It seemed, indeed, like falling into the lap of good fortune for Peter to be clothed and fed and given a room of his own "with college books on the shelves" open to his use at any time; "and there was, besides, a trunk full of books—all kinds of scientific books."
And here, to his heart's content, the boy revelled in the use of books. Study was his recreation: and true to his word Rossman gave him daily instruction, taking him through algebra, trigonometry, and the various branches of higher mathematics, not omitting geography and history and—Bible Study every Sunday. Who can fathom the heights and depths, the mysterious complexities of Rossman's nature? This is Peter's tribute to the man:
"I was with him for three years; I always thought he was very kind, not only to me but to all the girls in the house and to every one."
In this morally outlawed community Peter grew to be sixteen years old, attracting to him by some magnetism in his own nature the best elements in his unfavorable environment. And here the one romance in his life occurred; on his part at least it seems to have been as idyllic as was Paul's feeling for Virginia. The girl, young and pretty, was a voluntary member of "Rossman's." She, too, had a history. Somewhat strictly reared by her family, she had been placed in a convent school, where she found the repression and restraint unbearable. In her reckless desire for freedom, taking advantage of a chance to escape from the convent school, she found refuge in the nearest city, and while there was induced to join the Rossman group with no knowledge of the abyss into which she was plunging. She was still a novice in this venture when she became interested in Peter Belden, the young student. Together they worked at problems in figures, their talk often wandering from the problems in books to the problems of life, especially their own lives, until the day came when Peter told her that he could not live without her.
Then the two young things laid their plans to leave that community, be honestly married, and to work out the problem of life together. However, this was not to be—for death claimed the wayward girl and closed the brief chapter of romance in Belden's life. And the man, near sixty years old now, still keeps this bit of springtime in his heart, and "May"—so aptly named—through the distillation of time and the alchemy of memory appears to him now an angel of light, the one love of his life.
Other changes were now on the wing. "Rossman's" was no longer to be tolerated, and the proprietor was obliged to disband his group and leave that part of the country. It was then that the truly baleful influence of Rossman asserted itself, blighting fatally the young life now bound to him by ties of gratitude and habit, and even turning the development of his mathematical gift into a curse. Forced to abandon the disreputable business in which he had been engaged, Rossman opened a gambling-house in Chicago, initiating Belden into all the ways that are dark and all the artful dodges practised in these gambling-hells. Here Belden's natural gift for calculation and combination of numbers, reinforced by mathematical training, came into play. The fascination of the game for its own sake has even crept into one of Belden's letters to me, where several pages are devoted to proving how certain results can be obtained by scientific manipulation of the cards. But again Rossman's business fell under the ban of the law, and soon after, for some overt act of dishonesty, Belden was sent to the penitentiary.
A year later an ex-convict with power of resistance weakened by the rigidity of prison discipline, with no trade, the ten dollars given by the State invested in cheap outer clothing to replace the suit, recognizable at a glance by the police, which the State then bestowed upon the ex-convict, Belden returned to Chicago. Friendless, penniless, accustomed to live by his wits, Belden was soon "in trouble" again, was speedily convicted under the habitual-criminal act and given the maximum sentence of fourteen years. Three years of this sentence Belden served after the beginning of our acquaintance. He had met with the accident resulting in the paralysis of his arm, and his outlook was hopeless and dreary. However, after the loss of the use of his right hand he immediately set to work learning to write with his left hand, and this he speedily accomplished. The tablet granted by the warden at my request was soon covered with abstruse mathematical problems; differential calculus was of course meaningless to the guards, but a continuous supply of tablets was allowed as a safe outlet for a mind considered "cracked" on the subject of figures. Owing to his infirmities Belden's prison tasks were light; his devotion to Warden McClaughrey, who treated him with kindness, kept him obedient to prison rules, while his obliging disposition won the friendly regard of fellow prisoners. And so the time drifted by until his final release. This time he left the prison clad in a well-fitting second-hand suit sent by a friend. Dick Mallory, who was then a free man, welcomed him in Chicago, saw him on board the train for another city in which I had arranged for his entrance into a "home," and with hearty good will speeded his departure from criminal ranks. This was in the year 1893; from that day forward Peter Belden has lived an honest life.
The inmates of the home, or the members of that family, as the sainted woman who established and superintended the place considered these men, were expected to contribute toward the expense of the home what it actually cost to keep them. During the hard winters of 1894 and 1895 able-bodied men by thousands were vainly seeking work and awaiting their turn in the breadline at the end of a fruitless day, while Peter Belden, with his right arm useless, by seizing every chance to earn small amounts, and by strictest self-denial, contrived to meet the bare needs of his life. Once or twice for a few days he could not do this, but the superintendent of the home tided him over these breaks; and I knew from her that Belden was unflagging in his effort to make his expenses. That this was far from easy is shown by the following extract from a letter written in the winter of 1895:
"I am in pretty good health, thank you, but I have had a hard, hard time. Do the very best I can I can't get ahead; yesterday I had to borrow a dollar from the home. Still I am pegging away, day in and day out, selling note paper. I have felt like giving up in despair many times these last few months. A something, however, tells me to keep on. You have kindly asked me if I needed clothing. Yes, thank you, I need shoes and stockings and I haven't money to buy them. Now, dear friend, don't spend any money in getting these things for me; I shall be glad and thankful for anything that has been used before."