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 5.9 EOC

5.9.1 Summary

5.9.2 Notes

5.9.3 Exercises

6 Evaluating Classifiers
6.1 Baseline Classifiers

6.2 Beyond Accuracy: Metrics for Classification

6.2.1 Eliminating Confusion from the Confusion

Matrix

6.2.2 Ways of Being Wrong

6.2.3 Metrics from the Confusion Matrix

6.2.4 To the Code!

6.2.5 Dealing with Multiple Classes: Multiclass

Averaging

6.2.6 F1

6.3 ROC Curves

6.3.1 Patterns in the ROC

6.3.2 Binary ROC

6.3.3 AUC: Area-Under-the-(ROC)-Curve

6.3.4 Multi-class Learners, One-Versus-Rest, and

ROC

6.4 Another Take on Multiclass: One-Versus-One

6.4.1 Multi-Class AUC Part Two: The Quest for a

Single Value

6.5 Precision-Recall Curves

6.6 Cumulative Response and Lift Curves

6.7 More Sophisticated Evaluation of Classifiers: Take

Two
 6.7.1 Binary

6.7.2 A Novel Multi-class Problem

6.8 EOC

6.8.1 Summary

6.8.2 Notes

6.8.3 Exercises

7 Evaluating Regressors
7.1 Baseline Regressors

7.2 Additional Measures for Regression

7.2.1 Creating our Own Evaluation Metric

7.2.2 Other Built-in Regression Metrics

2
7.2.3 R

7.3 Residual Plots

7.3.1 Error Plots

7.3.2 Residual Plots

7.4 A First Look at Standardization

7.5 Evaluating Regressors in a more Sophisticated

Way: Take Two

7.5.1 Cross-Validated Results on Multiple Metrics

7.5.2 Summarizing Cross-Validated Results

7.5.3 Residuals

7.6 EOC

7.6.1 Summary

7.6.2 Notes

7.6.3 Exercises

III More Methods and Fundamentals

8 More Classification Methods
8.1 Revisiting Classification

8.2 Decision Trees

8.2.1 Tree Building Algorithms

8.2.2 Let’s Go: Decision Tree Time

8.2.3 Bias and Variance in Decision Trees

8.3 Support Vector Classifiers

8.3.1 Performing SVC

8.3.2 Bias and Variance in SVCs

8.4 Logistic Regression

8.4.1 Betting Odds

8.4.2 Probabilities, Odds, and Log-Odds

8.4.3 Just Do It: Logistic Regression Edition

8.4.4 A Logistic Regression: A Space Oddity

8.5 Discriminant Analysis

8.5.1 Covariance

8.5.2 The Methods

8.5.3 Performing DA

8.6 Assumptions, Biases, and Classifiers

8.7 Comparison of Classifiers: Take Three

8.7.1 Digits

8.8 EOC

8.8.1 Summary

8.8.2 Notes

8.8.3 Exercises

9 More Regression Methods

 9.1 Linear Regression in the Penalty Box:
Regularization

9.1.1 Performing Regularized Regression

9.2 Support Vector Regression

9.2.1 Hinge Loss

9.2.2 From Linear Regression to Regularized

Regression to SV Regression

9.2.3 Just Do It - SVR Style

9.3 Piecewise Constant Regression

9.4 Regression Trees

9.4.1 Performing Regression with Trees

9.5 Comparison of Regressors: Take Three

9.6 EOC

9.6.1 Summary

9.6.2 Notes

9.6.3 Exercises

10 Manual Feature Engineering: Manipulating

Data for Fun and Profit
10.1 Feature Engineering Terminology and Motivation

10.1.1 Why Engineer Features?

10.1.2 When does Engineering Happen?

10.1.3 How does Feature Engineering Occur?

10.2 Feature Selection and Data Reduction: Taking

out the Trash

10.3 Feature Scaling

10.4 Discretization

10.5 Categorical Coding

 10.5.1 Another Way to Code and the Curious Case
of the Missing Intercept

10.6 Relationships and Interactions

10.6.1 Manual Feature Construction

10.6.2 Interactions

10.6.3 Adding Features with Transformers

10.7 Target Manipulations

10.7.1 Manipulating the Input Space

10.7.2 Manipulating the Target

10.8 EOC

10.8.1 Summary

10.8.2 Notes

10.8.3 Exercises

11 Tuning Hyper-Parameters and Pipelines

11.1 Models, Parameters, Hyperparameters

11.2 Tuning Hyper-Parameters

11.2.1 A Note on Computer Science and Learning

Terminology

11.2.2 An Example of Complete Search

11.2.3 Using Randomness to Search for a Needle

in a Haystack

11.3 Down the Recursive Rabbit Hole: Nested Cross-

Validation

11.3.1 Cross-Validation, Redux

11.3.2 GridSearch as a Model

11.3.3 Cross-Validation Nested within Cross-

Validation

11.3.4 Comments on Nested CV

 11.4 Pipelines

11.4.1 A Simple Pipeline

11.4.2 A More Complex Pipeline

11.5 Pipelines and Tuning Together

11.6 EOC

11.6.1 Summary

11.6.2 Notes

11.6.3 Exercises

IV Adding Complexity

12 Combining Learners
12.1 Ensembles

12.2 Voting Ensembles

12.3 Bagging and Random Forests

12.3.1 Bootstrapping

12.3.2 From Bootstrapping to Bagging

12.3.3 Through the Random Forest

12.4 Boosting

12.4.1 Boosting Details

12.5 Comparing the Tree-Ensemble Methods

12.6 EOC

12.6.1 Summary

12.6.2 Notes

12.6.3 Exercises

13 Models that Engineer Features For Us

13.1 Feature Selection
 13.1.1 Single-Step Filtering with Metric Based
Feature Selection

13.1.2 Model Based Feature Selection

13.1.3 Integrating Feature Selection with a

Learning Pipeline

13.2 Feature Construction with Kernels

13.2.1 Manual Kernel Methods

13.2.2 Kernel Methods and Kernel Options

13.2.3 Kernelized SVCs: SVMs

13.2.4 Take Home Notes on SVM and an Example

13.3 Principal Components Analysis: An

Unsupervised Technique

13.3.1 A Warm Up: Centering

13.3.2 Finding a Different Best Line

13.3.3 A First PCA

13.3.4 Under the Hood with PCA

13.3.5 A Finale: Comments on General PCA

13.3.6 Kernel PCA and Manifold Methods

13.4 EOC

13.4.1 Summary

13.4.2 Notes

13.4.3 Exercises

14 Feature Engineering for Domains: Domain

Specific Learning
14.1 Working with Text

14.1.1 Encoding Text

14.1.2 Example of Text Learning

 14.2 Clustering

14.2.1 K-Means Clustering

14.3 Working with Images

14.3.1 Bag of Visual Words

14.3.2 Our Image Data

14.3.3 An End-to-End System

14.3.4 Gathered Code BOVW Transformer

