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Programming Windows Azure Programming the
Microsoft Cloud 1st Edition Sriram Krishnan Digital
Instant Download
Author(s): SriramKrishnan
ISBN(s): 9780596801977, 0596801971
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 6.62 MB
Year: 2010
Language: english

Programming Windows Azure
Sriram Krishnan
Beijing • Cambridge • Farnham • Köln • Sebastopol • Taipei • Tokyo

Programming Windows Azure
by Sriram Krishnan
Copyright © 2010 Sriram Krishnan. All rights reserved.
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ISBN: 978-0-596-80197-7
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1273086110

This book is dedicated to my parents. None of this
would have been possible without them.

Table of Contents
Preface . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiii
1. Cloud Computing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Understanding Cloud Computing 1
History of Cloud Computing 2
Understanding the Characteristics of Cloud Computing 7
Understanding Cloud Services 8
The Windows Azure Platform 9
Azure AppFabric 9
SQL Azure 10
Windows Azure 10
Understanding the Origins of Windows Azure 10
Understanding Windows Azure Features 12
Virtualization 13
The Fabric Controller 15
Storage 16
When Not to Use the Cloud 18
Service Availability 18
Custom Infrastructure Requirements 19
Security, Confidentiality, and Audits 19
Capacity Planning and Limits 20
Unpredictable Performance 20
Migration and Interoperability 21
Summary 21
2. Under the Hood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
Inside the Cloud 23
The Data Centers 25
Security 26
Compliance 26
The Hypervisor 27
v

Hypervisor Architecture 28
Hypercalls and Enlightenments 30
Windows Azure Hypervisor Architecture 30
Windows Azure Hypervisor Features 33
The Fabric 34
The Fabric Controller 35
Coding and Modeling 37
Provisioning and Deployment 40
Management and Monitoring 41
Summary 42
3. Your First Cloud App . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Signing Up for Windows Azure 43
The Windows Azure Tool Set 44
Getting and Installing the Tools 44
Satisfying the Prerequisites 44
Getting to Know the SDK and Tools 46
Understanding the Development Fabric 47
Development Storage 49
Developing Your First Cloud Application 50
Writing the Code 50
Packing the Code for the Dev Fabric 52
Running the Code in the Dev Fabric 54
Running the Code in the Cloud 55
Using the Visual Studio Tools 62
Summary 65
4. Service Model . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
Understanding Windows Azure Roles 67
Role Instances 69
Role Size 71
Service Definition and Configuration 72
Service Definition 73
Service Configuration 74
Introducing the Service Runtime API 75
Accessing Configuration Settings 78
Understanding Endpoints 78
Understanding Inter-Role Communication 80
Subscribing to Changes 83
Looking at Worker Roles in Depth 84
Creating Worker Roles 84
Understanding the Worker Role Life Cycle 85
Understanding Worker Role Patterns 86
vi | Table of Contents

Summary 87
5. Managing Your Service . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
Common Themes Across Windows Azure Services 89
Windows Azure Developer Portal 90
Service Management API 91
Operations 92
API Authentication 92
Creating an X.509 Certificate 93
Uploading the X.509 Certificate 95
Making API Requests 96
Using Csmanage 99
Dealing with Upgrades 102
In-Place Upgrade 102
VIP Swap 104
Summary 105
6. Native and Non-.NET Code . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
The Windows Azure Sandbox 107
Hypervisor and Standard User Privileges 107
Windows Azure Partial Trust 108
Full Trust and Native Code 109
Peeking Under the Hood with a Command Shell 109
Building the Command Shell Proxy 110
Enabling Native Code Execution 113
Running the Command Proxy 114
Running Non-.NET Languages 117
Understanding FastCGI and PHP 117
What Is FastCGI? 118
FastCGI on Windows Azure 119
PHP on Windows Azure 120
“Gotchas” with Running Native Code 125
Summary 126
7. Storage Fundamentals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
Accepting the New Storage System 128
Windows Azure Storage Characteristics 129
Lots and Lots of Space 129
Distribution 129
Scalability 129
Replication 130
Consistency 130
RESTful HTTP APIs 131
Table of Contents | vii

Geodistribution 131
Pay for Play 131
Windows Azure Storage Services 131
Blob Storage 132
Queue Storage 132
Table Storage 132
SQL Azure 133
Getting Started with a Storage Account 133
Signing Up for a Storage Account 133
Picking a Geographic Location 135
Affinity Groups 136
Pricing 137
Working with the REST API 138
Understanding the RESTful API Resources 139
HTTP Requests and Responses 140
Building a Storage Client 142
Understanding Authentication and Request Signing 147
Using the Signing Algorithm 148
Creating and Uploading Stuff 151
Using the SDK and Development Storage 153
Installation and Prerequisites 153
Using Cloud Drive 154
Using the Development Storage 155
Summary 156
8. Blobs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
Understanding the Blob Service 157
Using Blobs 158
Pricing 160
Data Model 160
Usage Considerations 162
Requests Could Fail 162
Changes Are Reflected Instantly 163
Compressed Content 164
Using the Blob Storage API 164
Using the Storage Client Library 165
Using Containers 167
Understanding Names and URIs 167
Creating a Container 168
Using an Access Policy 172
Listing Containers 174
Using Metadata 175
Deleting Containers 176
viii | Table of Contents

Using Blobs 176
Names and Paths 177
Creating and Deleting a Block Blob 178
Compressed Content 181
Reading Blobs 184
Conditional Reads 185
Listing, Filtering, and Searching for Blobs 187
Copying Blob 193
Understanding Block Blobs 193
Using Blocks 194
PUT Block 195
Block ID 195
Put BlockList 195
Understanding Page Blobs 196
Pages 197
Windows Azure XDrive 198
XDrive Internals 199
CDN Access and Custom Domain Names 199
Using Custom Domains 200
Summary 202
9. Queues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 203
Understanding the Value of Queues 204
Decoupling Components 206
Scaling Out 207
Load Leveling 208
Windows Azure Queue Overview 208
Architecture and Data Model 208
The Life of a Message 209
Queue Usage Considerations 211
Understanding Queue Operations 212
Creating a Queue 213
Using Queue Metadata 214
Counting Queue Messages 216
Listing Queues 216
Deleting Queues 218
Understanding Message Operations 219
Enqueuing a Message 219
Understanding Message TTL 220
Peeking at a Message 220
Getting Messages 222
Deleting Messages 223
Deleting and Using PopReceipts 224
Table of Contents | ix

Summary 224
10. Tables . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225
Windows Azure Table Overview 226
Core Concepts 226
Azure Tables Versus Traditional Databases 229
ADO.NET Data Services Primer 231
Exposing Data Services 232
Consuming Data Services 236
Table Operations 239
Creating Tables 239
Creating Entities 243
Querying Data 244
Using Partitioning 248
Understanding Pagination 255
Updating Entities 256
Deleting Tables 258
Deleting Entities 258
Summary 260
11. Common Storage Tasks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261
Exploring Full-Text Search 261
Understanding Full-Text Search 261
Indexing 262
Building an FTS Engine on Azure 267
Modeling Data 281
One-to-Many 281
Many-to-Many 284
Making Things Fast 286
Secondary Indexes 286
Entity Group Transactions 290
Utilizing Concurrent Updates 291
Summary 293
12. Building a Secure Backup System . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295
Developing a Secure Backup System 296
Understanding Security 297
Protecting Data in Motion 298
Protecting Data at Rest 304
Understanding the Basics of Cryptography 305
Determining the Encryption Technique 307
Generating Keys 308
Compressing Backup Data 311
x | Table of Contents

