Jim Author:Reginald Wright Kauffman NOTE ON November 28th last, while this book was in the making, there was printed in the Philadelphia Everting Ledger a paragraph saying that several well-known radicals appear in Jim. That statement is absolutely mistaken not only are my socalled radicals creatures of my imagination, but there is no person, radical or other, in this novel who, s... more »o far as I know, has any prototype in real life. I do believe that our divorce-courts are hoodwinked by many of the parties that appeal to them. I do believe that some radicals make their creed ridiculous by buffoonery, and that others basely use their radicalism as an excuse for moral laziness, even moral turpitude. But I had no particular divorced persons in mind when I wrote of Charley Vanaman and the woman he married-no particular radicals in mind when I attempted to depict certain faults and foibles in the r eor le with whom Vanaman and his wife came into ioniact. General types and modern tendencies I have of course tried to portray and I have tried, as every honest writer of fiction must, to make my people seem alive as they move across the printed page. Nevertheless, the people as individuals-the wife, her lovers, relatives, friends, acquaintances and enemies-are not intended to be, and arenot, portraits of any living individuals their characters are their own only, and for their deeds, both good and ill, no person in real life may truly be held accountable. R. W. K. NEW YORK CITY, 24th Marclz, 1915. FIRST CHAPTER T HE faint breeze of an evening in May stirred the curtains of the darkened room. The scent of the season saturated the air it climbed from the treetops in nearby Central Park and floated over the window-sill. Spring, the oldest, the sweetest, and the subtlest of liars, was at the ear of the world once more, and in the ear of the world was whispering You are still young, and I have made you younger. You can do it all over again. You can begin afresh. Do it all over begin afresh-now The woman in the twilight at the apartment-house window listened to that whisper and believed it, as she had been listening to it and believing it ever since, long weeks before, the first vernal hint of approaching warmth, creeping northward from Carolinian valleys and up the Pennsylvanian waterways, sought a timid foothold in the New York streets. She had listened and planned and acted and now, it seemed, the moment was arrived to call Spring to his accounting. Leaning far out of the window, a shadow bending from the shadows of her own house toward the shadows of the street, Mrs. Trent assured herself that she was indeed still young, that she was really much younger than her thirty-one years would have permitted another woman to be. And, upon this in stance, she did what few young people do, and what Edith Trent had, up to that time, scarcely ever done she allowed her thoughts to desert the present and the future, and gave them rein to run, albeit with a gentle regard for her own sensibilities, over the arid track of her past. She could justify that past, and she did justify it. If, at two-and-twenty, she had known more of the world than the twenty-year-old lad whom she then married, the fault surely lay with Jim, who, at twenty, should have had a working-knowledge of life. If she had tricked him into that marriage, he was at least willing enough to marry her...« less