14.4 EOC

14.4.1 Summary

14.4.2 Notes

14.4.3 Exercises

15 Connections, Extensions, and Further

Directions
15.1 Optimization

15.2 Linear Regression from Raw Materials

15.3 Building Logistic Regression from Raw Materials

15.4 SVM from Raw Materials

15.5 Neural Networks

15.5.1 A NN view of Linear Regression

15.5.2 A NN view of Logistic Regression

15.5.3 Beyond Basic Neural Networks

15.6 Probabilistic Graphical Models

15.6.1 Sampling

15.6.2 A PGM view of Linear Regression

15.6.3 A PGM View of Logistic Regression

15.7 EOC

15.7.1 Summary
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 15.7.2 Notes

15.7.3 Exercises

A mlwpy.py Listing
Preface

In 1983, the movie WarGames came out. I was a pre-

teen and I was absolutely engrossed: by the possibility of
a nuclear apocalypse, by the almost magical way the lead
character interacted with computer systems, but mostly
by the potential of machines that could learn. I spent
years studying the strategic nuclear arsenals of the East
and the West —fortunately with a naivete of a tweener —
but it took almost 10 years before I took my first serious
steps in computer programming. Teaching a computer to
do a set process was amazing. Learning the intricacies of
complex systems and bending them around my curiosity
was a great experience. Still, I had a large step forward to
take. A few short years later, I worked with my first
program that was explicitly designed to learn. I was
blown away and I knew I found my intellectual home. I
want to share the world of computer programs that
learn with you.
Who do I think you are? I’ve written Machine Learning
(with Python) for Everyone for the absolute beginner to
machine learning. Even more so, you may well have very
little college level mathematics in your toolbox and I’m
not going to try to change that. While many machine
learning books are very heavy on mathematical concepts
and equations, I’ve done my best to minimize the
amount of mathematical luggage you’ll have to carry. I
do expect, given the book’s title, that you’ll have some
basic proficiency in Python. If you can read Python,
you’ll be able to get a lot more out of our discussions.
While many books on machine learning rely on
mathematics, I’m relying on stories, pictures, and
Python code to communicate with you. There will be the
occasional equation. Largely, these can be skipped if you
are so inclined. But, if I’ve done my job well, I’ll have
given you enough context around the equation to maybe
—just maybe —understand what it is trying to say.
Why might you have this book in your hand? The least
common denominator is that all of my readers want to
learn about machine learning. Now, you might be
coming from very different backgrounds: a student in an
introductory computing class focused on machine
learning, a mid-career business analyst who all of
sudden has been thurst beyond the limits of spreadsheet
analysis, a tech hobbyist looking to expand her interests,
a scientist needing to analyze your data in a new way.
Machine learning is permeating its way through society.
Depending on your background, Machine Learning
(with Python) for Everyone has different things to offer
you. Even a mathematically sophisticated reader who is
looking to do break in to machine learning using Python
can get a lot out of this book.

So, my goal is to take someone with an interest or need

to do some machine learning and teach them the process
and most important concepts of machine learning in a
concrete way using the Python scikit-learn library
and some of its friends. You’ll come awway with overall
patterns and strategies, pitfalls and gotchas, that will be
applied in every learning system you ever study, build, or
use.
Many books that try to convey mathematical topics, like
machine learning, do so by presenting equations as if
they tell a story to the uninitiated. I think that leaves
many of us —even those of us that like mathematics! —
stuck. For myself, I build a far better mental picture of
the process of machine learning by combining visual and
verbal descriptions with running code. I’m a computer
scientist at heart and by training. I love building things.
Building things is how I know that I’ve reached a level
where I really understand them. You might be familiar
with the phrase, “If you really want to know something,
teach it to someone.” Well, there’s a follow-on. “If you
really want to know something, teach a computer to do
it!” That’s my take on how I’m going to teach you
machine learning. With minimal mathematics, I want to
give you the concepts behind the most important and
frequently used machine learning tools and techniques.
Then, I want you to immediately see how to make a
computer do it. One note, we won’t be programming
these methods from scratch. We’ll be standing on the
shoulders of other giants and using some very powerful
and time-saving, pre-built software libraries —more on
that shortly.
We won’t be covering all of these libraries in great detail
—there is simply too much material to do that. Instead,
we are going to be practical. We are going to use the best
tool for the job. I’ll explain enough to orient you to the
concepts we’re using and then we’ll get to using it. For
our mathematically-inclined colleagues, I’ll give pointers
to more in-depth references they can pursue. I’ll save
most of this for end-of-the-chapter notes so the rest of us
can skip it easily.