Encrypting Data 313
Decrypting Data 317
Signing and Validating Data 317
Putting the Cryptography Together 319
Uploading Efficiently Using Blocks 321
Usage 324
Summary 325
13. SQL Azure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 327
Creating and Using a SQL Azure Database 328
Creating a Database 328
Adding Firewall Rules 330
Using SQL Server Management Studio 331
Using ADO.NET 334
Differences Between SQL Azure and SQL Server 334
Resource Restrictions 334
Language/Feature Differences 335
Tips and Tricks 335
Summary 336
Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 337
Table of Contents | xi

Preface
I hate the term the cloud. I really do. In a surprisingly short period of time, I’ve seen the
term twisted out of shape and become a marketing buzzword and applied to every bit
of technology one can conjure up. I have no doubt that in a few years, the term the
cloud will be relegated to the same giant dustbin for bad technology branding that the
likes of SOA and XML-based web services are now relegated to. Underneath all that
marketing fluff, though, is the evolution of an interesting trend. Call it the cloud or
Something-as-a-Service—it doesn’t matter. The idea that you can harness computing
and storage horsepower as a service is powerful and is here to stay.
As a builder of things, I love technology that frees up obstacles and lets me focus on
what I want to do: create. The cloud does just that. Whether you’re a startup or a huge
Fortune 500 company with private jets, the cloud lets you focus on building things
instead of having to worry about procuring hardware or maintaining a storage area
network (SAN) somewhere. Someday, we’ll all look back and laugh at the times when
trying to run a website with reasonable traffic and storage needs meant waiting a few
months for new hardware to show up.
My involvement with this book started in early 2009. Windows Azure had just come
on the market and other cloud offerings such as Amazon Web Services and Google’s
App Engine had been out for some time. I saw a lot of people trying to grapple with
what exactly the cloud was, and try to cut through all the marketing jargon and hype.
That was no easy feat, let me assure you. I also saw people trying to wrap their heads
around Windows Azure. What exactly is it? How do I write code for it? How do I get
started? How do I do all those things I need to do to run my app? I hope to answer
those questions in this book.
One of the problems about putting anything in print is that it will inevitably be out-
dated. I have no illusions that this book will be any different. As Windows Azure
morphs over time in response to customer needs and industry trends, APIs will change.
Features will be added and removed. To that end, this book tries to focus on the “why”
more than the “how” or the “what.” I’m a great believer that once you know the “why,”
the “how” and the “what” are easy to wrap your head around. Throughout this book,
I’ve tried to explain why features act in a certain way or why certain features don’t exist.
xiii

The actual API or class names might have changed by the time you read this book.
Thanks to the power of web search, the right answer is never far away.
This book is split into two halves. The first half digs into how Windows Azure works
and how to host application code on it. The second half digs into the storage services
offered by Windows Azure and how to store data in it. The two halves are quite inde-
pendent and if you choose, you can read one and skip the other. The nice thing about
Windows Azure is that it offers a buffet of services. Like any buffet, you can pick and
choose what you want to consume. Want to host code on Windows Azure and host
data on the same platform? That’s perfect. Want to use the Windows Azure blob service
but want to host code in your own machines? That’s just as good, too.
Throughout this book, you’ll find tiny anecdotes and stories strewn around. Several
times, they are only tangentially relevant to the actual technology being discussed. I’m
a big fan of books that try to be witty and conversational while being educational at
the same time. I don’t know whether this book succeeds in that goal. But when you see
the umpteenth Star Trek reference, you’ll at least understand why it is in there.
How This Book Is Organized
The chapters in this book are organized as follows:
Chapter 1, Cloud Computing
This chapter provides an overview of the cloud and the Windows Azure platform.
It gives you a small peek at all the individual components as well as a taste of what
coding on the platform looks like.
Chapter 2, Under the Hood
In this chapter, you dive under the hood of Windows Azure and see how the plat-
form works on the inside. The inner workings of the Windows Azure hypervisor
and fabric controller are looked at in detail.
Chapter 3, Your First Cloud App
It is time to get your hands dirty and write some code. This chapter gets you started
with the Windows Azure SDK and tool set and walks you through developing and
deploying your first application on Windows Azure.
Chapter 4, Service Model
In this chapter, you see how to build more advanced services. Core Windows Azure
concepts such as service definition and configuration, web roles, worker roles, and
inter-role communication are dealt with in detail.
Chapter 5, Managing Your Service
A key part of Windows Azure is managing your service after you have finished
writing the code. In this chapter, you see the various service management options
provided by Windows Azure. The service management API is looked at in detail.
xiv | Preface

Chapter 6, Native and Non-.NET Code
In this chapter, you learn how to run applications on Windows Azure that are not
writtenin.NET.ThiscouldinvolvewritingapplicationsinC/C++orrunningother
runtimes such as PHP or Ruby.
Chapter 7, Storage Fundamentals
Chapter 7 kicks off the storage part of the book. This chapter delves into the basics
of the Windows Azure storage services and provides a short overview of the various
services offered. The REST API behind the storage services is looked at in detail.
Chapter 8, Blobs
This chapter looks at the blobs service offered by Windows Azure. It delves into
how to use the blobs API, different types of blobs, and how to use them in common
scenarios.
Chapter 9, Queues
In this chapter, you learn about the queue service offered by Windows Azure. You
see how to use queues in your services, and how to put messages in a queue and
take them out.
Chapter 10, Tables
A key part of Windows Azure is the ability to store massive amounts of structured
data and be able to query it efficiently. The table service offered by Windows Azure
is a great option to do just that. This chapter delves into tables—how to efficiently
partition, query, and update your data.
Chapter 11, Common Storage Tasks
In this chapter, you learn how to perform tasks that you are used to on other
systems but may require some work on the cloud. This chapter looks at building
full-text search on top of the Windows Azure table service and wraps up by looking
at common modeling and performance issues.
Chapter 12, Building a Secure Backup System
This chapter happens to be one of my favorites in the book. It walks through the
building of a secure backup system, built completely on open source tools and
libraries. Along the way, it looks at various security, cryptography, and perform-
ance issues while designing applications with the cloud.
Chapter 13, SQL Azure
This chapter delves into Microsoft’s RDBMS in the cloud: SQL Azure. You see how
you can use your SQL Server skill set on Windows Azure and how to port your
existing database code to SQL Azure.
Preface | xv

Conventions Used in This Book
The following typographical conventions are used in this book:
Italic
Indicates new terms, URLs, email addresses, filenames, and file extensions
Constant width
Used for program listings, as well as within paragraphs to refer to program elements
such as variable or function names, databases, data types, environment variables,
statements, and keywords
Constant width bold
Used to highlight significant portions of code, and to show commands or other
text that should be typed literally by the user
Constant width italic
Shows text that should be replaced with user-supplied values or by values deter-
mined by context
This icon signifies a tip, suggestion, or general note.
This icon signifies a warning or caution.
Using Code Examples
This book is here to help you get your job done. In general, you may use the code in
this book in your programs and documentation. You do not need to contact us for
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If you feel your use of code examples falls outside fair use or the permission given here,
feel free to contact us at permissions@oreilly.com.
xvi | Preface

