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diff --git a/1646-h/1646-h.htm b/1646-h/1646-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fdb3743 --- /dev/null +++ b/1646-h/1646-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12348 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Roads of Destiny, by O. Henry</title> +<style type="text/css"> + body {background:#fdfdfd; + color:black; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + font-size: large; + margin-top:100px; + margin-left:15%; + margin-right:15%; + text-align:justify; } + h1, h2, h3, h4 {text-align: center; } + hr.narrow { width: 40%; + text-align: center; } + hr { width: 100%; } + blockquote { font-size: large; } + blockquote.med { font-size: medium; } + table {font-size: large; + text-align: left; } + p {text-indent: 4%; } + p.noindent {text-indent: 0%; } + img { border: 0; } + .arial { font-family: "Arial", non-serif; } + .caption { font-size: small; + font-weight: bold; } + .center { text-align: center; } + .ind2 {margin-left: 2em; } + .ind5 {margin-left: 5em; } + .ind10 {margin-left: 10em; } + .ind12 {margin-left: 12em; } + .ind15 {margin-left: 15em; } + .small {font-size: small; } + .smallcaps { font-variant: small-caps; } + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red; + text-decoration: underline; } + pre {font-size: 65%; } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Roads of Destiny, by O. Henry</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p class="noindent">Title: Roads of Destiny</p> +<p class="noindent"> Roads of Destiny -- The Guardian of the Accolade -- The Discounters of Money -- The Enchanted Profile -- "Next to Reading Matter" -- Art and the Bronco -- Phoebe -- A Double-dyed Deceiver -- The Passing of Black Eagle -- A Retrieved Reformation -- Cherchez la Femme -- Friends in San Rosario -- The Fourth in Salvador -- The Emancipation of Billy -- The Enchanted Kiss -- A Departmental Case -- The Renaissance at Charleroi -- On Behalf of the Management -- Whistling Dick's Christmas Stocking -- The Halberdier of the Little Rheinschloss -- Two Renegades -- The Lonesome Road</p> +<p class="noindent">Author: O. Henry</p> +<p class="noindent">Release Date: February, 1997 [eBook #1646]<br /> +[Most recently updated: February 5, 2006]</p> +<p class="noindent">Language: English</p> +<p class="noindent">Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p class="noindent">***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROADS OF DESTINY***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by John Bickers and Dagny<br /> + and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.<br /> + <br /> + HTML version prepared by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr /> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<a href="images/frontis.jpg"> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="300px" +alt="Frontispiece" /></a><br /> +<span class="caption">"The old medical outrage … +had a nigger along."</span> +</div> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h1>ROADS OF DESTINY</h1> + +<h4>by</h4> + +<h2>O. Henry</h2> + +<p> </p> +<h3><i>Author of "The Voice of the City,"<br /> + "The Trimmed Lamp," "Strictly Business,"<br /> + "Whirligigs," "Sixes and Sevens," Etc.</i></h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h4>1919</h4> +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<p> </p> +<div class="center"> +<table cellpadding="1"> +<tr><td align="right">I. </td> <td><a href="#1" ><span class="smallcaps">Roads of Destiny</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">II. </td> <td><a href="#2" ><span class="smallcaps">The Guardian of the Accolade</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">III. </td> <td><a href="#3" ><span class="smallcaps">The Discounters of Money</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IV. </td> <td><a href="#4" ><span class="smallcaps">The Enchanted Profile</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">V. </td> <td><a href="#5" ><span class="smallcaps">"Next to Reading Matter"</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VI. </td> <td><a href="#6" ><span class="smallcaps">Art and the Bronco</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VII. </td> <td><a href="#7" ><span class="smallcaps">Phœbe</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">VIII. </td> <td><a href="#8" ><span class="smallcaps">A Double-dyed Deceiver</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">IX. </td> <td><a href="#9" ><span class="smallcaps">The Passing of Black Eagle</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">X. </td> <td><a href="#10" ><span class="smallcaps">A Retrieved Reformation</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XI. </td> <td><a href="#11" ><span class="smallcaps">Cherchez la Femme</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XII. </td> <td><a href="#12" ><span class="smallcaps">Friends in San Rosario</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIII. </td> <td><a href="#13" ><span class="smallcaps">The Fourth in Salvador</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIV. </td> <td><a href="#14" ><span class="smallcaps">The Emancipation of Billy</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XV. </td> <td><a href="#15" ><span class="smallcaps">The Enchanted Kiss</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVI. </td> <td><a href="#16" ><span class="smallcaps">A Departmental Case</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVII. </td> <td><a href="#17" ><span class="smallcaps">The Renaissance at Charleroi</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XVIII. </td><td><a href="#18" ><span class="smallcaps">On Behalf of the Management</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XIX. </td> <td><a href="#19" ><span class="smallcaps">Whistling Dick's Christmas Stocking</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XX. </td> <td><a href="#20" ><span class="smallcaps">The Halberdier of the Little Rheinschloss</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXI. </td> <td><a href="#21" ><span class="smallcaps">Two Renegades</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="right">XXII. </td> <td><a href="#22" ><span class="smallcaps">The Lonesome Road</span></a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="narrow" /> + +<p><a name="1"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>I</h3> +<h3>ROADS OF DESTINY<br /> </h3> + + +<blockquote><blockquote class="med"> +<p class="noindent">I go to seek on many roads<br /> +<span class="ind2">What is to be.</span><br /> + True heart and strong, with love to light—<br /> + Will they not bear me in the fight<br /> + To order, shun or wield or mould<br /> +<span class="ind2">My Destiny?</span></p> + +<p class="ind5"><i>Unpublished Poems of +David Mignot</i>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>The song was over. The words were David's; the air, one of the +countryside. The company about the inn table applauded +heartily, for the young poet paid for the wine. Only the +notary, M. Papineau, shook his head a little at the lines, for +he was a man of books, and he had not drunk with the rest.</p> + +<p>David went out into the village street, where the night air +drove the wine vapour from his head. And then he remembered +that he and Yvonne had quarrelled that day, and that he had +resolved to leave his home that night to seek fame and honour +in the great world outside.</p> + +<p>"When my poems are on every man's tongue," he told himself, in +a fine exhilaration, "she will, perhaps, think of the hard +words she spoke this day."</p> + +<p>Except the roisterers in the tavern, the village folk were +abed. David crept softly into his room in the shed of his +father's cottage and made a bundle of his small store of +clothing. With this upon a staff, he set his face outward upon +the road that ran from Vernoy.</p> + +<p>He passed his father's herd of sheep, huddled in their nightly +pen—the sheep he herded daily, leaving them to scatter while +he wrote verses on scraps of paper. He saw a light yet shining +in Yvonne's window, and a weakness shook his purpose of a +sudden. Perhaps that light meant that she rued, sleepless, her +anger, and that morning might—But, no! His decision was made. +Vernoy was no place for him. Not one soul there could share his +thoughts. Out along that road lay his fate and his future.</p> + +<p>Three leagues across the dim, moonlit champaign ran the road, +straight as a ploughman's furrow. It was believed in the +village that the road ran to Paris, at least; and this name the +poet whispered often to himself as he walked. Never so far from +Vernoy had David travelled before.</p> + + +<p> </p> +<h4>THE LEFT BRANCH<br /> </h4> + + +<blockquote> +<p><i>Three leagues, then, the road ran, and turned into a puzzle. +It joined with another and a larger road at right angles. +David stood, uncertain, for a while, and then took the road +to the left.</i><br /> </p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Upon this more important highway were, imprinted in the dust, +wheel tracks left by the recent passage of some vehicle. Some +half an hour later these traces were verified by the sight of a +ponderous carriage mired in a little brook at the bottom of a +steep hill. The driver and postilions were shouting and tugging +at the horses' bridles. On the road at one side stood a huge, +black-clothed man and a slender lady wrapped in a long, light +cloak.</p> + +<p>David saw the lack of skill in the efforts of the servants. He +quietly assumed control of the work. He directed the outriders +to cease their clamour at the horses and to exercise their +strength upon the wheels. The driver alone urged the animals +with his familiar voice; David himself heaved a powerful +shoulder at the rear of the carriage, and with one harmonious +tug the great vehicle rolled up on solid ground. The outriders +climbed to their places.</p> + +<p>David stood for a moment upon one foot. The huge gentleman +waved a hand. "You will enter the carriage," he said, in a +voice large, like himself, but smoothed by art and habit. +Obedience belonged in the path of such a voice. Brief as was +the young poet's hesitation, it was cut shorter still by a +renewal of the command. David's foot went to the step. In the +darkness he perceived dimly the form of the lady upon the rear +seat. He was about to seat himself opposite, when the voice +again swayed him to its will. "You will sit at the lady's +side."</p> + +<p>The gentleman swung his great weight to the forward seat. The +carriage proceeded up the hill. The lady was shrunk, silent, +into her corner. David could not estimate whether she was old +or young, but a delicate, mild perfume from her clothes stirred +his poet's fancy to the belief that there was loveliness +beneath the mystery. Here was an adventure such as he had often +imagined. But as yet he held no key to it, for no word was +spoken while he sat with his impenetrable companions.</p> + +<p>In an hour's time David perceived through the window that the +vehicle traversed the street of some town. Then it stopped in +front of a closed and darkened house, and a postilion alighted +to hammer impatiently upon the door. A latticed window above +flew wide and a nightcapped head popped out.</p> + +<p>"Who are ye that disturb honest folk at this time of night? My +house is closed. 'Tis too late for profitable travellers to be +abroad. Cease knocking at my door, and be off."</p> + +<p>"Open!" spluttered the postilion, loudly; "open for Monsiegneur +the Marquis de Beaupertuys."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" cried the voice above. "Ten thousand pardons, my lord. I +did not know—the hour is so late—at once shall the door be +opened, and the house placed at my lord's disposal."</p> + +<p>Inside was heard the clink of chain and bar, and the door was +flung open. Shivering with chill and apprehension, the landlord +of the Silver Flagon stood, half clad, candle in hand, upon the +threshold.</p> + +<p>David followed the Marquis out of the carriage. "Assist the +lady," he was ordered. The poet obeyed. He felt her small hand +tremble as he guided her descent. "Into the house," was the +next command.</p> + +<p>The room was the long dining-hall of the tavern. A great oak +table ran down its length. The huge gentleman seated himself in +a chair at the nearer end. The lady sank into another against +the wall, with an air of great weariness. David stood, +considering how best he might now take his leave and continue +upon his way.</p> + +<p>"My lord," said the landlord, bowing to the floor, "h-had I +ex-expected this honour, entertainment would have been ready. +T-t-there is wine and cold fowl and m-m-maybe—"</p> + +<p>"Candles," said the marquis, spreading the fingers of one plump +white hand in a gesture he had.</p> + +<p>"Y-yes, my lord." He fetched half a dozen candles, lighted +them, and set them upon the table.</p> + +<p>"If monsieur would, perhaps, deign to taste a certain +Burgundy—there is a cask—"</p> + +<p>"Candles," said monsieur, spreading his fingers.</p> + +<p>"Assuredly—quickly—I fly, my lord."</p> + +<p>A dozen more lighted candles shone in the hall. The great bulk +of the marquis overflowed his chair. He was dressed in fine +black from head to foot save for the snowy ruffles at his wrist +and throat. Even the hilt and scabbard of his sword were black. +His expression was one of sneering pride. The ends of an +upturned moustache reached nearly to his mocking eyes.</p> + +<p>The lady sat motionless, and now David perceived that she was +young, and possessed of pathetic and appealing beauty. He was +startled from the contemplation of her forlorn loveliness by +the booming voice of the marquis.</p> + +<p>"What is your name and pursuit?"</p> + +<p>"David Mignot. I am a poet."</p> + +<p>The moustache of the marquis curled nearer to his eyes.</p> + +<p>"How do you live?"</p> + +<p>"I am also a shepherd; I guarded my father's flock," David +answered, with his head high, but a flush upon his cheek.</p> + +<p>"Then listen, master shepherd and poet, to the fortune you have +blundered upon to-night. This lady is my niece, Mademoiselle +Lucie de Varennes. She is of noble descent and is possessed of +ten thousand francs a year in her own right. As to her charms, +you have but to observe for yourself. If the inventory pleases +your shepherd's heart, she becomes your wife at a word. Do not +interrupt me. To-night I conveyed her to the <i>château</i> of the +Comte de Villemaur, to whom her hand had been promised. Guests +were present; the priest was waiting; her marriage to one +eligible in rank and fortune was ready to be accomplished. At +the alter this demoiselle, so meek and dutiful, turned upon me +like a leopardess, charged me with cruelty and crimes, and +broke, before the gaping priest, the troth I had plighted for +her. I swore there and then, by ten thousand devils, that she +should marry the first man we met after leaving the <i>château</i>, +be he prince, charcoal-burner, or thief. You, shepherd, are the +first. Mademoiselle must be wed this night. If not you, then +another. You have ten minutes in which to make your decision. +Do not vex me with words or questions. Ten minutes, shepherd; +and they are speeding."</p> + +<p>The marquis drummed loudly with his white fingers upon the +table. He sank into a veiled attitude of waiting. It was as if +some great house had shut its doors and windows against +approach. David would have spoken, but the huge man's bearing +stopped his tongue. Instead, he stood by the lady's chair and +bowed.</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle," he said, and he marvelled to find his words +flowing easily before so much elegance and beauty. "You have +heard me say I was a shepherd. I have also had the fancy, at +times, that I am a poet. If it be the test of a poet to adore +and cherish the beautiful, that fancy is now strengthened. Can +I serve you in any way, mademoiselle?"</p> + +<p>The young woman looked up at him with eyes dry and mournful. +His frank, glowing face, made serious by the gravity of the +adventure, his strong, straight figure and the liquid sympathy +in his blue eyes, perhaps, also, her imminent need of +long-denied help and kindness, thawed her to sudden tears.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur," she said, in low tones, "you look to be true and +kind. He is my uncle, the brother of my father, and my only +relative. He loved my mother, and he hates me because I am like +her. He has made my life one long terror. I am afraid of his +very looks, and never before dared to disobey him. But to-night +he would have married me to a man three times my age. You will +forgive me for bringing this vexation upon you, monsieur. You +will, of course, decline this mad act he tries to force upon +you. But let me thank you for your generous words, at least. I +have had none spoken to me in so long."</p> + +<p>There was now something more than generosity in the poet's +eyes. Poet he must have been, for Yvonne was forgotten; this +fine, new loveliness held him with its freshness and grace. The +subtle perfume from her filled him with strange emotions. His +tender look fell warmly upon her. She leaned to it, thirstily.</p> + +<p>"Ten minutes," said David, "is given me in which to do what I +would devote years to achieve. I will not say I pity you, +mademoiselle; it would not be true—I love you. I cannot ask +love from you yet, but let me rescue you from this cruel man, +and, in time, love may come. I think I have a future; I will +not always be a shepherd. For the present I will cherish you +with all my heart and make your life less sad. Will you trust +your fate to me, mademoiselle?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, you would sacrifice yourself from pity!"</p> + +<p>"From love. The time is almost up, mademoiselle."</p> + +<p>"You will regret it, and despise me."</p> + +<p>"I will live only to make you happy, and myself worthy of you."</p> + +<p>Her fine small hand crept into his from beneath her cloak.</p> + +<p>"I will trust you," she breathed, "with my life. And—and +love—may not be so far off as you think. Tell him. Once away +from the power of his eyes I may forget."</p> + +<p>David went and stood before the marquis. The black figure +stirred, and the mocking eyes glanced at the great hall clock.</p> + +<p>"Two minutes to spare. A shepherd requires eight minutes to +decide whether he will accept a bride of beauty and income! +Speak up, shepherd, do you consent to become mademoiselle's +husband?"</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle," said David, standing proudly, "has done me the +honour to yield to my request that she become my wife."</p> + +<p>"Well said!" said the marquis. "You have yet the making of a +courtier in you, master shepherd. Mademoiselle could have drawn +a worse prize, after all. And now to be done with the affair as +quick as the Church and the devil will allow!"</p> + +<p>He struck the table soundly with his sword hilt. The landlord +came, knee-shaking, bringing more candles in the hope of +anticipating the great lord's whims. "Fetch a priest," said the +marquis, "a priest; do you understand? In ten minutes have a +priest here, or—"</p> + +<p>The landlord dropped his candles and flew.</p> + +<p>The priest came, heavy-eyed and ruffled. He made David Mignot +and Lucie de Verennes man and wife, pocketed a gold piece that +the marquis tossed him, and shuffled out again into the night.</p> + +<p>"Wine," ordered the marquis, spreading his ominous fingers at +the host.</p> + +<p>"Fill glasses," he said, when it was brought. He stood up at +the head of the table in the candlelight, a black mountain of +venom and conceit, with something like the memory of an old +love turned to poison in his eyes, as it fell upon his niece.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur Mignot," he said, raising his wineglass, "drink after +I say this to you: You have taken to be your wife one who will +make your life a foul and wretched thing. The blood in her is +an inheritance running black lies and red ruin. She will bring +you shame and anxiety. The devil that descended to her is there +in her eyes and skin and mouth that stoop even to beguile a +peasant. There is your promise, monsieur poet, for a happy +life. Drink your wine. At last, mademoiselle, I am rid of you."</p> + +<p>The marquis drank. A little grievous cry, as if from a sudden +wound, came from the girl's lips. David, with his glass in his +hand, stepped forward three paces and faced the marquis. There +was little of a shepherd in his bearing.</p> + +<p>"Just now," he said, calmly, "you did me the honor to call me +'monsieur.' May I hope, therefore that my marriage to +mademoiselle has placed me somewhat nearer to you in—let us +say, reflected rank—has given me the right to stand more as an +equal to monseigneur in a certain little piece of business I +have in my mind?"</p> + +<p>"You may hope, shepherd," sneered the marquis.</p> + +<p>"Then," said David, dashing his glass of wine into the +contemptuous eyes that mocked him, "perhaps you will condescend +to fight me."</p> + +<p>The fury of the great lord outbroke in one sudden curse like a +blast from a horn. He tore his sword from its black sheath; he +called to the hovering landlord: "A sword there, for this +lout!" He turned to the lady, with a laugh that chilled her +heart, and said: "You put much labour upon me, madame. It seems +I must find you a husband and make you a widow in the same +night."</p> + +<p>"I know not sword-play," said David. He flushed to make the +confession before his lady.</p> + +<p>"'I know not sword-play,'" mimicked the marquis. "Shall we +fight like peasants with oaken cudgels? <i>Hola!</i> François, my +pistols!"</p> + +<p>A postilion brought two shining great pistols ornamented with +carven silver, from the carriage holsters. The marquis tossed +one upon the table near David's hand. "To the other end of the +table," he cried; "even a shepherd may pull a trigger. Few of +them attain the honour to die by the weapon of a De +Beaupertuys."</p> + +<p>The shepherd and the marquis faced each other from the ends of +the long table. The landlord, in an ague of terror, clutched +the air and stammered: "M-M-Monseigneur, for the love of +Christ! not in my house!—do not spill blood—it will ruin my +custom—" The look of the marquis, threatening him, paralyzed +his tongue.</p> + +<p>"Coward," cried the lord of Beaupertuys, "cease chattering your +teeth long enough to give the word for us, if you can."</p> + +<p>Mine host's knees smote the floor. He was without a vocabulary. +Even sounds were beyond him. Still, by gestures he seemed to +beseech peace in the name of his house and custom.</p> + +<p>"I will give the word," said the lady, in a clear voice. She +went up to David and kissed him sweetly. Her eyes were +sparkling bright, and colour had come to her cheek. She stood +against the wall, and the two men levelled their pistols for +her count.</p> + +<p>"<i>Un</i>—<i>deux</i>—<i>trois!</i>"</p> + +<p>The two reports came so nearly together that the candles +flickered but once. The marquis stood, smiling, the fingers of +his left hand resting, outspread, upon the end of the table. +David remained erect, and turned his head very slowly, +searching for his wife with his eyes. Then, as a garment falls +from where it is hung, he sank, crumpled, upon the floor.</p> + +<p>With a little cry of terror and despair, the widowed maid ran +and stooped above him. She found his wound, and then looked up +with her old look of pale melancholy. "Through his heart," she +whispered. "Oh, his heart!"</p> + +<p>"Come," boomed the great voice of the marquis, "out with you to +the carriage! Daybreak shall not find you on my hands. Wed you +shall be again, and to a living husband, this night. The next +we come upon, my lady, highwayman or peasant. If the road +yields no other, then the churl that opens my gates. Out with +you into the carriage!"</p> + +<p>The marquis, implacable and huge, the lady wrapped again in the +mystery of her cloak, the postilion bearing the weapons—all +moved out to the waiting carriage. The sound of its ponderous +wheels rolling away echoed through the slumbering village. In +the hall of the Silver Flagon the distracted landlord wrung his +hands above the slain poet's body, while the flames of the four +and twenty candles danced and flickered on the table.</p> + + +<p> </p> +<h4>THE RIGHT BRANCH<br /> </h4> + + +<blockquote> +<p><i>Three leagues, then, the road ran, and turned into a puzzle. +It joined with another and a larger road at right angles. +David stood, uncertain, for a while, and then took the road +to the right.</i><br /> </p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Whither it led he knew not, but he was resolved to leave Vernoy +far behind that night. He travelled a league and then passed a +large <i>château</i> which showed testimony of recent entertainment. +Lights shone from every window; from the great stone gateway +ran a tracery of wheel tracks drawn in the dust by the vehicles +of the guests.</p> + +<p>Three leagues farther and David was weary. He rested and slept +for a while on a bed of pine boughs at the roadside. Then up +and on again along the unknown way.</p> + +<p>Thus for five days he travelled the great road, sleeping upon +Nature's balsamic beds or in peasants' ricks, eating of their +black, hospitable bread, drinking from streams or the willing +cup of the goatherd.</p> + +<p>At length he crossed a great bridge and set his foot within the +smiling city that has crushed or crowned more poets than all +the rest of the world. His breath came quickly as Paris sang to +him in a little undertone her vital chant of greeting—the hum +of voice and foot and wheel.</p> + +<p>High up under the eaves of an old house in the Rue Conti, David +paid for lodging, and set himself, in a wooden chair, to his +poems. The street, once sheltering citizens of import and +consequence, was now given over to those who ever follow in the +wake of decline.</p> + +<p>The houses were tall and still possessed of a ruined dignity, +but many of them were empty save for dust and the spider. By +night there was the clash of steel and the cries of brawlers +straying restlessly from inn to inn. Where once gentility abode +was now but a rancid and rude incontinence. But here David +found housing commensurate to his scant purse. Daylight and +candlelight found him at pen and paper.</p> + +<p>One afternoon he was returning from a foraging trip to the +lower world, with bread and curds and a bottle of thin wine. +Halfway up his dark stairway he met—or rather came upon, for +she rested on the stair—a young woman of a beauty that should +balk even the justice of a poet's imagination. A loose, dark +cloak, flung open, showed a rich gown beneath. Her eyes changed +swiftly with every little shade of thought. Within one moment +they would be round and artless like a child's, and long and +cozening like a gypsy's. One hand raised her gown, undraping a +little shoe, high-heeled, with its ribbons dangling, untied. So +heavenly she was, so unfitted to stoop, so qualified to charm +and command! Perhaps she had seen David coming, and had waited +for his help there.</p> + +<p>Ah, would monsieur pardon that she occupied the stairway, but +the shoe!—the naughty shoe! Alas! it would not remain tied. +Ah! if monsieur <i>would</i> be so gracious!</p> + +<p>The poet's fingers trembled as he tied the contrary ribbons. +Then he would have fled from the danger of her presence, but +the eyes grew long and cozening, like a gypsy's, and held him. +He leaned against the balustrade, clutching his bottle of sour +wine.</p> + +<p>"You have been so good," she said, smiling. "Does monsieur, +perhaps, live in the house?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, madame. I—I think so, madame."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps in the third story, then?"</p> + +<p>"No, madame; higher up."</p> + +<p>The lady fluttered her fingers with the least possible gesture +of impatience.</p> + +<p>"Pardon. Certainly I am not discreet in asking. Monsieur will +forgive me? It is surely not becoming that I should inquire +where he lodges."</p> + +<p>"Madame, do not say so. I live in the—"</p> + +<p>"No, no, no; do not tell me. Now I see that I erred. But I +cannot lose the interest I feel in this house and all that is +in it. Once it was my home. Often I come here but to dream of +those happy days again. Will you let that be my excuse?"</p> + +<p>"Let me tell you, then, for you need no excuse," stammered the +poet. "I live in the top floor—the small room where the stairs +turn."</p> + +<p>"In the front room?" asked the lady, turning her head sidewise.</p> + +<p>"The rear, madame."</p> + +<p>The lady sighed, as if with relief.</p> + +<p>"I will detain you no longer then, monsieur," she said, +employing the round and artless eye. "Take good care of my +house. Alas! only the memories of it are mine now. Adieu, and +accept my thanks for your courtesy."</p> + +<p>She was gone, leaving but a smile and a trace of sweet perfume. +David climbed the stairs as one in slumber. But he awoke from +it, and the smile and the perfume lingered with him and never +afterward did either seem quite to leave him. This lady of whom +he knew nothing drove him to lyrics of eyes, chansons of +swiftly conceived love, odes to curling hair, and sonnets to +slippers on slender feet.</p> + +<p>Poet he must have been, for Yvonne was forgotten; this fine, +new loveliness held him with its freshness and grace. The +subtle perfume about her filled him with strange emotions.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>On a certain night three persons were gathered about a table in +a room on the third floor of the same house. Three chairs and +the table and a lighted candle upon it was all the furniture. +One of the persons was a huge man, dressed in black. His +expression was one of sneering pride. The ends of his upturned +moustache reached nearly to his mocking eyes. Another was a +lady, young and beautiful, with eyes that could be round and +artless, as a child's, or long and cozening, like a gypsy's, +but were now keen and ambitious, like any other conspirator's. +The third was a man of action, a combatant, a bold and +impatient executive, breathing fire and steel. He was addressed +by the others as Captain Desrolles.</p> + +<p>This man struck the table with his fist, and said, with +controlled violence:</p> + +<p>"To-night. To-night as he goes to midnight mass. I am tired of +the plotting that gets nowhere. I am sick of signals and +ciphers and secret meetings and such <i>baragouin</i>. Let us be +honest traitors. If France is to be rid of him, let us kill in +the open, and not hunt with snares and traps. To-night, I say. +I back my words. My hand will do the deed. To-night, as he goes +to mass."</p> + +<p>The lady turned upon him a cordial look. Woman, however wedded +to plots, must ever thus bow to rash courage. The big man +stroked his upturned moustache.</p> + +<p>"Dear captain," he said, in a great voice, softened by habit, +"this time I agree with you. Nothing is to be gained by +waiting. Enough of the palace guards belong to us to make the +endeavour a safe one."</p> + +<p>"To-night," repeated Captain Desrolles, again striking the +table. "You have heard me, marquis; my hand will do the deed."</p> + +<p>"But now," said the huge man, softly, "comes a question. Word +must be sent to our partisans in the palace, and a signal +agreed upon. Our stanchest men must accompany the royal +carriage. At this hour what messenger can penetrate so far as +the south doorway? Ribouet is stationed there; once a message +is placed in his hands, all will go well."</p> + +<p>"I will send the message," said the lady.</p> + +<p>"You, countess?" said the marquis, raising his eyebrows. "Your +devotion is great, we know, but—"</p> + +<p>"Listen!" exclaimed the lady, rising and resting her hands upon +the table; "in a garret of this house lives a youth from the +provinces as guileless and tender as the lambs he tended there. +I have met him twice or thrice upon the stairs. I questioned +him, fearing that he might dwell too near the room in which we +are accustomed to meet. He is mine, if I will. He writes poems +in his garret, and I think he dreams of me. He will do what I +say. He shall take the message to the palace."</p> + +<p>The marquis rose from his chair and bowed. "You did not permit +me to finish my sentence, countess," he said. "I would have +said: 'Your devotion is great, but your wit and charm are +infinitely greater.'"</p> + +<p>While the conspirators were thus engaged, David was polishing +some lines addressed to his <i>amorette d'escalier</i>. He heard a +timorous knock at his door, and opened it, with a great throb, +to behold her there, panting as one in straits, with eyes wide +open and artless, like a child's.</p> + +<p>"Monsieur," she breathed, "I come to you in distress. I believe +you to be good and true, and I know of no other help. How I +flew through the streets among the swaggering men! Monsieur, my +mother is dying. My uncle is a captain of guards in the palace +of the king. Some one must fly to bring him. May I hope—"</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle," interrupted David, his eyes shining with the +desire to do her service, "your hopes shall be my wings. Tell +me how I may reach him."</p> + +<p>The lady thrust a sealed paper into his hand.</p> + +<p>"Go to the south gate—the south gate, mind—and say to the +guards there, 'The falcon has left his nest.' They will pass +you, and you will go to the south entrance to the palace. +Repeat the words, and give this letter to the man who will +reply 'Let him strike when he will.' This is the password, +monsieur, entrusted to me by my uncle, for now when the country +is disturbed and men plot against the king's life, no one +without it can gain entrance to the palace grounds after +nightfall. If you will, monsieur, take him this letter so that +my mother may see him before she closes her eyes."</p> + +<p>"Give it me," said David, eagerly. "But shall I let you return +home through the streets alone so late? I—"</p> + +<p>"No, no—fly. Each moment is like a precious jewel. Some time," +said the lady, with eyes long and cozening, like a gypsy's, "I +will try to thank you for your goodness."</p> + +<p>The poet thrust the letter into his breast, and bounded down +the stairway. The lady, when he was gone, returned to the room +below.</p> + +<p>The eloquent eyebrows of the marquis interrogated her.</p> + +<p>"He is gone," she said, "as fleet and stupid as one of his own +sheep, to deliver it."</p> + +<p>The table shook again from the batter of Captain Desrolles's +fist.</p> + +<p>"Sacred name!" he cried; "I have left my pistols behind! I can +trust no others."</p> + +<p>"Take this," said the marquis, drawing from beneath his cloak a +shining, great weapon, ornamented with carven silver. "There +are none truer. But guard it closely, for it bears my arms and +crest, and already I am suspected. Me, I must put many leagues +between myself and Paris this night. To-morrow must find me in +my <i>château</i>. After you, dear countess."</p> + +<p>The marquis puffed out the candle. The lady, well cloaked, and +the two gentlemen softly descended the stairway and flowed into +the crowd that roamed along the narrow pavements of the Rue +Conti.</p> + +<p>David sped. At the south gate of the king's residence a halberd +was laid to his breast, but he turned its point with the words; +"The falcon has left his nest."</p> + +<p>"Pass, brother," said the guard, "and go quickly."</p> + +<p>On the south steps of the palace they moved to seize him, but +again the <i>mot de passe</i> charmed the watchers. One among them +stepped forward and began: "Let him strike—" but a flurry +among the guards told of a surprise. A man of keen look and +soldierly stride suddenly pressed through them and seized the +letter which David held in his hand. "Come with me," he said, +and led him inside the great hall. Then he tore open the letter +and read it. He beckoned to a man uniformed as an officer of +musketeers, who was passing. "Captain Tetreau, you will have +the guards at the south entrance and the south gate arrested +and confined. Place men known to be loyal in their places." To +David he said: "Come with me."</p> + +<p>He conducted him through a corridor and an anteroom into a +spacious chamber, where a melancholy man, sombrely dressed, sat +brooding in a great, leather-covered chair. To that man he +said:</p> + +<p>"Sire, I have told you that the palace is as full of traitors +and spies as a sewer is of rats. You have thought, sire, that +it was my fancy. This man penetrated to your very door by their +connivance. He bore a letter which I have intercepted. I have +brought him here that your majesty may no longer think my zeal +excessive."</p> + +<p>"I will question him," said the king, stirring in his chair. He +looked at David with heavy eyes dulled by an opaque film. The +poet bent his knee.</p> + +<p>"From where do you come?" asked the king.</p> + +<p>"From the village of Vernoy, in the province of Eure-et-Loir, +sire."</p> + +<p>"What do you follow in Paris?"