If you are flipping through this introduction, deciding if

you want to invest time in this book, I want to give you
some insight into things that are out-of-scope for us. We
aren’t going to dive into mathematical proofs or rely on
mathematics to explain things. There are many books
out there that follow that path and I’ll give pointers to
my favorites at the ends of the chapters. Likewise, I’m
going to assume that you are fluent in basic- to
intermediate-level Python programming. However, for
more advanced Python topics —and things that shows up
from a 3rd party package like NumPy or Pandas —I’ll
explain enough of what’s going on so that you can
understand it and its context.
Our main focus is on the techniques of machine learning.
We will investigate a number of learning algorithms and
other processing methods along the way. However, our
goal is not completeness. We’ll discuss the most common
techniques. We will only glance briefly at two large sub-
areas of machine learning: graphical models and neural
or deep networks. But, we will see how the techniques we
focus on relate to these more advanced methods.
Another topic we won’t cover is implementing specific
learning algorithms. We’ll build on top of the algorithms
that are already available in scikit-learn and
friends: we’ll create larger solutions using them as
components. But, someone has to implement the gears
and cogs inside the black-box we funnel data into. If you
are really interested in implementation aspects, you are
in good company: I love them! Have all your friends buy
a copy of this book, so I can argue I need to write a
follow-up that dives into these lower-level details.

I must take a few moments to thank several people that

have contributed greatly to this book. My editor at
Pearson, Debra Williams, has been instrumental in every
phase of this books development. From our initial
meetings, to her probing for a topic that might meet both
our needs, to gently sheparding me through many
(many!) early drafts, to constantly giving me just enough
of a push to keep going, and finally climbing the steepest
parts of the mountain at its peek ... through all of these
phases, Debra has shown the highest degrees of
professionalism. I can only respond with a heartfelt
thank you.
My wife, Dr. Barbara Fenner, also deserves more praise
and thanks than I can give her in this short space. In
additional to the normal burdens that any partner of an
author must bear, she also served as my primary draft
reader and our intrepid illustrator. All of hte non-
computer generated diagrams in this book are thanks to
her hard work. While this is not our first joint academic
project, it has been turned into the longest. Her patience,
is by all appearances, never ending. Barbara, I thank
you!

My primarily technical reader was Marilyn Roth.

Marilyn was unfailing positive towards even my most
egregious errors. Machine Learning (with Python) for
Everyone is immeasurably better for her input. Thank
you.
Online resources for this book will be available at
https://github.com/mfenner1.
Part I. First Steps
Chapter 1. Let’s Discuss Learning

1.1 WELCOME
From time to time, people trot out a tired claim that
computers can “only do what they are told to do”. The
claim is taken to mean that computers can only do what
their programmers know how to do and can explain to
the computer. Yet, this claim is false. Computers can
perform tasks that their programmers cannot explain to
them. Computers can solve tasks that their programmers
do not understand. We will breakdown this paradox with
an example of a computer program that learns.

I’ll start by discussing one of the oldest —if not the oldest
known —examples of a programmed, machine learning
system. I’ve turned this into a story, but it is rooted in
historical facts. Arthur Samuel was working for IBM in
the 1950s and he had an interesting problem. He had to
test the big computing machines that were coming off
the assembly line to make sure their transistors didn’t
blow up when you turned them on and ran a program —
people don’t like smoke in their workspace. Now, Samuel
quickly got bored with running simple toy programs and,
like many computing enthusiasts, he turned his
attention towards games. He built a computer program
that let him play checkers against himself. That was fun
for awhile: he tested IBM’s computers by playing
checkers. But, as is often the case, he got bored playing
two-person games solo. His mind began to consider the
possibility of getting a good game of checkers against a
computer opponent. Problem was, he wasn’t good
enough at checkers to explain good checkers stratgies to
a computer!
Samuel came up with the idea of having the computer
learn how to play checkers. He set up scenarios where
the computer could make moves and evaluate the costs
and benefits of those moves. At first, the computer was
bad, very bad. But eventually, the program started
making progress. It was slow going. Suddenly, Samuel
had a great two-for-one idea: he decided to let one
computer play another and take himself out of the loop.
Because the computers could make moves much faster
than Samuel could enter his moves —let alone think
about them —the result was many more cycles of “make
a move and evaulate the outcome” per minute and hour
and day.
Here is the amazing part. It didn’t take very long for the
computer opponent to be able to consistently beat
Samuel. The computer became a better checkers player
than its programmer! How on earth could this happen,
if “computers can only do what they are told to do”? The
answer to this riddle comes when we very carefully
express what the computer was told to do. Samuel did
not simply tell the computer to-play-checkers. He told
the computer to-learn-to-play-checkers. Yes, we just
went all meta on you. Meta is what happens when you
take a picture of someone taking a picture of someone
(else). Meta is what happens when a sentence refers to
itself; the next sentence is an example. This sentence has
five words. When we access the meta-level we step
outside the box we were playing in and we get an entirely
new perspective on the world. Learning-to-play-
checkers, a task that develops skill at another task, is a
meta-task. It lets us move beyond a limiting
interpretation of the statement: computers can only do
what they are told. Computers do what they are told, but
they can be told to develop-a-capability. Computers can
be told to learn.

1.2 SCOPE, TERMINOLOGY,

PREDICTION, AND DATA
There are many kinds of computational learning systems
out there. The academic field that studies these systems
 Visit https://ebookmass.com
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is called machine learning. Our journey will focus on the
current wunderkind of learning systems that has risen to
great prominence: learning from examples. Even more
specifically, we will mostly be concerned with supervised
learning from examples. What is that? Here’s an
example. I start by giving you several photos of two
animals you’ve never seen before —with apolgies to Dr.
Seuss —they might be a Lorax or a Who, then I tell you
which animal is in which photo. If I give you a new,
unseen photo you might be able to tell me the type of
animal in it. Congratulations, you’re doing great! You
just performed supervised learning from examples.
When a computer is coaxed to learn from examples, the
examples are presented a certain way. Each example is
measured on a common group of attributes and we
record the values for each attribute on each example.
Huh?
If you are so inclined, you can imagine —or glance at
Figure 1.1 —a cartoon character running around with a
basket of different measuring sticks which, when held up
to an object, return some characteristic of that object:
this vehicle has four wheels, this person has brown hair,
the temperature of that tea is 180F, and so on, ad
nauseaum. That’s an archaic way of saying until you’re
sick of my examples.

Figure 1.1 Humans have an insatiable desire to

measure all sorts of things.