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Preface | xvii

Acknowledgments
First, I would like to thank the single most important person responsible for the creation
of this book: my fiancée, Aarthi. In fact, I want to use this section to somehow apologize
for what I made her go through. Not only did she put up with me agonizing over
unwritten chapters and being unavailable pretty much every evening and weekend for
more than a year, but she also proofread all chapters and corrected an uncountable
number of mistakes. She did all of this while making sure I didn’t kill myself through
the process and essentially taking care of me for more than a year. I promise to never
put her through anything like this ever again. Aarthi, I love you and I’m sorry.
This book is dedicated to my parents. This book, my career, and pretty much everything
I do today is directly because of them.
Speaking of my career and work, I have a ton of people to thank in and around the
Microsoft community. I wouldn’t even be at Microsoft if it weren’t for people like
Janakiram MSV, Paramesh Vaidyanathan, and S. Somasegar. At Microsoft, I’ve had
the benefit of having several friends and mentors who have made sure I didn’t get myself
fired. In particular, I’d like to mention Barry Bond, who apart from being one of the
smartest engineers I’ve seen and my mentor for several years was also kind enough to
review several chapters in this book.
The entire Windows Azure team was of great support to me while I wrote this book.
Chief among them was my boss, Vikram Bhambri. I still don’t know how he puts up
with me every day and hasn’t fired me yet. Several people on the Windows Azure team
helped me by answering questions and reviewing content. I’d like to thank Manuvir
Das, David Lemphers, Steve Marx, Sumit Mehrotra, Mohit Srivastava, and Zhe Yang.
Brad Calder and Hoi Vo read early sections of the book and provided feedback. Their
early encouragement was of great help. Aleks Gershaft went to a lot of trouble to review
my content at the very end and pointed out dozens of minor details. The storage chap-
ters are a great deal better thanks to his efforts. One of the biggest reasons for me joining
the Windows Azure team was the chance to work with Dave Cutler. He continues to
be an inspiration every single day.
In the O’Reilly world, I’ve been lucky to work with some great people. Brian Jepson
was my first editor and he helped me tremendously. He knows exactly how to deal with
the fragile ego of a first-time writer. Laurel Ruma and Mike Hendrickson helped me
throughout the process and saw this book out the door. This book is a lot better for
their efforts. It couldn’t have been easy dealing with me. I’ll miss all our arguments.
An army of technical editors went through early versions of my content and helped me
improve it: Ben Day, Johnny Halife, Brian Peek, Janakiram MSV, Michael Stiefel, and
Chris Williams. They kept me on my toes and made me think really hard about my
content. Any flaws in this book are despite their best efforts and are directly due to my
stubbornness.
xviii | Preface

Other documents randomly have
different content

141
142
“Sit down,” she said. She could not talk to him while he towered like
that. It was like standing under an avalanche of physical and mental
force. There was a chair close to her desk. He took it. She felt that
he might mind having the other patients, who had appointments,
hear him being refused one, and so she leaned toward him and
explained the situation almost in a whisper. Doctor Pryne had been
out of town and as a consequence was extraordinarily busy
to-day. He couldn’t possibly see people without
appointments, even for a minute. But next week—She took up the
appointment book. The minute McCloud had written his name Petra
had placed him, for on Janet’s advice she had studied and learned
the names of the regular patients by heart during her first day here.
She fluttered the pages of her book and came to McCloud. He had
an appointment for Saturday afternoon, to-morrow. That was odd.
Janet had said that Doctor Pryne kept his weekends absolutely free
for his writing. But here it was in Janet’s hand—McCloud, four
o’clock, June 28.
She hesitated over it. Ought she to suggest that Mr. McCloud wait
for Janet’s next appearance from the inner office? This was the first
time to-day that Petra had felt so uncertain of her ground. But then
she decided, “No. I’m in. I must swim. That is what both Doctor
Pryne and Janet expect of me. McCloud’ll have to wait for his
appointment like everybody else.”—She looked across at him. Blue
eyes met blue eyes, his tormented and angry, hers cool but sorry.
“I’m sorry—” she began, but again he snatched at the pencil. “OK,”
he almost tore it into the envelope. And then he added, underlining
it, “Don’t tell him I called. I’d rather you didn’t. Back Saturday.”
Halfway to the door he swung around and came back to Petra. She
handed him the pencil. He wrote—but this time in small,
scrupulously clear characters—“You’re a damned beautiful girl.” She
had read it easily upside down as he wrote but he was gone
before the color flamed in her face.

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A few minutes later, when Janet came out of the inner sanctum,
trailing a patient, and went over to Petra’s desk, Petra showed her
the envelope; but she had erased McCloud’s last remark. The
secretary frowned. It worried her, for some reason or other. That
was obvious. After a minute of brooding over it, she whispered, “I’m
sorry you let him go, Petra. The doctor would have made a point of
seeing Mr. McCloud. It must be something very special he wanted,
really special, I mean. But you couldn’t know.... I think we’d better
do what he asks and not say anything about it now to the doctor. It
would bother him. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. He must have hated
explaining to you about his speech. He’s morbidly sensitive about it.
It was hard enough the first time he came and wrote it all down for
me—but to have to do it all over again—”
So it was as bad as that! Janet’s expression even more than the
words she said told Petra how serious a blunder she had made in
sending McCloud away. It was so serious, in fact, that Janet wanted
to protect Doctor Pryne from knowing that it had happened at all.
But as to the man’s embarrassment, Petra was skeptical,
remembering the sentence she had read upside down!
“But look here, Petra, don’t let this one first mistake discourage you,”
Janet murmured quickly, as the doctor’s buzzer summoned her to
bring in the next patient. “Go on swimming. Don’t get self-
mistrustful. It’s like riding. After a spill you must get right up
and mount again, or you’re queered. Better luck next time.”
At lunch Dick Wilder found Petra more bafflingly uncommunicative
than usual, even, and she ate almost nothing of the very expensive
and knowing meal he had ordered for her. What use was it for him
to chatter on about Green Doors—and incidentally, of course, Clare—
with some one who murmured back mere Yeses and Noes! The only
consolation that Dick got from that luncheon hour was the overt
admiration he saw in surrounding faces for his companion. These
men and women had no way of knowing that his companion was as

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completely uninteresting as she was completely beautiful. They
probably thought him much to be envied, extraordinarily lucky.
“Look here,” he said rather desperately, when he opened the door of
his car to let her out in front of her office building, “let me drive you
out to-night, Petra. It will be beastly going in the train in this heat.”
“Clare is giving that big dinner party to-night,” Petra reminded him.
“She won’t have a minute for you. Some other night.”
But Dick persisted. He was ready to take his chances. When they got
to Green Doors he would go in with Petra for a few minutes and stay
talking. Clare might be around somewhere. They could exchange
one word at least, one look. It would be little Sophia’s bedtime. He
might be invited up to the nursery to join with little Sophia’s nurse in
her role of enchanted chorus to the nightly repeated scene—
the cherub’s supper hour. But he said nothing of his real
designs to Petra. He merely exclaimed, “What has Clare to do with
it? You’re a funny girl! It’s you I’m asking. I’ll be down here at the
door at four.”
Janet’s door, the doctor’s door, the door into the public hall were all
wide open when Petra got back. Janet heard her come in and sang
out from the dressing room, “I’m just off for lunch, Petra. Won’t be
gone twenty minutes. Too hot to eat.” Then, as Petra came up
behind her, she turned from the mirror where she had been
adjusting her hat and her voice changed. “You poor child! What is
the matter?”
“Nothing. What should be?” Petra put away her hat and got out her
compact. But Janet would not accept the nonchalant denial. “I know
what’s wrong. That McCloud business. But cheer up. For months
after I began this job I averaged about half a dozen mistakes a
week. Nobody’s infallible. And anyway, I’ve reconsidered it. There is
no real reason why that young man should consider himself an
exception and come around without appointments. He did the same

