Produced by Al Haines THE COMMON LOT BY ROBERT HERRICK AUTHOR OF "THE WEB OF LIFE," "THIS REAL WORLD," ETC. New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. 1904 _All rights reserved_ COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1904. Reprinted October, 1904. Norwood Press J. B. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass, U.S.A. TO E. H. A. AND M. T. A. PART I THE WILL THE COMMON LOT CHAPTER I From time to time the door opened to admit some tardy person. Then the May sunlight without flooded the dim, long hall with a sudden radiance, even to the arched recess in the rear, where the coffin was placed. The late-comers sank into the crowd of black-coated men, who filled the hall to the broad stairs. Most of these were plainly dressed, with thick, grizzled beards and lined faces: they were old hands from the Bridge Works on the West Side, where they had worked many years for Powers Jackson. In the parlors at the left of the hall there were more women than men, and more fashionable clothes than in the hall. But the faces were scarcely less rugged and lined; for these friends of the old man who lay in the coffin were mostly life-worn and gnarled, like himself. Their luxuries had not sufficed to hide the scars of the battles they had waged with fortune. When the minister ceased praying, the men and the women in the warm, flower-scented rooms moved gratefully, trying to get easier positions for their cramped bodies. Some members of a church choir, stationed at the landing on the stairs, began to sing. Once more the door opened silently in the stealthy hands of the undertaker, and this time it remained open for several seconds. A woman entered, dressed in fashionable widow's mourning. She moved deliberately, as if she realized exactly the full effect of her entrance at that moment among all these heated, tired people. The men crowded in the hall made way for her instinctively, so that she might enter the dining-room, to the right of the coffin, where the family and a few intimate friends of the dead man were seated. Here, a young man, the nephew of Powers Jackson, rose and surrendered his chair to the pretty widow, whispering:-- "Take this, Mrs. Phillips! I am afraid there is nothing inside." She took his place by the door with a little deprecatory smile, which said many things at the same time: "I am very late, I know; but I really couldn't help it! You will forgive me, won't you?" And also: "You have come to be a handsome young man! When I saw you last you were only a raw boy, just out of college! Now we must reckon with you, as the old man's heir,--the heir of so much money!" Then again: "It is a long time since we met over there across the sea. And I have had my sorrows, too!"