1.2.1 Features
Let’s get a bit more concrete. For example —a meta-
example, if you will —a dataset focused on human
medical records might record several values for each
patient. Some relevant values are the height, weight, sex,
age, smoking history, systolic and diasystolic —that’s the
high and low numbers —blood pressures and resting
heart rate. The different people represented in the
dataset are our examples. The biometric and
demographic characteristics are our attributes.
We can capture this data very conveniently as in Table
1.1.

Table 1.1: A simple biomedical data table. Each row is an

example. Each column is a group of values for a given
attribute. Together, attribute-value pairs are a feature of
an example.

Notice that each example, a row, is measured on the

same attributes shown in the header row. The values of
each attribute run down the respective columns.

We call the rows of the table the examples of the dataset

and we refer to the columns as the features. Features are
the measurements or values of our attributes. Often
when people talk about features or attributes, they are
trying to describe the same thing using either word as a
synonym. They are usually referring the column of
values. But, some people like to distinguish among three
concepts: what-is-measured, what-the-value-is, and
what-the-measured-value-is. For those strict folks, the
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But that isn’t it, after all. She is so charmingly frank. I think that’s it.
It’s unusual in a child.”
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Mrs. Thornburg. “Unusual in any one, I should
say.”
“Why, perhaps it is,” agreed Baron simply. He was not a little puzzled
by something in Mrs. Thornburg’s manner.
“And why don’t you want to keep her?” she wanted to know.
“We meant to. But it turns out that she and my mother are—well,
antagonistic.”
“That’s unfortunate, isn’t it? Please pardon me—you see, I’m really
handicapped. But—what kind of woman is your mother?” She put the
question so softly that it did not seem offensive.
Baron hesitated. “Perhaps it will explain if I say that she is elderly?
There haven’t been any children in the house for a good many years.
She believes—what is the familiar saying?—that children ought to be
seen and not heard.”
Mrs. Thornburg hesitated. “That wouldn’t be quite the reason,” she
said. “Your mother is—is orthodox, I suspect, in her friendships and
ways. I’m sure you see what I mean.”
“Yes,” admitted Baron. “I think you are getting closer to the facts than
I did.”
A pretty, delicate hue warmed the woman’s face, and her voice
softened almost to tenderness. “I think I know,” she went on. “The
little girl of the stage, out of some unknown place in Bohemia—she
must seem quite disturbing, hopelessly out of harmony....”
“You put the case much better than I did. Yet you know all that’s
scarcely fair to Bonnie May. She’s not really bold and impertinent, in
the usual sense of those words. She hasn’t had the kind of training
other children have. She has never associated with other children.
You can see that instantly. She assumes that she has the same right
to her opinion that older people have to theirs. She never means to
offend. I have an idea she’s really quite affectionate. I have an idea if
you once won her over——”
Mrs. Thornburg turned toward her husband and leaned forward in
her chair, her eyes filled with a soft, generous impulse. When she
spoke her voice vibrated with feeling.
“Bring her home!” she said.
Baron fancied there was an expression of triumph in the manager’s
bearing. “You mean now—to-night?” he asked.
“Why not to-night? I’m eager to have her; really eager, now that I’ve
decided.”
“It’s quite simple,” declared Thornburg. “I suppose you’ll have to—to
get a few things ready?”
Her whole being became tremulous—she who had had no children
of her own, and who knew nothing about them. “Nothing to-night, to
speak of. To-morrow....” She clasped her hands and looked into
vacancy, as if visions were coming to her.
But Thornburg was already in an adjoining room at the telephone,
ordering his machine.
Baron regarded Mrs. Thornburg thoughtfully. He was surprised and
touched by her intensity. Then she looked at him, mutely appealing.
There was a long moment during which two minds tried to meet
across a barrier of emotion and a lack of mutual knowledge. Then
Mrs. Thornburg spoke.
“You know,” she explained, “we’ve both been disappointed, deeply
disappointed, because we hadn’t any of our own.”
When Thornburg’s automobile stopped before the Baron mansion,
half an hour later that evening, and the manager and Baron got out,
something happened.
Mrs. Baron, her gray hair stirring slightly in the spring breeze, stood
on the front steps for all the world like an alert sentinel.
“Well, Victor?” she demanded, as her son advanced toward her. Her
voice was sternly challenging.
“This gentleman has come to take Bonnie May away,” replied her
son. He derived a certain satisfaction from her disturbed state.
“Where to?”
“To her new home, with Mr. and Mrs. Thornburg.”
“Do you mean you’ve brought that machine to take her away to-
night?”
“Why, yes—certainly.”
“Well, you can just send it away. You won’t need it to-night.”
“I don’t believe I understand, mother!”
Baron had approached the lowest step and Thornburg had taken a
position close to him. Mrs. Baron, from her superior height, frowned
down upon them as if they were two kidnappers who must be held at
bay.
“You probably don’t,” replied Mrs. Baron. “It isn’t necessary that you
should, either. But you’ll grasp my meaning when I tell you that child
shall not be taken away in the dead of night, as if she were being
stolen, and she shall not leave this house until she has been
decently clothed and made ready to go. I never heard of such an
outrageous thing in my life.” She turned with fear, yet with severity,
toward Thornburg. When she spoke again it might have seemed that
she regarded the manager as a kind of trained wolf over whom her
son might possess an influence. “Victor, tell him to go away!” she
commanded. “When I want him to come back I’ll let you know.”
She turned with the air of a queen who had been affronted. In an
instant she had disappeared. The door had been quite unmistakably
slammed behind her.
 CHAPTER XII
RELATES TO THE PLAYING OF PARTS