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thing last week. And Doctor Pryne saw him and was over an hour
late in leaving the office as a consequence. To-day he would
probably have gone without his lunch. It’s really rather cheeky. To-
day may make him see it. I myself wouldn’t have dared send him
off, because I know how the doctor feels, but you didn’t know, and
he only got what he deserves. So cheer up. You’re in charge
now till I return. The doctor won’t be back before half-past
two, probably.”
But Petra was not much comforted. Her confidence in her own
adequacy had been so high only so few hours ago! And ever since
the McCloud incident she had felt dashed. But how was she to know
who was important, of the people who came to the office or called
on the telephone, as long as they remained merely names to her in
her appointment book and in the bare files in her desk. Janet, of
course, knew the intimate details of all the cases. She took their
“histories” down in shorthand, and even some of the conferences
later, and filed them in the big steel cases in the inner office. If
Petra, now, had known something of Mr. McCloud’s “history,” she
might have known what to do with him this morning. But Janet, in
initiating her into the work, had told her absolutely nothing of the
personalities she would so soon be dealing with. Her information had
confined itself strictly to names and ages. It was too great a
handicap!
Besides, Petra was interested on her own account in this McCloud
now. Very much so! Any one would be.... His tormented impatient
look.... The way his very black brows met in a straight line over his
straight high nose. She had never seen brows like that. It gave a
look of dominance, of strength.... His hands were the hands of a
workman, stained with oil or grease, and the fingernails were cut
very short where they were not broken. Yet strangely, those
hands were as expressive and impatient as his face.... And
the upside-down sentence—well—that was a touch of mere deviltry.
His eyes had mocked, as he pushed the envelope toward her—and
was gone!

147
The heat in the reception office was stifling. Holding your wrists
under water really didn’t help, except for the minute you were doing
it. As for getting out the shorthand textbook in this lull between the
morning and afternoon appointments, Petra simply couldn’t. She was
smothered, dismayed by the heat. It was really a kind of drowning,
this airlessness. Janet had looked so cool and superior to it. She had
said, “It’s torrid, isn’t it!” but she hadn’t minded it really. She had
created the effect, even as she mentioned it, of brushing mere
physical discomfort from her clear, cool self as if it were a fly.
There was, however, a slight breeze coming through from Doctor
Pryne’s big windows. A paper on his desk rustled intermittently. It
might blow off. Petra decided to go in there and put a book or an
inkwell, some solid object, on it. But when she had secured the
object—a package of Luckies, as it happened—she turned away from
the desk to the steel filing case across the room and stood looking at
it curiously. She could read the letters on the faces of the boxes from
where she stood.

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Chapter Twelve
Petra was pulling out the drawer marked in small black letters Mc.
She pulled it slowly, as one might open a door onto an unknown
landscape. She herself thought of Alice. “It might be the rabbit hole
and here am I on the verge of tumbling down it.” Indeed, she felt
herself a second Alice and as if this deep drawer held a wonderland
into which she was about to escape from the stifling hot afternoon
of the upper world. Could she have known what it held for her, how
different her hesitation in going on pulling out the drawer would
have been, how much faster her heart would have beat!
She ran her fingers over the tops of the stiff white cards and came
to those marked at the upper right-hand corners, “Neil McCloud.”
There were dozens of them in McCloud’s own handwriting—the
handwriting, at least, of that one last sentence of his which she had
read upside down. Petra lifted them out, removing first the metal clip
that held them together. Leaving the Mc drawer open, she leaned
against other closed drawers and started to read.
Neil McCloud. Age twenty-six. Irish-American. Catholic. No
known insanity in family.
It read as if it had been written in answer to questions put to him by
Doctor Pryne. Ordinarily the patient would have answered vocally,
and Janet, or Doctor Pryne, taken it all down; but in this case, since
McCloud could not speak, the answers were written by the patient

149
himself. It seemed that the small, scrupulous script of the upside-
down sentence was his ordinary writing when he was not furious....
Petra turned the card over and read on: “Oldest of five. Father a
garage proprietor in Springfield, Mass. I graduated from High School
tenth in class of ninety. My mother wanted me to go to college but I
wouldn’t. Went to work for my father as a stop-gap. Wanted to get
with airplanes. Father paid me a skilled mechanic’s wages because I
was by that time a skilled mechanic,—grew up with the engines, so
to speak. Machinery interested me more than books. Except
aeronautics books. Read all of those the library had and bought all I
could find. I got in with the fellow who runs the Ocean Road Airport.
Spent all my spare time there. Took flying lessons by moonlight.
Bought a second-hand plane on savings and credit and began taking
people up for hire. Father against it. Wouldn’t let me live at home
unless I worked for him.... One day my kid brother turned up at the
field. He was the baby. Eleven years old. I knew the folks had
forbidden him to go up with me. All the kids were forbidden. But he
had hooked a ride out, skipped school, and said he would tell
father when he got home, and take his licking. He hated
lickings as much as anybody, but it would be worth it to fly. I agreed
with him it would. He was captain of his grade football team, a great
little kid. After my mother, I guess he meant more to me than
anybody living. Anyway, I took him up. We had a grand ride, all
afternoon, over four States. Then, making the landing in the field,
the propeller broke and we hit the ground wrong. The kid was killed.
Broken neck. He died in my arms without the sacraments. I never
saw my mother again. They wouldn’t let me into the house. Dad
wouldn’t. I don’t think mother ever knew I came. She died that fall.
She had been poorly ever since Stephen was born, the kid—that was
killed.
“Came to Boston. Got job. Chauffeur for Malcolm Dayton, banker.
Eloped with his daughter. We were married by a justice of the peace
but Edyth suspected I mightn’t feel really married unless a priest
blessed us. She looked up the priest of our parish and I went to him.

150
151
No, hadn’t gone to the Funeral Mass for the kid even, and never to
confession since the smash. The priest made me ashamed but
agreed to get the dispensations. He talked to Edyth and assured
himself she was old enough to know her own mind and really
wanted to be my wife. She is ten years older than me. So I
confessed and was taken back and received communion, and we
were married again in the rectory before the housekeeper and
janitor. Edyth was to take instruction. I could have lived alone
outside the Church all right, but couldn’t have rested easy
with my wife outside it. So I was glad Edyth insisted, I guess.
Remembered my mother too well! Couldn’t imagine the mother of
my children not a Catholic!
“Dayton went crazy when we told him. He wrote that he would buy
a divorce for Edyth any time she asked him to, but until then to keep
away from him. We had a baby the first year. A boy. I got a job
selling the new Ajax cars. I thought we were pretty well off, but
Edyth didn’t. We had a nice apartment and a maid. My mother never
had a maid. Edyth’s friends stuck to her. They were fine. Some of
them I liked a lot. But she was never really mine. Somehow she was
her father’s girl. The baby was born at the Lying-In. The day they
were coming home, I had to give a driving lesson in Arlington, but a
girl friend of Edyth’s was bringing them and would help the nurse
and the maid fix them up comfortably. But I came home and found
nobody but the nurse. Called the hospital and they told me that
Dayton had come for his daughter and grandson. Called the house.
Got Dayton himself. Sorry—can’t remember a word he said. But I
knew that Edyth and the baby were with him and weren’t coming
home. And the next day he sent a lawyer around who told me that
the old man had had me watched and that they had a clear case for
a divorce. They had one framed, all right—but no use going into
that. I had not been unfaithful. No, I told you, I can’t
remember a single word he said on the ’phone.
“No—I didn’t say a word to the nurse who had stood staring at me
while I ’phoned. Found I couldn’t. But I thought it was because I

