Congo. There
it is terrible! _That_ is slavery. But there are no slaves on the
Amazon. The natives are free and the work is easy. They just tap the
trees the way the farmers gather sugar in Vermont. Father has told me
about it often."

Thorne had made no comment. He could abuse a friend, if the friend were
among those present, but denouncing any one he disliked as heartily as
he disliked Senator Barnes was a public service he preferred to leave to
others. And he knew besides that, if the father she loved and the man
she loved distrusted each other, Barbara would not rest until she
learned the reason why.

One day, in a newspaper, Barbara read of the Puju Mayo atrocities, of
the Indian slaves in the jungles and back waters of the Amazon, who are
offered up as sacrifices to "red rubber." She carried the paper to her
father. What it said, her father told her, was untrue, and if it were
true it was the first he had heard of it.

Senator Barnes loved the good things of life, but the thing he loved
most was his daughter; the thing he valued the highest was her good
opinion. So when for the first time she looked at him in doubt, he
assured her he at once would order an investigation.

"But, of course," he added, "it will be many months before our agents
can report. On the Amazon news travels very slowly."

In the eyes of his daughter the doubt still lingered.

"I am afraid," she said, "that that is true."

That was six months before the directors of the Brazil and Cuyaba Rubber
Company were summoned to meet their president at his rooms in the
Ritz-Carlton. They were due to arrive in half an hour, and while Senator
Barnes awaited their coming Barbara came to him. In her eyes was a light
that helped to tell the great news. It gave him a sharp, jealous pang.
He wanted at once to play a part in her happiness, to make her grateful
to him, not alone to this stranger who was taking her away. So fearful
was he that she would shut him out of her life that had she asked for
half his kingdom he would have parted with it.

"And besides giving my consent," said the rubber king, "for which no one
seems to have asked, what can I give my little girl to make her remember
her old father? Some diamonds to put on her head, or pearls to hang
around her neck, or does she want a vacant lot on Fifth Avenue?"

The lovely hands of Barbara rested upon his shoulders; her lovely face
was raised to his; her lovely eyes were appealing, and a litt