Much light is thrown upon the character of Victor Baron when it is

said that he was the kind of young man who likes to sit in an attic
when the rain is falling.
Such a young man may possess many high virtues, certainly; but he
can scarcely hope to escape occasional contact with what is called
the world’s cold shoulder. He is clearly not the sort of person who
knows what magic there is in the matter of percentages and other
such progressive and acquisitive sciences.
We now encounter this peculiar young man in his attic room, on an
afternoon when the rain was falling steadily.
Days had passed since Mrs. Baron had driven the manager,
Thornburg, from her front door. Something like a fixed status in the
case of Bonnie May had been brought about. Seemingly, she had
become a permanent member of the Baron household.
Yet Baron was not happy. Having performed his duty in solving one
problem, he had now passed on to another, an older problem.
There was the fact of his aimless existence staring him in the face;
the fact that he had been home from the university over a year now,
and that as yet he had chosen no plough to the handles of which he
meant to set his hands.
He did a little newspaper writing when the spirit moved him: articles
and reviews which were often quite cordially accepted—and
sometimes even urgently solicited—but which were still subjected to
a measuring process in the accounting room of the newspaper
offices, and which were only meagrely profitable.
To be sure, his needs were quite simple. He made no contributions
to the up-keep of the household. He kept his tailor’s bills paid with a
reasonable degree of promptitude. Usually, too, he had funds
enough for books and other means of recreation. Still, there were
occasions when he had to go to his mother for assistance, and this
practise he was compelled to contemplate with utter disfavor.
It is true that he never asked his mother for Money. The Barons
pronounced the word money as if it were spelled with a capital letter,
like certain other more or less unsavory names—Lucretia Borgia,
New Caledonia, Christian Science, Prussianism, or Twilight Sleep.
He used to ask her, when need arose, if she had any street-car-fare
lying about. And she would put her index-finger to her forehead and
meditate, and then remember suddenly that there was some in her
work-basket on the centre-table, or under something or other on the
sideboard. A burglar would have had a discouraging experience in
the mansion; not because there was never anything to steal, but
because what money there was was always placed lightly in such
unpromising places.
“I really ought to get down to business,” concluded Baron, sitting in
his attic—though the phrase was inept, since business was another
word which the Barons pronounced as if it were spelled with a capital
letter.
The place was depressingly quiet. The houseman, Thomason, might
be in his room, which adjoined Baron’s; but Thomason never made
any noise. He was almost uncannily quiet at all times. The door
between the two rooms was never opened. Both opened upon the
hall, and when Thomason wished to attend to his duties he
descended to the floor below, where a back stairway afforded egress
to the lower regions where his more active interests lay.
Yes, the quietude was just now quite depressing. Sitting by an open
window, Baron looked out upon the sombre vista of back street,
which was uninviting at best, but which now presented a doubly
depressing aspect in the monotonously falling rain.
An intercepted picture of a small park was visible several blocks
away. The Lutheran church, whose bell was forever tinkling a
message of another time and place, was in sight, and so was the
shoulder of a brewery.
Closer at hand men and women were hurrying in various directions,
seeking escape from the rain. They had finished their day’s work and
were now going home to enjoy their well-earned bread and meat and
rest. Over there where the wind currents of two streets met two small
boys stood beneath a dilapidated umbrella and permitted a torrent of
muddy water in the gutter to run over their bare feet. A beer-driver,
partly sheltered under the hood of his dray, drove rumblingly over the
cobblestones toward the near-by brewery. On the ends of passing
street-cars home-going crowds were trying to escape the falling rain.
All this constituted a back-street picture which none of the Barons
observed as a rule. It was the habit of the family to confine their
outlook to the front view. But just now Baron was experiencing a
frame of mind which made the humble side of life significant and
even fascinating.
Still, he was glad to have his solitude invaded when, some time later,
he felt a light touch on his shoulder. Unheard and unobserved,
Bonnie May had stolen into the room. She had “caught” him in a
brown study.
“Don’t you think you’ve been studying your part long enough?” she
asked. She was looking at him with cheerful comprehension.
“What part?” he asked.
“Well, of course I don’t know exactly, except that it would be your
part—whatever that is. That’s what people always do when they’re
alone, isn’t it? They think how certain words will sound, or how they
will do this or that. That’s studying a part, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes—in a way.”
She pulled a chair to the window, close to him, and climbed into it.
“There’s really something funny about it,” she added with a
reminiscent manner.
“Funny?”
“I mean about people and their parts. You know, mostly people aren’t
thinking at all about how to do their own parts better. They’re
imagining themselves in some rôle way beyond them. When they
think they are ambitious they’re mostly just sore because somebody
is doing better than they are. It’s jealousy—not ambition. My
goodness, the little parts are important enough!”
Baron regarded her in silence. Then—“but don’t you think everybody
ought to want to advance?” he asked.
“Oh, well—yes; but think how a production would be if the little parts
—even the populace—were done wrong! If I had only one line, I’d
want to believe it was as important as anything in the play.”
Baron tried to apply that philosophy to his own “part,” but he had to
admit that the result was not at all satisfactory.
“Anyway,” she added, “if you do things the way your audience wants
you to do them, I’ll bet the big parts will come fast enough.”
“The audience!” echoed Baron. “I’d want a higher standard than that.
I’d want to—to play my part the way I thought it should be done. I
wouldn’t be satisfied just with pleasing the audience.”
“Oh, but that’s the wrong idea. I’ve seen people like that. They never
were what you’d call artists. Believe me, the audience is the best
judge.”
Baron, seeking for a symbol, believed there was no hope of finding it
in this. His mind wandered, and when he brought it back to the child
who sat before him she was talking of her own problem in a way
which did not touch his at all.
“I think it’s the chance of my life,” she was saying, “my being here
with you all.”
“A chance—for what?” he asked.
“Oh, to pick things up. You know I can’t always be a Little Eva. I’ll be
too old for that after a while. And then it will be handy for me to have
a little—a little class.”
“Class!” exclaimed Baron. “Class?”
He had been arguing that the one thing wrong with his way of
thinking and living was that he and his family had attached a silly
importance to the class idea, and that it had prevented him from
learning to be active and useful in ways that counted in the world in
which he had to live.
“It’s a good thing,” defended Bonnie May. “It’s needed in all the best
plays. And you can’t get it just by going to the wardrobe mistress,
either. It’s something that’s got to be in you. In order to do it right,
you’ve pretty near got to have the goods.”
She couldn’t understand why Baron had spoken with such emphasis
—with such resentment.
“Class,” mused Baron to himself. He looked intently at this child who
did not know where she had been born—who knew nothing even
about her parentage.
But she had turned to a happier memory. “You know you can’t play
the part of Little Eva very long, even when you begin quite early. And
I was just a little bit of a thing when I played it first.” She laughed
heartily. “I couldn’t even speak plain. I used to say ‘U’kle Tom’! How
they laughed at me! ‘U’kle Tom!’ It’s really a hideous word, isn’t it?
‘Uncle,’ and ‘aunt,’ too. You can see that the man who framed up
those words never thought very highly of uncles and aunts. Just
compare those words with ‘father’ and ‘mother’! Aren’t they lovely?
Father!” she spoke the word musingly. “Father!” Her body drooped
forward slightly, and her face was pitched up so that she was gazing
into space. “Beautiful words, and mother! ... mother!” Her voice had
become a yearning whisper.
Baron touched her shoulders with gentle hands. “Don’t, child!” he
implored her.
She aroused herself as from a dream. Her eyes brightened. She
looked at him searchingly. “You thought ... I believe I was, too!”
She sprang to her feet. “I really do intend to pick up a lot of things
while I am here,” she added briskly. She walked across the floor. “An
imitation of a person of class,” she said. She moved with studied
elegance. “You see,” she exclaimed, turning to him, “I can’t do it at all
right! I ought to beat that.” She returned to her starting-point. “See if I
do it any better,” she said.
Mrs. Baron appeared in the doorway, but neither Baron nor the child
saw her. Again Bonnie May crossed the room. This time she
assumed a slightly careless air, and looked airily at imaginary objects
to right and left. Her movement was slightly undulating. She turned
to Baron suddenly: “What you have to do is to be really proud,
without thinking about it. I know how it ought to be done, but it’s hard
to get the hang of it. If you don’t get it just right you’re likely to look
like a saleslady.” She discovered Mrs. Baron, who stood rather
scornfully in the doorway.
“Oh, Mrs. Baron!” she exclaimed. She was somewhat dismayed. She
thought of adopting a conciliatory course. “You could show us just
what I mean, if you would,” she said.
“I came to say that dinner is ready,” said Mrs. Baron. “Could show
you what?”
“Won’t you please come here—quite over to this end of the room?
Now please go out. We’ll come right away.”
Mrs. Baron regarded her sternly. Bonnie May flushed and her glance
became softly appealing. She took Mrs. Baron’s hand and patted it.
“I’m not being rude, really,” she declared. “It’s as if we were asking
you to settle a bet, you know.”
“I don’t understand at all.”
“Well, please don’t be angry. If you are, it will spoil everything.”
Mrs. Baron turned to her son. He was telegraphing to her an earnest
appeal, in which she read an assurance that she was not to be made
ridiculous, even from the extraordinary view-point of Bonnie May.
“Did you understand that dinner is ready?” she asked.
“Yes, mother. We’ll be right down.”
Mrs. Baron left the room.
“Look at it! Look at it!” whispered Bonnie May. Her hands were
clasped in a worshipful ecstasy. Her eyes seemed to retain the
picture after Mrs. Baron had disappeared. Then she turned with swift
intensity to Baron.
“Oh, I do hope she’ll care for me a little!” she exclaimed. “She’s so—
so legitimate!”
 CHAPTER XIII
A MYSTERIOUS SEARCH BEGINS