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was crying. The baby and his mother not coming home, you know.
Thought it was tears in my throat. I thought so then, I mean. I
walked out of the apartment, got into the car, drove all night. At
dawn I was back in Boston. I don’t remember where I drove or
anything about it.
“Yes, I stopped for gasoline once or twice during the night. I held up
my fingers to show how many gallons and didn’t say a word. But I
didn’t realize it was because I couldn’t speak until I got back to the
apartment in the morning. The nurse had slept there and was
waiting for her money. Yes, my throat closes up whenever I try to
speak. It’s like tears—or a sob. Don’t like to try any more. No,
haven’t been to Mass since the Sunday before Edyth and the boy
were coming home from the hospital. No—don’t want to see a
priest. I’ve lost my faith, I think. No, my family know nothing about
me. They won’t, either.
“The Ajax people kept me on as a mechanic. It’s charity, really.
They’re as hard hit as all the rest by the depression. They really
can’t afford a mechanic who can’t talk to the people who drive in.
The boss sent me to you. I make thirty a week. Can pay you ten.
Ten a week goes to the smashed plane debt. If you don’t cure me
quickly, I’ll disappear. The boss is risking his own job, keeping
me on. Yes, the boy is fine. When I saw him at the hospital
he looked like my kid brother. The kid would have been his uncle.”
There the history proper ended and Janet’s typing began. It was a
report of the physical condition of the patient. Doctor Pryne had,
apparently, passed McCloud on to various specialists. Petra skipped
all this. It was technical and dull but as much as she took in
appeared to rate McCloud’s physical condition as excellent. All the
remaining cards in the pile, a dozen or more, written on both sides,
in Doctor Pryne’s illegible hand, might as well have been inscribed in
Chinese for all Petra could read of them. They appeared to record
the experiments in treatment Doctor Pryne had tried on the case,

153
and would have been fascinating, Petra thought, if only she could
have read three consecutive words.
But one sentence was clear,—and underlined: “Must find out what
Malcolm Dayton said to him on the telephone.”
As she read this, Petra heard some one breathe.... She had not
noticed the step in the reception office nor in this room, but she
heard the breath, soft as it was. She looked up from the card she
was studying and saw Janet. It was the secretary’s sharply indrawn
breath that had so startled Petra. But when she woke to the
expression on her new friend’s face, her very blood ran cold. This
was not Janet, the intelligent, the kind, the clever Janet. What had
happened to her? What was the matter?
“Petra Farwell! What are you doing with those files?”
“Reading about McCloud. I wanted to learn....” But her explanation
died stillborn. Suddenly, like a thunderclap, Petra knew what a fool
she had been, what a terrible thing she had done. She knew now
why Janet looked as if she had come upon a murderer, his hands
dripping blood. Petra put her hand up to her mouth. It was dry and
her tongue was dry.
Janet said “You are stark crazy—or else you are a plain fool. It isn’t
just the sneakiness of it—reading private records. It’s the cruelty. It’s
violating another person’s rights to his own secrets. Petra, how could
you? Are you crazy?”
She must be. Petra thought so herself now. It was worse than
reading other people’s letters, reading a doctor’s records of cases.
Any one who wasn’t crazy would know that. Even young children
knew better than to open drawers in other people’s houses. She was
crazy, crazy, crazy! She was ready to die!
“Why weren’t the files locked, Miss Frazier? How did this happen?
How was it possible?” Doctor Pryne had come in without either of

154
them noticing. His voice was hard—cold too—like ice. There was a
white area around his lips.
“You went off with the key, Doctor. You were writing up the Fountain
dope. I knew the files weren’t locked but I was leaving Miss Farwell
in charge, you see. I was gone only a few minutes. I never dreamed
that she herself would open the files. How could I?”
The secretary had nothing more to say, nothing more to look.
Her face was paper white—white with anger at Petra, at
herself, at Doctor Pryne. She went into her own little office and shut
the door behind her with something approximating a slam. In
another second the racket of an angry typewriter came in from her
office by way of the doctor’s open windows.
“Better put those cards away now. Are they in their right order?”
Petra looked down from Doctor Pryne’s cold face to her hands and
what they were all unconsciously still holding. She put the cards
back into the drawer with careful quickness. “Yes, they are in their
right order.” She almost whispered it. Her throat felt thick. Perhaps
she was going to lose her speech as McCloud had lost his, or it
might be tears.
“Petra! Why did you?”
“I wanted to know about this Neil McCloud. I was terribly
interested.”
“Why?” And then with sudden sick suspicion Lewis asked, “Do you
know his wife? Is that why you were interested?”
Petra nodded. “I do know Edyth, of course. She’s one of Clare’s
friends. And I knew her before that, in Cambridge. But I didn’t know
she was like this—cruel....”

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156
“Petra, this is impossible. I simply can’t take it in, what you’ve done!”
He was feeling in various pockets with quick exasperated
motions as he spoke, but his eyes had not left her face.
“Lord! Miss Frazier was right. Here’s the key. That lets her out.” He
added, “And us in—you and me in deep together. We both ought to
go to jail.”
Petra exclaimed, “Not you! You couldn’t know I might be—
abnormally dishonorable. But I haven’t told you really why I did it.
And you asked. I didn’t know McCloud was that McCloud—Edyth’s
husband. I didn’t even think about the names being the same. He
came to the office this morning to see you. I said he must wait till
to-morrow. Janet said that was a mistake, that you would have seen
him. It came to me, while Janet was out at lunch, that if I had
known about this case, McCloud’s case—as Janet knew about it—I
wouldn’t have made the mistake. So I walked right in here and
looked him up—the way you would in a library, you know, a Who’s
Who or something. I wanted to be efficient, to understand what it
was all about. But I was crazy. It was as bad as reading private
letters. I see that now. I’m not like Shelley. The heat numbs me. My
brains stand still....”
“It looks as if they did!” But then he was sorry. He needn’t have said
that. But could he believe her in what she had just said? Could he
believe that it had not been mere curiosity about the mistaken
marriage of a woman she happened to know that had brought Petra
to his files? Well, strangely, he did believe her. She had lied,
he supposed, about the book she said she had been reading
that afternoon at Green Doors, and he knew she had lied about his
keeping her working here after hours. All the same, he believed that
she was telling the truth now.
“I wonder what McCloud wanted. Wish I had seen him. Didn’t he
leave any message?” He would make her forget his anger, which was
so quickly passing.

157
Petra told him what McCloud had written, except for the upside-
down sentence. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told you he came, since
he asked me particularly not to. But I couldn’t have you think it was
because I knew Edyth. Curiosity of that sort—well, I wouldn’t have
felt any temptation. Truly, I wouldn’t.”
His eyes were studying her face. She went on, “Of course, you will
fire me. There’s no reason you shouldn’t. But since it was you who
made my stepmother cut my allowance in two, you ought to
persuade her to give it back again—if I’m not to have this job now.
Will you do that?”
She stopped, waiting for him to answer. But he said nothing, merely
continued to look at her, while his expression changed. It was ice
again. With the instinct to justify herself she stammered, “I told you
—I told you—at the guest house—Saturday—that it was a salary
Clare paid me, not an allowance. I know that she said it wasn’t so—
that very night—that you heard her. But why should you believe her
more than me? Anyway, I must have that thousand again. It is your
fault I lost it.”
“But don’t you want to keep this job?” Lewis asked.
He was beginning to admit to himself, at last, that Petra
Farwell was beyond him. He simply did not understand her.
“Yes. I do want to keep it. Very much. But how can I—after this?”
“I think it would be much better to keep it and make a success of it
than—than go back to the twenty-four-hour-a-day stepdaughter job.
Don’t you?”
Petra nodded. She had a voice but she did not trust it.
“Easier, even?”
Again she nodded.