</p> + +<p>"I—I would be a poet, sire."</p> + +<p>"What did you in Vernoy?"</p> + +<p>"I minded my father's flock of sheep."</p> + +<p>The king stirred again, and the film lifted from his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Ah! in the fields!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sire."</p> + +<p>"You lived in the fields; you went out in the cool of the +morning and lay among the hedges in the grass. The flock +distributed itself upon the hillside; you drank of the living +stream; you ate your sweet, brown bread in the shade, and you +listened, doubtless, to blackbirds piping in the grove. Is not +that so, shepherd?"</p> + +<p>"It is, sire," answered David, with a sigh; "and to the bees at +the flowers, and, maybe, to the grape gatherers singing on the +hill."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said the king, impatiently; "maybe to them; but +surely to the blackbirds. They whistled often, in the grove, +did they not?"</p> + +<p>"Nowhere, sire, so sweetly as in Eure-et-Loir. I have +endeavored to express their song in some verses that I have +written."</p> + +<p>"Can you repeat those verses?" asked the king, eagerly. "A long +time ago I listened to the blackbirds. It would be something +better than a kingdom if one could rightly construe their song. +And at night you drove the sheep to the fold and then sat, in +peace and tranquillity, to your pleasant bread. Can you repeat +those verses, shepherd?"</p> + +<p>"They run this way, sire," said David, with respectful +ardour:<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">"'Lazy shepherd, see your lambkins<br /> +<span class="ind2">Skip, ecstatic, on the mead;</span><br /> + See the firs dance in the breezes,<br /> +<span class="ind2">Hear Pan blowing at his reed.</span><br /> +<br /> + "Hear us calling from the tree-tops,<br /> +<span class="ind2">See us swoop upon your flock;</span><br /> + Yield us wool to make our nests warm<br /> +<span class="ind2">In the branches of the—'"</span><br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>"If it please your majesty," interrupted a harsh voice, "I will +ask a question or two of this rhymester. There is little time +to spare. I crave pardon, sire, if my anxiety for your safety +offends."</p> + +<p>"The loyalty," said the king, "of the Duke d'Aumale is too well +proven to give offence." He sank into his chair, and the film +came again over his eyes.</p> + +<p>"First," said the duke, "I will read you the letter he +brought:<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote class="med"> +<p>"'To-night is the anniversary of the dauphin's death. If he +goes, as is his custom, to midnight mass to pray for the soul +of his son, the falcon will strike, at the corner of the Rue +Esplanade. If this be his intention, set a red light in the +upper room at the southwest corner of the palace, that the +falcon may take heed.'<br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>"Peasant," said the duke, sternly, "you have heard these words. +Who gave you this message to bring?"</p> + +<p>"My lord duke," said David, sincerely, "I will tell you. A lady +gave it me. She said her mother was ill, and that this writing +would fetch her uncle to her bedside. I do not know the meaning +of the letter, but I will swear that she is beautiful and +good."</p> + +<p>"Describe the woman," commanded the duke, "and how you came to +be her dupe."</p> + +<p>"Describe her!" said David with a tender smile. "You would +command words to perform miracles. Well, she is made of +sunshine and deep shade. She is slender, like the alders, and +moves with their grace. Her eyes change while you gaze into +them; now round, and then half shut as the sun peeps between +two clouds. When she comes, heaven is all about her; when she +leaves, there is chaos and a scent of hawthorn blossoms. She +came to see me in the Rue Conti, number twenty-nine."</p> + +<p>"It is the house," said the duke, turning to the king, "that we +have been watching. Thanks to the poet's tongue, we have a +picture of the infamous Countess Quebedaux."</p> + +<p>"Sire and my lord duke," said David, earnestly, "I hope my poor +words have done no injustice. I have looked into that lady's +eyes. I will stake my life that she is an angel, letter or no +letter."</p> + +<p>The duke looked at him steadily. "I will put you to the proof," +he said, slowly. "Dressed as the king, you shall, yourself, +attend mass in his carriage at midnight. Do you accept the +test?"</p> + +<p>David smiled. "I have looked into her eyes," he said. "I had my +proof there. Take yours how you will."</p> + +<p>Half an hour before twelve the Duke d'Aumale, with his own +hands, set a red lamp in a southwest window of the palace. At +ten minutes to the hour, David, leaning on his arm, dressed as +the king, from top to toe, with his head bowed in his cloak, +walked slowly from the royal apartments to the waiting +carriage. The duke assisted him inside and closed the door. The +carriage whirled away along its route to the cathedral.</p> + +<p>On the <i>qui vive</i> in a house at the corner of the Rue Esplanade +was Captain Tetreau with twenty men, ready to pounce upon the +conspirators when they should appear.</p> + +<p>But it seemed that, for some reason, the plotters had slightly +altered their plans. When the royal carriage had reached the +Rue Christopher, one square nearer than the Rue Esplanade, +forth from it burst Captain Desrolles, with his band of +would-be regicides, and assailed the equipage. The guards upon +the carriage, though surprised at the premature attack, +descended and fought valiantly. The noise of conflict attracted +the force of Captain Tetreau, and they came pelting down the +street to the rescue. But, in the meantime, the desperate +Desrolles had torn open the door of the king's carriage, thrust +his weapon against the body of the dark figure inside, and +fired.</p> + +<p>Now, with loyal reinforcements at hand, the street rang with +cries and the rasp of steel, but the frightened horses had +dashed away. Upon the cushions lay the dead body of the poor +mock king and poet, slain by a ball from the pistol of +Monseigneur, the Marquis de Beaupertuys.</p> + + +<p> </p> +<h4>THE MAIN ROAD<br /> </h4> + + +<blockquote> +<p><i>Three leagues, then, the road ran, and turned into a puzzle. +It joined with another and a larger road at right angles. +David stood, uncertain, for a while, and then sat himself to +rest upon its side.</i><br /> </p> +</blockquote> + + +<p>Whither these roads led he knew not. Either way there seemed to +lie a great world full of chance and peril. And then, sitting +there, his eye fell upon a bright star, one that he and Yvonne +had named for theirs. That set him thinking of Yvonne, and he +wondered if he had not been too hasty. Why should he leave her +and his home because a few hot words had come between them? Was +love so brittle a thing that jealousy, the very proof of it, +could break it? Mornings always brought a cure for the little +heartaches of evening. There was yet time for him to return +home without any one in the sweetly sleeping village of Vernoy +being the wiser. His heart was Yvonne's; there where he had +lived always he could write his poems and find his happiness.</p> + +<p>David rose, and shook off his unrest and the wild mood that had +tempted him. He set his face steadfastly back along the road he +had come. By the time he had retravelled the road to Vernoy, +his desire to rove was gone. He passed the sheepfold, and the +sheep scurried, with a drumming flutter, at his late footsteps, +warming his heart by the homely sound. He crept without noise +into his little room and lay there, thankful that his feet had +escaped the distress of new roads that night.</p> + +<p>How well he knew woman's heart! The next evening Yvonne was at +the well in the road where the young congregated in order that +the <i>curé</i> might have business. The corner of her eye +was engaged in a search for David, albeit her set mouth seemed +unrelenting. He saw the look; braved the mouth, drew from it a +recantation and, later, a kiss as they walked homeward +together.</p> + +<p>Three months afterwards they were married. David's father was +shrewd and prosperous. He gave them a wedding that was heard of +three leagues away. Both the young people were favourites in +the village. There was a procession in the streets, a dance on +the green; they had the marionettes and a tumbler out from +Dreux to delight the guests.</p> + +<p>Then a year, and David's father died. The sheep and the cottage +descended to him. He already had the seemliest wife in the +village. Yvonne's milk pails and her brass kettles were +bright—<i>ouf!</i> they blinded you in the sun when you passed that +way. But you must keep your eyes upon her yard, for her flower +beds were so neat and gay they restored to you your sight. And +you might hear her sing, aye, as far as the double chestnut +tree above Père Gruneau's blacksmith forge.</p> + +<p>But a day came when David drew out paper from a long-shut +drawer, and began to bite the end of a pencil. Spring had come +again and touched his heart. Poet he must have been, for now +Yvonne was well-nigh forgotten. This fine new loveliness of +earth held him with its witchery and grace. The perfume from +her woods and meadows stirred him strangely. Daily had he gone +forth with his flock, and brought it safe at night. But now he +stretched himself under the hedge and pieced words together on +his bits of paper. The sheep strayed, and the wolves, +perceiving that difficult poems make easy mutton, ventured from +the woods and stole his lambs.</p> + +<p>David's stock of poems grew larger and his flock smaller. +Yvonne's nose and temper waxed sharp and her talk blunt. Her +pans and kettles grew dull, but her eyes had caught their +flash. She pointed out to the poet that his neglect was +reducing the flock and bringing woe upon the household. David +hired a boy to guard the sheep, locked himself in the little +room at the top of the cottage, and wrote more poems. The boy, +being a poet by nature, but not furnished with an outlet in the +way of writing, spent his time in slumber. The wolves lost no +time in discovering that poetry and sleep are practically the +same; so the flock steadily grew smaller. Yvonne's ill temper +increased at an equal rate. Sometimes she would stand in the +yard and rail at David through his high window. Then you could +hear her as far as the double chestnut tree above Père +Gruneau's blacksmith forge.</p> + +<p>M. Papineau, the kind, wise, meddling old notary, saw this, as +he saw everything at which his nose pointed. He went to David, +fortified himself with a great pinch of snuff, and said:</p> + +<p>"Friend Mignot, I affixed the seal upon the marriage +certificate of your father. It would distress me to be obliged +to attest a paper signifying the bankruptcy of his son. But +that is what you are coming to. I speak as an old friend. Now, +listen to what I have to say. You have your heart set, I +perceive, upon poetry. At Dreux, I have a friend, one Monsieur +Bril—Georges Bril. He lives in a little cleared space in a +houseful of books. He is a learned man; he visits Paris each +year; he himself has written books. He will tell you when the +catacombs were made, how they found out the names of the stars, +and why the plover has a long bill. The meaning and the form of +poetry is to him as intelligent as the baa of a sheep is to +you. I will give you a letter to him, and you shall take him +your poems and let him read them. Then you will know if you +shall write more, or give your attention to your wife and +business."</p> + +<p>"Write the letter," said David, "I am sorry you did not speak +of this sooner."</p> + +<p>At sunrise the next morning he was on the road to Dreux with +the precious roll of poems under his arm. At noon he wiped the +dust from his feet at the door of Monsieur Bril. That learned +man broke the seal of M. Papineau's letter, and sucked up its +contents through his gleaming spectacles as the sun draws +water. He took David inside to his study and sat him down upon +a little island beat upon by a sea of books.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Bril had a conscience. He flinched not even at a mass +of manuscript the thickness of a finger length and rolled to an +incorrigible curve. He broke the back of the roll against his +knee and began to read. He slighted nothing; he bored into the +lump as a worm into a nut, seeking for a kernel.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, David sat, marooned, trembling in the spray of so +much literature. It roared in his ears. He held no chart or +compass for voyaging in that sea. Half the world, he thought, +must be writing books.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Bril bored to the last page of the poems. Then he took +off his spectacles, and wiped them with his handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"My old friend, Papineau, is well?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"In the best of health," said David.</p> + +<p>"How many sheep have you, Monsieur Mignot?"</p> + +<p>"Three hundred and nine, when I counted them yesterday. The +flock has had ill fortune. To that number it has decreased from +eight hundred and fifty."</p> + +<p>"You have a wife and home, and lived in comfort. The sheep +brought you plenty. You went into the fields with them and +lived in the keen air and ate the sweet bread of contentment. +You had but to be vigilant and recline there upon nature's +breast, listening to the whistle of the blackbirds in the +grove. Am I right thus far?"</p> + +<p>"It was so," said David.</p> + +<p>"I have read all your verses," continued Monsieur Bril, his +eyes wandering about his sea of books as if he conned the +horizon for a sail. "Look yonder, through that window, Monsieur +Mignot; tell me what you see in that tree."</p> + +<p>"I see a crow," said David, looking.</p> + +<p>"There is a bird," said Monsieur Bril, "that shall assist me +where I am disposed to shirk a duty. You know that bird, +Monsieur Mignot; he is the philosopher of the air. He is happy +through submission to his lot. None so merry or full-crawed as +he with his whimsical eye and rollicking step. The fields yield +him what he desires. He never grieves that his plumage is not +gay, like the oriole's. And you have heard, Monsieur Mignot, +the notes that nature has given him? Is the nightingale any +happier, do you think?"</p> + +<p>David rose to his feet. The crow cawed harshly from his tree.</p> + +<p>"I thank you, Monsieur Bril," he said, slowly. "There was not, +then, one nightingale among all those croaks?"</p> + +<p>"I could not have missed it," said Monsieur Bril, with a sigh. +"I read every word. Live your poetry, man; do not try to write +it any more."</p> + +<p>"I thank you," said David, again. "And now I will be going back +to my sheep."</p> + +<p>"If you would dine with me," said the man of books, "and +overlook the smart of it, I will give you reasons at length."</p> + +<p>"No," said the poet, "I must be back in the fields cawing at my +sheep."</p> + +<p>Back along the road to Vernoy he trudged with his poems under +his arm. When he reached his village he turned into the shop of +one Zeigler, a Jew out of Armenia, who sold anything that came +to his hand.</p> + +<p>"Friend," said David, "wolves from the forest harass my sheep +on the hills. I must purchase firearms to protect them. What +have you?"</p> + +<p>"A bad day, this, for me, friend Mignot," said Zeigler, +spreading his hands, "for I perceive that I must sell you a +weapon that will not fetch a tenth of its value. Only last I +week I bought from a peddlar a wagon full of goods that he +procured at a sale by a <i>commissionaire</i> of the crown. The sale +was of the <i>château</i> and belongings of a great lord—I know not +his title—who has been banished for conspiracy against the +king. There are some choice firearms in the lot. This +pistol—oh, a weapon fit for a prince!—it shall be only forty +francs to you, friend Mignot—if I lose ten by the sale. But +perhaps an arquebuse—"</p> + +<p>"This will do," said David, throwing the money on the counter. +"Is it charged?"</p> + +<p>"I will charge it," said Zeigler. "And, for ten francs more, +add a store of powder and ball."</p> + +<p>David laid his pistol under his coat and walked to his cottage. +Yvonne was not there. Of late she had taken to gadding much +among the neighbours. But a fire was glowing in the kitchen +stove. David opened the door of it and thrust his poems in upon +the coals. As they blazed up they made a singing, harsh sound +in the flue.</p> + +<p>"The song of the crow!" said the poet.</p> + +<p>He went up to his attic room and closed the door. So quiet was +the village that a score of people heard the roar of the great +pistol. They flocked thither, and up the stairs where the +smoke, issuing, drew their notice.</p> + +<p>The men laid the body of the poet upon his bed, awkwardly +arranging it to conceal the torn plumage of the poor black +crow. The women chattered in a luxury of zealous pity. Some of +them ran to tell Yvonne.</p> + +<p>M. Papineau, whose nose had brought him there among the first, +picked up the weapon and ran his eye over its silver mountings +with a mingled air of connoisseurship and grief.</p> + +<p>"The arms," he explained, aside, to the <i>curé</i>, +"and crest of Monseigneur, the Marquis de Beaupertuys."</p> + + +<p><a name="2"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>II</h3> +<h3>THE GUARDIAN OF THE ACCOLADE<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Not the least important of the force of the Weymouth Bank was +Uncle Bushrod. Sixty years had Uncle Bushrod given of faithful +service to the house of Weymouth as chattel, servitor, and +friend. Of the colour of the mahogany bank furniture was Uncle +Bushrod—thus dark was he externally; white as the uninked +pages of the bank ledgers was his soul. Eminently pleasing to +Uncle Bushrod would the comparison have been; for to him the +only institution in existence worth considering was the +Weymouth Bank, of which he was something between porter and +generalissimo-in-charge.</p> + +<p>Weymouth lay, dreamy and umbrageous, among the low foothills +along the brow of a Southern valley. Three banks there were in +Weymouthville. Two were hopeless, misguided enterprises, +lacking the presence and prestige of a Weymouth to give them +glory. The third was The Bank, managed by the Weymouths—and +Uncle Bushrod. In the old Weymouth homestead—the red brick, +white-porticoed mansion, the first to your right as you crossed +Elder Creek, coming into town—lived Mr. Robert Weymouth (the +president of the bank), his widowed daughter, Mrs. +Vesey—called "Miss Letty" by every one—and her two children, +Nan and Guy. There, also in a cottage on the grounds, resided +Uncle Bushrod and Aunt Malindy, his wife. Mr. William Weymouth +(the cashier of the bank) lived in a modern, fine house on the +principal avenue.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert was a large, stout man, sixty-two years of age, with +a smooth, plump face, long iron-gray hair and fiery blue eyes. +He was high-tempered, kind, and generous, with a youthful smile +and a formidable, stern voice that did not always mean what it +sounded like. Mr. William was a milder man, correct in +deportment and absorbed in business. The Weymouths formed The +Family of Weymouthville, and were looked up to, as was their +right of heritage.</p> + +<p>Uncle Bushrod was the bank's trusted porter, messenger, vassal, +and guardian. He carried a key to the vault, just as Mr. Robert +and Mr. William did. Sometimes there was ten, fifteen, or +twenty thousand dollars in sacked silver stacked on the vault +floor. It was safe with Uncle Bushrod. He was a Weymouth in +heart, honesty, and pride.</p> + +<p>Of late Uncle Bushrod had not been without worry. It was on +account of Marse Robert. For nearly a year Mr. Robert had been +known to indulge in too much drink. Not enough, understand, to +become tipsy, but the habit was getting a hold upon him, and +every one was beginning to notice it. Half a dozen times a day +he would leave the bank and step around to the Merchants and +Planters' Hotel to take a drink. Mr. Robert's usual keen +judgment and business capacity became a little impaired. Mr. +William, a Weymouth, but not so rich in experience, tried to +dam the inevitable backflow of the tide, but with incomplete +success. The deposits in the Weymouth Bank dropped from six +figures to five. Past-due paper began to accumulate, owing to +injudicious loans. No one cared to address Mr. Robert on the +subject of temperance. Many of his friends said that the cause +of it had been the death of his wife some two years before. +Others hesitated on account of Mr. Robert's quick temper, which +was extremely apt to resent personal interference of such a +nature. Miss Letty and the children noticed the change and +grieved about it. Uncle Bushrod also worried, but he was one of +those who would not have dared to remonstrate, although he and +Marse Robert had been raised almost as companions. But there +was a heavier shock coming to Uncle Bushrod than that caused by +the bank president's toddies and juleps.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert had a passion for fishing, which he usually indulged +whenever the season and business permitted. One day, when +reports had been coming in relating to the bass and perch, he +announced his intention of making a two or three days' visit to +the lakes. He was going down, he said, to Reedy Lake with Judge +Archinard, an old friend.</p> + +<p>Now, Uncle Bushrod was treasurer of the Sons and Daughters of +the Burning Bush. Every association he belonged to made him +treasurer without hesitation. He stood AA1 in coloured circles. +He was understood among them to be Mr. Bushrod Weymouth, of the +Weymouth Bank.</p> + +<p>The night following the day on which Mr. Robert mentioned his +intended fishing-trip the old man woke up and rose from his bed +at twelve o'clock, declaring he must go down to the bank and +fetch the pass-book of the Sons and Daughters, which he had +forgotten to bring home. The bookkeeper had balanced it for him +that day, put the cancelled checks in it, and snapped two +elastic bands around it. He put but one band around other +pass-books.</p> + +<p>Aunt Malindy objected to the mission at so late an hour, +denouncing it as foolish and unnecessary, but Uncle Bushrod was +not to be deflected from duty.</p> + +<p>"I done told Sister Adaline Hoskins," he said, "to come by here +for dat book to-morrer mawnin' at sebin o'clock, for to kyar' +it to de meetin' of de bo'd of 'rangements, and dat book gwine +to be here when she come."</p> + +<p>So, Uncle Bushrod put on his old brown suit, got his thick +hickory stick, and meandered through the almost deserted +streets of Weymouthville. He entered the bank, unlocking the +side door, and found the pass-book where he had left it, in the +little back room used for consultations, where he always hung +his coat. Looking about casually, he saw that everything was as +he had left it, and was about to start for home when he was +brought to a standstill by the sudden rattle of a key in the +front door. Some one came quickly in, closed the door softly, +and entered the counting-room through the door in the iron +railing.</p> + +<p>That division of the bank's space was connected with the back +room by a narrow passageway, now in deep darkness.</p> + +<p>Uncle Bushrod, firmly gripping his hickory stick, tiptoed +gently up this passage until he could see the midnight intruder +into the sacred precincts of the Weymouth Bank. One dim gas-jet +burned there, but even in its nebulous light he perceived at +once that the prowler was the bank's president.</p> + +<p>Wondering, fearful, undecided what to do, the old coloured man +stood motionless in the gloomy strip of hallway, and waited +developments.</p> + +<p>The vault, with its big iron door, was opposite him. Inside +that was the safe, holding the papers of value, the gold and +currency of the bank. On the floor of the vault was, perhaps, +eighteen thousand dollars in silver.</p> + +<p>The president took his key from his pocket, opened the vault +and went inside, nearly closing the door behind him. Uncle +Bushrod saw, through the narrow aperture, the flicker of a +candle. In a minute or two—it seemed an hour to the +watcher—Mr. Robert came out, bringing with him a large +hand-satchel, handling it in a careful but hurried manner, as +if fearful that he might be observed. With one hand he closed +and locked the vault door.</p> + +<p>With a reluctant theory forming itself beneath his wool, Uncle +Bushrod waited and watched, shaking in his concealing shadow.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert set the satchel softly upon a desk, and turned his +coat collar up about his neck and ears. He was dressed in a +rough suit of gray, as if for travelling. He glanced with +frowning intentness at the big office clock above the burning +gas-jet, and then looked lingeringly about the +bank—lingeringly and fondly, Uncle Bushrod thought, as one who +bids farewell to dear and familiar scenes.</p> + +<p>Now he caught up his burden again and moved promptly and softly +out of the bank by the way he had come locking the front door +behind him.</p> + +<p>For a minute or longer Uncle Bushrod was as stone in his +tracks. Had that midnight rifler of safes and vaults been any +other on earth than the man he was, the old retainer would have +rushed upon him and struck to save the Weymouth property. But +now the watcher's soul was tortured by the poignant dread of +something worse than mere robbery. He was seized by an accusing +terror that said the Weymouth name and the Weymouth honour were +about to be lost. Marse Robert robbing the bank! What else +could it mean? The hour of the night, the stealthy visit to the +vault, the satchel brought forth full and with expedition and +silence, the prowler's rough dress, his solicitous reading of +the clock, and noiseless departure—what else could it mean?</p> + +<p>And then to the turmoil of Uncle Bushrod's thoughts came the +corroborating recollection of preceding events—Mr. Robert's +increasing intemperance and consequent many moods of royal high +spirits and stern tempers; the casual talk he had heard in the +bank of the decrease in business and difficulty in collecting +loans. What else could it all mean but that Mr. Robert Weymouth +was an absconder—was about to fly with the bank's remaining +funds, leaving Mr. William, Miss Letty, little Nan, Guy, and +Uncle Bushrod to bear the disgrace?</p> + +<p>During one minute Uncle Bushrod considered these things, and +then he awoke to sudden determination and action.</p> + +<p>"Lawd! Lawd!" he moaned aloud, as he hobbled hastily toward the +side door. "Sech a come-off after all dese here years of big +doin's and fine doin's. Scan'lous sights upon de yearth when de +Weymouth fambly done turn out robbers and 'bezzlers! Time for +Uncle Bushrod to clean out somebody's chicken-coop and eben +matters up. Oh, Lawd! Marse Robert, you ain't gwine do dat. 'N +Miss Letty an' dem chillun so proud and talkin' 'Weymouth, +Weymouth,' all de time! I'm gwine to stop you ef I can. 'Spec +you shoot Mr. Nigger's head off ef he fool wid you, but I'm +gwine stop you ef I can."</p> + +<p>Uncle Bushrod, aided by his hickory stick, impeded by his +rheumatism, hurried down the street toward the railroad +station, where the two lines touching Weymouthville met. As he +had expected and feared, he saw there Mr. Robert, standing in +the shadow of the building, waiting for the train. He held the +satchel in his hand.</p> + +<p>When Uncle Bushrod came within twenty yards of the bank +president, standing like a huge, gray ghost by the station +wall, sudden perturbation seized him. The rashness and audacity +of the thing he had come to do struck him fully. He would have +been happy could he have turned and fled from the possibilities +of the famous Weymouth wrath. But again he saw, in his fancy, +the white reproachful face of Miss Letty, and the distressed +looks of Nan and Guy, should he fail in his duty and they +question him as to his stewardship.</p> + +<p>Braced by the thought, he approached in a straight line, +clearing his throat and pounding with his stick so that he +might be early recognized. Thus he might avoid the likely +danger of too suddenly surprising the sometimes hasty Mr. +Robert.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Bushrod?" called the clamant, clear voice of the +gray ghost.</p> + +<p>"Yes, suh, Marse Robert."</p> + +<p>"What the devil are you doing out at this time of night?"</p> + +<p>For the first time in his life, Uncle Bushrod told Marse Robert +a falsehood. He could not repress it. He would have to +circumlocute a little. His nerve was not equal to a direct +attack.</p> + +<p>"I done been down, suh, to see ol' Aunt M'ria Patterson. She +taken sick in de night, and I kyar'ed her a bottle of M'lindy's +medercine. Yes, suh."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Robert. "You better get home out of the night +air. It's damp. You'll hardly be worth killing to-morrow on +account of your rheumatism. Think it'll be a clear day, +Bushrod?"</p> + +<p>"I 'low it will, suh. De sun sot red las' night."</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert lit a cigar in the shadow, and the smoke looked like +his gray ghost expanding and escaping into the night air. +Somehow, Uncle Bushrod could barely force his reluctant tongue +to the dreadful subject. He stood, awkward, shambling, with his +feet upon the gravel and fumbling with his stick. But then, +afar off—three miles away, at the Jimtown switch—he heard the +faint whistle of the coming train, the one that was to +transport the Weymouth name into the regions of dishonour and +shame. All fear left him. He took off his hat and faced the +chief of the clan he served, the great, royal, kind, lofty, +terrible Weymouth—he bearded him there at the brink of the +awful thing that was about to happen.</p> + +<p>"Marse Robert," he began, his voice quivering a little with the +stress of his feelings, "you 'member de day dey-all rode de +tunnament at Oak Lawn? De day, suh, dat you win in de ridin', +and you crown Miss Lucy de queen?"</p> + +<p>"Tournament?" said Mr. Robert, taking his cigar from his mouth. +"Yes, I remember very well the—but what the deuce are you +talking about tournaments here at midnight for? Go 'long home, +Bushrod. I believe you're sleep-walking."</p> + +<p>"Miss Lucy tetch you on de shoulder," continued the old man, +never heeding, "wid a s'ord, and say: 'I mek you a knight, Suh +Robert—rise up, pure and fearless and widout reproach.' Dat +what Miss Lucy say. Dat's been a long time ago, but me nor you +ain't forgot it. And den dar's another time we ain't forgot—de +time when Miss Lucy lay on her las' bed. She sent for Uncle +Bushrod, and she say: 'Uncle Bushrod, when I die, I want you to +take good care of Mr. Robert. Seem like'—so Miss Lucy say—'he +listen to you mo' dan to anybody else. He apt to be mighty +fractious sometimes, and maybe he cuss you when you try to +'suade him but he need somebody what understand him to be +'round wid him. He am like a little child sometimes'—so Miss +Lucy say, wid her eyes shinin' in her po', thin face—'but he +always been'—dem was her words—'my knight, pure and fearless +and widout reproach.'"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert began to mask, as was his habit, a tendency to +soft-heartedness with a spurious anger.</p> + +<p>"You—you old windbag!" he growled through a cloud of swirling +cigar smoke. "I believe you are crazy. I told you to go home, +Bushrod. Miss Lucy said that, did she? Well, we haven't kept +the scutcheon very clear. Two years ago last week, wasn't it, +Bushrod, when she died? Confound it! Are you going to stand +there all night gabbing like a coffee-coloured gander?"</p> + +<p>The train whistled again. Now it was at the water tank, a mile +away.</p> + +<p>"Marse Robert," said Uncle Bushrod, laying his hand on the +satchel that the banker held. "For Gawd's sake, don' take dis +wid you. I knows what's in it. I knows where you got it in de +bank. Don' kyar' it wid you. Dey's big trouble in dat valise +for Miss Lucy and Miss Lucy's child's chillun. Hit's bound to +destroy de name of Weymouth and bow down dem dat own it wid +shame and triberlation. Marse Robert, you can kill dis ole +nigger ef you will, but don't take away dis 'er' valise. If I +ever crosses over de Jordan, what I gwine to say to Miss Lucy +when she ax me: 'Uncle Bushrod, wharfo' didn' you take good +care of Mr. Robert?'"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert Weymouth threw away his cigar and shook free one arm +with that peculiar gesture that always preceded his outbursts +of irascibility. Uncle Bushrod bowed his head to the expected +storm, but he did not flinch. If the house of Weymouth was to +fall, he would fall with it. The banker spoke, and Uncle +Bushrod blinked with surprise. The storm was there, but it was +suppressed to the quietness of a summer breeze.</p> + +<p>"Bushrod," said Mr. Robert, in a lower voice than he usually +employed, "you have overstepped all bounds. You have presumed +upon the leniency with which you have been treated to meddle +unpardonably. So you know what is in this satchel! Your long +and faithful service is some excuse, but—go home, Bushrod—not +another word!"</p> + +<p>But Bushrod grasped the satchel with a firmer hand. The +headlight of the train was now lightening the shadows about the +station. The roar was increasing, and folks were stirring about +at the track side.</p> + +<p>"Marse Robert, gimme dis 'er' valise. I got a right, suh, to +talk to you dis 'er' way. I slaved for you and 'tended to you +from a child up. I went th'ough de war as yo' body-servant tell +we whipped de Yankees and sent 'em back to de No'th. I was at +yo' weddin', and I was n' fur away when yo' Miss Letty was +bawn. And Miss Letty's chillun, dey watches to-day for Uncle +Bushrod when he come home ever' evenin'. I been a Weymouth, all +'cept in colour and entitlements. Both of us is old, Marse +Robert. 'Tain't goin' to be long till we gwine to see Miss Lucy +and has to give an account of our doin's. De ole nigger man +won't be 'spected to say much mo' dan he done all he could by +de fambly dat owned him. But de Weymouths, dey must say dey +been livin' pure and fearless and widout reproach. Gimme dis +valise, Marse Robert—I'm gwine to hab it. I'm gwine to take it +back to the bank and lock it up in de vault. I'm gwine to do +Miss Lucy's biddin'. Turn 'er loose, Marse Robert."</p> + +<p>The train was standing at the station. Some men were pushing +trucks along the side. Two or three sleepy passengers got off +and wandered away into the night. The conductor stepped to the +gravel, swung his lantern and called: "Hello, Frank!" at some +one invisible. The bell clanged, the brakes hissed, the +conductor drawled: "All aboard!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert released his hold on the satchel. Uncle Bushrod +hugged it to his breast with both arms, as a lover clasps his +first beloved.</p> + +<p>"Take it back with you, Bushrod," said Mr. Robert, thrusting +his hands into his pockets. "And let the subject drop—now +mind! You've said quite enough. I'm going to take the train. +Tell Mr. William I will be back on Saturday. Good night."</p> + +<p>The banker climbed the steps of the moving train and +disappeared in a coach. Uncle Bushrod stood motionless, still +embracing the precious satchel. His eyes were closed and his +lips were moving in thanks to the Master above for the +salvation of the Weymouth honour. He knew Mr. Robert would +return when he said he would. The Weymouths never lied. Nor +now, thank the Lord! could it be said that they embezzled the +money in banks.</p> + +<p>Then awake to the necessity for further guardianship of +Weymouth trust funds, the old man started for the bank with the +redeemed satchel.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Three hours from Weymouthville, in the gray dawn, Mr. Robert +alighted from the train at a lonely flag-station. Dimly he +could see the figure of a man waiting on the platform, and the +shape of a spring-waggon, team and driver. Half a dozen lengthy +bamboo fishing-poles projected from the waggon's rear.</p> + +<p>"You're here, Bob," said Judge Archinard, Mr. Robert's old +friend and schoolmate. "It's going to be a royal day for +fishing. I thought you said—why, didn't you bring along the +stuff?"</p> + +<p>The president of the Weymouth Bank took off his hat and rumpled +his gray locks.</p> + +<p>"Well, Ben, to tell you the truth, there's an infernally +presumptuous old nigger belonging in my family that broke up +the arrangement. He came down to the depot and vetoed the whole +proceeding. He means all right, and—well, I reckon he <i>is</i> +right. Somehow, he had found out what I had along—though I hid +it in the bank vault and sneaked it out at midnight. I reckon +he has noticed that I've been indulging a little more than a +gentleman should, and he laid for me with some reaching +arguments.