From a sky that had been rapidly clearing, a bolt fell.

Somewhere in the city, in what mysterious spot Baron could not
surmise, a search for Bonnie May began. Like a wireless message
seeking persistently for a receiving-centre, the quest of the
unclaimed child launched itself.
The afternoon delivery of letters at the mansion had been made, and
Bonnie May met the carrier at the door.
A moment later she entered the library, where Baron sat, and laid
before him a single letter.
He examined postmark and inscription without being in the least
enlightened. With a pair of scissors he cut the end from the envelope
and drew forth the single sheet it contained.
His glance dropped to the bottom of the sheet, and then he sat up
suddenly erect, and uttered an unintelligible exclamation.
For the first time in his life he had received an anonymous
communication.
The thing had the merit of brevity:
“Do not give up the child, Bonnie May, to any one who does not
present a legal claim on her.”
A disguised handwriting. This was obvious from certain
exaggerations and a lack of symmetry.
He replaced the missive in its envelope, and then he took it out and
read it again.
The thing excited him. Who could be seeking the child, after days of
silence—even of hiding? And who could have known of his
possession of her? Again, why make a mystery of the matter?
He threw the puzzling words aside. People did not pay any attention
to anonymous communications, he reflected.
Nevertheless, he could not calm himself. He started nervously at the
sound of the telephone-bell down in the dining-room.
Responding, he heard Thornburg’s voice at the other end of the wire.
“Is this Baron? Say, can you come down to my office right away?”
The manager’s voice betrayed excitement, Baron thought. Or was he
himself in an abnormal frame of mind?
“Yes, certainly,” he replied. He added: “Anything wrong?”
“Why—no; no, I think not. I’ll tell you when you get here.”
Something was wrong, however—Baron could see it the moment he
entered the manager’s office, half an hour later.
He had to wait a little while for an audience. Thornburg was talking to
an actress—or to a woman who had the appearance of an actress.
She sat with her back toward the office door and did not turn. But
Thornburg, upon Baron’s entrance, made a very obvious effort to
bring the interview with this earlier caller to an end. He seemed
vastly uncomfortable.
“What you ought to do is to get a stock engagement somewhere,”
Thornburg was saying impatiently. “I might possibly get you in with
Abramson, out in San Francisco. He wrote me the other day about a
utility woman. I’ll look up his letter and see if there’s anything in it.
You might come back.”
He arose with decision, fairly lifting the woman to her feet by the
force of peremptory example. “About that other matter—” he moved
toward the door, clearly intimating that he wished to finish what he
had to say outside the office.
The woman followed; but in passing Baron she paused, and her
eyes rested upon him sharply. There was a suggestion of suspicion
in her manner, in her glance, and Baron had the vexing sensation of
having seen her before without being able to identify her. A furrow
appeared in his forehead. He made a determined effort to remember.
No, he couldn’t place her. She might be an actress he had seen on
the stage somewhere or other.
She and Thornburg passed out of the office and the manager closed
the door behind him. Baron could still hear their voices, now lowered
to an angry whisper. Thornburg seemed to be speaking accusingly,
but Baron could not catch the words.
Then this one sentence, in Thornburg’s voice, came sharply: “I tell
you, you’ve worked me as long as you’re going to!”
Then the manager, flushed and excited, re-entered the office and
closed the door angrily.
And in that moment Baron remembered: That was the woman who
had stood in the theatre, talking in a tense fashion with the manager,
the day he, Baron, had sat up in the balcony box with Bonnie May!
He had no time to ponder this fact, however. Thornburg turned to
him abruptly. “Have you seen the Times to-day?” he asked.
“I glanced at it. Why?”
The manager took a copy of the paper from a pigeonhole in his desk.
“Look at that,” he directed, handing the paper to Baron. It was folded
so that a somewhat obscure item was uppermost.
Baron read: “Any one having knowledge of the whereabouts of the
child calling herself Bonnie May, and professionally known by that
name, will please communicate with X Y Z, in care of the Times.”
Baron dropped the paper on the desk and turned to Thornburg
without speaking.
The manager, now strangely quiet and morose, gazed abstractedly
at the floor. “I wish,” he said at length, “I wish she was in Tophet, or
somewhere else outside my jurisdiction.”
“But how do you know it is a she?” demanded Baron, indicating the
newspaper.
“I mean Bonnie May. I don’t know anything about that
advertisement.”
For a moment Baron could only stare at the manager. He was wholly
at sea. He was beginning to feel a deep resentment. He had done
nothing that a man need apologize for. By a fair enough
interpretation it might be said that he had tried to do a good deed.
And now he was being caught in the meshes of a mystery—and
Thornburg was behaving disagreeably, unreasonably.
He leaned back in his chair and tried to assume a perfectly tranquil
manner. He was determined not to lose his head.
“This advertisement,” he said, “seems to solve the problem. The
writer of it may not care to take Bonnie May to Tophet; but at least he
—or she—seems ready enough to take her off our hands. Off my
hands, I should say. What more do you want?”