158
“Well, you’re a great help to Miss Frazier. She says so.”
“She won’t now.” She sounded all right. You couldn’t hear a tear.
“Oh, yes, I think she will. She was angry with herself just now, more
than with you, I imagine. Just as I was—with myself, I mean. Am
still, as a matter of fact. Miss Frazier realized that she should have
warned you about the privacy of the files and I knew that it was very
nearly criminal of me to leave the files unlocked while I was out. So
we’ve all had a miserable time of it. Did you look at anything besides
McCloud’s history, by the way?”
“No.”
“All right. If you’ll only wait a little this afternoon till I’m free, Petra,
I’d like the pleasure of driving you out to Meadowbrook. I want you
to finish about Teresa. Of course, you know that.”
“Dick’s driving me out.” But as Petra saw Doctor Pryne’s
disappointment, she said quickly almost the precise words
she had said earlier to Dick, “But it wouldn’t pay you, anyway, even
if he wasn’t. Clare is giving a big dinner party to-night and she’ll be
busy seeing to things. She does the flowers herself, cuts them and
everything. It takes simply hours.”
“Good Lord! What has Mrs. Farwell’s cutting the flowers to do with
it? It is you I want to talk to. When will you finish about Teresa,
then? You said when we were alone next. And will you take me to
see her? I have been looking forward to seeing her again ever since
our talk—at the guest house.”
Lewis saw the look of deviousness creep over Petra’s face then, and
he knew, almost certainly, that whatever she said next would have
no reality in it. She was baffling to exasperation.
“I’ll take you to see Teresa if she invites you. But there’s nothing
more to tell you, really. Only I beg you not to mention her to Clare

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again, not to tell her any more of all that I told you. I don’t know
how much you did tell her. She hasn’t said a word about it and I
haven’t asked. But you won’t again, will you?”
“My dear! That was a stupid slip I made. I broke my promise of
secrecy. But why should I talk about anything with Mrs. Farwell? It is
you I am trying to talk with—and you put me off. You don’t say
anything true to me any more.”
“What do you want to know? About Teresa, I mean? I’ve told
you the absolute truth about her.”
“Yes, I know that—as far as it went. But I want the rest, all of it!”
Lewis exclaimed. “What Teresa did next. You said she was ready to
become a secretary and something happened. I want to know what
happened, what she is doing now, how things are with her. I’ve been
waiting days.”
But even before Petra opened her lips, Lewis gave up hope of her
answering him truly. He saw her choosing between several possible
answers. And when she said, deliberately, very carefully, “Teresa got
her chance to go to college. She supports herself by dress-designing.
She’s all right, thank you,” Lewis knew that while these might be
facts, they weren’t the truth; they left him exactly where he had
been left Saturday. He knew not one real thing more. The swordlike
reticence in Petra’s gentian eyes guarded her against his knowing
now every bit as effectively as against Clare’s, her father’s, and
Dick’s. But Dick! Saturday Dick had seemed to stand with Clare and
Farwell over against Petra’s guard. But had that, perhaps, changed?
Certainly he was very much in evidence—lunching with Petra to-day,
driving her out to-night. Lewis himself had been away four days.
Anything could have happened in four days. Had Dick waked up,
come to his senses?
“There’s your telephone,” he said then. “It’s been ringing some time.
Miss Frazier can’t hear it with her door shut and typing like

161
that. You’d better see to it. It’s your job.”
Petra flew to her desk, shutting the doctor’s door softly, on the wing.
The one thought she took with her, and it was utterly comforting, in
spite of the tears in her throat, was that she still had a job.

162
Chapter Thirteen
Saturday noon Lewis came near having a scene with his secretary,
when he insisted that, for once, she must take the half holiday. “No,
you cannot have the next chapter.” He felt rather like an ugly dog
barking up at her, with his paws on a bone—the bone his
manuscript. “I’ve got to keep it to revise. I fumbled it terribly last
night. Couldn’t seem to concentrate. You get along out to some
beach or other. Lie in the sun. You’re white as a daisy. Good-by and
thanks.”
There had been strife; but Lewis, continuing to ape the behavior of a
dog with his bone, and doing it rather successfully, had finally won
and Miss Frazier went for her hat and bag. But she came back in a
second to explain, “Petra is staying to practice typing. Won’t it
disturb you if you’re working here? Mr. Wilder is coming for her at
four. She wants to wait for him.”
“What! Again?” But Lewis pulled himself up. He said in answer to her
question, “I don’t think it’ll disturb me. That door is very nearly
soundproof.”
“I want to tell you that she is broken-hearted about
yesterday, Doctor. She can’t get over it. Nothing like that will
ever happen again, I know. She’s awfully silly in some ways but she’s
—she’s all right. Really she is.”

163
“Yes, I know she is.” But Lewis looked up with quick gratitude at his
secretary. She was rather all right herself, he was thinking. He smiled
at her. It was a more human, a more personal smile than she had
ever had from her employer before. She smiled, dimly, back. She
was silly herself, a thousand times sillier than Petra. If Doctor Pryne
saw that she was fighting tears, he would think she had gone out of
her head. She turned quickly away.
In the reception office Janet said to Petra, “The door’s soundproof.
Doctor Pryne mightn’t even know you are staying if I hadn’t told
him. But it’s a long time till four. Don’t work too hard. I’ll meet you
Sunday at twelve.”
Petra answered, her hands suspended over the typewriter keys, “I
love it, Janet. I love typing. You’re going to be proud of me some
day. I’ll be as good a secretary as you are. To-morrow at noon, yes.
How nice it will be!”
That was at two. At three-thirty Lewis put the manuscript chapter
into his brief-case and got up, stretching. He lit a cigarette, turned to
the window and stood looking out for a minute. Then he took a few
quick paces back and forth between the windows and the reception-
office door. Then he pushed the patients’ easy chair from its usual
position till its back was at the window for whatever breeze
there was. Dick was coming for Petra at four. Lewis himself
expected McCloud at the same time. Well, this was only half-past
three. He opened the door into his reception office.
Petra was working at shorthand now, her typewriter covered up until
Monday. One hand was in her curls, ruffling them, and she appeared
to be eating the rubber end of her pencil. She looked at Lewis
dazedly. She was white with the heat in the stuffy little room. The
doors should all have been opened—or else she shouldn’t have
stayed. It was not quite so warm as yesterday, but it was bad
enough.

164
“There’s a breeze in my office,” Lewis said. “A baby one, but rather
nice. Put away the lessons, do, and come along in. I’m going to lay
off too—till four.”
The violet of her frock was cool against the dark leather of the
patients’ chair. Why did she wear a yellow belt? Her thin stockings
were yellow, gold-yellow. Yellow and violet, with her gentian eyes,
and vital gold-brown curls brushed on her neck, back from her ears,
made Petra too lovely to look at with a level gaze. Why shouldn’t
Petra care hugely about clothes and spend all the dollars a year on
them she could lay her hands on—if clothes did this! The yellow belt
was magic—a narrow yellow magic made of nothing in the world but
a silly, twisted bit of silk cord.
Hundreds of women had sat in that chair facing Lewis, for years
past, and at no other time could he recall noticing what one of them
had worn. But he could no more help noticing this violet, cool
frock of Petra’s with the yellow belt than he could help
noticing the texture of flowers near at hand. The loveliness of Petra’s
frocks was as inescapable as the loveliness of flowers.
He offered her a cigarette. She took one but only, he felt, because
she did not see what they were going to talk about and this was
something to relieve the awkwardness.... This time, when he held
the match for her, their eyes did not meet....
Lewis put his arm along his desk. First of all, he had a duty to
perform. He should have done it yesterday had he not taken it for
granted it was unnecessary. But in the middle of the night he had
been bothered by that taking for granted. Now was the time to get it
off his mind,—and pray heaven it was not too late.
“You’re not to mind what I’m going to say, Petra. Probably it’s totally
unnecessary. But you will give me your promise now, won’t you,
quite solemnly, never so long as you live, to tell any one—any one at