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to quit drinking," Mr. Robert concluded. "I've come +to the conclusion that a man can't keep it up and be quite what +he'd like to be—'pure and fearless and without +reproach'—that's the way old Bushrod quoted it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll have to admit," said the judge, thoughtfully, as +they climbed into the waggon, "that the old darkey's argument +can't conscientiously be overruled."</p> + +<p>"Still," said Mr. Robert, with a ghost of a sigh, "there was +two quarts of the finest old silk-velvet Bourbon in that +satchel you ever wet your lips with."</p> + + +<p><a name="3"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>II</h3> +<h3>THE DISCOUNTERS OF MONEY<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The spectacle of the money-caliphs of the present day going +about Bagdad-on-the-Subway trying to relieve the wants of the +people is enough to make the great Al Raschid turn Haroun in +his grave. If not so, then the assertion should do so, the real +caliph having been a wit and a scholar and therefore a hater of +puns.</p> + +<p>How properly to alleviate the troubles of the poor is one of +the greatest troubles of the rich. But one thing agreed upon by +all professional philanthropists is that you must never hand +over any cash to your subject. The poor are notoriously +temperamental; and when they get money they exhibit a strong +tendency to spend it for stuffed olives and enlarged crayon +portraits instead of giving it to the instalment man.</p> + +<p>And still, old Haroun had some advantages as an eleemosynarian. +He took around with him on his rambles his vizier, Giafar (a +vizier is a composite of a chauffeur, a secretary of state, and +a night-and-day bank), and old Uncle Mesrour, his executioner, +who toted a snickersnee. With this entourage a caliphing tour +could hardly fail to be successful. Have you noticed lately any +newspaper articles headed, "What Shall We Do With Our +Ex-Presidents?" Well, now, suppose that Mr. Carnegie could +engage <i>him</i> and Joe Gans to go about assisting in the +distribution of free libraries? Do you suppose any town would +have had the hardihood to refuse one? That caliphalous +combination would cause two libraries to grow where there had +been only one set of E. P. Roe's works before.</p> + +<p>But, as I said, the money-caliphs are handicapped. They have +the idea that earth has no sorrow that dough cannot heal; and +they rely upon it solely. Al Raschid administered justice, +rewarding the deserving, and punished whomsoever he disliked on +the spot. He was the originator of the short-story contest. +Whenever he succoured any chance pick-up in the bazaars he +always made the succouree tell the sad story of his life. If +the narrative lacked construction, style, and <i>esprit</i> he +commanded his vizier to dole him out a couple of thousand +ten-dollar notes of the First National Bank of the Bosphorus, +or else gave him a soft job as Keeper of the Bird Seed for the +Bulbuls in the Imperial Gardens. If the story was a +cracker-jack, he had Mesrour, the executioner, whack off his +head. The report that Haroun Al Raschid is yet alive and is +editing the magazine that your grandmother used to subscribe +for lacks confirmation.</p> + +<p>And now follows the Story of the Millionaire, the Inefficacious +Increment, and the Babes Drawn from the Wood.</p> + +<p>Young Howard Pilkins, the millionaire, got his money +ornithologically. He was a shrewd judge of storks, and got in +on the ground floor at the residence of his immediate +ancestors, the Pilkins Brewing Company. For his mother was a +partner in the business. Finally old man Pilkins died from a +torpid liver, and then Mrs. Pilkins died from worry on account +of torpid delivery-waggons—and there you have young Howard +Pilkins with 4,000,000; and a good fellow at that. He was an +agreeable, modestly arrogant young man, who implicitly believed +that money could buy anything that the world had to offer. And +Bagdad-on-the-Subway for a long time did everything possible to +encourage his belief.</p> + +<p>But the Rat-trap caught him at last; he heard the spring snap, +and found his heart in a wire cage regarding a piece of cheese +whose other name was Alice von der Ruysling.</p> + +<p>The Von der Ruyslings still live in that little square about +which so much has been said, and in which so little has been +done. To-day you hear of Mr. Tilden's underground passage, and +you hear Mr. Gould's elevated passage, and that about ends the +noise in the world made by Gramercy Square. But once it was +different. The Von der Ruyslings live there yet, and they +received <i>the first key ever made to Gramercy Park</i>.</p> + +<p>You shall have no description of Alice v. d. R. Just call up in +your mind the picture of your own Maggie or Vera or Beatrice, +straighten her nose, soften her voice, tone her down and then +tone her up, make her beautiful and unattainable—and you have +a faint dry-point etching of Alice. The family owned a crumbly +brick house and a coachman named Joseph in a coat of many +colours, and a horse so old that he claimed to belong to the +order of the Perissodactyla, and had toes instead of hoofs. In +the year 1898 the family had to buy a new set of harness for +the Perissodactyl. Before using it they made Joseph smear it +over with a mixture of ashes and soot. It was the Von der +Ruysling family that bought the territory between the Bowery +and East River and Rivington Street and the Statue of Liberty, +in the year 1649, from an Indian chief for a quart of +passementerie and a pair of Turkey-red portières designed +for a Harlem flat. I have always admired that Indian's perspicacity +and good taste. All this is merely to convince you that the Von +der Ruyslings were exactly the kind of poor aristocrats that +turn down their noses at people who have money. Oh, well, I +don't mean that; I mean people who have <i>just</i> money.</p> + +<p>One evening Pilkins went down to the red brick house in +Gramercy Square, and made what he thought was a proposal to +Alice v. d. R. Alice, with her nose turned down, and thinking +of his money, considered it a proposition, and refused it and +him. Pilkins, summoning all his resources as any good general +would have done, made an indiscreet references to the +advantages that his money would provide. That settled it. The +lady turned so cold that Walter Wellman himself would have +waited until spring to make a dash for her in a dog-sled.</p> + +<p>But Pilkins was something of a sport himself. You can't fool +all the millionaires every time the ball drops on the Western +Union Building.</p> + +<p>"If, at any time," he said to A. v. d. R., "you feel that you +would like to reconsider your answer, send me a rose like +that."</p> + +<p>Pilkins audaciously touched a Jacque rose that she wore loosely +in her hair.</p> + +<p>"Very well," said she. "And when I do, you will understand by +it that either you or I have learned something new about the +purchasing power of money. You've been spoiled, my friend. No, +I don't think I could marry you. To-morrow I will send you back +the presents you have given me."</p> + +<p>"Presents!" said Pilkins in surprise. "I never gave you a +present in my life. I would like to see a full-length portrait +of the man that you would take a present from. Why, you never +would let me send you flowers or candy or even art calendars."</p> + +<p>"You've forgotten," said Alice v. d. R., with a little smile. +"It was a long time ago when our families were neighbours. You +were seven, and I was trundling my doll on the sidewalk. You +have me a little gray, hairy kitten, with shoe-buttony eyes. +Its head came off and it was full of candy. You paid five cents +for it—you told me so. I haven't the candy to return to you—I +hadn't developed a conscience at three, so I ate it. But I have +the kitten yet, and I will wrap it up neatly to-night and send +it to you to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Beneath the lightness of Alice v. d. R.'s talk the +steadfastness of her rejection showed firm and plain. So there +was nothing left for him but to leave the crumbly red brick +house, and be off with his abhorred millions.</p> + +<p>On his way back, Pilkins walked through Madison Square. The +hour hand of the clock hung about eight; the air was stingingly +cool, but not at the freezing point. The dim little square +seemed like a great, cold, unroofed room, with its four walls +of houses, spangled with thousands of insufficient lights. Only +a few loiterers were huddled here and there on the benches.</p> + +<p>But suddenly Pilkins came upon a youth sitting brave and, as if +conflicting with summer sultriness, coatless, his white +shirt-sleeves conspicuous in the light from the globe of an +electric. Close to his side was a girl, smiling, dreamy, happy. +Around her shoulders was, palpably, the missing coat of the +cold-defying youth. It appeared to be a modern panorama of the +Babes in the Wood, revised and brought up to date, with the +exception that the robins hadn't turned up yet with the +protecting leaves.</p> + +<p>With delight the money-caliphs view a situation that they think +is relievable while you wait.</p> + +<p>Pilkins sat on the bench, one seat removed from the youth. He +glanced cautiously and saw (as men do see; and women—oh! never +can) that they were of the same order.</p> + +<p>Pilkins leaned over after a short time and spoke to the youth, +who answered smilingly, and courteously. From general topics +the conversation concentrated to the bed-rock of grim +personalities. But Pilkins did it as delicately and heartily as +any caliph could have done. And when it came to the point, the +youth turned to him, soft-voiced and with his undiminished +smile.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to seem unappreciative, old man," he said, with a +youth's somewhat too-early spontaneity of address, "but, you +see, I can't accept anything from a stranger. I know you're all +right, and I'm tremendously obliged, but I couldn't think of +borrowing from anybody. You see, I'm Marcus Clayton—the +Claytons of Roanoke County, Virginia, you know. The young lady +is Miss Eva Bedford—I reckon you've heard of the Bedfords. +She's seventeen and one of the Bedfords of Bedford County. +We've eloped from home to get married, and we wanted to see New +York. We got in this afternoon. Somebody got my pocketbook on +the ferry-boat, and I had only three cents in change outside of +it. I'll get some work somewhere to-morrow, and we'll get +married."</p> + +<p>"But, I say, old man," said Pilkins, in confidential low tones, +"you can't keep the lady out here in the cold all night. Now, +as for hotels—"</p> + +<p>"I told you," said the youth, with a broader smile, "that I +didn't have but three cents. Besides, if I had a thousand, we'd +have to wait here until morning. You can understand that, of +course. I'm much obliged, but I can't take any of your money. +Miss Bedford and I have lived an outdoor life, and we don't +mind a little cold. I'll get work of some kind to-morrow. We've +got a paper bag of cakes and chocolates, and we'll get along +all right."</p> + +<p>"Listen," said the millionaire, impressively. "My name is +Pilkins, and I'm worth several million dollars. I happen to +have in my pockets about $800 or $900 in cash. Don't you think +you are drawing it rather fine when you decline to accept as +much of it as will make you and the young lady comfortable at +least for the night?"</p> + +<p>"I can't say, sir, that I do think so," said Clayton of Roanoke +County. "I've been raised to look at such things differently. +But I'm mightily obliged to you, just the same."</p> + +<p>"Then you force me to say good night," said the millionaire.</p> + +<p>Twice that day had his money been scorned by simple ones to +whom his dollars had appeared as but tin tobacco-tags. He was +no worshipper of the actual minted coin or stamped paper, but +he had always believed in its almost unlimited power to +purchase.</p> + +<p>Pilkins walked away rapidly, and then turned abruptly and +returned to the bench where the young couple sat. He took off +his hat and began to speak. The girl looked at him with the +same sprightly, glowing interest that she had been giving to +the lights and statuary and sky-reaching buildings that made +the old square seem so far away from Bedford County.</p> + +<p>"Mr.—er—Roanoke," said Pilkins, "I admire your—your +indepen—your idiocy so much that I'm going to appeal to your +chivalry. I believe that's what you Southerners call it when +you keep a lady sitting outdoors on a bench on a cold night +just to keep your old, out-of-date pride going. Now, I've a +friend—a lady—whom I have known all my life—who lives a few +blocks from here—with her parents and sisters and aunts, and +all that kind of endorsement, of course. I am sure this lady +would be happy and pleased to put up—that is, to have +Miss—er—Bedford give her the pleasure of having her as a +guest for the night. Don't you think, Mr. Roanoke, +of—er—Virginia, that you could unbend your prejudices that +far?"</p> + +<p>Clayton of Roanoke rose and held out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Old man," he said, "Miss Bedford will be much pleased to +accept the hospitality of the lady you refer to."</p> + +<p>He formally introduced Mr. Pilkins to Miss Bedford. The girl +looked at him sweetly and comfortably. "It's a lovely evening, +Mr. Pilkins—don't you think so?" she said slowly.</p> + +<p>Pilkins conducted them to the crumbly red brick house of the +Von der Ruyslings. His card brought Alice downstairs wondering. +The runaways were sent into the drawing-room, while Pilkins +told Alice all about it in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Of course, I will take her in," said Alice. "Haven't those +Southern girls a thoroughbred air? Of course, she will stay +here. You will look after Mr. Clayton, of course."</p> + +<p>"Will I?" said Pilkins, delightedly. "Oh yes, I'll look after +him! As a citizen of New York, and therefore a part owner of +its public parks, I'm going to extend to him the hospitality of +Madison Square to-night. He's going to sit there on a bench +till morning. There's no use arguing with him. Isn't he +wonderful? I'm glad you'll look after the little lady, Alice. I +tell you those Babes in the Wood made my—that is, er—made +Wall Street and the Bank of England look like penny arcades."</p> + +<p>Miss Von der Ruysling whisked Miss Bedford of Bedford County up +to restful regions upstairs. When she came down, she put an +oblong small pasteboard box into Pilkins' hands.</p> + +<p>"Your present," she said, "that I am returning to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I remember," said Pilkins, with a sigh, "the woolly +kitten."</p> + +<p>He left Clayton on a park bench, and shook hands with him +heartily.</p> + +<p>"After I get work," said the youth, "I'll look you up. Your +address is on your card, isn't it? Thanks. Well, good night. +I'm awfully obliged to you for your kindness. No, thanks, I +don't smoke. Good night."</p> + +<p>In his room, Pilkins opened the box and took out the staring, +funny kitten, long ago ravaged of his candy and minus one +shoe-button eye. Pilkins looked at it sorrowfully.</p> + +<p>"After all," he said, "I don't believe that just money alone +will—"</p> + +<p>And then he gave a shout and dug into the bottom of the box for +something else that had been the kitten's resting-place—a +crushed but red, red, fragrant, glorious, promising Jacqueminot +rose.</p> + + +<p><a name="4"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<h3>THE ENCHANTED PROFILE<br /> </h3> + + +<p>There are few Caliphesses. Women are Scheherazades by birth, +predilection, instinct, and arrangement of the vocal cords. The +thousand and one stories are being told every day by hundreds +of thousands of viziers' daughters to their respective sultans. +But the bowstring will get some of 'em yet if they don't watch +out.</p> + +<p>I heard a story, though, of one lady Caliph. It isn't precisely +an Arabian Nights story, because it brings in Cinderella, who +flourished her dishrag in another epoch and country. So, if you +don't mind the mixed dates (which seem to give it an Eastern +flavour, after all), we'll get along.</p> + +<p>In New York there is an old, old hotel. You have seen woodcuts +of it in the magazines. It was built—let's see—at a time when +there was nothing above Fourteenth Street except the old Indian +trail to Boston and Hammerstein's office. Soon the old hostelry +will be torn down. And, as the stout walls are riven apart and +the bricks go roaring down the chutes, crowds of citizens will +gather at the nearest corners and weep over the destruction of +a dear old landmark. Civic pride is strongest in New Bagdad; +and the wettest weeper and the loudest howler against the +iconoclasts will be the man (originally from Terre Haute) whose +fond memories of the old hotel are limited to his having been +kicked out from its free-lunch counter in 1873.</p> + +<p>At this hotel always stopped Mrs. Maggie Brown. Mrs. Brown was +a bony woman of sixty, dressed in the rustiest black, and +carrying a handbag made, apparently, from the hide of the +original animal that Adam decided to call an alligator. She +always occupied a small parlour and bedroom at the top of the +hotel at a rental of two dollars per day. And always, while she +was there, each day came hurrying to see her many men, +sharp-faced, anxious-looking, with only seconds to spare. For +Maggie Brown was said to be the third richest woman in the +world; and these solicitous gentlemen were only the city's +wealthiest brokers and business men seeking trifling loans of +half a dozen millions or so from the dingy old lady with the +prehistoric handbag.</p> + +<p>The stenographer and typewriter of the Acropolis Hotel (there! +I've let the name of it out!) was Miss Ida Bates. She was a +hold-over from the Greek classics. There wasn't a flaw in her +looks. Some old-timer paying his regards to a lady said: "To +have loved her was a liberal education." Well, even to have +looked over the black hair and neat white shirtwaist of Miss +Bates was equal to a full course in any correspondence school +in the country. She sometimes did a little typewriting for me, +and, as she refused to take the money in advance, she came to +look upon me as something of a friend and protégé. +She had unfailing kindliness and a good nature; and not even a +white-lead drummer or a fur importer had ever dared to cross +the dead line of good behaviour in her presence. The entire +force of the Acropolis, from the owner, who lived in Vienna, +down to the head porter, who had been bedridden for sixteen +years, would have sprung to her defence in a moment.</p> + +<p>One day I walked past Miss Bates's little sanctum Remingtorium, +and saw in her place a black-haired unit—unmistakably a +person—pounding with each of her forefingers upon the keys. +Musing on the mutability of temporal affairs, I passed on. The +next day I went on a two weeks' vacation. Returning, I strolled +through the lobby of the Acropolis, and saw, with a little warm +glow of auld lang syne, Miss Bates, as Grecian and kind and +flawless as ever, just putting the cover on her machine. The +hour for closing had come; but she asked me in to sit for a few +minutes in the dictation chair. Miss Bates explained her +absence from and return to the Acropolis Hotel in words +identical with or similar to these following:</p> + +<p>"Well, Man, how are the stories coming?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty regularly," said I. "About equal to their going."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," said she. "Good typewriting is the main thing in a +story. You've missed me, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"No one," said I, "whom I have ever known knows as well as you +do how to space properly belt buckles, semi-colons, hotel +guests, and hairpins. But you've been away, too. I saw a +package of peppermint-pepsin in your place the other day."</p> + +<p>"I was going to tell you all about it," said Miss Bates, "if +you hadn't interrupted me.</p> + +<p>"Of course, you know about Maggie Brown, who stops here. Well, +she's worth $40,000,000. She lives in Jersey in a ten-dollar +flat. She's always got more cash on hand than half a dozen +business candidates for vice-president. I don't know whether +she carries it in her stocking or not, but I know she's mighty +popular down in the part of town where they worship the golden +calf.</p> + +<p>"Well, about two weeks ago, Mrs. Brown stops at the door and +rubbers at me for ten minutes. I'm sitting with my side to her, +striking off some manifold copies of a copper-mine proposition +for a nice old man from Tonopah. But I always see everything +all around me. When I'm hard at work I can see things through +my side-combs; and I can leave one button unbuttoned in the +back of my shirtwaist and see who's behind me. I didn't look +around, because I make from eighteen to twenty dollars a week, +and I didn't have to.</p> + +<p>"That evening at knocking-off time she sends for me to come up +to her apartment. I expected to have to typewrite about two +thousand words of notes-of-hand, liens, and contracts, with a +ten-cent tip in sight; but I went. Well, Man, I was certainly +surprised. Old Maggie Brown had turned human.</p> + +<p>"'Child,' says she, 'you're the most beautiful creature I ever +saw in my life. I want you to quit your work and come and live +with me. I've no kith or kin,' says she, 'except a husband and +a son or two, and I hold no communication with any of 'em. +They're extravagant burdens on a hard-working woman. I want you +to be a daughter to me. They say I'm stingy and mean, and the +papers print lies about my doing my own cooking and washing. +It's a lie,' she goes on. 'I put my washing out, except the +handkerchiefs and stockings and petticoats and collars, and +light stuff like that. I've got forty million dollars in cash +and stocks and bonds that are as negotiable as Standard Oil, +preferred, at a church fair. I'm a lonely old woman and I need +companionship. You're the most beautiful human being I ever +saw,' says she. 'Will you come and live with me? I'll show 'em +whether I can spend money or not,' she says.</p> + +<p>"Well, Man, what would you have done? Of course, I fell to it. +And, to tell you the truth, I began to like old Maggie. It +wasn't all on account of the forty millions and what she could +do for me. I was kind of lonesome in the world too. Everybody's +got to have somebody they can explain to about the pain in +their left shoulder and how fast patent-leather shoes wear out +when they begin to crack. And you can't talk about such things +to men you meet in hotels—they're looking for just such +openings.</p> + +<p>"So I gave up my job in the hotel and went with Mrs. Brown. I +certainly seemed to have a mash on her. She'd look at me for +half an hour at a time when I was sitting, reading, or looking +at the magazines.</p> + +<p>"One time I says to her: 'Do I remind you of some deceased +relative or friend of your childhood, Mrs. Brown? I've noticed +you give me a pretty good optical inspection from time to +time.'</p> + +<p>"'You have a face,' she says, 'exactly like a dear friend of +mine—the best friend I ever had. But I like you for yourself, +child, too,' she says.</p> + +<p>"And say, Man, what do you suppose she did? Loosened up like a +Marcel wave in the surf at Coney. She took me to a swell +dressmaker and gave her <i>a la carte</i> to fit me out—money no +object. They were rush orders, and madame locked the front door +and put the whole force to work.</p> + +<p>"Then we moved to—where do you think?—no; guess again—that's +right—the Hotel Bonton. We had a six-room apartment; and it +cost $100 a day. I saw the bill. I began to love that old lady.</p> + +<p>"And then, Man, when my dresses began to come in—oh, I won't +tell you about 'em! you couldn't understand. And I began to +call her Aunt Maggie. You've read about Cinderella, of course. +Well, what Cinderella said when the prince fitted that 3½ A on +her foot was a hard-luck story compared to the things I told +myself.</p> + +<p>"Then Aunt Maggie says she is going to give me a coming-out +banquet in the Bonton that'll make moving Vans of all the old +Dutch families on Fifth Avenue.</p> + +<p>"'I've been out before, Aunt Maggie,' says I. 'But I'll come +out again. But you know,' says I, 'that this is one of the +swellest hotels in the city. And you know—pardon me—that it's +hard to get a bunch of notables together unless you've trained +for it.'</p> + +<p>"'Don't fret about that, child,' says Aunt Maggie. 'I don't +send out invitations—I issue orders. I'll have fifty guests +here that couldn't be brought together again at any reception +unless it were given by King Edward or William Travers Jerome. +They are men, of course, and all of 'em either owe me money or +intend to. Some of their wives won't come, but a good many +will.'</p> + +<p>"Well, I wish you could have been at that banquet. The dinner +service was all gold and cut glass. There were about forty men +and eight ladies present besides Aunt Maggie and I. You'd never +have known the third richest woman in the world. She had on a +new black silk dress with so much passementerie on it that it +sounded exactly like a hailstorm I heard once when I was +staying all night with a girl that lived in a top-floor studio.</p> + +<p>"And my dress!—say, Man, I can't waste the words on you. It +was all hand-made lace—where there was any of it at all—and +it cost $300. I saw the bill. The men were all bald-headed or +white-whiskered, and they kept up a running fire of light +repartee about 3-per cents. and Bryan and the cotton crop.</p> + +<p>"On the left of me was something that talked like a banker, and +on my right was a young fellow who said he was a newspaper +artist. He was the only—well, I was going to tell you.</p> + +<p>"After the dinner was over Mrs. Brown and I went up to the +apartment. We had to squeeze our way through a mob of reporters +all the way through the halls. That's one of the things money +does for you. Say, do you happen to know a newspaper artist +named Lathrop—a tall man with nice eyes and an easy way of +talking? No, I don't remember what paper he works on. Well, all +right.</p> + +<p>"When we got upstairs Mrs. Brown telephones for the bill right +away. It came, and it was $600. I saw the bill. Aunt Maggie +fainted. I got her on a lounge and opened the bead-work.</p> + +<p>"'Child,' says she, when she got back to the world, 'what was +it? A raise of rent or an income-tax?'</p> + +<p>"'Just a little dinner,' says I. 'Nothing to worry +about—hardly a drop in the bucket-shop. Sit up and take +notice—a dispossess notice, if there's no other kind.'</p> + +<p>"But say, Man, do you know what Aunt Maggie did? She got cold +feet! She hustled me out of that Hotel Bonton at nine the next +morning. We went to a rooming-house on the lower West Side. She +rented one room that had water on the floor below and light on +the floor above. After we got moved all you could see in the +room was about $1,500 worth of new swell dresses and a +one-burner gas-stove.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Maggie had had a sudden attack of the hedges. I guess +everybody has got to go on a spree once in their life. A man +spends his on highballs, and a woman gets woozy on clothes. But +with forty million dollars—say, I'd like to have a picture +of—but, speaking of pictures, did you ever run across a +newspaper artist named Lathrop—a tall—oh, I asked you that +before, didn't I? He was mighty nice to me at the dinner. His +voice just suited me. I guess he must have thought I was to +inherit some of Aunt Maggie's money.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mr. Man, three days of that light-housekeeping was +plenty for me. Aunt Maggie was affectionate as ever. She'd +hardly let me get out of her sight. But let me tell you. She +was a hedger from Hedgersville, Hedger County. Seventy-five +cents a day was the limit she set. We cooked our own meals in +the room. There I was, with a thousand dollars' worth of the +latest things in clothes, doing stunts over a one-burner +gas-stove.</p> + +<p>"As I say, on the third day I flew the coop. I couldn't stand +for throwing together a fifteen-cent kidney stew while wearing, +at the same time, a $150 house-dress, with Valenciennes lace +insertion. So I goes into the closet and puts on the cheapest +dress Mrs. Brown had bought for me—it's the one I've got on +now—not so bad for $75, is it? I'd left all my own clothes in +my sister's flat in Brooklyn.</p> + +<p>"'Mrs. Brown, formerly "Aunt Maggie,"' says I to her, 'I'm +going to extend my feet alternately, one after the other, in +such a manner and direction that this tenement will recede from +me in the quickest possible time. I am no worshipper of money,' +says I, 'but there are some things I can't stand. I can stand +the fabulous monster that I've read about that blows hot birds +and cold bottles with the same breath. But I can't stand a +quitter,' says I. 'They say you've got forty million +dollars—well, you'll never have any less. And I was beginning +to like you, too,' says I.</p> + +<p>"Well, the late Aunt Maggie kicks till the tears flow. She +offers to move into a swell room with a two-burner stove and +running water.</p> + +<p>"'I've spent an awful lot of money, child,' says she. 'We'll +have to economize for a while. You're the most beautiful +creature I ever laid eyes on,' she says, 'and I don't want you +to leave me.'</p> + +<p>"Well, you see me, don't you? I walked straight to the +Acropolis and asked for my job back, and I got it. How did you +say your writings were getting along? I know you've lost out +some by not having me to type 'em. Do you ever have 'em +illustrated? And, by the way, did you ever happen to know a +newspaper artist—oh, shut up! I know I asked you before. I +wonder what paper he works on? It's funny, but I couldn't help +thinking that he wasn't thinking about the money he might have +been thinking I was thinking I'd get from old Maggie Brown. If +I only knew some of the newspaper editors I'd—"</p> + +<p>The sound of an easy footstep came from the doorway. Ida Bates +saw who it was with her back-hair comb. I saw her turn pink, +perfect statue that she was—a miracle that I share with +Pygmalion only.</p> + +<p>"Am I excusable?" she said to me—adorable petitioner that she +became. "It's—it's Mr. Lathrop. I wonder if it really wasn't +the money—I wonder, if after all, he—"</p> + +<p>Of course, I was invited to the wedding. After the ceremony I +dragged Lathrop aside.</p> + +<p>"You are an artist," said I, "and haven't figured out why +Maggie Brown conceived such a strong liking for Miss +Bates—that was? Let me show you."</p> + +<p>The bride wore a simple white dress as beautifully draped as +the costumes of the ancient Greeks. I took some leaves from one +of the decorative wreaths in the little parlour, and made a +chaplet of them, and placed them on née Bates' shining +chestnut hair, and made her turn her profile to her husband.</p> + +<p>"By jingo!" said he. "Isn't Ida's a dead ringer for the lady's +head on the silver dollar?"</p> + + +<p><a name="5"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>V</h3> +<h3>"NEXT TO READING MATTER"<br /> </h3> + + +<p>He compelled my interest as he stepped from the ferry at +Desbrosses Street. He had the air of being familiar with +hemispheres and worlds, and of entering New York as the lord of +a demesne who revisited it in after years of absence. But I +thought that, with all his air, he had never before set foot on +the slippery cobblestones of the City of Too Many Caliphs.</p> + +<p>He wore loose clothes of a strange bluish drab colour, and a +conservative, round Panama hat without the cock-a-loop +indentations and cants with which Northern fanciers disfigure +the tropic head-gear. Moreover, he was the homeliest man I have +ever seen. His ugliness was less repellent than +startling—arising from a sort of Lincolnian ruggedness and +irregularity of feature that spellbound you with wonder and +dismay. So may have looked afrites or the shapes metamorphosed +from the vapour of the fisherman's vase. As he afterward told +me, his name was Judson Tate; and he may as well be called so +at once. He wore his green silk tie through a topaz ring; and +he carried a cane made of the vertebræ of a shark.</p> + +<p>Judson Tate accosted me with some large and casual inquiries +about the city's streets and hotels, in the manner of one who +had but for the moment forgotten the trifling details. I could +think of no reason for disparaging my own quiet hotel in the +downtown district; so the mid-morning of the night found us +already victualed and drinked (at my expense), and ready to be +chaired and tobaccoed in a quiet corner of the lobby.</p> + +<p>There was something on Judson Tate's mind, and, such as it was, +he tried to convey it to me. Already he had accepted me as his +friend; and when I looked at his great, snuff-brown +first-mate's hand, with which he brought emphasis to his +periods, within six inches of my nose, I wondered if, by any +chance, he was as sudden in conceiving enmity against +strangers.</p> + +<p>When this man began to talk I perceived in him a certain power. +His voice was a persuasive instrument, upon which he played +with a somewhat specious but effective art. He did not try to +make you forget his ugliness; he flaunted it in your face and +made it part of the charm of his speech. Shutting your eyes, +you would have trailed after this rat-catcher's pipes at least +to the walls of Hamelin. Beyond that you would have had to be +more childish to follow. But let him play his own tune to the +words set down, so that if all is too dull, the art of music +may bear the blame.</p> + +<p>"Women," said Judson Tate, "are mysterious creatures."</p> + +<p>My spirits sank. I was not there to listen to such a world-old +hypothesis—to such a time-worn, long-ago-refuted, bald, +feeble, illogical, vicious, patent sophistry—to an ancient, +baseless, wearisome, ragged, unfounded, insidious, falsehood +originated by women themselves, and by them insinuated, +foisted, thrust, spread, and ingeniously promulgated into the +ears of mankind by underhanded, secret and deceptive methods, +for the purpose of augmenting, furthering, and reinforcing +their own charms and designs.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know!" said I, vernacularly.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever heard of Oratama?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Possibly," I answered. "I seem to recall a toe dancer—or a +suburban addition—or was it a perfume?—of some such name."</p> + +<p>"It is a town," said Judson Tate, "on the coast of a foreign +country of which you know nothing and could understand less. It +is a country governed by a dictator and controlled by +revolutions and insubordination. It was there that a great +life-drama was played, with Judson Tate, the homeliest man in +America, and Fergus McMahan, the handsomest adventurer in +history or fiction, and Señorita Anabela Zamora, the +beautiful daughter of the alcalde of Oratama, as chief actors. +And, another thing—nowhere else on the globe except in the +department of Trienta y tres in Uruguay does the <i>chuchula</i> +plant grow. The products of the country I speak of are valuable +woods, dyestuffs, gold, rubber, ivory, and cocoa."</p> + +<p>"I was not aware," said I, "that South America produced any +ivory."</p> + +<p>"There you are twice mistaken," said Judson Tate, distributing +the words over at least an octave of his wonderful voice. "I +did not say that the country I spoke of was in South America—I +must be careful, my dear man; I have been in politics there, +you know. But, even so—I have played chess against its +president with a set carved from the nasal bones of the +tapir—one of our native specimens of the order of +<i>perissodactyle ungulates</i> inhabiting the Cordilleras—which +was as pretty ivory as you would care to see.</p> + +<p>"But is was of romance and adventure and the ways of women that +was I going to tell you, and not of zoölogical animals.</p> + +<p>"For fifteen years I was the ruling power behind old Sancho +Benavides, the Royal High Thumbscrew of the republic. You've +seen his picture in the papers—a mushy black man with whiskers +like the notes on a Swiss music-box cylinder, and a scroll in +his right hand like the ones they write births on in the family +Bible. Well, that chocolate potentate used to be the biggest +item of interest anywhere between the colour line and the +parallels of latitude. It was three throws, horses, whether he +was to wind up in the Hall of Fame or the Bureau of +Combustibles. He'd have been sure called the Roosevelt of the +Southern Continent if it hadn't been that Grover Cleveland was +President at the time. He'd hold office a couple of terms, then +he'd sit out for a hand—always after appointing his own +successor for the interims.