The manager scowled. “I don’t want anybody to take her off your
hands, nor my hands.”
“Why not? If they’re entitled to her——”
“I don’t believe they’re entitled to her. A child like that.... She’s worth
a lot to people who know how to handle her. Somebody who needs
her in his business is probably trying to get hold of her.”
“Oh, that doesn’t sound reasonable to me at all. Somebody has had
charge of her. Somebody brought her to the theatre. Her mother, in
all probability.” Baron tried to speak quite casually. “Possibly her
father’s somewhere about, too.”
Thornburg glared resentfully at the younger man. “If her mother was
about,” he demanded, “would she have waited all this while to
speak?”
Baron was silenced for a moment. “Well, then,” he asked at length,
“what is your sizing up of the case?”
“I think she was deserted, maybe because for the moment she was a
burden. I think some tin-horn manager is looking for her now. And
here’s another thing I know. I want her myself!”
“But you were just saying——”
“Well, then, my wife wants her. It’s the same thing. She made up her
mind, and now she won’t change it. When I went home that night
and reported that we couldn’t have her, she began to cry. She
wouldn’t leave her bed the next morning. She’s been sick ever since.
She’ll lie for hours at a time without saying anything but—‘I wish we
could have had the little girl.’ It’s nonsense, of course; but you have
to take things as you find them. The doctor says I must get her
interested in something—as if the thing were perfectly simple. If he’d
ever run a theatre he’d know what it means to get anybody
interested. Well, there....” He calmed himself suddenly and leaned
toward Baron. His next words were little more than whispered. “You
see,” he said, “I’m fond of her—of the wife. I don’t know if you could
understand how I feel. She’s all I’ve got, and there’s a good bit of the
child about her, and she hasn’t been quite well for a long time. She
needs me to think and plan for her—to understand her, as far as I
can. You interested her in this child. She wants her. And I want her to
have her.”
“That’s plain,” said Baron. He was trying not to be too much
influenced by the manager’s sudden humility, his voicing of a need.
So far as he knew, he had his own rights in the case. And above
everything else there was to be considered Bonnie May’s right. If it
seemed best for her to remain in the mansion, there, Baron resolved,
she should remain, until he was forced to release her. “That’s plain,”
he repeated. “I think it makes the case simple enough. At least it
makes it simpler. Why not communicate with these people who are
advertising? If they have any claim on her you can come to terms
with them. They ought to be glad to see her placed in a good home.
If they haven’t any claims, the sooner we know it the better.”
“I don’t intend to pay any attention to them,” declared Thornburg. He
was sullen and stubborn again.
“Well, of course it isn’t up to you,” agreed Baron mildly. “It’s I who
must do it, as of course I shall.”
“That’s precisely what I don’t want you to do. That’s why I sent for
you.”
Baron flushed. “But—” he objected.
“Do you know what’ll happen if you show your hand? I’ll tell you. A
lot of mountebanks will be pouring into your house. They’ll make it
look like a third-rate booking agency. Your people will like that!”
Baron could see the picture: the grotesque persons at his door; the
sallow tragedian with a bass voice and no mentality to speak of; the
low comedian, fat and obtuse; the ingénue with big, childish eyes
and deep lines in her face; the leading lady with a self-imposed
burden of cheap jewelry. He saw, too, the big-hearted among them,
gravely kind toward children, and with a carefully schooled yearning
for them.
He straightened up with a jerk. “Oh, that wouldn’t be necessary,” he
declared. “I could correspond with them through the agency of the
newspaper. I needn’t give them my name and address at all. I could
require proper proofs before I appeared in the matter at all
personally.”
This idea seemed to strike Thornburg as a method of escape from a
dilemma. “Why shouldn’t I have thought of that way myself?” he
exclaimed. “I can do it that way, of course. Better for me than for you.
More in my line, at least.”
“I’m inclined to think I ought to do it myself,” objected Baron. “I really
don’t see why I should leave it to you.” Something in Thornburg’s
manner had created a suspicion in his mind. There was something
too eager in the manager’s tone; there was a hint of cunning.
“If I give you my word?” said Thornburg. He was resentful, offended.
His face had flamed to the roots of his hair.
“Oh, if you give me your word,” agreed Baron lightly. “I’ve no
objection. Certainly, go ahead.” He scrutinized his stick with a long,
frowning inspection. Then he arose with decision. “I’ll leave it to you,”
he added. “Only, I want to make one condition.”
“Oh—a condition! Well, what?”
“You’ll not take offense, Thornburg. You see, I have certain
scruples.” His mind had gone back over several episodes, and his
analysis of them pointed unyieldingly to one plain duty. “I want to ask
you just one question, and you’re to answer it in just a word: Yes, or
No.”
“Well, what’s the question?”
Baron looked steadily into the other’s eyes.
“The woman who was here in your office when I came in; who stood
with you in the theatre that day I took Bonnie May home——”
“Well?”
“Is she the—the former Mrs. Thornburg? Is she the mother of Bonnie
May?”
And Thornburg’s answer came resolutely, promptly, in the tone of a
man who tells the truth:
“No!”
 CHAPTER XIV
MR. ADDIS RECEIVES SUPPORT