165
all—anything that you learned about my patient McCloud yesterday.
You haven’t mentioned any of it to a soul, have you?”
Petra looked at him. No faltering now. Truth was on the way. She
said almost before he had finished, “No, of course I haven’t told a
soul and of course I promise. I do understand and you can trust
me.” But even as she finished, panic came. She put her hand to her
mouth. She had remembered something. Lewis saw her remember.
His heart sank. This was too bad—too terribly too bad. He
exclaimed, “You have told some one, Petra. Who? In God’s
name!”
“No,—no, I haven’t—” But she stopped the lie. She couldn’t lie to
this man. In the first place, he could spot it. In the second place, she
did not want to, somehow. She said, miserably, “I told Teresa. I told
her every word. I’d forgotten. But that doesn’t count as telling. It’s
like telling one’s self. She is so safe.... I told her that McCloud was
Edyth’s husband. She had known her in Cambridge. And all about
the flying accident. I told her that. And his mother’s dying. I told her,
too, how McCloud had only seen his baby at the hospital. Less than
two weeks. That seemed so unjust—so cruel! Oh, yes, I guess I told
Teresa everything. You see—You see, I thought she might help.”
“Petra! You are terrible!” Lewis groaned. “You’re impossible!”
But Petra seemed not to mind his consternation. She was looking
past Lewis’ head, a question in her eyes. Lewis swung around and
there was Neil McCloud himself, standing midway in the room—his
expression murderous.
McCloud was early for his appointment and had expected to be kept
waiting until four at least. But when he found the reception room
deserted and the doctor’s door wide open, he naturally came to it. It
had taken him some seconds to take it in—what was going on here
—that the man he had entrusted with his confidences as implicitly as
if he had been a priest in the confessional was using those

166
167
confidences as a peg on which to hang a flirtation with a
beautiful new secretary. They sat here in the place where he
had written it all, hashing it over together. Telling his secrets.... As
Edyth had hashed over things with her father, old man Dayton,
telling his secrets.... Terrible secrets....
For in this moment he remembered what Pryne had so long wanted
him to remember! Pryne had questioned and questioned. Coaxed at
his strangely blank memory. And nothing doing. But now it was here.
Clear, bright as a lightning flash. Now, when remembering was no
good to anybody! What the old man had said, over the telephone,
when McCloud had called him up that night to ask him what he had
done with Edyth and their son, was this:
“Edyth has told me everything. You killed your brother. You broke
your mother’s heart. But you shan’t break my daughter’s heart and
ruin my grandson’s life. I have the power to protect my own. There
isn’t anything you can say. Don’t say a word.”
And you had been obedient. You had gone dumb from that minute.
In obedience to Edyth’s father, who knew that you had killed your
brother and broken your mother’s heart. Edyth had told him all that.
Told the old man. All the things you had told her before you would
marry her, in sacred confidence. And now the old man was shouting
at you through the telephone. It was as if no time had passed since.
As if you were hearing it this minute, while you stood frozenly
staring at Pryne and his stenographer: “There isn’t anything
you can say. Don’t say a word.”
Let the old brute shout! Keep on shouting through your brain! You
don’t mind it now. At least this one thing about you, Pryne shouldn’t
ever possess. One little bit he wouldn’t tell his beautiful
stenographer—simply because he wouldn’t ever know it. And now
you’d get out,—right out into the darkness which had been
compassing you ever since the moment the kid went out in your
arms.

168
169
Pryne was getting up. The girl was up too. Why didn’t your hate and
scorn blast them where they stood? It was strong enough to do that.
But hate failing, there was the revolver. No! Shut up. Don’t think of
that. The kid—Mother—those were lives enough for you to have
destroyed. Two—three steps, and you would follow those beloveds
into the dark void. You should have followed before. But instead you
had come whining for help to this—fashionable psychiatrist. Hell!
Your teeth were clenched with the will it took not to put your hand
to the pocket holding the revolver. It was essential that you should
be outside the door, that it should be between you and them, or
Pryne might somehow manage to spoil it. The doctor had a look in
his eyes—as if he suspected or even knew your intention. But you
weren’t even touching your pocket. Your hands were at your sides.
Straight down. How could Pryne know what you were going to do?
Well, Pryne wouldn’t move, wouldn’t interfere, you were sure
of it, as long as you kept your eyes steady and your hands at
your sides. You started backing toward the door, holding the skunk
where he was with your scorn of him, and his girl beside him there,
wide-eyed and scared. She was a damned beauty. You had been
right when you told her so. You would back through the door. They
should not stir. Then you would close it with one lightning motion.
But you must remember to use the left hand. The right must be kept
for the business of shooting your brains out before either of them
could stir. It would be a neat job. That was one thing they should
never hash over together,—your attempted suicide. Attempted! Like
hell, attempted! You’d have one clean mark for that, so help you
Christ.
At that moment McCloud’s seeking heel felt the rise of the doorsill,
the rim of the dark void.

170
Chapter Fourteen
On Wednesday Neil McCloud had lost his job of mechanic for the
Ajax people. At least the top boss had come along and Neil had
surmised from the dark looks he cast in his direction, as he spoke in
a confidentially low tone to Neil’s boss, that he was ragging him for
keeping on such a handicapped man when there were hundreds of
good men to choose from. So Neil had gone up, as soon as the
fellow had left, and discharged himself. His boss had a wife and
small children. Nobody’s position was any too secure these days.
And the top boss had had a very nasty look in his eye not only for
Neil, but for Neil’s benefactor. Neil had quaked under it. But not for
himself. So he walked out of the place, just another fellow out of a
job.
A week ago, he had done a rash thing. One of the friends of his
married days—still, supposedly, a friend of Edyth’s—had seen him in
crowded Summer Street, rushed up to him and said that she must
have some money. Her husband had failed to meet her with it as he
had promised, her bags were waiting in the South Station for
a week-end she was spending on the Cape with friends, Neil
must give her every cent he had on him and probably that wouldn’t
be enough! But would he hurry! He had hurried. He pulled his roll
from his pocket—Saturday was pay day—and pushed it into pretty,
smart Joyce Clayton’s yawning snakeskin purse. His only thought
during the act was gratitude that the woman was in such a tearing
hurry that she seemed not to notice his wordlessness. It was his

171
pride that none of that crowd should know how things were with
him, and until this meeting with Joyce, success had seemed
childishly easy; they hadn’t bothered. But as Joyce had rolled off in
the taxi into which he had put her silent—and she not noticing his
wordlessness—she had leaned out and called back, “Your address,
Neil darling! For heaven’s sake, what is it? I’ll send a check to-
morrow.” He had smiled, raised his hat and blotted himself out from
her eyes in the crowds of Summer Street. When he discovered that
he hadn’t even any loose change in his pocket and must walk back
to his room supperless and even put off breakfast until he could
borrow at the works on next week’s salary, he was not much
concerned. He had some chocolate in his room and plenty of
cigarettes. The chocolate served for supper and breakfast, and the
few dollars he let himself borrow on Monday kept him fed until
Wednesday, when—instead of asking for more—he walked out
penniless an hour after getting to the garage. There would be no
more wages to ask an advance on.
He walked over to the Common and sat on a bench all
morning, doing what he described to himself as face the
situation. But every little while he stopped looking into the ugly face
of his predicament and tried to speak. If he could only even whisper!
He tried to say his own name. He tried it dozens of times but the
only result was the ghost of a sob.
When the noon bells and whistles sounded he came, before they
ceased, to a determination. He would look for work—yes—go into
machine shops and garages with pencil and pad in his hand, and
offer his services. He would face down all the curiosity and jeers that
would come to him for his inability to speak. He would scour Boston
for any sort of job where speech was not essential. But he would not
go to any one to borrow money for food. If he got a job, O.K. If not,
starving would be a natural way out and nobody, not even his
guardian angel, could call it suicide.