</p> + +<p>"But it was not Benavides, the Liberator, who was making all +this fame for himself. Not him. It was Judson Tate. Benavides +was only the chip over the bug. I gave him the tip when to +declare war and increase import duties and wear his state +trousers. But that wasn't what I wanted to tell you. How did I +get to be It? I'll tell you. Because I'm the most gifted talker +that ever made vocal sounds since Adam first opened his eyes, +pushed aside the smelling-salts, and asked: 'Where am I?'</p> + +<p>"As you observe, I am about the ugliest man you ever saw +outside the gallery of photographs of the New England early +Christian Scientists. So, at an early age, I perceived that +what I lacked in looks I must make up in eloquence. That I've +done. I get what I go after. As the back-stop and still small +voice of old Benavides I made all the great historical +powers-behind-the-throne, such as Talleyrand, Mrs. de +Pompadour, and Loeb, look as small as the minority report of a +Duma. I could talk nations into or out of debt, harangue armies +to sleep on the battlefield, reduce insurrections, +inflammations, taxes, appropriations or surpluses with a few +words, and call up the dogs of war or the dove of peace with +the same bird-like whistle. Beauty and epaulettes and curly +moustaches and Grecian profiles in other men were never in my +way. When people first look at me they shudder. Unless they are +in the last stages of <i>angina pectoris</i> they are mine in ten +minutes after I begin to talk. Women and men—I win 'em as they +come. Now, you wouldn't think women would fancy a man with a +face like mine, would you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Mr. Tate," said I. "History is bright and fiction +dull with homely men who have charmed women. There seems—"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," interrupted Judson Tate, "but you don't quite +understand. You have yet to hear my story.</p> + +<p>"Fergus McMahan was a friend of mine in the capital. For a +handsome man I'll admit he was the duty-free merchandise. He +had blond curls and laughing blue eyes and was featured +regular. They said he was a ringer for the statue they call +Herr Mees, the god of speech and eloquence resting in some +museum at Rome. Some German anarchist, I suppose. They are +always resting and talking.</p> + +<p>"But Fergus was no talker. He was brought up with the idea that +to be beautiful was to make good. His conversation was about as +edifying as listening to a leak dropping in a tin dish-pan at +the head of the bed when you want to go to sleep. But he and me +got to be friends—maybe because we was so opposite, don't you +think? Looking at the Hallowe'en mask that I call my face when +I'm shaving seemed to give Fergus pleasure; and I'm sure that +whenever I heard the feeble output of throat noises that he +called conversation I felt contented to be a gargoyle with a +silver tongue.</p> + +<p>"One time I found it necessary to go down to this coast town of +Oratama to straighten out a lot of political unrest and chop +off a few heads in the customs and military departments. +Fergus, who owned the ice and sulphur-match concessions of the +republic, says he'll keep me company.</p> + +<p>"So, in a jangle of mule-train bells, we gallops into Oratama, +and the town belonged to us as much as Long Island Sound +doesn't belong to Japan when T. R. is at Oyster Bay. I say us; +but I mean me. Everybody for four nations, two oceans, one bay +and isthmus, and five archipelagoes around had heard of Judson +Tate. Gentleman adventurer, they called me. I had been written +up in five columns of the yellow journals, 40,000 words (with +marginal decorations) in a monthly magazine, and a stickful on +the twelfth page of the New York <i>Times</i>. If the beauty of +Fergus McMahan gained any part of our reception in Oratama, +I'll eat the price-tag in my Panama. It was me that they hung +out paper flowers and palm branches for. I am not a jealous +man; I am stating facts. The people were Nebuchadnezzars; they +bit the grass before me; there was no dust in the town for them +to bite. They bowed down to Judson Tate. They knew that I was +the power behind Sancho Benavides. A word from me was more to +them than a whole deckle-edged library from East Aurora in +sectional bookcases was from anybody else. And yet there are +people who spend hours fixing their faces—rubbing in cold +cream and massaging the muscles (always toward the eyes) and +taking in the slack with tincture of benzoin and electrolyzing +moles—to what end? Looking handsome. Oh, what a mistake! It's +the larynx that the beauty doctors ought to work on. It's words +more than warts, talk more than talcum, palaver more than +powder, blarney more than bloom that counts—the phonograph +instead of the photograph. But I was going to tell you.</p> + +<p>"The local Astors put me and Fergus up at the Centipede Club, a +frame building built on posts sunk in the surf. The tide's only +nine inches. The Little Big High Low Jack-in-the-game of the +town came around and kowtowed. Oh, it wasn't to Herr Mees. They +had heard about Judson Tate.</p> + +<p>"One afternoon me and Fergus McMahan was sitting on the seaward +gallery of the Centipede, drinking iced rum and talking.</p> + +<p>"'Judson,' says Fergus, 'there's an angel in Oratama.'</p> + +<p>"'So long,' says I, 'as it ain't Gabriel, why talk as if you +had heard a trump blow?'</p> + +<p>"'It's the Señorita Anabela Zamora,' says Fergus. +'She's—she's—she's as lovely as—as hell!'</p> + +<p>"'Bravo!' says I, laughing heartily. 'You have a true lover's +eloquence to paint the beauties of your inamorata. You remind +me,' says I, 'of Faust's wooing of Marguerite—that is, if he +wooed her after he went down the trap-door of the stage.'</p> + +<p>"'Judson,' says Fergus, 'you know you are as beautiless as a +rhinoceros. You can't have any interest in women. I'm awfully +gone in Miss Anabela. And that's why I'm telling you.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, <i>seguramente</i>,' says I. 'I know I have a front elevation +like an Aztec god that guards a buried treasure that never did +exist in Jefferson County, Yucatan. But there are +compensations. For instance, I am It in this country as far as +the eye can reach, and then a few perches and poles. And +again,' says I, 'when I engage people in a set-to of oral, +vocal, and laryngeal utterances, I do not usually confine my +side of the argument to what may be likened to a cheap +phonographic reproduction of the ravings of a jellyfish.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, I know,' says Fergus, amiable, 'that I'm not handy at +small talk. Or large, either. That's why I'm telling you. I +want you to help me.'</p> + +<p>"'How can I do it?' I asked.</p> + +<p>"'I have subsidized,' says Fergus, 'the services of +Señorita Anabela's duenna, whose name is Francesca. +You have a reputation in this country, Judson,' says +Fergus, 'of being a great man and a hero.'</p> + +<p>"'I have,' says I. 'And I deserve it.'</p> + +<p>"'And I,' says Fergus, 'am the best-looking man between the +arctic circle and antarctic ice pack.'</p> + +<p>"'With limitations,' says I, 'as to physiognomy and geography, +I freely concede you to be.'</p> + +<p>"'Between the two of us,' says Fergus, 'we ought to land the +Señorita Anabela Zamora. The lady, as you know, is of an +old Spanish family, and further than looking at her driving in the +family <i>carruaje</i> of afternoons around the plaza, or catching a +glimpse of her through a barred window of evenings, she is as +unapproachable as a star.'</p> + +<p>"'Land her for which one of us?' says I.</p> + +<p>"'For me, of course,' says Fergus. 'You've never seen her. Now, +I've had Francesca point me out to her as being you on several +occasions. When she sees me on the plaza, she thinks she's +looking at Don Judson Tate, the greatest hero, statesman, and +romantic figure in the country. With your reputation and my +looks combined in one man, how can she resist him? She's heard +all about your thrilling history, of course. And she's seen me. +Can any woman want more?' asks Fergus McMahan.</p> + +<p>"'Can she do with less?' I ask. 'How can we separate our mutual +attractions, and how shall we apportion the proceeds?'</p> + +<p>"Then Fergus tells me his scheme.</p> + +<p>"The house of the alcalde, Don Luis Zamora, he says, has a +<i>patio</i>, of course—a kind of inner courtyard opening from the +street. In an angle of it is his daughter's window—as dark a +place as you could find. And what do you think he wants me to +do? Why, knowing my freedom, charm, and skilfulness of tongue, +he proposes that I go into the <i>patio</i> at midnight, when the +hobgoblin face of me cannot be seen, and make love to her for +him—for the pretty man that she has seen on the plaza, +thinking him to be Don Judson Tate.</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't I do it for him—for my friend, Fergus McMahan? +For him to ask me was a compliment—an acknowledgment of his +own shortcomings.</p> + +<p>"'You little, lily white, fine-haired, highly polished piece of +dumb sculpture,' says I, 'I'll help you. Make your arrangements +and get me in the dark outside her window and my stream of +conversation opened up with the moonlight tremolo stop turned +on, and she's yours.'</p> + +<p>"'Keep your face hid, Jud,' says Fergus. 'For heaven's sake, +keep your face hid. I'm a friend of yours in all kinds of +sentiment, but this is a business deal. If I could talk I +wouldn't ask you. But seeing me and listening to you I don't +see why she can't be landed.'</p> + +<p>"'By you?' says I.</p> + +<p>"'By me,' says Fergus.</p> + +<p>"Well, Fergus and the duenna, Francesca, attended to the +details. And one night they fetched me a long black cloak with +a high collar, and led me to the house at midnight. I stood by +the window in the <i>patio</i> until I heard a voice as soft and +sweet as an angel's whisper on the other side of the bars. I +could see only a faint, white clad shape inside; and, true to +Fergus, I pulled the collar of my cloak high up, for it was +July in the wet seasons, and the nights were chilly. And, +smothering a laugh as I thought of the tongue-tied Fergus, I +began to talk.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I talked an hour at the Señorita Anabela. +I say 'at' because it was not 'with.' Now and then she would say: +'Oh, Señor,' or 'Now, ain't you foolin'?' or 'I know you +don't mean that,' and such things as women will when they are being +rightly courted. Both of us knew English and Spanish; so in two +languages I tried to win the heart of the lady for my friend +Fergus. But for the bars to the window I could have done it in +one. At the end of the hour she dismissed me and gave me a big, +red rose. I handed it over to Fergus when I got home.</p> + +<p>"For three weeks every third or fourth night I impersonated my +friend in the <i>patio</i> at the window of Señorita Anabela. +At last she admitted that her heart was mine, and spoke of having +seen me every afternoon when she drove in the plaza. It was +Fergus she had seen, of course. But it was my talk that won +her. Suppose Fergus had gone there, and tried to make a hit in +the dark with his beauty all invisible, and not a word to say +for himself!</p> + +<p>"On the last night she promised to be mine—that is, Fergus's. +And she put her hand between the bars for me to kiss. I +bestowed the kiss and took the news to Fergus.</p> + +<p>"'You might have left that for me to do,' says he.</p> + +<p>"'That'll be your job hereafter,' says I. 'Keep on doing that +and don't try to talk. Maybe after she thinks she's in love she +won't notice the difference between real conversation and the +inarticulate sort of droning that you give forth.'</p> + +<p>"Now, I had never seen Señorita Anabela. So, the next +day Fergus asks me to walk with him through the plaza and view the +daily promenade and exhibition of Oratama society, a sight that +had no interest for me. But I went; and children and dogs took +to the banana groves and mangrove swamps as soon as they had a +look at my face.</p> + +<p>"'Here she comes,' said Fergus, twirling his moustache—'the +one in white, in the open carriage with the black horse.'</p> + +<p>"I looked and felt the ground rock under my feet. For +Señorita Anabela Zamora was the most beautiful woman +in the world, and the only one from that moment on, so far +as Judson Tate was concerned. I saw at a glance that I +must be hers and she mine forever. I thought of my face +and nearly fainted; and then I thought of my other talents +and stood upright again. And I had been wooing her for +three weeks for another man!</p> + +<p>"As Señorita Anabela's carriage rolled slowly past, she +gave Fergus a long, soft glance from the corners of her night-black +eyes, a glance that would have sent Judson Tate up into heaven +in a rubber-tired chariot. But she never looked at me. And that +handsome man only ruffles his curls and smirks and prances like +a lady-killer at my side.</p> + +<p>"'What do you think of her, Judson?' asks Fergus, with an air.</p> + +<p>"'This much,' says I. 'She is to be Mrs. Judson Tate. I am no +man to play tricks on a friend. So take your warning.'</p> + +<p>"I thought Fergus would die laughing.</p> + +<p>"'Well, well, well,' said he, 'you old doughface! Struck too, +are you? That's great! But you're too late. Francesca tells me +that Anabela talks of nothing but me, day and night. Of course, +I'm awfully obliged to you for making that chin-music to her of +evenings. But, do you know, I've an idea that I could have done +it as well myself.'</p> + +<p>"'Mrs. Judson Tate,' says I. 'Don't forget the name. You've had +the use of my tongue to go with your good looks, my boy. You +can't lend me your looks; but hereafter my tongue is my own. +Keep your mind on the name that's to be on the visiting cards +two inches by three and a half—"Mrs. Judson Tate." That's +all.'</p> + +<p>"'All right,' says Fergus, laughing again. 'I've talked with +her father, the alcalde, and he's willing. He's to give a +<i>baile</i> to-morrow evening in his new warehouse. If you were a +dancing man, Jud, I'd expect you around to meet the future Mrs. +McMahan.'</p> + +<p>"But on the next evening, when the music was playing loudest at +the Alcade Zamora's <i>baile</i>, into the room steps Judson Tate in +new white linen clothes as if he were the biggest man in the +whole nation, which he was.</p> + +<p>"Some of the musicians jumped off the key when they saw my +face, and one or two of the timidest señoritas let out a +screech or two. But up prances the alcalde and almost wipes the +dust off my shoes with his forehead. No mere good looks could +have won me that sensational entrance.</p> + +<p>"'I hear much, Señor Zamora,' says I, 'of the charm of +your daughter. It would give me great pleasure to be presented to +her.'</p> + +<p>"There were about six dozen willow rocking-chairs, with pink +tidies tied on to them, arranged against the walls. In one of +them sat Señorita Anabela in white Swiss and red slippers, +with pearls and fireflies in her hair. Fergus was at the other end +of the room trying to break away from two maroons and a +claybank girl.</p> + +<p>"The alcalde leads me up to Anabela and presents me. When she +took the first look at my face she dropped her fan and nearly +turned her chair over from the shock. But I'm used to that.</p> + +<p>"I sat down by her, and began to talk. When she heard me speak +she jumped, and her eyes got as big as alligator pears. She +couldn't strike a balance between the tones of my voice and +face I carried. But I kept on talking in the key of C, which is +the ladies' key; and presently she sat still in her chair and a +dreamy look came into her eyes. She was coming my way. She knew +of Judson Tate, and what a big man he was, and the big things +he had done; and that was in my favour. But, of course, it was +some shock to her to find out that I was not the pretty man +that had been pointed out to her as the great Judson. And then +I took the Spanish language, which is better than English for +certain purposes, and played on it like a harp of a thousand +strings. I ranged from the second G below the staff up to +F-sharp above it. I set my voice to poetry, art, romance, +flowers, and moonlight. I repeated some of the verses that I +had murmured to her in the dark at her window; and I knew from +a sudden soft sparkle in her eye that she recognized in my +voice the tones of her midnight mysterious wooer.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, I had Fergus McMahan going. Oh, the vocal is the true +art—no doubt about that. Handsome is as handsome palavers. +That's the renovated proverb.</p> + +<p>"I took Señorita Anabela for a walk in the lemon grove +while Fergus, disfiguring himself with an ugly frown, was waltzing +with the claybank girl. Before we returned I had permission to +come to her window in the <i>patio</i> the next evening at midnight +and talk some more.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it was easy enough. In two weeks Anabela was engaged to +me, and Fergus was out. He took it calm, for a handsome man, +and told me he wasn't going to give in.</p> + +<p>"'Talk may be all right in its place, Judson,' he says to me, +'although I've never thought it worth cultivating. But,' says +he, 'to expect mere words to back up successfully a face like +yours in a lady's good graces is like expecting a man to make a +square meal on the ringing of a dinner-bell.'</p> + +<p>"But I haven't begun on the story I was going to tell you yet.</p> + +<p>"One day I took a long ride in the hot sunshine, and then took +a bath in the cold waters of a lagoon on the edge of the town +before I'd cooled off.</p> + +<p>"That evening after dark I called at the alcalde's to see +Anabela. I was calling regular every evening then, and we were +to be married in a month. She was looking like a bulbul, a +gazelle, and a tea-rose, and her eyes were as soft and bright +as two quarts of cream skimmed off from the Milky Way. She +looked at my rugged features without any expression of fear or +repugnance. Indeed, I fancied that I saw a look of deep +admiration and affection, such as she had cast at Fergus on the +plaza.</p> + +<p>"I sat down, and opened my mouth to tell Anabela what she loved +to hear—that she was a trust, monopolizing all the loveliness +of earth. I opened my mouth, and instead of the usual vibrating +words of love and compliment, there came forth a faint wheeze +such as a baby with croup might emit. Not a word—not a +syllable—not an intelligible sound. I had caught cold in my +laryngeal regions when I took my injudicious bath.</p> + +<p>"For two hours I sat trying to entertain Anabela. She talked a +certain amount, but it was perfunctory and diluted. The nearest +approach I made to speech was to formulate a sound like a clam +trying to sing 'A Life on the Ocean Wave' at low tide. It +seemed that Anabela's eyes did not rest upon me as often as +usual. I had nothing with which to charm her ears. We looked at +pictures and she played the guitar occasionally, very badly. +When I left, her parting manner seemed cool—or at least +thoughtful.</p> + +<p>"This happened for five evenings consecutively.</p> + +<p>"On the sixth day she ran away with Fergus McMahan.</p> + +<p>"It was known that they fled in a sailing yacht bound for +Belize. I was only eight hours behind them in a small steam +launch belonging to the Revenue Department.</p> + +<p>"Before I sailed, I rushed into the <i>botica</i> of old Manuel +Iquito, a half-breed Indian druggist. I could not speak, but I +pointed to my throat and made a sound like escaping steam. He +began to yawn. In an hour, according to the customs of the +country, I would have been waited on. I reached across the +counter, seized him by the throat, and pointed again to my own. +He yawned once more, and thrust into my hand a small bottle +containing a black liquid.</p> + +<p>"'Take one small spoonful every two hours,' says he.</p> + +<p>"I threw him a dollar and skinned for the steamer.</p> + +<p>"I steamed into the harbour at Belize thirteen seconds behind +the yacht that Anabela and Fergus were on. They started for the +shore in a dory just as my skiff was lowered over the side. I +tried to order my sailormen to row faster, but the sounds died +in my larynx before they came to the light. Then I thought of +old Iquito's medicine, and I got out his bottle and took a +swallow of it.</p> + +<p>"The two boats landed at the same moment. I walked straight up +to Anabela and Fergus. Her eyes rested upon me for an instant; +then she turned them, full of feeling and confidence, upon +Fergus. I knew I could not speak, but I was desperate. In +speech lay my only hope. I could not stand beside Fergus and +challenge comparison in the way of beauty. Purely +involuntarily, my larynx and epiglottis attempted to reproduce +the sounds that my mind was calling upon my vocal organs to +send forth.</p> + +<p>"To my intense surprise and delight the words rolled forth +beautifully clear, resonant, exquisitely modulated, full of +power, expression, and long-repressed emotion.</p> + +<p>"'Señorita Anabela,' says I, 'may I speak with you +aside for a moment?'</p> + +<p>"You don't want details about that, do you? Thanks. The old +eloquence had come back all right. I led her under a cocoanut +palm and put my old verbal spell on her again.</p> + +<p>"'Judson,' says she, 'when you are talking to me I can hear +nothing else—I can see nothing else—there is nothing and +nobody else in the world for me.'</p> + +<p>"Well, that's about all of the story. Anabela went back to +Oratama in the steamer with me. I never heard what became of +Fergus. I never saw him any more. Anabela is now Mrs. Judson +Tate. Has my story bored you much?"</p> + +<p>"No," said I. "I am always interested in psychological studies. +A human heart—and especially a woman's—is a wonderful thing +to contemplate."</p> + +<p>"It is," said Judson Tate. "And so are the trachea and +bronchial tubes of man. And the larynx too. Did you ever make a +study of the windpipe?"</p> + +<p>"Never," said I. "But I have taken much pleasure in your story. +May I ask after Mrs. Tate, and inquire of her present health +and whereabouts?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure," said Judson Tate. "We are living in Bergen Avenue, +Jersey City. The climate down in Oratama didn't suit Mrs. T. I +don't suppose you ever dissected the arytenoid cartilages of +the epiglottis, did you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no," said I, "I am no surgeon."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," said Judson Tate, "but every man should know +enough of anatomy and therapeutics to safeguard his own health. +A sudden cold may set up capillary bronchitis or inflammation +of the pulmonary vesicles, which may result in a serious +affection of the vocal organs."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps so," said I, with some impatience; "but that is +neither here nor there. Speaking of the strange manifestations +of the affection of women, I—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," interrupted Judson Tate; "they have peculiar ways. +But, as I was going to tell you: when I went back to Oratama I +found out from Manuel Iquito what was in that mixture he gave +me for my lost voice. I told you how quick it cured me. He made +that stuff from the <i>chuchula</i> plant. Now, look here."</p> + +<p>Judson Tate drew an oblong, white pasteboard box from his +pocket.</p> + +<p>"For any cough," he said, "or cold, or hoarseness, or bronchial +affection whatsoever, I have here the greatest remedy in the +world. You see the formula, printed on the box. Each tablet +contains licorice, 2 grains; balsam tolu, 1/10 grain; oil of +anise, 1/20 minim; oil of tar, 1/60 minim; oleo-resin of +cubebs, 1/60 minim; fluid extract of <i>chuchula</i>, 1/10 minim.</p> + +<p>"I am in New York," went on Judson Tate, "for the purpose of +organizing a company to market the greatest remedy for throat +affections ever discovered. At present I am introducing the +lozenges in a small way. I have here a box containing four +dozen, which I am selling for the small sum of fifty cents. If +you are suffering—"</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>I got up and went away without a word. I walked slowly up to +the little park near my hotel, leaving Judson Tate alone with +his conscience. My feelings were lacerated. He had poured +gently upon me a story that I might have used. There was a +little of the breath of life in it, and some of the synthetic +atmosphere that passes, when cunningly tinkered, in the marts. +And, at the last it had proven to be a commercial pill, deftly +coated with the sugar of fiction. The worst of it was that I +could not offer it for sale. Advertising departments and +counting-rooms look down upon me. And it would never do for the +literary. Therefore I sat upon a bench with other disappointed +ones until my eyelids drooped.</p> + +<p>I went to my room, and, as my custom is, read for an hour +stories in my favourite magazines. This was to get my mind back +to art again.</p> + +<p>And as I read each story, I threw the magazines sadly and +hopelessly, one by one, upon the floor. Each author, without +one exception to bring balm to my heart, wrote liltingly and +sprightly a story of some particular make of motor-car that +seemed to control the sparking plug of his genius.</p> + +<p>And when the last one was hurled from me I took heart.</p> + +<p>"If readers can swallow so many proprietary automobiles," I +said to myself, "they ought not to strain at one of Tate's +Compound Magic Chuchula Bronchial Lozenges."</p> + +<p>And so if you see this story in print you will understand that +business is business, and that if Art gets very far ahead of +Commerce, she will have to get up and hustle.</p> + +<p>I may as well add, to make a clean job of it, that you can't +buy the <i>chuchula</i> plant in the drug stores.</p> + + +<p><a name="6"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>VI</h3> +<h3>ART AND THE BRONCO<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Out of the wilderness had come a painter. Genius, whose +coronations alone are democratic, had woven a chaplet of +chaparral for the brow of Lonny Briscoe. Art, whose divine +expression flows impartially from the fingertips of a cowboy or +a dilettante emperor, had chosen for a medium the Boy Artist of +the San Saba. The outcome, seven feet by twelve of besmeared +canvas, stood, gilt-framed, in the lobby of the Capitol.</p> + +<p>The legislature was in session; the capital city of that great +Western state was enjoying the season of activity and profit +that the congregation of the solons bestowed. The +boarding-houses were corralling the easy dollars of the +gamesome lawmakers. The greatest state in the West, an empire +in area and resources, had arisen and repudiated the old libel +or barbarism, lawbreaking, and bloodshed. Order reigned within +her borders. Life and property were as safe there, sir, as +anywhere among the corrupt cities of the effete East. +Pillow-shams, churches, strawberry feasts and <i>habeas corpus</i> +flourished. With impunity might the tenderfoot ventilate his +"stovepipe" or his theories of culture. The arts and sciences +received nurture and subsidy. And, therefore, it behooved the +legislature of this great state to make appropriation for the +purchase of Lonny Briscoe's immortal painting.</p> + +<p>Rarely has the San Saba country contributed to the spread of +the fine arts. Its sons have excelled in the solider graces, in +the throw of the lariat, the manipulation of the esteemed .45, +the intrepidity of the one-card draw, and the nocturnal +stimulation of towns from undue lethargy; but, hitherto, it had +not been famed as a stronghold of æsthetics. Lonny Briscoe's +brush had removed that disability. Here, among the limestone +rocks, the succulent cactus, and the drought-parched grass of +that arid valley, had been born the Boy Artist. Why he came to +woo art is beyond postulation. Beyond doubt, some spore of the +afflatus must have sprung up within him in spite of the desert +soil of San Saba. The tricksy spirit of creation must have +incited him to attempted expression and then have sat hilarious +among the white-hot sands of the valley, watching its +mischievous work. For Lonny's picture, viewed as a thing of +art, was something to have driven away dull care from the +bosoms of the critics.</p> + +<p>The painting—one might almost say panorama—was designed to +portray a typical Western scene, interest culminating in a +central animal figure, that of a stampeding steer, life-size, +wild-eyed, fiery, breaking away in a mad rush from the herd +that, close-ridden by a typical cowpuncher, occupied a position +somewhat in the right background of the picture. The landscape +presented fitting and faithful accessories. Chaparral, mesquit, +and pear were distributed in just proportions. A Spanish +dagger-plant, with its waxen blossoms in a creamy aggregation +as large as a water-bucket, contributed floral beauty and +variety. The distance was undulating prairie, bisected by +stretches of the intermittent streams peculiar to the region +lined with the rich green of live-oak and water-elm. A richly +mottled rattlesnake lay coiled beneath a pale green clump of +prickly pear in the foreground. A third of the canvas was +ultramarine and lake white—the typical Western sky and the +flying clouds, rainless and feathery.</p> + +<p>Between two plastered pillars in the commodious hallway near +the door of the chamber of representatives stood the painting. +Citizens and lawmakers passed there by twos and groups and +sometimes crowds to gaze upon it. Many—perhaps a majority of +them—had lived the prairie life and recalled easily the +familiar scene. Old cattlemen stood, reminiscent and candidly +pleased, chatting with brothers of former camps and trails of +the days it brought back to mind. Art critics were few in the +town, and there was heard none of that jargon of colour, +perspective, and feeling such as the East loves to use as a +curb and a rod to the pretensions of the artist. 'Twas a great +picture, most of them agreed, admiring the gilt frame—larger +than any they had ever seen.</p> + +<p>Senator Kinney was the picture's champion and sponsor. It was +he who so often stepped forward and asserted, with the voice of +a bronco-buster, that it would be a lasting blot, sir, upon the +name of this great state if it should decline to recognize in a +proper manner the genius that had so brilliantly transferred to +imperishable canvas a scene so typical of the great sources of +our state's wealth and prosperity, land—and—er—live-stock.</p> + +<p>Senator Kinney represented a section of the state in the +extreme West—400 miles from the San Saba country—but the true +lover of art is not limited by metes and bounds. Nor was +Senator Mullens, representing the San Saba country, lukewarm in +his belief that the state should purchase the painting of his +constituent. He was advised that the San Saba country was +unanimous in its admiration of the great painting by one of its +own denizens. Hundreds of connoisseurs had straddled their +broncos and ridden miles to view it before its removal to the +capital. Senator Mullens desired reëlection, and he knew the +importance of the San Saba vote. He also knew that with the +help of Senator Kinney—who was a power in the legislature—the +thing could be put through. Now, Senator Kinney had an +irrigation bill that he wanted passed for the benefit of his +own section, and he knew Senator Mullens could render him +valuable aid and information, the San Saba country already +enjoying the benefits of similar legislation. With these +interests happily dovetailed, wonder at the sudden interest in +art at the state capital must, necessarily, be small. Few +artists have uncovered their first picture to the world under +happier auspices than did Lonny Briscoe.</p> + +<p>Senators Kinney and Mullens came to an understanding in the +matter of irrigation and art while partaking of long drinks in +the café of the Empire Hotel.</p> + +<p>"H'm!" said Senator Kinney, "I don't know. I'm no art critic, +but it seems to me the thing won't work. It looks like the +worst kind of a chromo to me. I don't want to cast any +reflections upon the artistic talent of your constituent, +Senator, but I, myself, wouldn't give six bits for the +picture—without the frame. How are you going to cram a thing +like that down the throat of a legislature that kicks about a +little item in the expense bill of six hundred and eighty-one +dollars for rubber erasers for only one term? It's wasting +time. I'd like to help you, Mullens, but they'd laugh us out of +the Senate chamber if we were to try it."</p> + +<p>"But you don't get the point," said Senator Mullens, in his +deliberate tones, tapping Kinney's glass with his long +forefinger. "I have my own doubts as to what the picture is +intended to represent, a bullfight or a Japanese allegory, but +I want this legislature to make an appropriation to purchase. +Of course, the subject of the picture should have been in the +state historical line, but it's too late to have the paint +scraped off and changed. The state won't miss the money and the +picture can be stowed away in a lumber-room where it won't +annoy any one. Now, here's the point to work on, leaving art to +look after itself—the chap that painted the picture is the +grandson of Lucien Briscoe."</p> + +<p>"Say it again," said Kinney, leaning his head thoughtfully. "Of +the old, original Lucien Briscoe?"</p> + +<p>"Of him. 'The man who,' you know. The man who carved the state +out of the wilderness. The man who settled the Indians. The man +who cleaned out the horse thieves. The man who refused the +crown. The state's favourite son. Do you see the point now?"</p> + +<p>"Wrap up the picture," said Kinney. "It's as good as sold. Why +didn't you say that at first, instead of philandering along +about art. I'll resign my seat in the Senate and go back to +chain-carrying for the county surveyor the day I can't make +this state buy a picture calcimined by a grandson of Lucien +Briscoe. Did you ever hear of a special appropriation for the +purchase of a home for the daughter of One-Eyed Smothers? Well, +that went through like a motion to adjourn, and old One-Eyed +never killed half as many Indians as Briscoe did. About what +figure had you and the calciminer agreed upon to sandbag the +treasury for?"</p> + +<p>"I thought," said Mullens, "that maybe five hundred—"</p> + +<p>"Five hundred!" interrupted Kinney, as he hammered on his glass +for a lead pencil and looked around for a waiter. "Only five +hundred for a red steer on the hoof delivered by a grandson of +Lucien Briscoe! Where's your state pride, man? Two thousand is +what it'll be. You'll introduce the bill and I'll get up on the +floor of the Senate and wave the scalp of every Indian old +Lucien ever murdered. Let's see, there was something else proud +and foolish he did, wasn't there? Oh, yes; he declined all +emoluments and benefits he was entitled to. Refused his +head-right and veteran donation certificates. Could have been +governor, but wouldn't. Declined a pension. Now's the state's +chance to pay up. It'll have to take the picture, but then it +deserves some punishment for keeping the Briscoe family waiting +so long. We'll bring this thing up about the middle of the +month, after the tax bill is settled. Now, Mullens, you send +over, as soon as you can, and get me the figures on the cost of +those irrigation ditches and the statistics about the increased +production per acre. I'm going to need you when that bill of +mine comes up. I reckon we'll be able to pull along pretty well +together this session and maybe others to come, eh, Senator?"</p> + +<p>Thus did fortune elect to smile upon the Boy Artist of the San +Saba. Fate had already done her share when she arranged his +atoms in the cosmogony of creation as the grandson of Lucien +Briscoe.</p> + +<p>The original Briscoe had been a pioneer both as to territorial +occupation and in certain acts prompted by a great and simple +heart. He had been one of the first settlers and crusaders +against the wild forces of nature, the savage and the shallow +politician. His name and memory were revered, equally with any +upon the list comprising Houston, Boone, Crockett, Clark, and +Green. He had lived simply, independently, and unvexed by +ambition. Even a less shrewd man than Senator Kinney could have +prophesied that his state would hasten to honour and reward his +grandson, come out of the chaparral at even so late a day.</p> + +<p>And so, before the great picture by the door of the chamber of +representatives at frequent times for many days could be found +the breezy, robust form of Senator Kinney and be heard his +clarion voice reciting the past deeds of Lucien Briscoe in +connection with the handiwork of his grandson. Senator +Mullens's work was more subdued in sight and sound, but +directed along identical lines.</p> + +<p>Then, as the day for the introduction of the bill for +appropriation draws nigh, up from the San Saba country rides +Lonny Briscoe and a loyal lobby of cowpunchers, bronco-back, to +boost the cause of art and glorify the name of friendship, for +Lonny is one of them, a knight of stirrup and chaparreras, as +handy with the lariat and .45 as he is with brush and palette.