Unconscious that destiny had its eye upon her, Bonnie May found
increasing comfort and contentment in her new home.
As a result of the delighted labors of Flora, her wardrobe had
become more complete than it had ever been before. She developed
such pride in the possession of many garments that Flora forgot her
own needs and gave disproportionately of her time and means to the
“outfitting” of the guest whose needs were so urgent.
As if for her special entertainment, unusual things happened.
For example, Mr. Addis called again. And a call from Mr. Addis
became, in Bonnie May’s drama-loving mind, the most delicious form
of intrigue. Mrs. Baron became indignant at the very mention of Mr.
Addis’s name. Flora became quietly wistful.
Kneeling on a low Brussels hassock at the front window of the upper
floor one night, Bonnie May saw the figure of a man extricate itself
from the passing current of humanity and make resolutely for the
Baron door.
She swiftly placed her finger on her lip and reflected. “Mr. Addis!” she
exclaimed in a whisper.
She made a supreme effort to leave the room without appearing to
have any definite purpose. Once out of sight in the hall, however,
she rushed down the stairs, just in time to open the door before the
bell was rung. She was in an elated state. She had the lower floor to
herself, save for Mrs. Shepard, who would be sure not to interrupt.
“Oh! Mr. Addis!” she whispered eagerly. She promptly ushered him
into the drawing-room and quietly closed the door with an effect of
being absent-minded, rather than designing. “Please sit down,” she
said. She had the light burning immediately.
She drew a chair forward and stood beside it a moment, and under
her inspection Mr. Addis’s cheeks took on even a deeper rosiness
and his brown eyes twinkled.
“How is—my confederate?” he asked.
She was delighted. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s what I want to be.
Your confederate. May I?”
“You may,” he said with emphasis.
She had sat down. “You know,” she confided, “I’m strong for what
you call heart interest. If you haven’t got anything but manners in
your show you soon find that people are patronizing the burlesque
houses. Don’t you think I’m right?”
Mr. Addis did not make a very pertinent response to this. “You’re a
queer little customer,” he said.
“That’s what I call favorable criticism put into plain words. I thank
you.” She added: “I want to be friends with you if you’ll let me
because I think we can’t have the right kind of heart interest around
here unless you—unless you take a more prominent part.”
Mr. Addis nodded. “That’s my idea, too. That’s why I called. If you’ll
tell Mrs. Baron I’m here, I’ll see if I can’t get her to agree with us.”
Bonnie May did not stir. “Please not just yet,” she begged. “Couldn’t
we talk things over first? If I could find out what’s wrong....” She
looked at him with pretty embarrassment.
“What, for instance, would you like to know?”
She pulled herself farther back into her chair and reflected a
moment. “Would you mind,” she asked, “telling me how you got
acquainted with Miss Flora?”
“Not at all. She’s been coming to my store—to order things—ever
since she was a little girl.”
“Oh! your store. Well, go on.”
“And occasionally I’ve dropped into the church she goes to. You
know who I am, I suppose?”
She beamed upon him. “I may not have all the details. Suppose you
make a complete confession.”
He shot a dubious glance at her; then he smiled. Bonnie May
thought his teeth were quite wonderful. “I’m the head of the Addis
Stores Company.”
Bonnie May looked slightly dismayed.
“A business man,” added Mr. Addis firmly. “I’ve admired Miss Flora a
very long time. I had chances just to be nice and polite to her. I
haven’t taken any pains to hide from her, for a year or so——”
“I understand,” Bonnie May finished for him.
“Well, then. But the trouble is that Mrs. Baron——”
“She can only see you with a pencil behind your ear,” supplemented
Bonnie May.
Mr. Addis laughed. “Now you have it!” he agreed.
Bonnie May pondered. “You know you’re not a regular-looking
Romeo,” she conceded.
“I know that very well. But at the same time——”
She gave him time to finish; then, as he seemed to lack words, she
came to his aid again: “If you undertook to pay a lady’s travelling
expenses, it would take a pretty smooth Iago to make you do
anything nasty.”
“That’s it!” agreed Mr. Addis with emphasis.
“Have you tried the—the little, unimportant things?”
“As for example?”
“Well, just as a suggestion: you know you weren’t carrying a stick
when you came in to-night.”
“Oh, that sort of thing. You see, that’s not in my line at all. I wouldn’t
know how to carry a stick, or where to put it. I don’t see any use in
’em except to beat off dogs, maybe—and all the dogs like me!”