gets dark so early, can’t find yo’ way up-stairs in de broad daylight, let alone de evenin’. I jes’ lighted a fire in yo’ room.” “Bully for you, Moses. And don’t forget to come up-stairs when I ring. Mr. Atwater in yet?” “No, sir; not as I knows on. Ain’t seen nuffin’ of him. ’Spec’ he’s a little mite how-come-you. I seen in de papers dat bofe on yo’ was at de big ball last night. Matilda was a-readin’ it out while I was a-brushin’ yo’ shoes.”