</p> + +<p>On a March afternoon the lobby dashed, with a whoop, into town. +The cowpunchers had adjusted their garb suitably from that +prescribed for the range to the more conventional requirements +of town. They had conceded their leather chaparreras and +transferred their six-shooters and belts from their persons to +the horns of their saddles. Among them rode Lonny, a youth of +twenty-three, brown, solemn-faced, ingenuous, bowlegged, +reticent, bestriding Hot Tamales, the most sagacious cow pony +west of the Mississippi. Senator Mullens had informed him of +the bright prospects of the situation; had even mentioned—so +great was his confidence in the capable Kinney—the price that +the state would, in all likelihood, pay. It seemed to Lonny +that fame and fortune were in his hands. Certainly, a spark of +the divine fire was in the little brown centaur's breast, for +he was counting the two thousand dollars as but a means to +future development of his talent. Some day he would paint a +picture even greater than this—one, say, twelve feet by +twenty, full of scope and atmosphere and action.</p> + +<p>During the three days that yet intervened before the coming of +the date fixed for the introduction of the bill, the centaur +lobby did valiant service. Coatless, spurred, weather-tanned, +full of enthusiasm expressed in bizarre terms, they loafed in +front of the painting with tireless zeal. Reasoning not +unshrewdly, they estimated that their comments upon its +fidelity to nature would be received as expert evidence. Loudly +they praised the skill of the painter whenever there were ears +near to which such evidence might be profitably addressed. Lem +Perry, the leader of the claque, had a somewhat set speech, +being uninventive in the construction of new phrases.</p> + +<p>"Look at that two-year-old, now," he would say, waving a +cinnamon-brown hand toward the salient point of the picture. +"Why, dang my hide, the critter's alive. I can jest hear him, +'lumpety-lump,' a-cuttin' away from the herd, pretendin' he's +skeered. He's a mean scamp, that there steer. Look at his eyes +a-wallin' and his tail a-wavin'. He's true and nat'ral to life. +He's jest hankerin' fur a cow pony to round him up and send him +scootin' back to the bunch. Dang my hide! jest look at that +tail of his'n a-wavin'. Never knowed a steer to wave his tail +any other way, dang my hide ef I did."</p> + +<p>Jud Shelby, while admitting the excellence of the steer, +resolutely confined himself to open admiration of the +landscape, to the end that the entire picture receive its meed +of praise.</p> + +<p>"That piece of range," he declared, "is a dead ringer for Dead +Hoss Valley. Same grass, same lay of land, same old Whipperwill +Creek skallyhootin' in and out of them motts of timber. Them +buzzards on the left is circlin' 'round over Sam Kildrake's old +paint hoss that killed hisself over-drinkin' on a hot day. You +can't see the hoss for that mott of ellums on the creek, but +he's thar. Anybody that was goin' to look for Dead Hoss Valley +and come across this picture, why, he'd just light off'n his +bronco and hunt a place to camp."</p> + +<p>Skinny Rogers, wedded to comedy, conceived a complimentary +little piece of acting that never failed to make an impression. +Edging quite near to the picture, he would suddenly, at +favourable moments emit a piercing and awful "Yi-yi!" leap high +and away, coming down with a great stamp of heels and whirring +of rowels upon the stone-flagged floor.</p> + +<p>"Jeeming Cristopher!"—so ran his lines—"thought that rattler +was a gin-u-ine one. Ding baste my skin if I didn't. Seemed to +me I heard him rattle. Look at the blamed, unconverted insect +a-layin' under that pear. Little more, and somebody would +a-been snake-bit."</p> + +<p>With these artful dodges, contributed by Lonney's faithful +coterie, with the sonorous Kinney perpetually sounding the +picture's merits, and with the solvent prestige of the pioneer +Briscoe covering it like a precious varnish, it seemed that the +San Saba country could not fail to add a reputation as an art +centre to its well-known superiority in steer-roping contests +and achievements with the precarious busted flush. Thus was +created for the picture an atmosphere, due rather to externals +than to the artist's brush, but through it the people seemed to +gaze with more of admiration. There was a magic in the name of +Briscoe that counted high against faulty technique and crude +colouring. The old Indian fighter and wolf slayer would have +smiled grimly in his happy hunting grounds had he known that +his dilettante ghost was thus figuring as an art patron two +generations after his uninspired existence.</p> + +<p>Came the day when the Senate was expected to pass the bill of +Senator Mullens appropriating two thousand dollars for the +purchase of the picture. The gallery of the Senate chamber was +early preempted by Lonny and the San Saba lobby. In the front +row of chairs they sat, wild-haired, self-conscious, jingling, +creaking, and rattling, subdued by the majesty of the council +hall.</p> + +<p>The bill was introduced, went to the second reading, and then +Senator Mullens spoke for it dryly, tediously, and at length. +Senator Kinney then arose, and the welkin seized the bellrope +preparatory to ringing. Oratory was at that time a living +thing; the world had not quite come to measure its questions by +geometry and the multiplication table. It was the day of the +silver tongue, the sweeping gesture, the decorative apostrophe, +the moving peroration.</p> + +<p>The Senator spoke. The San Saba contingent sat, breathing hard, +in the gallery, its disordered hair hanging down to its eyes, +its sixteen-ounce hats shifted restlessly from knee to knee. +Below, the distinguished Senators either lounged at their desks +with the abandon of proven statesmanship or maintained correct +attitudes indicative of a first term.</p> + +<p>Senator Kinney spoke for an hour. History was his +theme—history mitigated by patriotism and sentiment. He +referred casually to the picture in the outer hall—it was +unnecessary, he said, to dilate upon its merits—the Senators +had seen for themselves. The painter of the picture was the +grandson of Lucien Briscoe. Then came the word-pictures of +Briscoe's life set forth in thrilling colours. His rude and +venturesome life, his simple-minded love for the commonwealth +he helped to upbuild, his contempt for rewards and praise, his +extreme and sturdy independence, and the great services he had +rendered the state. The subject of the oration was Lucien +Briscoe; the painting stood in the background serving simply as +a means, now happily brought forward, through which the state +might bestow a tardy recompense upon the descendent of its +favourite son. Frequent enthusiastic applause from the Senators +testified to the well reception of the sentiment.</p> + +<p>The bill passed without an opening vote. To-morrow it would be +taken up by the House. Already was it fixed to glide through +that body on rubber tires. Blandford, Grayson, and Plummer, all +wheel-horses and orators, and provided with plentiful memoranda +concerning the deeds of pioneer Briscoe, had agreed to furnish +the motive power.</p> + +<p>The San Saba lobby and its <i>protégé</i> +stumbled awkwardly down the stairs and out into the Capitol +yard. Then they herded closely and gave one yell of triumph. +But one of them—Buck-Kneed Summers it was—hit the key with +the thoughtful remark:</p> + +<p>"She cut the mustard," he said, "all right. I reckon they're +goin' to buy Lon's steer. I ain't right much on the +parlyment'ry, but I gather that's what the signs added up. But +she seems to me, Lonny, the argyment ran principal to +grandfather, instead of paint. It's reasonable calculatin' that +you want to be glad you got the Briscoe brand on you, my son."</p> + +<p>That remarked clinched in Lonny's mind an unpleasant, vague +suspicion to the same effect. His reticence increased, and he +gathered grass from the ground, chewing it pensively. The +picture as a picture had been humiliatingly absent from the +Senator's arguments. The painter had been held up as a +grandson, pure and simple. While this was gratifying on certain +lines, it made art look little and slab-sided. The Boy Artist +was thinking.</p> + +<p>The hotel Lonny stopped at was near the Capitol. It was near to +the one o'clock dinner hour when the appropriation had been +passed by the Senate. The hotel clerk told Lonny that a famous +artist from New York had arrived in town that day and was in +the hotel. He was on his way westward to New Mexico to study +the effect of sunlight upon the ancient walls of the Zuñis. +Modern stones reflect light. Those ancient building materials +absorb it. The artist wanted this effect in a picture he was +painting, and was traveling two thousand miles to get it.</p> + +<p>Lonny sought this man out after dinner and told his story. The +artist was an unhealthy man, kept alive by genius and +indifference to life. He went with Lonny to the Capitol and +stood there before the picture. The artist pulled his beard and +looked unhappy.</p> + +<p>"Should like to have your sentiments," said Lonny, "just as +they run out of the pen."</p> + +<p>"It's the way they'll come," said the painter man. "I took +three different kinds of medicine before dinner—by the +tablespoonful. The taste still lingers. I am primed for telling +the truth. You want to know if the picture is, or if it isn't?"</p> + +<p>"Right," said Lonny. "Is it wool or cotton? Should I paint some +more or cut it out and ride herd a-plenty?"</p> + +<p>"I heard a rumour during pie," said the artist, "that the state +is about to pay you two thousand dollars for this picture."</p> + +<p>"It's passed the Senate," said Lonny, "and the House rounds it +up to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"That's lucky," said the pale man. "Do you carry a rabbit's +foot?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Lonny, "but it seems I had a grandfather. He's +considerable mixed up in the colour scheme. It took me a year +to paint that picture. Is she entirely awful or not? Some says, +now, that the steer's tail ain't badly drawed. They think it's +proportioned nice. Tell me."</p> + +<p>The artist glanced at Lonny's wiry figure and nut-brown skin. +Something stirred him to a passing irritation.</p> + +<p>"For Art's sake, son," he said, fractiously, "don't spend any +more money for paint. It isn't a picture at all. It's a gun. +You hold up the state with it, if you like, and get your two +thousand, but don't get in front of any more canvas. Live under +it. Buy a couple of hundred ponies with the money—I'm told +they're that cheap—and ride, ride, ride. Fill your lungs and +eat and sleep and be happy. No more pictures. You look healthy. +That's genius. Cultivate it." He looked at his watch. "Twenty +minutes to three. Four capsules and one tablet at three. That's +all you wanted to know, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>At three o'clock the cowpunchers rode up for Lonny, bringing +Hot Tamales, saddled. Traditions must be observed. To celebrate +the passage of the bill by the Senate the gang must ride wildly +through the town, creating uproar and excitement. Liquor must +be partaken of, the suburbs shot up, and the glory of the San +Saba country vociferously proclaimed. A part of the programme +had been carried out in the saloons on the way up.</p> + +<p>Lonny mounted Hot Tamales, the accomplished little beast +prancing with fire and intelligence. He was glad to feel +Lonny's bowlegged grip against his ribs again. Lonny was his +friend, and he was willing to do things for him.</p> + +<p>"Come on, boys," said Lonny, urging Hot Tomales into a gallop +with his knees. With a whoop, the inspired lobby tore after him +through the dust. Lonny led his cohorts straight for the +Capitol. With a wild yell, the gang endorsed his now evident +intention of riding into it. Hooray for San Saba!</p> + +<p>Up the six broad, limestone steps clattered the broncos of the +cowpunchers. Into the resounding hallway they pattered, +scattering in dismay those passing on foot. Lonny, in the lead, +shoved Hot Tamales direct for the great picture. At that hour a +downpouring, soft light from the second-story windows bathed +the big canvas. Against the darker background of the hall the +painting stood out with valuable effect. In spite of the +defects of the art you could almost fancy that you gazed out +upon a landscape. You might well flinch a step from the +convincing figure of the life-size steer stampeding across the +grass. Perhaps it seemed thus to Hot Tamales. The scene was in +his line. Perhaps he only obeyed the will of his rider. His +ears pricked up; he snorted. Lonny leaned forward in the saddle +and elevated his elbows, wing-like. Thus signals the cowpuncher +to his steed to launch himself full speed ahead. Did Hot +Tamales fancy he saw a steer, red and cavorting, that should be +headed off and driven back to the herd? There was a fierce +clatter of hoofs, a rush, a gathering of steely flank muscles, +a leap to the jerk of the bridle rein, and Hot Tamales, with +Lonny bending low in the saddle to dodge the top of the frame, +ripped through the great canvas like a shell from a mortar, +leaving the cloth hanging in ragged shreds about a monstrous +hole.</p> + +<p>Quickly Lonny pulled up his pony, and rounded the pillars. +Spectators came running, too astounded to add speech to the +commotion. The sergeant-at-arms of the House came forth, +frowned, looked ominous, and then grinned. Many of the +legislators crowded out to observe the tumult. Lonny's +cowpunchers were stricken to silent horror by his mad deed.</p> + +<p>Senator Kinney happened to be among the earliest to emerge. +Before he could speak Lonny leaned in his saddle as Hot Tamales +pranced, pointed his quirt at the Senator, and said, calmly:</p> + +<p>"That was a fine speech you made to-day, mister, but you might +as well let up on that 'propriation business. I ain't askin' +the state to give me nothin'. I thought I had a picture to sell +to it, but it wasn't one. You said a heap of things about +Grandfather Briscoe that makes me kind of proud I'm his +grandson. Well, the Briscoes ain't takin' presents from the +state yet. Anybody can have the frame that wants it. Hit her +up, boys."</p> + +<p>Away scuttled the San Saba delegation out of the hall, down the +steps, along the dusty street.</p> + +<p>Halfway to the San Saba country they camped that night. At +bedtime Lonny stole away from the campfire and sought Hot +Tamales, placidly eating grass at the end of his stake rope. +Lonny hung upon his neck, and his art aspirations went forth +forever in one long, regretful sigh. But as he thus made +renunciation his breath formed a word or two.</p> + +<p>"You was the only one, Tamales, what seen anything in it. It +<i>did</i> look like a steer, didn't it, old hoss?"</p> + + +<p><a name="7"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>VII</h3> +<h3>PHŒBE<br /> </h3> + + +<p>"You are a man of many novel adventures and varied +enterprises," I said to Captain Patricio Maloné. "Do you +believe that the possible element of good luck or bad luck—if +there is such a thing as luck—has influenced your career or +persisted for or against you to such an extent that you were +forced to attribute results to the operation of the aforesaid +good luck or bad luck?"</p> + +<p>This question (of almost the dull insolence of legal +phraseology) was put while we sat in Rousselin's little +red-tiled café near Congo Square in New Orleans.</p> + +<p>Brown-faced, white-hatted, finger-ringed captains of adventure +came often to Rousselin's for the cognac. They came from sea +and land, and were chary of relating the things they had +seen—not because they were more wonderful than the fantasies +of the Ananiases of print, but because they were so different. +And I was a perpetual wedding-guest, always striving to cast my +buttonhole over the finger of one of these mariners of fortune. +This Captain Maloné was a Hiberno-Iberian creole who had gone +to and fro in the earth and walked up and down in it. He looked +like any other well-dressed man of thirty-five whom you might +meet, except that he was hopelessly weather-tanned, and wore on +his chain an ancient ivory-and-gold Peruvian charm against +evil, which has nothing at all to do with this story.</p> + +<p>"My answer to your question," said the captain, smiling, "will +be to tell you the story of Bad-Luck Kearny. That is, if you +don't mind hearing it."</p> + +<p>My reply was to pound on the table for Rousselin.</p> + +<p>"Strolling along Tchoupitoulas Street one night," began Captain +Maloné, "I noticed, without especially taxing my interest, +a small man walking rapidly toward me. He stepped upon a wooden +cellar door, crashed through it, and disappeared. I rescued him +from a heap of soft coal below. He dusted himself briskly, +swearing fluently in a mechanical tone, as an underpaid actor +recites the gypsy's curse. Gratitude and the dust in his throat +seemed to call for fluids to clear them away. His desire for +liquidation was expressed so heartily that I went with him to a +café down the street where we had some vile vermouth and +bitters.</p> + +<p>"Looking across that little table I had my first clear sight of +Francis Kearny. He was about five feet seven, but as tough as a +cypress knee. His hair was darkest red, his mouth such a mere +slit that you wondered how the flood of his words came rushing +from it. His eyes were the brightest and lightest blue and the +hopefulest that I ever saw. He gave the double impression that +he was at bay and that you had better not crowd him further.</p> + +<p>"'Just in from a gold-hunting expedition on the coast of Costa +Rica,' he explained. 'Second mate of a banana steamer told me +the natives were panning out enough from the beach sands to buy +all the rum, red calico, and parlour melodeons in the world. +The day I got there a syndicate named Incorporated Jones gets a +government concession to all minerals from a given point. For a +next choice I take coast fever and count green and blue lizards +for six weeks in a grass hut. I had to be notified when I was +well, for the reptiles were actually there. Then I shipped back +as third cook on a Norwegian tramp that blew up her boiler two +miles below Quarantine. I was due to bust through that cellar +door here to-night, so I hurried the rest of the way up the +river, roustabouting on a lower coast packet that made up a +landing for every fisherman that wanted a plug of tobacco. And +now I'm here for what comes next. And it'll be along, it'll be +along,' said this queer Mr. Kearny; 'it'll be along on the +beams of my bright but not very particular star.'</p> + +<p>"From the first the personality of Kearny charmed me. I saw in +him the bold heart, the restless nature, and the valiant front +against the buffets of fate that make his countrymen such +valuable comrades in risk and adventure. And just then I was +wanting such men. Moored at a fruit company's pier I had a +500-ton steamer ready to sail the next day with a cargo of +sugar, lumber, and corrugated iron for a port in—well, let us +call the country Esperando—it has not been long ago, and the +name of Patricio Maloné is still spoken there when its +unsettled politics are discussed. Beneath the sugar and iron +were packed a thousand Winchester rifles. In Aguas Frias, the +capital, Don Rafael Valdevia, Minister of War, Esperando's +greatest-hearted and most able patriot, awaited my coming. No +doubt you have heard, with a smile, of the insignificant wars +and uprisings in those little tropic republics. They make but a +faint clamour against the din of great nations' battles; but +down there, under all the ridiculous uniforms and petty +diplomacy and senseless countermarching and intrigue, are to be +found statesmen and patriots. Don Rafael Valdevia was one. His +great ambition was to raise Esperando into peace and honest +prosperity and the respect of the serious nations. So he waited +for my rifles in Aguas Frias. But one would think I am trying +to win a recruit in you! No; it was Francis Kearny I wanted. +And so I told him, speaking long over our execrable vermouth, +breathing the stifling odour from garlic and tarpaulins, which, +as you know, is the distinctive flavour of cafés in the lower +slant of our city. I spoke of the tyrant President Cruz and the +burdens that his greed and insolent cruelty laid upon the +people. And at that Kearny's tears flowed. And then I dried +them with a picture of the fat rewards that would be ours when +the oppressor should be overthrown and the wise and generous +Valdevia in his seat. Then Kearny leaped to his feet and wrung +my hand with the strength of a roustabout. He was mine, he +said, till the last minion of the hated despot was hurled from +the highest peaks of the Cordilleras into the sea.</p> + +<p>"I paid the score, and we went out. Near the door Kearny's +elbow overturned an upright glass showcase, smashing it into +little bits. I paid the storekeeper the price he asked.</p> + +<p>"'Come to my hotel for the night,' I said to Kearny. 'We sail +to-morrow at noon.'</p> + +<p>"He agreed; but on the sidewalk he fell to cursing again in the +dull monotonous way that he had done when I pulled him out of +the coal cellar.</p> + +<p>"'Captain,' said he, 'before we go any further, it's no more +than fair to tell you that I'm known from Baffin's Bay to Terra +del Fuego as "Bad-Luck" Kearny. And I'm It. Everything I get +into goes up in the air except a balloon. Every bet I ever made +I lost except when I coppered it. Every boat I ever sailed on +sank except the submarines. Everything I was ever interested in +went to pieces except a patent bombshell that I invented. +Everything I ever took hold of and tried to run I ran into the +ground except when I tried to plough. And that's why they call +me Bad-Luck Kearny. I thought I'd tell you.'</p> + +<p>"'Bad luck,' said I, 'or what goes by that name, may now and +then tangle the affairs of any man. But if it persists beyond +the estimate of what we may call the "averages" there must be a +cause for it.'</p> + +<p>"'There is,' said Kearny emphatically, 'and when we walk +another square I will show it to you.'</p> + +<p>"Surprised, I kept by his side until we came to Canal Street +and out into the middle of its great width.</p> + +<p>"Kearny seized me by an arm and pointed a tragic forefinger at +a rather brilliant star that shone steadily about thirty +degrees above the horizon.</p> + +<p>"'That's Saturn,' said he, 'the star that presides over bad +luck and evil and disappointment and nothing doing and trouble. +I was born under that star. Every move I make, up bobs Saturn +and blocks it. He's the hoodoo planet of the heavens. They say +he's 73,000 miles in diameter and no solider of body than +split-pea soup, and he's got as many disreputable and malignant +rings as Chicago. Now, what kind of a star is that to be born +under?'</p> + +<p>"I asked Kearny where he had obtained all this astonishing +knowledge.</p> + +<p>"'From Azrath, the great astrologer of Cleveland, Ohio,' said +he. 'That man looked at a glass ball and told me my name before +I'd taken a chair. He prophesied the date of my birth and death +before I'd said a word. And then he cast my horoscope, and the +sidereal system socked me in the solar plexus. It was bad luck +for Francis Kearny from A to Izard and for his friends that +were implicated with him. For that I gave up ten dollars. This +Azrath was sorry, but he respected his profession too much to +read the heavens wrong for any man. It was night time, and he +took me out on a balcony and gave me a free view of the sky. +And he showed me which Saturn was, and how to find it in +different balconies and longitudes.</p> + +<p>"'But Saturn wasn't all. He was only the man higher up. He +furnishes so much bad luck that they allow him a gang of deputy +sparklers to help hand it out. They're circulating and +revolving and hanging around the main supply all the time, each +one throwing the hoodoo on his own particular district.</p> + +<p>"'You see that ugly little red star about eight inches above +and to the right of Saturn?' Kearny asked me. 'Well, that's +her. That's Phœbe. She's got me in charge. "By the day of +your birth," says Azrath to me, "your life is subjected to the +influence of Saturn. By the hour and minute of it you must +dwell under the sway and direct authority of Phœbe, the +ninth satellite." So said this Azrath.' Kearny shook his fist +violently skyward. 'Curse her, she's done her work well,' said +he. 'Ever since I was astrologized, bad luck has followed me +like my shadow, as I told you. And for many years before. Now, +Captain, I've told you my handicap as a man should. If you're +afraid this evil star of mine might cripple your scheme, leave +me out of it.'</p> + +<p>"I reassured Kearny as well as I could. I told him that for the +time we would banish both astrology and astronomy from our +heads. The manifest valour and enthusiasm of the man drew me. +'Let us see what a little courage and diligence will do against +bad luck,' I said. 'We will sail to-morrow for Esperando.'</p> + +<p>"Fifty miles down the Mississippi our steamer broke her rudder. +We sent for a tug to tow us back and lost three days. When we +struck the blue waters of the Gulf, all the storm clouds of the +Atlantic seemed to have concentrated above us. We thought +surely to sweeten those leaping waves with our sugar, and to +stack our arms and lumber on the floor of the Mexican Gulf.</p> + +<p>"Kearny did not seek to cast off one iota of the burden of our +danger from the shoulders of his fatal horoscope. He weathered +every storm on deck, smoking a black pipe, to keep which alight +rain and sea-water seemed but as oil. And he shook his fist at +the black clouds behind which his baleful star winked its +unseen eye. When the skies cleared one evening, he reviled his +malignant guardian with grim humour.</p> + +<p>"'On watch, aren't you, you red-headed vixen? Out making it hot +for little Francis Kearny and his friends, according to Hoyle. +Twinkle, twinkle, little devil! You're a lady, aren't +you?—dogging a man with your bad luck just because he happened +to be born while your boss was floorwalker. Get busy and sink +the ship, you one-eyed banshee. Phœbe! H'm! Sounds as mild +as a milkmaid. You can't judge a woman by her name. Why couldn't I +have had a man star? I can't make the remarks to Phœbe that I +could to a man. Oh, Phœbe, you be—blasted!'</p> + +<p>"For eight days gales and squalls and waterspouts beat us from +our course. Five days only should have landed us in Esperando. +Our Jonah swallowed the bad credit of it with appealing +frankness; but that scarcely lessened the hardships our cause +was made to suffer.</p> + +<p>"At last one afternoon we steamed into the calm estuary of the +little Rio Escondido. Three miles up this we crept, feeling for +the shallow channel between the low banks that were crowded to +the edge with gigantic trees and riotous vegetation. Then our +whistle gave a little toot, and in five minutes we heard a +shout, and Carlos—my brave Carlos Quintana—crashed through +the tangled vines waving his cap madly for joy.</p> + +<p>"A hundred yards away was his camp, where three hundred chosen +patriots of Esperando were awaiting our coming. For a month +Carlos had been drilling them there in the tactics of war, and +filling them with the spirit of revolution and liberty.</p> + +<p>"'My Captain—<i>compadre mio!</i>' shouted Carlos, while yet my +boat was being lowered. 'You should see them in the drill by +<i>companies</i>—in the column wheel—in the march by fours—they +are superb! Also in the manual of arms—but, alas! performed +only with sticks of bamboo. The guns, <i>capitan</i>—say that you +have brought the guns!'</p> + +<p>"'A thousand Winchesters, Carlos,' I called to him. 'And two +Gatlings.'</p> + +<p>"'<i>Valgame Dios!</i>' he cried, throwing his cap in the air. 'We +shall sweep the world!'</p> + +<p>"At that moment Kearny tumbled from the steamer's side into the +river. He could not swim, so the crew threw him a rope and drew +him back aboard. I caught his eye and his look of pathetic but +still bright and undaunted consciousness of his guilty luck. I +told myself that although he might be a man to shun, he was +also one to be admired.</p> + +<p>"I gave orders to the sailing-master that the arms, ammunition, +and provisions were to be landed at once. That was easy in the +steamer's boats, except for the two Gatling guns. For their +transportation ashore we carried a stout flatboat, brought for +the purpose in the steamer's hold.</p> + +<p>"In the meantime I walked with Carlos to the camp and made the +soldiers a little speech in Spanish, which they received with +enthusiasm; and then I had some wine and a cigarette in +Carlos's tent. Later we walked back to the river to see how the +unloading was being conducted.</p> + +<p>"The small arms and provisions were already ashore, and the +petty officers and squads of men conveying them to camp. One +Gatling had been safely landed; the other was just being +hoisted over the side of the vessel as we arrived. I noticed +Kearny darting about on board, seeming to have the ambition of +ten men, and doing the work of five. I think his zeal bubbled +over when he saw Carlos and me. A rope's end was swinging loose +from some part of the tackle. Kearny leaped impetuously and +caught it. There was a crackle and a hiss and a smoke of +scorching hemp, and the Gatling dropped straight as a plummet +through the bottom of the flatboat and buried itself in twenty +feet of water and five feet of river mud.</p> + +<p>"I turned my back on the scene. I heard Carlos's loud cries as +if from some extreme grief too poignant for words. I heard the +complaining murmur of the crew and the maledictions of Torres, +the sailing master—I could not bear to look.</p> + +<p>"By night some degree of order had been restored in camp. +Military rules were not drawn strictly, and the men were +grouped about the fires of their several messes, playing games +of chance, singing their native songs, or discussing with +voluble animation the contingencies of our march upon the +capital.</p> + +<p>"To my tent, which had been pitched for me close to that of my +chief lieutenant, came Kearny, indomitable, smiling, +bright-eyed, bearing no traces of the buffets of his evil star. +Rather was his aspect that of a heroic martyr whose +tribulations were so high-sourced and glorious that he even +took a splendour and a prestige from them.</p> + +<p>"'Well, Captain,' said he, 'I guess you realize that Bad-Luck +Kearny is still on deck. It was a shame, now, about that gun. +She only needed to be slewed two inches to clear the rail; and +that's why I grabbed that rope's end. Who'd have thought that a +sailor—even a Sicilian lubber on a banana coaster—would have +fastened a line in a bow-knot? Don't think I'm trying to dodge +the responsibility, Captain. It's my luck.'</p> + +<p>"'There are men, Kearny,' said I gravely, 'who pass through +life blaming upon luck and chance the mistakes that result from +their own faults and incompetency. I do not say that you are +such a man. But if all your mishaps are traceable to that tiny +star, the sooner we endow our colleges with chairs of moral +astronomy, the better.'</p> + +<p>"'It isn't the size of the star that counts,' said Kearny; +'it's the quality. Just the way it is with women. That's why +they give the biggest planets masculine names, and the little +stars feminine ones—to even things up when it comes to getting +their work in. Suppose they had called my star Agamemnon or +Bill McCarty or something like that instead of Phœbe. Every +time one of those old boys touched their calamity button and +sent me down one of their wireless pieces of bad luck, I could +talk back and tell 'em what I thought of 'em in suitable terms. +But you can't address such remarks to a Phœbe.'</p> + +<p>"'It pleases you to make a joke of it, Kearny,' said I, without +smiling. 'But it is no joke to me to think of my Gatling mired +in the river ooze.'</p> + +<p>"'As to that,' said Kearny, abandoning his light mood at once, +'I have already done what I could. I have had some experience +in hoisting stone in quarries. Torres and I have already +spliced three hawsers and stretched them from the steamer's +stern to a tree on shore. We will rig a tackle and have the gun +on terra firma before noon to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>"One could not remain long at outs with Bad-Luck Kearny.</p> + +<p>"'Once more,' said I to him, 'we will waive this question of +luck. Have you ever had experience in drilling raw troops?'</p> + +<p>"'I was first sergeant and drill-master,' said Kearny, 'in the +Chilean army for one year. And captain of artillery for +another.'</p> + +<p>"'What became of your command?' I asked.</p> + +<p>"'Shot down to a man,' said Kearny, 'during the revolutions +against Balmaceda.'</p> + +<p>"Somehow the misfortunes of the evil-starred one seemed to turn +to me their comedy side. I lay back upon my goat's-hide cot and +laughed until the woods echoed. Kearny grinned. 'I told you how +it was,' he said.</p> + +<p>"'To-morrow,' I said, 'I shall detail one hundred men under +your command for manual-of-arms drill and company evolutions. +You will rank as lieutenant. Now, for God's sake, Kearny,' I urged +him, 'try to combat this superstition if it is one. Bad luck +may be like any other visitor—preferring to stop where it is +expected. Get your mind off stars. Look upon Esperando as your +planet of good fortune.'</p> + +<p>"'I thank you, Captain,' said Kearny quietly. 'I will try to +make it the best handicap I ever ran.'</p> + +<p>"By noon the next day the submerged Gatling was rescued, as +Kearny had promised. Then Carlos and Manuel Ortiz and Kearny +(my lieutenants) distributed Winchesters among the troops and +put them through an incessant rifle drill. We fired no shots, +blank or solid, for of all coasts Esperando is the stillest; +and we had no desire to sound any warnings in the ear of that +corrupt government until they should carry with them the +message of Liberty and the downfall of Oppression.</p> + +<p>"In the afternoon came a mule-rider bearing a written message +to me from Don Rafael Valdevia in the capital, Aguas Frias.</p> + +<p>"Whenever that man's name comes to my lips, words of tribute to +his greatness, his noble simplicity, and his conspicuous genius +follow irrepressibly. He was a traveller, a student of peoples +and governments, a master of sciences, a poet, an orator, a +leader, a soldier, a critic of the world's campaigns and the +idol of the people in Esperando. I had been honoured by his +friendship for years. It was I who first turned his mind to the +thought that he should leave for his monument a new +Esperando—a country freed from the rule of unscrupulous +tyrants, and a people made happy and prosperous by wise and +impartial legislation. When he had consented he threw himself +into the cause with the undivided zeal with which he endowed +all of his acts. The coffers of his great fortune were opened +to those of us to whom were entrusted the secret moves of the +game. His popularity was already so great that he had +practically forced President Cruz to offer him the portfolio of +Minister of War.</p> + +<p>"The time, Don Rafael said in his letter, was ripe. Success, he +prophesied, was certain. The people were beginning to clamour +publicly against Cruz's misrule. Bands of citizens in the +capital were even going about of nights hurling stones at +public buildings and expressing their dissatisfaction. A bronze +statue of President Cruz in the Botanical Gardens had been +lassoed about the neck and overthrown. It only remained for me +to arrive with my force and my thousand rifles, and for himself +to come forward and proclaim himself the people's saviour, to +overthrow Cruz in a single day. There would be but a +half-hearted resistance from the six hundred government troops +stationed in the capital. The country was ours. He presumed +that by this time my steamer had arrived at Quintana's camp. He +proposed the eighteenth of July for the attack. That would give +us six days in which to strike camp and march to Aguas Frias. +In the meantime Don Rafael remained my good friend and +<i>compadre en la causa de la libertad</i>.</p> + +<p>"On the morning of the 14th we began our march toward the +sea-following range of mountains, over the sixty-mile trail to +the capital. Our small arms and provisions were laden on pack +mules. Twenty men harnessed to each Gatling gun rolled them +smoothly along the flat, alluvial lowlands. Our troops, +well-shod and well-fed, moved with alacrity and heartiness. I +and my three lieutenants were mounted on the tough mountain +ponies of the country.</p> + +<p>"A mile out of camp one of the pack mules, becoming stubborn, +broke away from the train and plunged from the path into the +thicket. The alert Kearny spurred quickly after it and +intercepted its flight. Rising in his stirrups, he released one +foot and bestowed upon the mutinous animal a hearty kick. The +mule tottered and fell with a crash broadside upon the ground. +As we gathered around it, it walled its great eyes almost +humanly towards Kearny and expired. That was bad; but worse, to +our minds, was the concomitant disaster. Part of the mule's +burden had been one hundred pounds of the finest coffee to be +had in the tropics. The bag burst and spilled the priceless +brown mass of the ground berries among the dense vines and +weeds of the swampy land. <i>Mala suerte!