172
Neil had followed what seemed to him this fair plan with action.
Hungry, he had job-hunted steadily, until Friday morning. Friday
morning, in the pursuit of the impossible job, he had stumbled, in a
dirty alley, on a little abandoned paper bag half full of peanuts. Yes,
it seemed too good to be true; and indeed he was by this time in
such a giddy state that it might very easily be illusion. He had not
been sure it wasn’t, until he had them in his teeth. Then, as he
threw the bag from him, empty, Neil remembered that to-morrow his
room rent would be due. But something else about Saturday was
important too. After some groping he remembered—an
appointment with Doctor Pryne.
Doctor Pryne! The handful of peanuts seemed only to have
increased his hunger. Good luck, stumbled upon so astonishingly,
had weakened his will, he thought; but anyway, he would ask Doctor
Pryne for the loan of a dollar. Then he would buy himself food. He
would go now and get the money. With meat and coffee to back him
up, the Saturday’s séance must work—Doctor Pryne must cure him.
Anyway, it would be Neil’s last shot before letting himself starve.
There was some chance it might work. Pryne was always holding out
hope—always seemed expectant of the thing’s breaking. But even if
it didn’t work, and the cure didn’t come through on Saturday, and
consequently he never got another job, and starved, and so never
paid back that dollar,—Pryne was a good fellow. Neil would rather be
owing Doctor Lewis Pryne a dollar through eternity than any other
soul he knew. He’d give himself that one more chance.
So he had walked the miles up to the doctor’s office on the strength
of the peanuts. And a new girl in the reception office—only she
looked like something in a fairy tale, and almost as illusory as the
peanuts—had said Pryne couldn’t possibly see him till his
appointment the next day.
What he had done between then and his return just now a little
ahead of his appointment time, Neil could not have told—or written.
The one thing he knew, knew constantly, was that he had not eaten.

173
174
Now as his groping heel found the rim of the dark, and his
left hand reached for the door knob, Neil was grateful that
after all he had not seen Doctor Pryne yesterday. Now, as it was, he
would be taking no debt to this man over the ultimate doorsill; for, in
this moment of confusion, the hours the doctor had spent on him,
for which he could never now send a bill, did not loom as debt in the
young man’s aching brain.
His fingers had the door knob. It was cold and they were hot. Neil
exulted in the knowledge that one movement of his arm, and this
door would go shut forever and ever between himself and Doctor
Lewis Pryne—Doctor Lewis Pryne who had let him down to a girl
with a fairy-tale face in a violet dress with a yellow belt....
If it had been Lewis who had moved and spoken, the door would
have slammed then and the revolver roared. But it was Petra. To
Neil’s shaking vision the fairy-tale face was flaming—unbelievably—
to a white flame of angelicness—was becoming an angel’s face,
against which no door could shut. The blue eyes were swords. The
violet, the yellow were gone, and all her clothing was winged white
fire. Fear that was awe and awe that was fear paralyzed him. She—
white fire—was coming upon him—
Lewis had put out a hand to drag her back. But to that hand Petra
was not spirit nor flame. She was solid young muscular strength,
breaking loose from his clutch. Before he had got around the desk,
she had reached the boy, her arms were around his neck, her
face lifted to his, which did not bend to it—only the eyelids
were dropped so that he still saw her angelic fire.
“Neil McCloud, you’ve got it all wrong. Doctor Pryne forgot to lock
his files and I came snooping in here and read your cards. That’s
why you’ve found us talking about you. Doctor Pryne is ready to kill
me for it. And I ought to be killed. But the friend I told—she will
keep your secrets. Truly she will. Or she will tell them only in her
prayers! It is the Little Flower she is especially telling. She is offering

175
a novena to her for you—a novena to Saint Thérèse of Lisieux. Do
you know the Little Flower? Teresa, she has the Little Flower’s name
herself, you see—wants you to say ‘I love.’ She said last night, ‘Love
is the Word. He must say that.’ She asked the Little Flower to help
you say it. Say it now—Neil McCloud. Try to say, I love.”
Lewis was close to them. Petra was wild, mad. But no madder than
McCloud. If the boy lifted a hand, Lewis was ready. He had guessed
about the revolver. He would snatch Petra back, get between them,
if the man moved a finger. Then a strange thing happened. Up in
McCloud’s face, Petra’s face seemed to be reflected—or rather a
flame, a flame burning to whiteness that couldn’t be Petra, after all.
It was an unearthly wing of light. McCloud put his hands up to
Petra’s hands that were clasped on the back of his neck—but Lewis
did not stir—and took them down; but he kept them, as if he
did not know he had them still. He was not even looking at
Petra now—but beyond her.
Neil said, “The Little Flower? Yes, of course, I know her. The kid had
a special devotion to her. Mother had too. The kid thought he saw
her—his First Communion morning. In his room. By the washstand.
Mother believed him. She had an idea he might be a priest some
day. But he won’t grow up now. He’s dead. The little fellow is
dead.... How does the Little Flower feel about that—my killing him?”
“You didn’t kill him. It was a fault, not a sin, when you took him
flying. Teresa says so. But see! The Little Flower has cured you, no
matter how she feels. She has answered Teresa’s prayers.... Even
without your saying ‘I love’! Your speech is perfect—you have
spoken.”
Until Petra called his attention to it, Neil had not known that he had
spoken. But it was true. His voice still hung in the room—he heard it
now in echo—the warm, unstrained voice of young manhood. It was
his own voice!...

176
He let Petra’s hands go then. He backed up against the door jamb to
his full exultant young height. His face was rolling with tears, but it
could not be called crying. There was no grimace of the features and
his eyes were wide open. His hands were at his side. He spoke
again: “I love. My God, I do love. I love You, my Lord and my God.
Have mercy on me, a sinner.”

177
Chapter Fifteen
The elevator for which Lewis had rung brought Dick Wilder up with
it. Until he saw him there, Lewis had totally forgotten that he would
be coming along about now to keep his date with Petra.
“See here,” he exclaimed, taking Dick’s arm and pushing him back
into the elevator cage ahead of himself. “Come on down with me. I’ll
explain in the street. Petra’s busy just now and can’t possibly get
away.” And by the time they had walked out through the lower hall,
come to the sidewalk and crossed to the curb where Dick’s car was
parked, Lewis had decided how much—how little, rather—he would
tell Dick.
“Petra’s doing something very special for me,” he said. “Helping with
a patient. Interruption would spoil the whole thing. You’d better wait
here in your car till she comes down. I’ll stick around with you for a
few minutes, if you’ll have me; then I must get back and see what
she’s accomplished.”
“But how long will she be?” Dick asked, puzzled. “Not long, I hope.
We’re a little late already. Featherstone kept me, talking over
a commission that came in this morning.”
“Yes? Well, Petra mayn’t be able to leave for half an hour or so. But
does it matter?”

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