llowing
the excited gaze of the others, he glanced back and saw the carcass of
the bear. The sight filled him with fear. He uttered a cry and would
have fled, had they not restrained him and led him into the bungalow.

*****

James J. Ward is still at the head of the firm of Ward, Knowles & Co.
But he no longer lives in the country; nor does he run of nights after
the coyotes under the moon. The early Teuton in him died the night of
the Mill Valley fight with the bear. James J. Ward is now wholly
James J. Ward, and he shares no part of his being with any vagabond
anachronism from the younger world. And so wholly is James J. Ward
modern, that he knows in all its bitter fullness the curse of civilized
fear. He is now afraid of the dark, and night in the forest is to him a
thing of abysmal terror. His city house is of the spick and span order,
and he evinces a great interest in burglarproof devices. His home is
a tangle of electric wires, and after bed-time a guest can scarcely
breathe without setting off an alarm. Also, he had invented a
combination keyless door-lock that travelers may carry in their vest
pockets and apply immediately and successfully under all circumstances.
But his wife does not deem him a coward. She knows better. And, like
any hero, he is content to rest on his laurels. His bravery is never
questioned by those friends who are aware of the Mill Valley episode.

THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT

CARTER WATSON, a current magazine under his arm, strolled slowly along,
gazing about him curiously. Twenty years had elapsed since he had been
on this particular street, and the changes were great and stupefying.
This Western city of three hundred thousand souls had contained but
thirty thousand, when, as a boy, he had been wont to ramble along
its streets. In those days the street he was now on had been a quiet
residence street in the respectable workingclass quarter. On this late
afternoon he found that it had been submerged by a vast and vicious
tenderloin. Chinese and Japanese shops and dens abounded, all confusedly
intermingled with low white resorts and boozing dens. This quiet street
of his youth had become the toughest quarter of the city.

He looked at his watch. It was half-past five. It was the slack time of
the day in such a region, as he well knew, yet he was curious to see. In
all his score of years of wandering and studying social conditions over
the world, he had carried with him the memory of