</i> When you take away +from an Esperandan his coffee, you abstract his patriotism and +50 per cent. of his value as a soldier. The men began to rake +up the precious stuff; but I beckoned Kearny back along the +trail where they would not hear. The limit had been reached.</p> + +<p>"I took from my pocket a wallet of money and drew out some +bills.</p> + +<p>"'Mr. Kearny,' said I, 'here are some funds belonging to Don +Rafael Valdevia, which I am expending in his cause. I know of +no better service it can buy for him than this. Here is one +hundred dollars. Luck or no luck, we part company here. Star or +no star, calamity seems to travel by your side. You will return +to the steamer. She touches at Amotapa to discharge her lumber +and iron, and then puts back to New Orleans. Hand this note to +the sailing-master, who will give you passage.' I wrote on a +leaf torn from my book, and placed it and the money in Kearny's +hand.</p> + +<p>"'Good-bye,' I said, extending my own. 'It is not that I am +displeased with you; but there is no place in this expedition +for—let us say, the Señorita Phœbe.' I said this with +a smile, trying to smooth the thing for him. 'May you have better +luck, <i>companero</i>.'</p> + +<p>"Kearny took the money and the paper.</p> + +<p>"'It was just a little touch,' said he, 'just a little lift +with the toe of my boot—but what's the odds?—that blamed mule +would have died if I had only dusted his ribs with a powder +puff. It was my luck. Well, Captain, I would have liked to be +in that little fight with you over in Aguas Frias. Success to +the cause. <i>Adios!</i>'</p> + +<p>"He turned around and set off down the trail without looking +back. The unfortunate mule's pack-saddle was transferred to +Kearny's pony, and we again took up the march.</p> + +<p>"Four days we journeyed over the foot-hills and mountains, +fording icy torrents, winding around the crumbling brows of +ragged peaks, creeping along the rocky flanges that overlooked +awful precipices, crawling breathlessly over tottering bridges +that crossed bottomless chasms.</p> + +<p>"On the evening of the seventeenth we camped by a little stream +on the bare hills five miles from Aguas Frias. At daybreak we +were to take up the march again.</p> + +<p>"At midnight I was standing outside my tent inhaling the fresh +cold air. The stars were shining bright in the cloudless sky, +giving the heavens their proper aspect of illimitable depth and +distance when viewed from the vague darkness of the blotted +earth. Almost at its zenith was the planet Saturn; and with a +half-smile I observed the sinister red sparkle of his malignant +attendant—the demon star of Kearny's ill luck. And then my +thoughts strayed across the hills to the scene of our coming +triumph where the heroic and noble Don Rafael awaited our +coming to set a new and shining star in the firmament of +nations.</p> + +<p>"I heard a slight rustling in the deep grass to my right. I +turned and saw Kearny coming toward me. He was ragged and +dew-drenched and limping. His hat and one boot were gone. About +one foot he had tied some makeshift of cloth and grass. But his +manner as he approached was that of a man who knows his own +virtues well enough to be superior to rebuffs.</p> + +<p>"'Well, sir,' I said, staring at him coldly, 'if there is +anything in persistence, I see no reason why you should not +succeed in wrecking and ruining us yet.'</p> + +<p>"'I kept half a day's journey behind,' said Kearny, fishing out +a stone from the covering of his lame foot, 'so the bad luck +wouldn't touch you. I couldn't help it, Captain; I wanted to be +in on this game. It was a pretty tough trip, especially in the +department of the commissary. In the low grounds there were +always bananas and oranges. Higher up it was worse; but your +men left a good deal of goat meat hanging on the bushes in the +camps. Here's your hundred dollars. You're nearly there now, +captain. Let me in on the scrapping to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>"'Not for a hundred times a hundred would I have the tiniest +thing go wrong with my plans now,' I said, 'whether caused by +evil planets or the blunders of mere man. But yonder is Aguas +Frias, five miles away, and a clear road. I am of the mind to +defy Saturn and all his satellites to spoil our success now. At +any rate, I will not turn away to-night as weary a traveller +and as good a soldier as you are, Lieutenant Kearny. Manuel +Ortiz's tent is there by the brightest fire. Rout him out and +tell him to supply you with food and blankets and clothes. We +march again at daybreak.'</p> + +<p>"Kearny thanked me briefly but feelingly and moved away.</p> + +<p>"He had gone scarcely a dozen steps when a sudden flash of +bright light illumined the surrounding hills; a sinister, +growing, hissing sound like escaping steam filled my ears. Then +followed a roar as of distant thunder, which grew louder every +instant. This terrifying noise culminated in a tremendous +explosion, which seemed to rock the hills as an earthquake +would; the illumination waxed to a glare so fierce that I +clapped my hands over my eyes to save them. I thought the end +of the world had come. I could think of no natural phenomenon +that would explain it. My wits were staggering. The deafening +explosion trailed off into the rumbling roar that had preceded +it; and through this I heard the frightened shouts of my troops +as they stumbled from their resting-places and rushed wildly +about. Also I heard the harsh tones of Kearny's voice crying: +'They'll blame it on me, of course, and what the devil it is, +it's not Francis Kearny that can give you an answer.'</p> + +<p>"I opened my eyes. The hills were still there, dark and solid. +It had not been, then, a volcano or an earthquake. I looked up +at the sky and saw a comet-like trail crossing the zenith and +extending westward—a fiery trail waning fainter and narrower +each moment.</p> + +<p>"'A meteor!' I called aloud. 'A meteor has fallen. There is no +danger.'</p> + +<p>"And then all other sounds were drowned by a great shout from +Kearny's throat. He had raised both hands above his head and +was standing tiptoe.</p> + +<p>"'PHŒBE'S GONE!' he cried, with all his lungs. 'She's busted +and gone to hell. Look, Captain, the little red-headed hoodoo +has blown herself to smithereens. She found Kearny too tough to +handle, and she puffed up with spite and meanness till her +boiler blew up. It's be Bad-Luck Kearny no more. Oh, let us be +joyful!<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">"'Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall;<br /> + Humpty busted, and that'll be all!'<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>"I looked up, wondering, and picked out Saturn in his place. +But the small red twinkling luminary in his vicinity, which +Kearny had pointed out to me as his evil star, had vanished. I +had seen it there but half an hour before; there was no doubt +that one of those awful and mysterious spasms of nature had +hurled it from the heavens.</p> + +<p>"I clapped Kearny on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"'Little man,' said I, 'let this clear the way for you. It +appears that astrology has failed to subdue you. Your horoscope +must be cast anew with pluck and loyalty for controlling stars. +I play you to win. Now, get to your tent, and sleep. Daybreak +is the word.'</p> + +<p>"At nine o'clock on the morning of the eighteenth of July I +rode into Aguas Frias with Kearny at my side. In his clean +linen suit and with his military poise and keen eye he was a +model of a fighting adventurer. I had visions of him riding as +commander of President Valdevia's body-guard when the plums of +the new republic should begin to fall.</p> + +<p>"Carlos followed with the troops and supplies. He was to halt +in a wood outside the town and remain concealed there until he +received the word to advance.</p> + +<p>"Kearny and I rode down the Calle Ancha toward the <i>residencia</i> +of Don Rafael at the other side of the town. As we passed the +superb white buildings of the University of Esperando, I saw at +an open window the gleaming spectacles and bald head of Herr +Bergowitz, professor of the natural sciences and friend of Don +Rafael and of me and of the cause. He waved his hand to me, +with his broad, bland smile.</p> + +<p>"There was no excitement apparent in Aguas Frias. The people +went about leisurely as at all times; the market was thronged +with bare-headed women buying fruit and <i>carne</i>; we heard the +twang and tinkle of string bands in the patios of the +<i>cantinas</i>. We could see that it was a waiting game that Don +Rafael was playing.</p> + +<p>"His <i>residencia</i> was a large but low building around a great +courtyard in grounds crowed with ornamental trees and tropic +shrubs. At his door an old woman who came informed us that Don +Rafael had not yet arisen.</p> + +<p>"'Tell him,' said I, 'that Captain Maloné and a friend +wish to see him at once. Perhaps he has overslept.'</p> + +<p>"She came back looking frightened.</p> + +<p>"'I have called,' she said, 'and rung his bell many times, but +he does not answer.'</p> + +<p>"I knew where his sleeping-room was. Kearny and I pushed by her +and went to it. I put my shoulder against the thin door and +forced it open.</p> + +<p>"In an armchair by a great table covered with maps and books +sat Don Rafael with his eyes closed. I touched his hand. He had +been dead many hours. On his head above one ear was a wound +caused by a heavy blow. It had ceased to bleed long before.</p> + +<p>"I made the old woman call a <i>mozo</i>, and dispatched him in +haste to fetch Herr Bergowitz.</p> + +<p>"He came, and we stood about as if we were half stunned by the +awful shock. Thus can the letting of a few drops of blood from +one man's veins drain the life of a nation.</p> + +<p>"Presently Herr Bergowitz stooped and picked up a darkish stone +the size of an orange which he saw under the table. He examined +it closely through his great glasses with the eye of science.</p> + +<p>"'A fragment,' said he, 'of a detonating meteor. The most +remarkable one in twenty years exploded above this city a +little after midnight this morning.'</p> + +<p>"The professor looked quickly up at the ceiling. We saw the +blue sky through a hole the size of an orange nearly above Don +Rafael's chair.</p> + +<p>"I heard a familiar sound, and turned. Kearny had thrown +himself on the floor and was babbling his compendium of bitter, +blood-freezing curses against the star of his evil luck.</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly Phœbe had been feminine. Even when +hurtling on her way to fiery dissolution and everlasting +doom, the last word had been hers."</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Captain Maloné was not unskilled in narrative. He knew +the point where a story should end. I sat reveling in his effective +conclusion when he aroused me by continuing:</p> + +<p>"Of course," said he, "our schemes were at an end. There was no +one to take Don Rafael's place. Our little army melted away +like dew before the sun.</p> + +<p>"One day after I had returned to New Orleans I related this +story to a friend who holds a professorship in Tulane +University.</p> + +<p>"When I had finished he laughed and asked whether I had any +knowledge of Kearny's luck afterward. I told him no, that I had +seen him no more; but that when he left me, he had expressed +confidence that his future would be successful now that his +unlucky star had been overthrown.</p> + +<p>"'No doubt,' said the professor, 'he is happier not to know one +fact. If he derives his bad luck from Phœbe, the ninth +satellite of Saturn, that malicious lady is still engaged in +overlooking his career. The star close to Saturn that he +imagined to be her was near that planet simply by the chance of +its orbit—probably at different times he has regarded many +other stars that happened to be in Saturn's neighbourhood as +his evil one. The real Phœbe is visible only through a very +good telescope.'</p> + +<p>"About a year afterward," continued Captain Maloné, +"I was walking down a street that crossed the Poydras Market. An +immensely stout, pink-faced lacy in black satin crowded me from +the narrow sidewalk with a frown. Behind her trailed a little +man laden to the gunwales with bundles and bags of goods and +vegetables.</p> + +<p>"It was Kearny—but changed. I stopped and shook one of his +hands, which still clung to a bag of garlic and red peppers.</p> + +<p>"'How is the luck, old <i>companero</i>?' I asked him. I had not the +heart to tell him the truth about his star.</p> + +<p>"'Well,' said he, 'I am married, as you may guess.'</p> + +<p>"'Francis!' called the big lady, in deep tones, 'are you going +to stop in the street talking all day?'</p> + +<p>"'I am coming, Phœbe dear,' said Kearny, hastening after +her."</p> + +<p>Captain Maloné ceased again.</p> + +<p>"After all, do you believe in luck?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Do you?" answered the captain, with his ambiguous smile shaded +by the brim of his soft straw hat.</p> + + +<p><a name="8"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>VIII</h3> +<h3>A DOUBLE-DYED DECEIVER<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The trouble began in Laredo. It was the Llano Kid's fault, for +he should have confined his habit of manslaughter to Mexicans. +But the Kid was past twenty; and to have only Mexicans to one's +credit at twenty is to blush unseen on the Rio Grande border.</p> + +<p>It happened in old Justo Valdos's gambling house. There was a +poker game at which sat players who were not all friends, as +happens often where men ride in from afar to shoot Folly as she +gallops. There was a row over so small a matter as a pair of +queens; and when the smoke had cleared away it was found that +the Kid had committed an indiscretion, and his adversary had +been guilty of a blunder. For, the unfortunate combatant, +instead of being a Greaser, was a high-blooded youth from the +cow ranches, of about the Kid's own age and possessed of +friends and champions. His blunder in missing the Kid's right +ear only a sixteenth of an inch when he pulled his gun did not +lessen the indiscretion of the better marksman.</p> + +<p>The Kid, not being equipped with a retinue, nor bountifully +supplied with personal admirers and supporters—on account of a +rather umbrageous reputation, even for the border—considered +it not incompatible with his indisputable gameness to perform +that judicious tractional act known as "pulling his freight."</p> + +<p>Quickly the avengers gathered and sought him. Three of them +overtook him within a rod of the station. The Kid turned and +showed his teeth in that brilliant but mirthless smile that +usually preceded his deeds of insolence and violence, and his +pursuers fell back without making it necessary for him even to +reach for his weapon.</p> + +<p>But in this affair the Kid had not felt the grim thirst for +encounter that usually urged him on to battle. It had been a +purely chance row, born of the cards and certain epithets +impossible for a gentleman to brook that had passed between the +two. The Kid had rather liked the slim, haughty, brown-faced +young chap whom his bullet had cut off in the first pride of +manhood. And now he wanted no more blood. He wanted to get away +and have a good long sleep somewhere in the sun on the mesquit +grass with his handkerchief over his face. Even a Mexican might +have crossed his path in safety while he was in this mood.</p> + +<p>The Kid openly boarded the north-bound passenger train that +departed five minutes later. But at Webb, a few miles out, +where it was flagged to take on a traveller, he abandoned that +manner of escape. There were telegraph stations ahead; and the +Kid looked askance at electricity and steam. Saddle and spur +were his rocks of safety.</p> + +<p>The man whom he had shot was a stranger to him. But the Kid +knew that he was of the Coralitos outfit from Hidalgo; and that +the punchers from that ranch were more relentless and vengeful +than Kentucky feudists when wrong or harm was done to one of +them. So, with the wisdom that has characterized many great +fighters, the Kid decided to pile up as many leagues as possible +of chaparral and pear between himself and the retaliation of +the Coralitos bunch.</p> + +<p>Near the station was a store; and near the store, scattered +among the mesquits and elms, stood the saddled horses of the +customers. Most of them waited, half asleep, with sagging limbs +and drooping heads. But one, a long-legged roan with a curved +neck, snorted and pawed the turf. Him the Kid mounted, gripped +with his knees, and slapped gently with the owner's own quirt.</p> + +<p>If the slaying of the temerarious card-player had cast a cloud +over the Kid's standing as a good and true citizen, this last +act of his veiled his figure in the darkest shadows of +disrepute. On the Rio Grande border if you take a man's life +you sometimes take trash; but if you take his horse, you take a +thing the loss of which renders him poor, indeed, and which +enriches you not—if you are caught. For the Kid there was no +turning back now.</p> + +<p>With the springing roan under him he felt little care or +uneasiness. After a five-mile gallop he drew in to the +plainsman's jogging trot, and rode northeastward toward the +Nueces River bottoms. He knew the country well—its most +tortuous and obscure trails through the great wilderness of +brush and pear, and its camps and lonesome ranches where one +might find safe entertainment. Always he bore to the east; for +the Kid had never seen the ocean, and he had a fancy to lay his +hand upon the mane of the great Gulf, the gamesome colt of the +greater waters.</p> + +<p>So after three days he stood on the shore at Corpus Christi, +and looked out across the gentle ripples of a quiet sea.</p> + +<p>Captain Boone, of the schooner <i>Flyaway</i>, stood near his skiff, +which one of his crew was guarding in the surf. When ready to +sail he had discovered that one of the necessaries of life, in +the parallelogrammatic shape of plug tobacco, had been +forgotten. A sailor had been dispatched for the missing cargo. +Meanwhile the captain paced the sands, chewing profanely at his +pocket store.</p> + +<p>A slim, wiry youth in high-heeled boots came down to the +water's edge. His face was boyish, but with a premature +severity that hinted at a man's experience. His complexion was +naturally dark; and the sun and wind of an outdoor life had +burned it to a coffee brown. His hair was as black and straight +as an Indian's; his face had not yet been upturned to the +humiliation of a razor; his eyes were a cold and steady blue. +He carried his left arm somewhat away from his body, for +pearl-handled .45s are frowned upon by town marshals, and are a +little bulky when placed in the left armhole of one's vest. He +looked beyond Captain Boone at the gulf with the impersonal and +expressionless dignity of a Chinese emperor.</p> + +<p>"Thinkin' of buyin' that'ar gulf, buddy?" asked the captain, +made sarcastic by his narrow escape from a tobaccoless voyage.</p> + +<p>"Why, no," said the Kid gently, "I reckon not. I never saw it +before. I was just looking at it. Not thinking of selling it, +are you?"</p> + +<p>"Not this trip," said the captain. "I'll send it to you C.O.D. +when I get back to Buenas Tierras. Here comes that +capstanfooted lubber with the chewin'. I ought to've weighed +anchor an hour ago."</p> + +<p>"Is that your ship out there?" asked the Kid.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," answered the captain, "if you want to call a +schooner a ship, and I don't mind lyin'. But you better say +Miller and Gonzales, owners, and ordinary plain, +Billy-be-damned old Samuel K. Boone, skipper."</p> + +<p>"Where are you going to?" asked the refugee.</p> + +<p>"Buenas Tierras, coast of South America—I forgot what they +called the country the last time I was there. Cargo—lumber, +corrugated iron, and machetes."</p> + +<p>"What kind of a country is it?" asked the Kid—"hot or cold?"</p> + +<p>"Warmish, buddy," said the captain. "But a regular Paradise +Lost for elegance of scenery and be-yooty of geography. Ye're +wakened every morning by the sweet singin' of red birds with +seven purple tails, and the sighin' of breezes in the posies +and roses. And the inhabitants never work, for they can reach +out and pick steamer baskets of the choicest hothouse fruit +without gettin' out of bed. And there's no Sunday and no ice +and no rent and no troubles and no use and no nothin'. It's a +great country for a man to go to sleep with, and wait for +somethin' to turn up. The bananys and oranges and hurricanes +and pineapples that ye eat comes from there."</p> + +<p>"That sounds to me!" said the Kid, at last betraying interest. +"What'll the expressage be to take me out there with you?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-four dollars," said Captain Boone; "grub and +transportation. Second cabin. I haven't got a first cabin."</p> + +<p>"You've got my company," said the Kid, pulling out a buckskin +bag.</p> + +<p>With three hundred dollars he had gone to Laredo for his +regular "blowout." The duel in Valdos's had cut short his +season of hilarity, but it had left him with nearly $200 for +aid in the flight that it had made necessary.</p> + +<p>"All right, buddy," said the captain. "I hope your ma won't +blame me for this little childish escapade of yours." He +beckoned to one of the boat's crew. "Let Sanchez lift you out +to the skiff so you won't get your feet wet."</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Thacker, the United States consul at Buenas Tierras, was not +yet drunk. It was only eleven o'clock; and he never arrived at +his desired state of beatitude—a state wherein he sang ancient +maudlin vaudeville songs and pelted his screaming parrot with +banana peels—until the middle of the afternoon. So, when he +looked up from his hammock at the sound of a slight cough, and +saw the Kid standing in the door of the consulate, he was still +in a condition to extend the hospitality and courtesy due from +the representative of a great nation. "Don't disturb yourself," +said the Kid, easily. "I just dropped in. They told me it was +customary to light at your camp before starting in to round up +the town. I just came in on a ship from Texas."</p> + +<p>"Glad to see you, Mr.—" said the consul.</p> + +<p>The Kid laughed.</p> + +<p>"Sprague Dalton," he said. "It sounds funny to me to hear it. +I'm called the Llano Kid in the Rio Grande country."</p> + +<p>"I'm Thacker," said the consul. "Take that cane-bottom chair. +Now if you've come to invest, you want somebody to advise you. +These dingies will cheat you out of the gold in your teeth if +you don't understand their ways. Try a cigar?"</p> + +<p>"Much obliged," said the Kid, "but if it wasn't for my corn +shucks and the little bag in my back pocket I couldn't live a +minute." He took out his "makings," and rolled a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"They speak Spanish here," said the consul. "You'll need an +interpreter. If there's anything I can do, why, I'd be +delighted. If you're buying fruit lands or looking for a +concession of any sort, you'll want somebody who knows the +ropes to look out for you."</p> + +<p>"I speak Spanish," said the Kid, "about nine times better than +I do English. Everybody speaks it on the range where I come +from. And I'm not in the market for anything."</p> + +<p>"You speak Spanish?" said Thacker thoughtfully. He regarded the +kid absorbedly.</p> + +<p>"You look like a Spaniard, too," he continued. "And you're from +Texas. And you can't be more than twenty or twenty-one. I +wonder if you've got any nerve."</p> + +<p>"You got a deal of some kind to put through?" asked the Texan, +with unexpected shrewdness.</p> + +<p>"Are you open to a proposition?" said Thacker.</p> + +<p>"What's the use to deny it?" said the Kid. "I got into a little +gun frolic down in Laredo and plugged a white man. There wasn't +any Mexican handy. And I come down to your parrot-and-monkey +range just for to smell the morning-glories and marigolds. Now, +do you <i>sabe</i>?"</p> + +<p>Thacker got up and closed the door.</p> + +<p>"Let me see your hand," he said.</p> + +<p>He took the Kid's left hand, and examined the back of it +closely.</p> + +<p>"I can do it," he said excitedly. "Your flesh is as hard as +wood and as healthy as a baby's. It will heal in a week."</p> + +<p>"If it's a fist fight you want to back me for," said the Kid, +"don't put your money up yet. Make it gun work, and I'll keep +you company. But no barehanded scrapping, like ladies at a +tea-party, for me."</p> + +<p>"It's easier than that," said Thacker. "Just step here, will +you?"</p> + +<p>Through the window he pointed to a two-story white-stuccoed +house with wide galleries rising amid the deep-green tropical +foliage on a wooded hill that sloped gently from the sea.</p> + +<p>"In that house," said Thacker, "a fine old Castilian gentleman +and his wife are yearning to gather you into their arms and +fill your pockets with money. Old Santos Urique lives there. He +owns half the gold-mines in the country."</p> + +<p>"You haven't been eating loco weed, have you?" asked the Kid.</p> + +<p>"Sit down again," said Thacker, "and I'll tell you. Twelve +years ago they lost a kid. No, he didn't die—although most of +'em here do from drinking the surface water. He was a wild +little devil, even if he wasn't but eight years old. Everybody +knows about it. Some Americans who were through here +prospecting for gold had letters to Señor Urique, and the +boy was a favorite with them. They filled his head with big stories +about the States; and about a month after they left, the kid +disappeared, too. He was supposed to have stowed himself away +among the banana bunches on a fruit steamer, and gone to New +Orleans. He was seen once afterward in Texas, it was thought, +but they never heard anything more of him. Old Urique has spent +thousands of dollars having him looked for. The madam was +broken up worst of all. The kid was her life. She wears +mourning yet. But they say she believes he'll come back to her +some day, and never gives up hope. On the back of the boy's +left hand was tattooed a flying eagle carrying a spear in his +claws. That's old Urique's coat of arms or something that he +inherited in Spain."</p> + +<p>The Kid raised his left hand slowly and gazed at it curiously.</p> + +<p>"That's it," said Thacker, reaching behind the official desk +for his bottle of smuggled brandy. "You're not so slow. I can +do it. What was I consul at Sandakan for? I never knew till +now. In a week I'll have the eagle bird with the frog-sticker +blended in so you'd think you were born with it. I brought a +set of the needles and ink just because I was sure you'd drop +in some day, Mr. Dalton."</p> + +<p>"Oh, hell," said the Kid. "I thought I told you my name!"</p> + +<p>"All right, 'Kid,' then. It won't be that long. How does +Señorito Urique sound, for a change?"</p> + +<p>"I never played son any that I remember of," said the Kid. "If +I had any parents to mention they went over the divide about +the time I gave my first bleat. What is the plan of your +round-up?"</p> + +<p>Thacker leaned back against the wall and held his glass up to +the light.</p> + +<p>"We've come now," said he, "to the question of how far you're +willing to go in a little matter of the sort."</p> + +<p>"I told you why I came down here," said the Kid simply.</p> + +<p>"A good answer," said the consul. "But you won't have to go +that far. Here's the scheme. After I get the trademark tattooed +on your hand I'll notify old Urique. In the meantime I'll +furnish you with all of the family history I can find out, so +you can be studying up points to talk about. You've got the +looks, you speak the Spanish, you know the facts, you can tell +about Texas, you've got the tattoo mark. When I notify them +that the rightful heir has returned and is waiting to know +whether he will be received and pardoned, what will happen? +They'll simply rush down here and fall on your neck, and the +curtain goes down for refreshments and a stroll in the lobby."</p> + +<p>"I'm waiting," said the Kid. "I haven't had my saddle off in +your camp long, pardner, and I never met you before; but if you +intend to let it go at a parental blessing, why, I'm mistaken +in my man, that's all."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said the consul. "I haven't met anybody in a long +time that keeps up with an argument as well as you do. The rest +of it is simple. If they take you in only for a while it's long +enough. Don't give 'em time to hunt up the strawberry mark on +your left shoulder. Old Urique keeps anywhere from $50,000 to +$100,000 in his house all the time in a little safe that you +could open with a shoe buttoner. Get it. My skill as a tattooer +is worth half the boddle. We go halves and catch a tramp +steamer for Rio Janeiro. Let the United States go to pieces if +it can't get along without my services. <i>Que dice, +señor?</i>"</p> + +<p>"It sounds to me!" said the Kid, nodding his head. "I'm out for +the dust."</p> + +<p>"All right, then," said Thacker. "You'll have to keep close +until we get the bird on you. You can live in the back room +here. I do my own cooking, and I'll make you as comfortable as +a parsimonious Government will allow me."</p> + +<p>Thacker had set the time at a week, but it was two weeks before +the design that he patiently tattooed upon the Kid's hand was +to his notion. And then Thacker called a <i>muchacho</i>, and +dispatched this note to the intended victim:<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote class="med"> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">El Señor Don +Santos Urique,</span><br /> +<span class="ind2">La Casa Blanca,</span></p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">My +Dear Sir:</span></p> + +<p>I beg permission to inform you that there is in my house as +a temporary guest a young man who arrived in Buenas Tierras +from the United States some days ago. Without wishing to +excite any hopes that may not be realized, I think there is +a possibility of his being your long-absent son. It might be +well for you to call and see him. If he is, it is my opinion +that his intention was to return to his home, but upon +arriving here, his courage failed him from doubts as to how +he would be received. Your true servant,</p> + +<p class="ind10"><span class="smallcaps">Thompson +Thacker.</span><br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>Half an hour afterward—quick time for Buenas +Tierras—Señor Urique's ancient landau +drove to the consul's door, with the +barefooted coachman beating and shouting at the team of fat, +awkward horses.</p> + +<p>A tall man with a white moustache alighted, and assisted to the +ground a lady who was dressed and veiled in unrelieved black.</p> + +<p>The two hastened inside, and were met by Thacker with his best +diplomatic bow. By his desk stood a slender young man with +clear-cut, sun-browned features and smoothly brushed black +hair.</p> + +<p>Señora Urique threw back her black veil with a quick +gesture. She was past middle age, and her hair was beginning +to silver, but her full, proud figure and clear olive +skin retained traces of the beauty peculiar to +the Basque province. But, once you had seen her +eyes, and comprehended the great sadness that was +revealed in their deep shadows and hopeless expression, you saw +that the woman lived only in some memory.</p> + +<p>She bent upon the young man a long look of the most agonized +questioning. Then her great black eyes turned, and her gaze +rested upon his left hand. And then with a sob, not loud, but +seeming to shake the room, she cried "<i>Hijo mio!</i>" and caught +the Llano Kid to her heart.</p> + +<p>A month afterward the Kid came to the consulate in response to +a message sent by Thacker.</p> + +<p>He looked the young Spanish <i>caballero</i>. His clothes were +imported, and the wiles of the jewellers had not been spent +upon him in vain. A more than respectable diamond shone on his +finger as he rolled a shuck cigarette.</p> + +<p>"What's doing?" asked Thacker.</p> + +<p>"Nothing much," said the Kid calmly. "I eat my first iguana +steak to-day. They're them big lizards, you <i>sabe</i>? I reckon, +though, that frijoles and side bacon would do me about as well. +Do you care for iguanas, Thacker?"</p> + +<p>"No, nor for some other kinds of reptiles," said Thacker.</p> + +<p>It was three in the afternoon, and in another hour he would be +in his state of beatitude.</p> + +<p>"It's time you were making good, sonny," he went on, with an +ugly look on his reddened face. "You're not playing up to me +square. You've been the prodigal son for four weeks now, and +you could have had veal for every meal on a gold dish if you'd +wanted it. Now, Mr. Kid, do you think it's right to leave me +out so long on a husk diet? What's the trouble? Don't you get +your filial eyes on anything that looks like cash in the Casa +Blanca? Don't tell me you don't. Everybody knows where old +Urique keeps his stuff. It's U.S. currency, too; he don't +accept anything else. What's doing? Don't say 'nothing' this +time."</p> + +<p>"Why, sure," said the Kid, admiring his diamond, "there's +plenty of money up there. I'm no judge of collateral in +bunches, but I will undertake for to say that I've seen the +rise of $50,000 at a time in that tin grub box that my adopted +father calls his safe. And he lets me carry the key sometimes +just to show me that he knows I'm the real little Francisco that +strayed from the herd a long time ago."</p> + +<p>"Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Thacker, angrily. +"Don't you forget that I can upset your apple-cart any day I +want to. If old Urique knew you were an imposter, what sort of +things would happen to you? Oh, you don't know this country, +Mr. Texas Kid. The laws here have got mustard spread between +'em. These people here'd stretch you out like a frog that had +been stepped on, and give you about fifty sticks at every +corner of the plaza. And they'd wear every stick out, too. What +was left of you they'd feed to alligators."</p> + +<p>"I might just as well tell you now, pardner," said the Kid, +sliding down low on his steamer chair, "that things are going +to stay just as they are. They're about right now."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" asked Thacker, rattling the bottom of his +glass on his desk.</p> + +<p>"The scheme's off," said the Kid. "And whenever you have the +pleasure of speaking to me address me as Don Francisco Urique. +I'll guarantee I'll answer to it. We'll let Colonel Urique keep +his money. His little tin safe is as good as the time-locker in +the First National Bank of Laredo as far as you and me are +concerned."</p> + +<p>"You're going to throw me down, then, are you?" said the +consul.</p> + +<p>"Sure," said the Kid cheerfully. "Throw you down. That's it. +And now I'll tell you why. The first night I was up at the +colonel's house they introduced me to a bedroom. No blankets on +the floor—a real room, with a bed and things in it. And before +I was asleep, in comes this artificial mother of mine and tucks +in the covers. 'Panchito,' she says, 'my little lost one, God has +brought you back to me. I bless His name forever.' It was that, +or some truck like that, she said. And down comes a drop or two +of rain and hits me on the nose. And all that stuck by me, Mr. +Thacker. And it's been that way ever since. And it's got to +stay that way. Don't you think that it's for what's in it for +me, either, that I say so. If you have any such ideas, keep 'em +to yourself. I haven't had much truck with women in my life, +and no mothers to speak of, but here's a lady that we've got to +keep fooled. Once she stood it; twice she won't. I'm a low-down +wolf, and the devil may have sent me on this trail instead of +God, but I'll travel it to the end. And now, don't forget that +I'm Don Francisco Urique whenever you happen to mention my +name."</p> + +<p>"I'll expose you to-day, you—you double-dyed traitor," +stammered Thacker.</p> + +<p>The Kid arose and, without violence, took Thacker by the throat +with a hand of steel, and shoved him slowly into a corner. Then +he drew from under his left arm his pearl-handled .45 and poked +the cold muzzle of it against the consul's mouth.</p> + +<p>"I told you why I come here," he said, with his old freezing +smile. "If I leave here, you'll be the reason. Never forget it, +pardner. Now, what is my name?"</p> + +<p>"Er—Don Francisco Urique," gasped Thacker.</p> + +<p>From outside came a sound of wheels, and the shouting of some +one, and the sharp thwacks of a wooden whipstock upon the backs +of fat horses.</p> + +<p>The Kid put up his gun, and walked toward the door. But he +turned again and came back to the trembling Thacker, and held +up his left hand with its back toward the consul.</p> + +<p>"There's one more reason," he said slowly, "why things have got +to stand as they are. The fellow I killed in Laredo had one of +them same pictures on his left hand."</p> + +<p>Outside, the ancient landau of Don Santos Urique rattled to the +door. The coachman ceased his bellowing. Señora Urique, +in a voluminous gay gown of white lace and flying ribbons, leaned +forward with a happy look in her great soft eyes.</p> + +<p>"Are you within, dear son?" she called, in the rippling +Castilian.</p> + +<p>"<i>Madre mia, yo vengo</i> [mother, I come]," answered the young +Don Francisco Urique.</p> + + +<p><a name="9"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>IX</h3> +<h3>THE PASSING OF BLACK EAGLE<br /> </h3> + + +<p>For some months of a certain year a grim bandit infested the +Texas border along the Rio Grande. Peculiarly striking to the +optic nerve was this notorious marauder. His personality +secured him the title of "Black Eagle, the Terror of the +Border." Many fearsome tales are on record concerning the +doings of him and his followers. Suddenly, in the space of a +single minute, Black Eagle vanished from earth. He was never +heard of again. His own band never even guessed the mystery of +his disappearance. The border ranches and settlements feared he +would come again to ride and ravage the mesquite flats. He +never will. It is to disclose the fate of Black Eagle that this +narrative is written.</p> + +<p>The initial movement of the story is furnished by the foot of a +bartender in St. Louis. His discerning eye fell upon the form +of Chicken Ruggles as he pecked with avidity at the free lunch. +Chicken was a "hobo." He had a long nose like the bill of a +fowl, an inordinate appetite for poultry, and a habit of +gratifying it without expense, which accounts for the name +given him by his fellow vagrants.</p> + +<p>Physicians agree that the partaking of liquids at meal times is +not a healthy practice. The hygiene of the saloon promulgates +the opposite. Chicken had neglected to purchase a drink to +accompany his meal. The bartender rounded the counter, caught +the injudicious diner by the ear with a lemon squeezer, led him +to the door and kicked him into the street.</p> + +<p>Thus the mind of Chicken was brought to realize the signs of +coming winter. The night was cold; the stars shone with +unkindly brilliancy; people were hurrying along the streets in +two egotistic, jostling streams. Men had donned their +overcoats, and Chicken knew to an exact percentage the +increased difficulty of coaxing dimes from those buttoned-in +vest pockets. The time had come for his annual exodus to the +south.</p> + +<p>A little boy, five or six years old, stood looking with +covetous eyes in a confectioner's window. In one small hand he +held an empty two-ounce vial; in the other he grasped tightly +something flat and round, with a shining milled edge. The scene +presented a field of operations commensurate to Chicken's +talents and daring. After sweeping the horizon to make sure +that no official tug was cruising near, he insidiously accosted +his prey. The boy, having been early taught by his household to +regard altruistic advances with extreme suspicion, received the +overtures coldly.</p> + +<p>Then Chicken knew that he must make one of those desperate, +nerve-shattering plunges into speculation that fortune +sometimes requires of those who would win her favour. Five +cents was his capital, and this he must risk against the chance +of winning what lay within the close grasp of the youngster's +chubby hand. It was a fearful lottery, Chicken knew. But he +must accomplish his end by strategy, since he had a wholesome +terror of plundering infants by force. Once, in a park, driven +by hunger, he had committed an onslaught upon a bottle of +peptonized infant's food in the possession of an occupant of a +baby carriage. The outraged infant had so promptly opened its +mouth and pressed the button that communicated with the welkin +that help arrived, and Chicken did his thirty days in a snug +coop. Wherefore he was, as he said, "leary of kids."</p> + +<p>Beginning artfully to question the boy concerning his choice of +sweets, he gradually drew out the information he wanted. Mamma +said he was to ask the drug store man for ten cents' worth of +paregoric in the bottle; he was to keep his hand shut tight +over the dollar; he must not stop to talk to anyone in the +street; he must ask the drug-store man to wrap up the change +and put it in the pocket of his trousers. Indeed, they had +pockets—two of them! And he liked chocolate creams best.</p> + +<p>Chicken went into the store and turned plunger. He invested his +entire capital in C.A.N.D.Y. stocks, simply to pave the way to +the greater risk following.</p> + +<p>He gave the sweets to the youngster, and had the satisfaction +of perceiving that confidence was established. After that it +was easy to obtain leadership of the expedition; to take the +investment by the hand and lead it to a nice drug store he knew +of in the same block. There Chicken, with a parental air, +passed over the dollar and called for the medicine, while the +boy crunched his candy, glad to be relieved of the +responsibility of the purchase. And then the successful +investor, searching his pockets, found an overcoat button—the +extent of his winter trousseau—and, wrapping it carefully, +placed the ostensible change in the pocket of confiding +juvenility. Setting the youngster's face homeward, and patting +him benevolently on the back—for Chicken's heart was as soft +as those of his feathered namesakes—the speculator quit the +market with a profit of 1,700 per cent. on his invested +capital.</p> + +<p>Two hours later an Iron Mountain freight engine pulled out of +the railroad yards, Texas bound, with a string of empties. In +one of the cattle cars, half buried in excelsior, Chicken lay +at ease. Beside him in his nest was a quart bottle of very poor +whisky and a paper bag of bread and cheese. Mr. Ruggles, in his +private car, was on his trip south for the winter season.</p> + +<p>For a week that car was trundled southward, shifted, laid over, +and manipulated after the manner of rolling stock, but Chicken +stuck to it, leaving it only at necessary times to satisfy his +hunger and thirst. He knew it must go down to the cattle +country, and San Antonio, in the heart of it, was his goal. +There the air was salubrious and mild; the people indulgent and +long-suffering. The bartenders there would not kick him. If he +should eat too long or too often at one place they would swear +at him as if by rote and without heat. They swore so +drawlingly, and they rarely paused short of their full +vocabulary, which was copious, so that Chicken had often gulped +a good meal during the process of the vituperative prohibition. +The season there was always spring-like; the plazas were +pleasant at night, with music and gaiety; except during the +slight and infrequent cold snaps one could sleep comfortably +out of doors in case the interiors should develop +inhospitability.</p> + +<p>At Texarkana his car was switched to the I. and G. N. Then +still southward it trailed until, at length, it crawled across the +Colorado bridge at Austin, and lined out, straight as an arrow, +for the run to San Antonio.</p> + +<p>When the freight halted at that town Chicken was fast asleep. +In ten minutes the train was off again for Laredo, the end of +the road. Those empty cattle cars were for distribution along +the line at points from which the ranches shipped their stock.</p> + +<p>When Chicken awoke his car was stationary. Looking out between +the slats he saw it was a bright, moonlit night. Scrambling +out, he saw his car with three others abandoned on a little +siding in a wild and lonesome country. A cattle pen and chute +stood on one side of the track. The railroad bisected a vast, +dim ocean of prairie, in the midst of which Chicken, with his +futile rolling stock, was as completely stranded as was +Robinson with his land-locked boat.</p> + +<p>A white post stood near the rails. Going up to it, Chicken read +the letters at the top, S. A. 90. Laredo was nearly as far to +the south. He was almost a hundred miles from any town. Coyotes +began to yelp in the mysterious sea around him. Chicken felt +lonesome. He had lived in Boston without an education, in +Chicago without nerve, in Philadelphia without a sleeping +place, in New York without a pull, and in Pittsburg sober, and +yet he had never felt so lonely as now.</p> + +<p>Suddenly through the intense silence, he heard the whicker of a +horse. The sound came from the side of the track toward the +east, and Chicken began to explore timorously in that +direction. He stepped high along the mat of curly mesquit +grass, for he was afraid of everything there might be in this +wilderness—snakes, rats, brigands, centipedes, mirages, +cowboys, fandangoes, tarantulas, tamales—he had read of them +in the story papers. Rounding a clump of prickly pear that +reared high its fantastic and menacing array of rounded heads, +he was struck to shivering terror by a snort and a thunderous +plunge, as the horse, himself startled, bounded away some fifty +yards, and then resumed his grazing. But here was the one thing +in the desert that Chicken did not fear. He had been reared on +a farm; he had handled horses, understood them, and could ride.</p> + +<p>Approaching slowly and speaking soothingly, he followed the +animal, which, after its first flight, seemed gentle enough, +and secured the end of the twenty-foot lariat that dragged +after him in the grass. It required him but a few moments to +contrive the rope into an ingenious nose-bridle, after the +style of the Mexican <i>borsal</i>. In another he was upon the +horse's back and off at a splendid lope, giving the animal free +choice of direction. "He will take me somewhere," said Chicken +to himself.</p> + +<p>It would have been a thing of joy, that untrammelled gallop +over the moonlit prairie, even to Chicken, who loathed +exertion, but that his mood was not for it. His head ached; a +growing thirst was upon him; the "somewhere" whither his lucky +mount might convey him was full of dismal peradventure.</p> + +<p>And now he noted that the horse moved to a definite goal. Where +the prairie lay smooth he kept his course straight as an +arrow's toward the east. Deflected by hill or arroyo or +impractical spinous brakes, he quickly flowed again into the +current, charted by his unerring instinct. At last, upon the +side of a gentle rise, he suddenly subsided to a complacent +walk. A stone's cast away stood a little mott of coma trees; +beneath it a <i>jacal</i> such as the Mexicans erect—a one-room +house of upright poles daubed with clay and roofed with grass +or tule reeds. An experienced eye would have estimated the spot +as the headquarters of a small sheep ranch. In the moonlight +the ground in the nearby corral showed pulverized to a level +smoothness by the hoofs of the sheep. Everywhere was carelessly +distributed the paraphernalia of the place—ropes, bridles, +saddles, sheep pelts, wool sacks, feed troughs, and camp +litter. The barrel of drinking water stood in the end of the +two-horse wagon near the door. The harness was piled, +promiscuous, upon the wagon tongue, soaking up the dew.</p> + +<p>Chicken slipped to earth, and tied the horse to a tree. He +halloed again and again, but the house remained quiet. The door +stood open, and he entered cautiously. The light was sufficient +for him to see that no one was at home. The room was that of a +bachelor ranchman who was content with the necessaries of life. +Chicken rummaged intelligently until he found what he had +hardly dared hope for—a small, brown jug that still contained +something near a quart of his desire.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, Chicken—now a gamecock of hostile +aspect—emerged from the house with unsteady steps. He had +drawn upon the absent ranchman's equipment to replace his own +ragged attire. He wore a suit of coarse brown ducking, the coat +being a sort of rakish bolero, jaunty to a degree. Boots he had +donned, and spurs that whirred with every lurching step. +Buckled around him was a belt full of cartridges with a big +six-shooter in each of its two holsters.</p> + +<p>Prowling about, he found blankets, a saddle and bridle with +which he caparisoned his steed. Again mounting, he rode swiftly +away, singing a loud and tuneless song.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Bud King's band of desperadoes, outlaws and horse and cattle +thieves were in camp at a secluded spot on the bank of the +Frio. Their depredations in the Rio Grande country, while no +bolder than usual, had been advertised more extensively, and +Captain Kinney's company of rangers had been ordered down to +look after them. Consequently, Bud King, who was a wise +general, instead of cutting out a hot trail for the upholders +of the law, as his men wished to do, retired for the time to +the prickly fastnesses of the Frio valley.</p> + +<p>Though the move was a prudent one, and not incompatible with +Bud's well-known courage, it raised dissension among the +members of the band. In fact, while they thus lay ingloriously +<i>perdu</i> in the brush, the question of Bud King's fitness for +the leadership was argued, with closed doors, as it were, by +his followers. Never before had Bud's skill or efficiency been +brought to criticism; but his glory was waning (and such is +glory's fate) in the light of a newer star. The sentiment of +the band was crystallizing into the opinion that Black Eagle +could lead them with more lustre, profit, and distinction.</p> + +<p>This Black Eagle—sub-titled the "Terror of the Border"—had +been a member of the gang about three months.</p> + +<p>One night while they were in camp on the San Miguel water-hole +a solitary horseman on the regulation fiery steed dashed in +among them. The newcomer was of a portentous and devastating +aspect. A beak-like nose with a predatory curve projected above +a mass of bristling, blue-black whiskers. His eye was cavernous +and fierce. He was spurred, sombreroed, booted, garnished with +revolvers, abundantly drunk, and very much unafraid. Few people +in the country drained by the Rio Bravo would have cared thus +to invade alone the camp of Bud King. But this fell bird +swooped fearlessly upon them and demanded to be fed.</p> + +<p>Hospitality in the prairie country is not limited. Even if your +enemy pass your way you must feed him before you shoot him. You +must empty your larder into him before you empty your lead. So +the stranger of undeclared intentions was set down to a mighty +feast.</p> + +<p>A talkative bird he was, full of most marvellous loud tales and +exploits, and speaking a language at times obscure but never +colourless. He was a new sensation to Bud King's men, who +rarely encountered new types. They hung, delighted, upon his +vainglorious boasting, the spicy strangeness of his lingo, his +contemptuous familiarity with life, the world, and remote +places, and the extravagant frankness with which he conveyed +his sentiments.</p> + +<p>To their guest the band of outlaws seemed to be nothing more +than a congregation of country bumpkins whom he was "stringing +for grub" just as he would have told his stories at the back +door of a farmhouse to wheedle a meal. And, indeed, his +ignorance was not without excuse, for the "bad man" of the +Southwest does not run to extremes. Those brigands might justly +have been taken for a little party of peaceable rustics +assembled for a fish-fry or pecan gathering. Gentle of manner, +slouching of gait, soft-voiced, unpicturesquely clothed; not +one of them presented to the eye any witness of the desperate +records they had earned.</p> + +<p>For two days the glittering stranger within the camp was +feasted. Then, by common consent, he was invited to become a +member of the band. He consented, presenting for enrollment the +prodigious name of "Captain Montressor." This name was +immediately overruled by the band, and "Piggy" substituted as a +compliment to the awful and insatiate appetite of its owner.</p> + +<p>Thus did the Texas border receive the most spectacular brigand +that ever rode its chaparral.</p> + +<p>For the next three months Bud King conducted business as usual, +escaping encounters with law officers and being content with +reasonable profits. The band ran off some very good companies +of horses from the ranges, and a few bunches of fine cattle +which they got safely across the Rio Grande and disposed of to +fair advantage. Often the band would ride into the little +villages and Mexican settlements, terrorizing the inhabitants +and plundering for the provisions and ammunition they needed. +It was during these bloodless raids that Piggy's ferocious +aspect and frightful voice gained him a renown more widespread +and glorious than those other gentle-voiced and sad-faced +desperadoes could have acquired in a lifetime.</p> + +<p>The Mexicans, most apt in nomenclature, first called him The +Black Eagle, and used to frighten the babes by threatening them +with tales of the dreadful robber who carried off little +children in his great beak. Soon the name extended, and Black +Eagle, the Terror of the Border, became a recognized factor in +exaggerated newspaper reports and ranch gossip.</p> + +<p>The country from the Nueces to the Rio Grande was a wild but +fertile stretch, given over to the sheep and cattle ranches. +Range was free; the inhabitants were few; the law was mainly a +letter, and the pirates met with little opposition until the +flaunting and garish Piggy gave the band undue advertisement. +Then Kinney's ranger company headed for those precincts, and +Bud King knew that it meant grim and sudden war or else +temporary retirement. Regarding the risk to be unnecessary, he +drew off his band to an almost inaccessible spot on the bank of +the Frio. Wherefore, as has been said, dissatisfaction arose +among the members, and impeachment proceedings against Bud were +premeditated, with Black Eagle in high favour for the +succession. Bud King was not unaware of the sentiment, and he +called aside Cactus Taylor, his trusted lieutenant, to discuss +it.</p> + +<p>"If the boys," said Bud, "ain't satisfied with me, I'm willing +to step out. They're buckin' against my way of handlin' 'em. +And 'specially because I concludes to hit the brush while Sam +Kinney is ridin' the line. I saves 'em from bein' shot or sent +up on a state contract, and they up and says I'm no good."</p> + +<p>"It ain't so much that," explained Cactus, "as it is they're +plum locoed about Piggy. They want them whiskers and that nose +of his to split the wind at the head of the column."</p> + +<p>"There's somethin' mighty seldom about Piggy," declared Bud, +musingly. "I never yet see anything on the hoof that he exactly +grades up with. He can shore holler a plenty, and he straddles a +hoss from where you laid the chunk. But he ain't never been +smoked yet. You know, Cactus, we ain't had a row since he's +been with us. Piggy's all right for skearin' the greaser kids +and layin' waste a cross-roads store. I reckon he's the finest +canned oyster buccaneer and cheese pirate that ever was, but +how's his appetite for fightin'? I've knowed some citizens +you'd think was starvin' for trouble get a bad case of dyspepsy +the first dose of lead they had to take."</p> + +<p>"He talks all spraddled out," said Cactus, "'bout the rookuses +he's been in. He claims to have saw the elephant and hearn the +owl."</p> + +<p>"I know," replied Bud, using the cowpuncher's expressive phrase +of skepticism, "but it sounds to me!"</p> + +<p>This conversation was held one night in camp while the other +members of the band—eight in number—were sprawling around the +fire, lingering over their supper. When Bud and Cactus ceased +talking they heard Piggy's formidable voice holding forth to +the others as usual while he was engaged in checking, though +never satisfying, his ravening appetite.</p> + +<p>"Wat's de use," he was saying, "of chasin' little red cowses +and hosses 'round for t'ousands of miles? Dere ain't nuttin' in +it. Gallopin' t'rough dese bushes and briers, and gettin' a +t'irst dat a brewery couldn't put out, and missin' meals! Say! +You know what I'd do if I was main finger of dis bunch? I'd +stick up a train. I'd blow de express car and make hard dollars +where you guys get wind. Youse makes me tired. Dis sook-cow +kind of cheap sport gives me a pain."</p> + +<p>Later on, a deputation waited on Bud. They stood on one leg, +chewed mesquit twigs and circumlocuted, for they hated to hurt +his feelings. Bud foresaw their business, and made it easy for +them. Bigger risks and larger profits was what they wanted.</p> + +<p>The suggestion of Piggy's about holding up a train had fired +their imagination and increased their admiration for the dash +and boldness of the instigator. They were such simple, artless, +and custom-bound bush-rangers that they had never before +thought of extending their habits beyond the running off of +live-stock and the shooting of such of their acquaintances as +ventured to interfere.</p> + +<p>Bud acted "on the level," agreeing to take a subordinate place +in the gang until Black Eagle should have been given a trial as +leader.</p> + +<p>After a great deal of consultation, studying of time-tables, +and discussion of the country's topography, the time and place +for carrying out their new enterprise was decided upon. At that +time there was a feedstuff famine in Mexico and a cattle famine +in certain parts of the United States, and there was a brisk +international trade. Much money was being shipped along the +railroads that connected the two republics. It was agreed that +the most promising place for the contemplated robbery was at +Espina, a little station on the I. and G. N., about forty miles +north of Laredo. The train stopped there one minute; the +country around was wild and unsettled; the station consisted of +but one house in which the agent lived.</p> + +<p>Black Eagle's band set out, riding by night. Arriving in the +vicinity of Espina they rested their horses all day in a +thicket a few miles distant.</p> + +<p>The train was due at Espina at 10.30 +<span class="smallcaps">p.m.</span> They could rob the +train and be well over the Mexican border with their booty by +daylight the next morning.</p> + +<p>To do Black Eagle justice, he exhibited no signs of flinching +from the responsible honours that had been conferred upon him.</p> + +<p>He assigned his men to their respective posts with discretion, +and coached them carefully as to their duties. On each side of +the track four of the band were to lie concealed in the +chaparral. Gotch-Ear Rodgers was to stick up the station agent. +Bronco Charlie was to remain with the horses, holding them in +readiness. At a spot where it was calculated the engine would +be when the train stopped, Bud King was to lie hidden on one +side, and Black Eagle himself on the other. The two would get +the drop on the engineer and fireman, force them to descend and +proceed to the rear. Then the express car would be looted, and +the escape made. No one was to move until Black Eagle gave the +signal by firing his revolver. The plan was perfect.</p> + +<p>At ten minutes to train time every man was at his post, +effectually concealed by the thick chaparral that grew almost +to the rails. The night was dark and lowering, with a fine +drizzle falling from the flying gulf clouds. Black Eagle +crouched behind a bush within five yards of the track. Two +six-shooters were belted around him. Occasionally he drew a +large black bottle from his pocket and raised it to his mouth.</p> + +<p>A star appeared far down the track which soon waxed into the +headlight of the approaching train. It came on with an +increasing roar; the engine bore down upon the ambushing +desperadoes with a glare and a shriek like some avenging +monster come to deliver them to justice. Black Eagle flattened +himself upon the ground. The engine, contrary to their +calculations, instead of stopping between him and Bud King's +place of concealment, passed fully forty yards farther before +it came to a stand.</p> + +<p>The bandit leader rose to his feet and peered through the bush. +His men all lay quiet, awaiting the signal. Immediately +opposite Black Eagle was a thing that drew his attention. +Instead of being a regular passenger train it was a mixed one. +Before him stood a box car, the door of which, by some means, +had been left slightly open. Black Eagle went up to it and +pushed the door farther open. An odour came forth—a damp, +rancid, familiar, musty, intoxicating, beloved odour stirring +strongly at old memories of happy days and travels. Black Eagle +sniffed at the witching smell as the returned wanderer smells +of the rose that twines his boyhood's cottage home. Nostalgia +seized him. He put his hand inside. Excelsior—dry, springy, +curly, soft, enticing, covered the floor. Outside the drizzle +had turned to a chilling rain.</p> + +<p>The train bell clanged. The bandit chief unbuckled his belt and +cast it, with its revolvers, upon the ground. His spurs +followed quickly, and his broad sombrero. Black Eagle was +moulting. The train started with a rattling jerk. The ex-Terror +of the Border scrambled into the box car and closed the door. +Stretched luxuriously upon the excelsior, with the black bottle +clasped closely to his breast, his eyes closed, and a foolish, +happy smile upon his terrible features Chicken Ruggles started +upon his return trip.</p> + +<p>Undisturbed, with the band of desperate bandits lying +motionless, awaiting the signal to attack, the train pulled out +from Espina. As its speed increased, and the black masses of +chaparral went whizzing past on either side, the express +messenger, lighting his pipe, looked through his window and +remarked, feelingly:</p> + +<p>"What a jim-dandy place for a hold-up!"</p> + + +<p><a name="10"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>X</h3> +<h3>A RETRIEVED REFORMATION<br /> </h3> + + +<p>A guard came to the prison shoe-shop, where Jimmy Valentine was +assiduously stitching uppers, and escorted him to the front +office. There the warden handed Jimmy his pardon, which had +been signed that morning by the governor. Jimmy took it in a +tired kind of way. He had served nearly ten months of a four +year sentence. He had expected to stay only about three months, +at the longest. When a man with as many friends on the outside +as Jimmy Valentine had is received in the "stir" it is hardly +worth while to cut his hair.</p> + +<p>"Now, Valentine," said the warden, "you'll go out in the +morning. Brace up, and make a man of yourself. You're not a bad +fellow at heart. Stop cracking safes, and live straight."</p> + +<p>"Me?" said Jimmy, in surprise. "Why, I never cracked a safe in +my life."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," laughed the warden. "Of course not. Let's see, now. +How was it you happened to get sent up on that Springfield job? +Was it because you wouldn't prove an alibi for fear of +compromising somebody in extremely high-toned society? Or was +it simply a case of a mean old jury that had it in for you? +It's always one or the other with you innocent victims."</p> + +<p>"Me?" said Jimmy, still blankly virtuous. "Why, warden, I never +was in Springfield in my life!"</p> + +<p>"Take him back, Cronin!" said the warden, "and fix him up with +outgoing clothes. Unlock him at seven in the morning, and let +him come to the bull-pen. Better think over my advice, +Valentine."</p> + +<p>At a quarter past seven on the next morning Jimmy stood in the +warden's outer office. He had on a suit of the villainously +fitting, ready-made clothes and a pair of the stiff, squeaky +shoes that the state furnishes to its discharged compulsory +guests.</p> + +<p>The clerk handed him a railroad ticket and the five-dollar bill +with which the law expected him to rehabilitate himself into +good citizenship and prosperity. The warden gave him a cigar, +and shook hands. Valentine, 9762, was chronicled on the books, +"Pardoned by Governor," and Mr. James Valentine walked out into +the sunshine.</p> + +<p>Disregarding the song of the birds, the waving green trees, and +the smell of the flowers, Jimmy headed straight for a +restaurant. There he tasted the first sweet joys of liberty in +the shape of a broiled chicken and a bottle of white +wine—followed by a cigar a grade better than the one the +warden had given him. From there he proceeded leisurely to the +depot. He tossed a quarter into the hat of a blind man sitting +by the door, and boarded his train. Three hours set him down in +a little town near the state line. He went to the café of +one Mike Dolan and shook hands with Mike, who was alone behind the +bar.</p> + +<p>"Sorry we couldn't make it sooner, Jimmy, me boy," said Mike. +"But we had that protest from Springfield to buck against, and +the governor nearly balked. Feeling all right?"</p> + +<p>"Fine," said Jimmy. "Got my key?"</p> + +<p>He got his key and went upstairs, unlocking the door of a room +at the rear. Everything was just as he had left it. There on +the floor was still Ben Price's collar-button that had been +torn from that eminent detective's shirt-band when they had +overpowered Jimmy to arrest him.</p> + +<p>Pulling out from the wall a folding-bed, Jimmy slid back a +panel in the wall and dragged out a dust-covered suit-case. He +opened this and gazed fondly at the finest set of burglar's +tools in the East. It was a complete set, made of specially +tempered steel, the latest designs in drills, punches, braces +and bits, jimmies, clamps, and augers, with two or three +novelties, invented by Jimmy himself, in which he took pride. +Over nine hundred dollars they had cost him to have made at +––––, a place where they make such +things for the profession.</p> + +<p>In half an hour Jimmy went down stairs and through the +café. He was now dressed in tasteful +and well-fitting clothes, and +carried his dusted and cleaned suit-case in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Got anything on?" asked Mike Dolan, genially.</p> + +<p>"Me?" said Jimmy, in a puzzled tone. "I don't understand. I'm +representing the New York Amalgamated Short Snap Biscuit +Cracker and Frazzled Wheat Company."</p> + +<p>This statement delighted Mike to such an extent that Jimmy had +to take a seltzer-and-milk on the spot. He never touched "hard" +drinks.</p> + +<p>A week after the release of Valentine, 9762, there was a neat +job of safe-burglary done in Richmond, Indiana, with no clue to +the author. A scant eight hundred dollars was all that was +secured. Two weeks after that a patented, improved, +burglar-proof safe in Logansport was opened like a cheese to +the tune of fifteen hundred dollars, currency; securities and +silver untouched. That began to interest the rogue-catchers. +Then an old-fashioned bank-safe in Jefferson City became active +and threw out of its crater an eruption of bank-notes amounting +to five thousand dollars. The losses were now high enough to +bring the matter up into Ben Price's class of work. By +comparing notes, a remarkable similarity in the methods of the +burglaries was noticed. Ben Price investigated the scenes of +the robberies, and was heard to remark:</p> + +<p>"That's Dandy Jim Valentine's autograph. He's resumed business. +Look at that combination knob—jerked out as easy as pulling up +a radish in wet weather. He's got the only clamps that can do +it. And look how clean those tumblers were punched out! Jimmy +never has to drill but one hole. Yes, I guess I want Mr. +Valentine. He'll do his bit next time without any short-time or +clemency foolishness."</p> + +<p>Ben Price knew Jimmy's habits. He had learned them while +working up the Springfield case. Long jumps, quick get-aways, +no confederates, and a taste for good society—these ways had +helped Mr. Valentine to become noted as a successful dodger of +retribution. It was given out that Ben Price had taken up the +trail of the elusive cracksman, and other people with +burglar-proof safes felt more at ease.</p> + +<p>One afternoon Jimmy Valentine and his suit-case climbed out of +the mail-hack in Elmore, a little town five miles off the +railroad down in the black-jack country of Arkansas. Jimmy, +looking like an athletic young senior just home from college, +went down the board side-walk toward the hotel.</p> + +<p>A young lady crossed the street, passed him at the corner and +entered a door over which was the sign, "The Elmore Bank." +Jimmy Valentine looked into her eyes, forgot what he was, and +became another man. She lowered her eyes and coloured slightly. +Young men of Jimmy's style and looks were scarce in Elmore.</p> + +<p>Jimmy collared a boy that was loafing on the steps of the bank +as if he were one of the stockholders, and began to ask him +questions about the town, feeding him dimes at intervals. By +and by the young lady came out, looking royally unconscious of +the young man with the suit-case, and went her way.</p> + +<p>"Isn't that young lady Polly Simpson?" asked Jimmy, with +specious guile.</p> + +<p>"Naw," said the boy. "She's Annabel Adams. Her pa owns this +bank. What'd you come to Elmore for? Is that a gold watch-chain? +I'm going to get a bulldog. Got any more dimes?"</p> + +<p>Jimmy went to the Planters' Hotel, registered as Ralph D. +Spencer, and engaged a room. He leaned on the desk and declared +his platform to the clerk. He said he had come to Elmore to +look for a location to go into business. How was the shoe +business, now, in the town? He had thought of the shoe +business. Was there an opening?</p> + +<p>The clerk was impressed by the clothes and manner of Jimmy. He, +himself, was something of a pattern of fashion to the thinly +gilded youth of Elmore, but he now perceived his shortcomings. +While trying to figure out Jimmy's manner of tying his +four-in-hand he cordially gave information.</p> + +<p>Yes, there ought to be a good opening in the shoe line. There +wasn't an exclusive shoe-store in the place. The dry-goods and +general stores handled them. Business in all lines was fairly +good. Hoped Mr. Spencer would decide to locate in Elmore. He +would find it a pleasant town to live in, and the people very +sociable.</p> + +<p>Mr. Spencer thought he would stop over in the town a few days +and look over the situation. No, the clerk needn't call the +boy. He would carry up his suit-case, himself; it was rather +heavy.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ralph Spencer, the phœnix that arose from Jimmy +Valentine's ashes—ashes left by the flame of a sudden and +alterative attack of love—remained in Elmore, and prospered. +He opened a shoe-store and secured a good run of trade.</p> + +<p>Socially he was also a success, and made many friends. And he +accomplished the wish of his heart. He met Miss Annabel Adams, +and became more and more captivated by her charms.</p> + +<p>At the end of a year the situation of Mr. Ralph Spencer was +this: he had won the respect of the community, his shoe-store +was flourishing, and he and Annabel were engaged to be married +in two weeks. Mr. Adams, the typical, plodding, country banker, +approved of Spencer. Annabel's pride in him almost equalled her +affection. He was as much at home in the family of Mr. Adams +and that of Annabel's married sister as if he were already a +member.</p> + +<p>One day Jimmy sat down in his room and wrote this letter, which +he mailed to the safe address of one of his old friends in St. +Louis:<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote class="med"> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Old Pal:</span></p> + +<p>I want you to be at Sullivan's place, in Little Rock, next +Wednesday night, at nine o'clock. I want you to wind up some +little matters for me. And, also, I want to make you a present +of my kit of tools. I know you'll be glad to get them—you +couldn't duplicate the lot for a thousand dollars. Say, +Billy, I've quit the old business—a year ago. I've got a +nice store. I'm making an honest living, and I'm going to +marry the finest girl on earth two weeks from now. It's the +only life, Billy—the straight one. I wouldn't touch a dollar +of another man's money now for a million. After I get married +I'm going to sell out and go West, where there won't be so +much danger of having old scores brought up against me. I +tell you, Billy, she's an angel. She believes in me; and I +wouldn't do another crooked thing for the whole world. Be sure +to be at Sully's, for I must see you. I'll bring along the +tools with me.</p> + +<p class="ind10">Your old friend,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Jimmy</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>On the Monday night after Jimmy wrote this letter, Ben Price +jogged unobtrusively into Elmore in a livery buggy. He lounged +about town in his quiet way until he found out what he wanted +to know. From the drug-store across the street from Spencer's +shoe-store he got a good look at Ralph D. Spencer.</p> + +<p>"Going to marry the banker's daughter are you, Jimmy?" said Ben +to himself, softly. "Well, I don't know!"</p> + +<p>The next morning Jimmy took breakfast at the Adamses. He was +going to Little Rock that day to order his wedding-suit and buy +something nice for Annabel. That would be the first time he had +left town since he came to Elmore. It had been more than a year +now since those last professional "jobs," and he thought he +could safely venture out.</p> + +<p>After breakfast quite a family party went downtown +together—Mr. Adams, Annabel, Jimmy, and Annabel's married +sister with her two little girls, aged five and nine. They came +by the hotel where Jimmy still boarded, and he ran up to his +room and brought along his suit-case. Then they went on to the +bank. There stood Jimmy's horse and buggy and Dolph Gibson, who +was going to drive him over to the railroad station.</p> + +<p>All went inside the high, carved oak railings into the +banking-room—Jimmy included, for Mr. Adams's future son-in-law +was welcome anywhere. The clerks were pleased to be greeted by +the good-looking, agreeable young man who was going to marry +Miss Annabel. Jimmy set his suit-case down. Annabel, whose +heart was bubbling with happiness and lively youth, put on +Jimmy's hat, and picked up the suit-case. "Wouldn't I make a +nice drummer?" said Annabel. "My! Ralph, how heavy it is? Feels +like it was full of gold bricks."</p> + +<p>"Lot of nickel-plated shoe-horns in there," said Jimmy, coolly, +"that I'm going to return. Thought I'd save express charges by +taking them up. I'm getting awfully economical."</p> + +<p>The Elmore Bank had just put in a new safe and vault. Mr. Adams +was very proud of it, and insisted on an inspection by every +one. The vault was a small one, but it had a new, patented +door. It fastened with three solid steel bolts thrown +simultaneously with a single handle, and had a time-lock. Mr. +Adams beamingly explained its workings to Mr. Spencer, who +showed a courteous but not too intelligent interest. The two +children, May and Agatha, were delighted by the shining metal +and funny clock and knobs.</p> + +<p>While they were thus engaged Ben Price sauntered in and leaned +on his elbow, looking casually inside between the railings. He +told the teller that he didn't want anything; he was just +waiting for a man he knew.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a scream or two from the women, and a +commotion. Unperceived by the elders, May, the nine-year-old +girl, in a spirit of play, had shut Agatha in the vault. She +had then shot the bolts and turned the knob of the combination +as she had seen Mr. Adams do.</p> + +<p>The old banker sprang to the handle and tugged at it for a +moment. "The door can't be opened," he groaned. "The clock +hasn't been wound nor the combination set."</p> + +<p>Agatha's mother screamed again, hysterically.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" said Mr. Adams, raising his trembling hand. "All be +quite for a moment. Agatha!" he called as loudly as he could. +"Listen to me." During the following silence they could just +hear the faint sound of the child wildly shrieking in the dark +vault in a panic of terror.</p> + +<p>"My precious darling!" wailed the mother. "She will die of +fright! Open the door! Oh, break it open! Can't you men do +something?"</p> + +<p>"There isn't a man nearer than Little Rock who can open that +door," said Mr. Adams, in a shaky voice. "My God! Spencer, what +shall we do? That child—she can't stand it long in there. +There isn't enough air, and, besides, she'll go into +convulsions from fright."</p> + +<p>Agatha's mother, frantic now, beat the door of the vault with +her hands. Somebody wildly suggested dynamite. Annabel turned +to Jimmy, her large eyes full of anguish, but not yet +despairing. To a woman nothing seems quite impossible to the +powers of the man she worships.</p> + +<p>"Can't you do something, Ralph—<i>try</i>, won't you?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her with a queer, soft smile on his lips and in +his keen eyes.</p> + +<p>"Annabel," he said, "give me that rose you are wearing, will +you?"</p> + +<p>Hardly believing that she heard him aright, she unpinned the +bud from the bosom of her dress, and placed it in his hand. +Jimmy stuffed it into his vest-pocket, threw off his coat and +pulled up his shirt-sleeves. With that act Ralph D. Spencer +passed away and Jimmy Valentine took his place.</p> + +<p>"Get away from the door, all of you," he commanded, shortly.</p> + +<p>He set his suit-case on the table, and opened it out flat. From +that time on he seemed to be unconscious of the presence of any +one else. He laid out the shining, queer implements swiftly and +orderly, whistling softly to himself as he always did when at +work. In a deep silence and immovable, the others watched him +as if under a spell.</p> + +<p>In a minute Jimmy's pet drill was biting smoothly into the +steel door. In ten minutes—breaking his own burglarious +record—he threw back the bolts and opened the door.</p> + +<p>Agatha, almost collapsed, but safe, was gathered into her +mother's arms.</p> + +<p>Jimmy Valentine put on his coat, and walked outside the +railings towards the front door. As he went he thought he heard +a far-away voice that he once knew call "Ralph!" But he never +hesitated.</p> + +<p>At the door a big man stood somewhat in his way.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Ben!" said Jimmy, still with his strange smile. "Got +around at last, have you? Well, let's go. I don't know that it +makes much difference, now."</p> + +<p>And then Ben Price acted rather strangely.</p> + +<p>"Guess you're mistaken, Mr. Spencer," he said. "Don't believe I +recognize you. Your buggy's waiting for you, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>And Ben Price turned and strolled down the street.</p> + + +<p><a name="11"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>XI</h3> +<h3>CHERCHEZ LA FEMME<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Robbins, reporter for the <i>Picayune</i>, and Dumars, of +<i>L'Abeille</i>—the old French newspaper that has buzzed for +nearly a century—were good friends, well proven by years of +ups and downs together. They were seated where they had a habit +of meeting—in the little, Creole-haunted café of Madame +Tibault, in Dumaine Street. If you know the place, you will +experience a thrill of pleasure in recalling it to mind. It is +small and dark, with six little polished tables, at which you +may sit and drink the best coffee in New Orleans, and +concoctions of absinthe equal to Sazerac's best. Madame +Tibault, fat and indulgent, presides at the desk, and takes +your money. Nicolette and Mémé, madame's nieces, +in charming bib aprons, bring the desirable beverages.</p> + +<p>Dumars, with true Creole luxury, was sipping his absinthe, with +half-closed eyes, in a swirl of cigarette smoke. Robbins was +looking over the morning <i>Pic.</i>, detecting, as young reporters +will, the gross blunders in the make-up, and the envious +blue-pencilling his own stuff had received. This item, in the +advertising columns, caught his eye, and with an exclamation of +sudden interest he read it aloud to his friend.<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote class="med"> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Public +Auction</span>.—At three o'clock this afternoon there will +be sold to the highest bidder all the common property of the +Little Sisters of Samaria, at the home of the Sisterhood, in +Bonhomme Street. The sale will dispose of the building, +ground, and the complete furnishings of the house and chapel, +without reserve.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>This notice stirred the two friends to a reminiscent talk +concerning an episode in their journalistic career that had +occurred about two years before. They recalled the incidents, +went over the old theories, and discussed it anew from the +different perspective time had brought.</p> + +<p>There were no other customers in the café. Madame's fine +ear had caught the line of their talk, and she came over to their +table—for had it not been her lost money—her vanished twenty +thousand dollars—that had set the whole matter going?</p> + +<p>The three took up the long-abandoned mystery, threshing over +the old, dry chaff of it. It was in the chapel of this house of +the Little Sisters of Samaria that Robbins and Dumars had stood +during that eager, fruitless news search of theirs, and looked +upon the gilded statue of the Virgin.</p> + +<p>"Thass so, boys," said madame, summing up. "Thass ver' wicked +man, M'sieur Morin. Everybody shall be cert' he steal those +money I plaze in his hand for keep safe. Yes. He's boun' spend +that money, somehow." Madame turned a broad and contemplative +smile upon Dumars. "I ond'stand you, M'sieur Dumars, those day +you come ask fo' tell ev'ything I know 'bout M'sieur Morin. Ah! +yes, I know most time when those men lose money you say +'<i>Cherchez la femme</i>'—there is somewhere the woman. But not +for M'sieur Morin. No, boys. Before he shall die, he is like +one saint. You might's well, M'sieur Dumars, go try find those +money in those statue of Virgin Mary that M'sieur Morin present +at those <i>p'tite sœurs</i>, as try find one <i>femme</i>."</p> + +<p>At Madame Tibault's last words, Robbins started slightly and +cast a keen, sidelong glance at Dumars. The Creole sat, +unmoved, dreamily watching the spirals of his cigarette smoke.</p> + +<p>It was then nine o'clock in the morning and, a few minutes +later, the two friends separated, going different ways to their +day's duties. And now follows the brief story of Madame +Tibault's vanished thousands:</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>New Orleans will readily recall to mind the circumstances +attendant upon the death of Mr. Gaspard Morin, in that city. +Mr. Morin was an artistic goldsmith and jeweller in the old +French Quarter, and a man held in the highest esteem. He +belonged to one of the oldest French families, and was of some +distinction as an antiquary and historian. He was a bachelor, +about fifty years of age. He lived in quiet comfort, at one of +those rare old hostelries in Royal Street. He was found in his +rooms, one morning, dead from unknown causes.</p> + +<p>When his affairs came to be looked into, it was found that he +was practically insolvent, his stock of goods and personal +property barely—but nearly enough to free him from +censure—covering his liabilities. Following came the +disclosure that he had been entrusted with the sum of twenty +thousand dollars by a former upper servant in the Morin family, +one Madame Tibault, which she had received as a legacy from +relatives in France.</p> + +<p>The most searching scrutiny by friends and the legal +authorities failed to reveal the disposition of the money. It +had vanished, and left no trace. Some weeks before his death, +Mr. Morin had drawn the entire amount, in gold coin, from the +bank where it had been placed while he looked about (he told +Madame Tibault) for a safe investment. Therefore, Mr. Morin's +memory seemed doomed to bear the cloud of dishonesty, while +madame was, of course, disconsolate.</p> + +<p>Then it was that Robbins and Dumars, representing their +respective journals, began one of those pertinacious private +investigations which, of late years, the press has adopted as a +means to glory and the satisfaction of public curiosity.</p> + +<p>"<i>Cherchez la femme</i>," said Dumars.</p> + +<p>"That's the ticket!" agreed Robbins. "All roads lead to the +eternal feminine. We will find the woman."</p> + +<p>They exhausted the knowledge of the staff of Mr. Morin's hotel, +from the bell-boy down to the proprietor. They gently, but +inflexibly, pumped the family of the deceased as far as his +cousins twice removed. They artfully sounded the employees of +the late jeweller, and dogged his customers for information +concerning his habits. Like bloodhounds they traced every step +of the supposed defaulter, as nearly as might be, for years +along the limited and monotonous paths he had trodden.</p> + +<p>At the end of their labours, Mr. Morin stood, an immaculate +man. Not one weakness that might be served up as a criminal +tendency, not one deviation from the path of rectitude, not +even a hint of a predilection for the opposite sex, was found +to be placed in his debit. His life had been as regular and +austere as a monk's; his habits, simple and unconcealed. +Generous, charitable, and a model in propriety, was the verdict +of all who knew him.</p> + +<p>"What, now?" asked Robbins, fingering his empty notebook.</p> + +<p>"<i>Cherchez la femme</i>," said Dumars, lighting a cigarette. "Try +Lady Bellairs."</p> + +<p>This piece of femininity was the race-track favourite of the +season. Being feminine, she was erratic in her gaits, and there +were a few heavy losers about town who had believed she could +be true. The reporters applied for information.</p> + +<p>Mr. Morin? Certainly not. He was never even a spectator at the +races. Not that kind of a man. Surprised the gentlemen should +ask.</p> + +<p>"Shall we throw it up?" suggested Robbins, "and let the puzzle +department have a try?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Cherchez la femme</i>," hummed Dumars, reaching for a match. +"Try the Little Sisters of What-d'-you-call-'em."</p> + +<p>It had developed, during the investigation, that Mr. Morin had +held this benevolent order in particular favour. He had +contributed liberally toward its support and had chosen its +chapel as his favourite place of private worship. It was said +that he went there daily to make his devotions at the altar. +Indeed, toward the last of his life his whole mind seemed to +have fixed itself upon religious matters, perhaps to the +detriment of his worldly affairs.</p> + +<p>Thither went Robbins and Dumars, and were admitted through the +narrow doorway in the blank stone wall that frowned upon +Bonhomme Street. An old woman was sweeping the chapel. She told +them that Sister Félicité, the head of the +order, was then at prayer at the altar in the alcove. +In a few moments she would emerge. Heavy, black curtains +screened the alcove. They waited.</p> + +<p>Soon the curtains were disturbed, and Sister +Félicité came forth. She was tall, tragic, +bony, and plain-featured, dressed in the black gown and +severe bonnet of the sisterhood.</p> + +<p>Robbins, a good rough-and-tumble reporter, but lacking the +delicate touch, began to speak.</p> + +<p>They represented the press. The lady had, no doubt, heard of +the Morin affair. It was necessary, in justice to that +gentleman's memory, to probe the mystery of the lost money. It +was known that he had come often to this chapel. Any +information, now, concerning Mr. Morin's habits, tastes, the +friends he had, and so on, would be of value in doing him +posthumous justice.</p> + +<p>Sister Félicité had heard. Whatever she +knew would be willingly told, but it was very little. +Monsieur Morin had been a good friend to the order, +sometimes contributing as much as a hundred dollars. +The sisterhood was an independent one, depending +entirely upon private contributions for the means to +carry on its charitable work. Mr. Morin had presented the +chapel with silver candlesticks and an altar cloth. He came +every day to worship in the chapel, sometimes remaining for an +hour. He was a devout Catholic, consecrated to holiness. Yes, +and also in the alcove was a statue of the Virgin that he had +himself modeled, cast, and presented to the order. Oh, it was +cruel to cast a doubt upon so good a man!</p> + +<p>Robbins was also profoundly grieved at the imputation. But, +until it was found what Mr. Morin had done with Madame +Tibault's money, he feared the tongue of slander would not be +stilled. Sometimes—in fact, very often—in affairs of the kind +there was—er—as the saying goes—er—a lady in the case. In +absolute confidence, now—if—perhaps—</p> + +<p>Sister Félicité's large eyes regarded him +solemnly.</p> + +<p>"There was one woman," she said, slowly, "to whom he bowed—to +whom he gave his heart."</p> + +<p>Robbins fumbled rapturously for his pencil.</p> + +<p>"Behold the woman!" said Sister Félicité, +suddenly, in deep tones.</p> + +<p>She reached a long arm and swept aside the curtain of the +alcove. In there was a shrine, lit to a glow of soft colour by +the light pouring through a stained-glass window. Within a deep +niche in the bare stone wall stood an image of the Virgin Mary, +the colour of pure gold.</p> + +<p>Dumars, a conventional Catholic, succumbed to the dramatic in +the act. He bowed his head for an instant and made the sign of +the cross. The somewhat abashed Robbins, murmuring an +indistinct apology, backed awkwardly away. Sister +Félicité drew back the curtain, and the +reporters departed.</p> + +<p>On the narrow stone sidewalk of Bonhomme Street, +Robbins turned to Dumars, with unworthy sarcasm.</p> + +<p>"Well, what next? Churchy law fem?"</p> + +<p>"Absinthe," said Dumars.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>With the history of the missing money thus partially related, +some conjecture may be formed of the sudden idea that Madame +Tibault's words seemed to have suggested to Robbins's brain.</p> + +<p>Was it so wild a surmise—that the religious fanatic had +offered up his wealth—or, rather, Madame Tibault's—in the +shape of a material symbol of his consuming devotion? Stranger +things have been done in the name of worship. Was it not +possible that the lost thousands were molded into that lustrous +image? That the goldsmith had formed it of the pure and +precious metal, and set it there, through some hope of a +perhaps disordered brain to propitiate the saints and pave the +way to his own selfish glory?</p> + +<p>That afternoon, at five minutes to three, Robbins entered the +chapel door of the Little Sisters of Samaria. He saw, in the +dim light, a crowd of perhaps a hundred people gathered to +attend the sale. Most of them were members of various religious +orders, priests and churchmen, come to purchase the +paraphernalia of the chapel, lest they fall into desecrating +hands. Others were business men and agents come to bid upon the +realty. A clerical-looking brother had volunteered to wield the +hammer, bringing to the office of auctioneer the anomaly of +choice diction and dignity of manner.</p> + +<p>A few of the minor articles were sold, and then two assistants +brought forward the image of the Virgin.</p> + +<p>Robbins started the bidding at ten dollars. A stout man, in an +ecclesiastical garb, went to fifteen. A voice from another part +of the crowd raised to twenty. The three bid alternately, +raising by bids of five, until the offer was fifty dollars. +Then the stout man dropped out, and Robbins, as a sort of <i>coup +de main</i>, went to a hundred.</p> + +<p>"One hundred and fifty," said the other voice.</p> + +<p>"Two hundred," bid Robbins, boldly.</p> + +<p>"Two-fifty," called his competitor, promptly.</p> + +<p>The reporter hesitated for the space of a lightning flash, +estimating how much he could borrow from the boys in the +office, and screw from the business manager from his next +month's salary.</p> + +<p>"Three hundred," he offered.</p> + +<p>"Three-fifty," spoke up the other, in a louder voice—a voice +that sent Robbins diving suddenly through the crowd in its +direction, to catch Dumars, its owner, ferociously by the +collar.</p> + +<p>"You unconverted idiot!" hissed Robbins, close to his +ear—"pool!"</p> + +<p>"Agreed!" said Dumars, coolly. "I couldn't raise three hundred +and fifty dollars with a search-warrant, but I can stand half. +What you come bidding against me for?"</p> + +<p>"I thought I was the only fool in the crowd," explained +Robbins.</p> + +<p>No one else bidding, the statue was knocked down to the +syndicate at their last offer. Dumars remained with the prize, +while Robbins hurried forth to wring from the resources and +credit of both the price. He soon returned with the money, and +the two musketeers loaded their precious package into a +carriage and drove with it to Dumars's room, in old Chartres +Street, nearby. They lugged it, covered with a cloth, up the +stairs, and deposited it on a table. A hundred pounds it +weighed, if an ounce, and at that estimate, according to their +calculation, if their daring theory were correct, it stood +there, worth twenty thousand golden dollars.</p> + +<p>Robbins removed the covering, and opened his pocket-knife.</p> + +<p>"<i>Sacré!</i>" muttered Dumars, shuddering. "It is +the Mother of Christ. What would you do?"</p> + +<p>"Shut up, Judas!" said Robbins, coldly. "It's too late for you +to be saved now."</p> + +<p>With a firm hand, he chipped a slice from the shoulder of the +image. The cut showed a dull, grayish metal, with a thin +coating of gold leaf.</p> + +<p>"Lead!" announced Robbins, hurling his knife to the +floor—"gilded!"</p> + +<p>"To the devil with it!" said Dumars, forgetting his scruples. +"I must have a drink."</p> + +<p>Together they walked moodily to the café of Madame +Tribault, two squares away.</p> + +<p>It seemed that madame's mind had been stirred that day to fresh +recollections of the past services of the two young men in her +behalf.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't sit by those table," she interposed, as they were +about to drop into their accustomed seats. "Thass so, boys. But +no. I mek you come at this room, like my <i>trés bon +amis</i>. Yes. I goin' mek for you myself one <i>anisette</i> +and one <i>café royale</i> +ver' fine. Ah! I lak treat my fren' nize. Yes. Plis come in +this way."</p> + +<p>Madame led them into the little back room, into which she +sometimes invited the especially favoured of her customers. In +two comfortable armchairs, by a big window that opened upon the +courtyard, she placed them, with a low table between. Bustling +hospitably about, she began to prepare the promised +refreshments.</p> + +<p>It was the first time the reporters had been honoured with +admission to the sacred precincts. The room was in dusky +twilight, flecked with gleams of the polished, fine woods and +burnished glass and metal that the Creoles love. From the +little courtyard a tiny fountain sent in an insinuating sound +of trickling waters, to which a banana plant by the window kept +time with its tremulous leaves.</p> + +<p>Robbins, an investigator by nature, sent a curious glance +roving about the room. From some barbaric ancestor, madame had +inherited a <i>penchant</i> for the crude in decoration.</p> + +<p>The walls were adorned with cheap lithographs—florid libels +upon nature, addressed to the taste of the +<i>bourgeoisie</i>—birthday cards, garish newspaper supplements, +and specimens of art-advertising calculated to reduce the optic +nerve to stunned submission. A patch of something +unintelligible in the midst of the more candid display puzzled +Robbins, and he rose and took a step nearer, to interrogate it +at closer range. Then he leaned weakly against the wall, and +called out:</p> + +<p>"Madame Tibault! Oh, madame! Since when—oh! since when have +you been in the habit of papering your walls with five thousand +dollar United States four per cent. gold bonds? Tell me—is +this a Grimm's fairy tale, or should I consult an oculist?"</p> + +<p>At his words, Madame Tibault and Dumars approached.</p> + +<p>"H'what you say?" said madame, cheerily. "H'what you say, +M'sieur Robbin? <i>Bon!</i> Ah! those nize li'l peezes papier! One +tam I think those w'at you call calendair, wiz ze li'l day of +mont' below. But, no. Those wall is broke in those plaze, +M'sieur Robbin', and I plaze those li'l peezes papier to +conceal ze crack. I did think the couleur harm'nize so well +with the wall papier. Where I get them from? Ah, yes, I remem' +ver' well. One day M'sieur Morin, he come at my houze—thass +'bout one mont' before he shall die—thass 'long 'bout tam he +promise fo' inves' those money fo' me. M'sieur Morin, he leave +thoze li'l peezes papier in those table, and say ver' much +'bout money thass hard for me to ond'stan. <i>Mais</i> I never see +those money again. Thass ver' wicked man, M'sieur Morin. H'what +you call those peezes papier, M'sieur Robbin'—<i>bon!</i>"</p> + +<p>Robbins explained.</p> + +<p>"There's your twenty thousand dollars, with coupons attached," +he said, running his thumb around the edge of the four bonds. +"Better get an expert to peel them off for you. Mister Morin +was all right. I'm going out to get my ears trimmed."</p> + +<p>He dragged Dumars by the arm into the outer room. Madame was +screaming for Nicolette and Mémé to come and +observe the fortune returned to her by M'sieur Morin, that +best of men, that saint in glory.</p> + +<p>"Marsy," said Robbins, "I'm going on a jamboree. For three days +the esteemed <i>Pic.</i> will have to get along without my valuable +services. I advise you to join me. Now, that green stuff you +drink is no good. It stimulates thought. What we want to do is +to forget to remember. I'll introduce you to the only lady in +this case that is guaranteed to produce the desired results. +Her name is Belle of Kentucky, twelve-year-old Bourbon. In +quarts. How does the idea strike you?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Allons!</i>" said Dumars. "<i>Cherchez la femme</i>."</p> + + +<p><a name="12"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>XII</h3> +<h3>FRIENDS IN SAN ROSARIO<br /> </h3> + + +<p>The west-bound train stopped at San Rosario on time at 8.20 +<span class="smallcaps">a.m.</span> A man with a thick +black-leather wallet under his arm left +the train and walked rapidly up the main street of the town. +There were other passengers who also got off at San Rosario, +but they either slouched limberly over to the railroad +eating-house or the Silver Dollar saloon, or joined the groups +of idlers about the station.</p> + +<p>Indecision had no part in the movements of the man with the +wallet. He was short in stature, but strongly built, with very +light, closely-trimmed hair, smooth, determined face, and +aggressive, gold-rimmed nose glasses. He was well dressed in +the prevailing Eastern style. His air denoted a quiet but +conscious reserve force, if not actual authority.</p> + +<p>After walking a distance of three squares he came to the centre +of the town's business area. Here another street of importance +crossed the main one, forming the hub of San Rosario's life and +commerce. Upon one corner stood the post-office. Upon another +Rubensky's Clothing Emporium. The other two diagonally opposing +corners were occupied by the town's two banks, the First +National and the Stockmen's National. Into the First National +Bank of San Rosario the newcomer walked, never slowing his +brisk step until he stood at the cashier's window. The bank +opened for business at nine, and the working force was already +assembled, each member preparing his department for the day's +business. The cashier was examining the mail when he noticed +the stranger standing at his window.</p> + +<p>"Bank doesn't open 'til nine," he remarked curtly, but without +feeling. He had had to make that statement so often to early +birds since San Rosario adopted city banking hours.</p> + +<p>"I am well aware of that," said the other man, in cool, brittle +tones. "Will you kindly receive my card?"</p> + +<p>The cashier drew the small, spotless parallelogram inside the +bars of his wicket, and read:<br /> </p> + + +<div class="center"> +<table style="border: 1px; border: solid black" cellpadding="35px"> +<tr align="center"><td><span class="arial">J. F. C. Nettlewick<br /> +<br /> +<span class="small">National Bank Examiner</span></span> +</td></tr></table><br /> +</div> + + +<p>"Oh—er—will you walk around inside, Mr.—er—Nettlewick. Your +first visit—didn't know your business, of course. Walk right +around, please."</p> + +<p>The examiner was quickly inside the sacred precincts of the +bank, where he was ponderously introduced to each employee in +turn by Mr. Edlinger, the cashier—a middle-aged gentleman of +deliberation, discretion, and method.</p> + +<p>"I was kind of expecting Sam Turner round again, pretty soon," +said Mr. Edlinger. "Sam's been examining us now, for about four +years. I guess you'll find us all right, though, considering +the tightness in business. Not overly much money on hand, but +able to stand the storms, sir, stand the storms."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Turner and I have been ordered by the Comptroller to +exchange districts," said the examiner, in his decisive, formal +tones. "He is covering my old territory in Southern Illinois +and Indiana. I will take the cash first, please."</p> + +<p>Perry Dorsey, the teller, was already arranging his cash on the +counter for the examiner's inspection. He knew it was right to +a cent, and he had nothing to fear, but he was nervous and +flustered. So was every man in the bank. There was something so +icy and swift, so impersonal and uncompromising about this man +that his very presence seemed an accusation. He looked to be a +man who would never make nor overlook an error.</p> + +<p>Mr. Nettlewick first seized the currency, and with a rapid, +almost juggling motion, counted it by packages. Then he spun +the sponge cup toward him and verified the count by bills. His +thin, white fingers flew like some expert musician's upon the +keys of a piano. He dumped the gold upon the counter with a +crash, and the coins whined and sang as they skimmed across the +marble slab from the tips of his nimble digits. The air was +full of fractional currency when he came to the halves and +quarters. He counted the last nickle and dime. He had the +scales brought, and he weighed every sack of silver in the +vault. He questioned Dorsey concerning each of the cash +memoranda—certain checks, charge slips, etc., carried over +from the previous day's work—with unimpeachable courtesy, yet +with something so mysteriously momentous in his frigid manner, +that the teller was reduced to pink cheeks and a stammering +tongue.</p> + +<p>This newly-imported examiner was so different from Sam Turner. +It had been Sam's way to enter the bank with a shout, pass the +cigars, and tell the latest stories he had picked up on his +rounds. His customary greeting to Dorsey had been, "Hello, +Perry! Haven't skipped out with the boodle yet, I see." +Turner's way of counting the cash had been different, too. He +would finger the packages of bills in a tired kind of way, and +then go into the vault and kick over a few sacks of silver, and +the thing was done. Halves and quarters and dimes? Not for Sam +Turner. "No chicken feed for me," he would say when they were +set before him. "I'm not in the agricultural department." But, +then, Turner was a Texan, an old friend of the bank's +president, and had known Dorsey since he was a baby.</p> + +<p>While the examiner was counting the cash, Major Thomas B. +Kingman—known to every one as "Major Tom"—the president of +the First National, drove up to the side door with his old dun +horse and buggy, and came inside. He saw the examiner busy with +the money, and, going into the little "pony corral," as he +called it, in which his desk was railed off, he began to look +over his letters.</p> + +<p>Earlier, a little incident had occurred that even the sharp +eyes of the examiner had failed to notice. When he had begun +his work at the cash counter, Mr. Edlinger had winked +significantly at Roy Wilson, the youthful bank messenger, and +nodded his head slightly toward the front door. Roy understood, +got his hat, and walked leisurely out, with his collector's +book under his arm. Once outside, he made a bee-line for the +Stockmen's National. That bank was also getting ready to open. +No customers had, as yet, presented themselves.</p> + +<p>"Say, you people!" cried Roy, with the familiarity of youth and +long acquaintance, "you want to get a move on you. There's a +new bank examiner over at the First, and he's a stem-winder. +He's counting nickles on Perry, and he's got the whole outfit +bluffed. Mr. Edlinger gave me the tip to let you know."</p> + +<p>Mr. Buckley, president of the Stockmen's National—a stout, +elderly man, looking like a farmer dressed for Sunday—heard +Roy from his private office at the rear and called him.</p> + +<p>"Has Major Kingman come down to the bank yet?" he asked of the +boy.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, he was just driving up as I left," said Roy.</p> + +<p>"I want you to take him a note. Put it into his own hands as +soon as you get back."</p> + +<p>Mr. Buckley sat down and began to write.</p> + +<p>Roy returned and handed to Major Kingman the envelope +containing the note. The major read it, folded it, and slipped +it into his vest pocket. He leaned back in his chair for a few +moments as if he were meditating deeply, and then rose and went +into the vault. He came out with the bulky, old-fashioned +leather note case stamped on the back in gilt letters, "Bills +Discounted." In this were the notes due the bank with their +attached securities, and the major, in his rough way, dumped +the lot upon his desk and began to sort them over.</p> + +<p>By this time Nettlewick had finished his count of the cash. His +pencil fluttered like a swallow over the sheet of paper on +which he had set his figures. He opened his black wallet, which +seemed to be also a kind of secret memorandum book, made a few +rapid figures in it, wheeled and transfixed Dorsey with the +glare of his spectacles. That look seemed to say: "You're safe +this time, but—"</p> + +<p>"Cash all correct," snapped the examiner. He made a dash for +the individual bookkeeper, and, for a few minutes there was a +fluttering of ledger leaves and a sailing of balance sheets +through the air.</p> + +<p>"How often do you balance your pass-books?" he demanded, +suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Er—once a month," faltered the individual bookkeeper, +wondering how many years they would give him.</p> + +<p>"All right," said the examiner, turning and charging upon the +general bookkeeper, who had the statements of his foreign banks +and their reconcilement memoranda ready. Everything there was +found to be all right. Then the stub book of the certificates +of deposit. Flutter—flutter—zip—zip—check! All right. List +of over-drafts, please. Thanks. H'm-m. Unsigned bills of the +bank, next. All right.</p> + +<p>Then came the cashier's turn, and easy-going Mr. Edlinger +rubbed his nose and polished his glasses nervously under the +quick fire of questions concerning the circulation, undivided +profits, bank real estate, and stock ownership.</p> + +<p>Presently Nettlewick was aware of a big man towering above him +at his elbow—a man sixty years of age, rugged and hale, with a +rough, grizzled beard, a mass of gray hair, and a pair of +penetrating blue eyes that confronted the formidable glasses of +the examiner without a flicker.</p> + +<p>"Er—Major Kingman, our president—er—Mr. Nettlewick," said +the cashier.</p> + +<p>Two men of very different types shook hands. One was a finished +product of the world of straight lines, conventional methods, +and formal affairs. The other was something freer, wider, and +nearer to nature. Tom Kingman had not been cut to any pattern. +He had been mule-driver, cowboy, ranger, soldier, sheriff, +prospector, and cattleman. Now, when he was bank president, his +old comrades from the prairies, of the saddle, tent, and trail +found no change in him. He had made his fortune when Texas +cattle were at the high tide of value, and had organized the +First National Bank of San Rosario. In spite of his largeness +of heart and sometimes unwise generosity toward his old +friends, the bank had prospered, for Major Tom Kingman knew men +as well as he knew cattle. Of late years the cattle business +had known a depression, and the major's bank was one of the few +whose losses had not been great.</p> + +<p>"And now," said the examiner, briskly, pulling out his watch, +"the last thing is the loans. We will take them up now, if you +please."</p> + +<p>He had gone through the First National at almost +record-breaking speed—but thoroughly, as he did everything. +The running order of the bank was smooth and clean, and that +had facilitated his work. There was but one other bank in the +town. He received from the Government a fee of twenty-five +dollars for each bank that he examined. He should be able to go +over those loans and discounts in half an hour. If so, he could +examine the other bank immediately afterward, and catch the +11.45, the only other train that day in the direction he was +working. Otherwise, he would have to spend the night and Sunday +in this uninteresting Western town. That was why Mr. Nettlewick +was rushing matters.</p> + +<p>"Come with me, sir," said Major Kingman, in his deep voice, +that united the Southern drawl with the rhythmic twang of the +West; "We will go over them together. Nobody in the bank knows +those notes as I do. Some of 'em are a little wobbly on their +legs, and some are mavericks without extra many brands on their +backs, but they'll most all pay out at the round-up."</p> + +<p>The two sat down at the president's desk. First, the examiner +went through the notes at lightning speed, and added up their +total, finding it to agree with the amount of loans carried on +the book of daily balances. Next, he took up the larger loans, +inquiring scrupulously into the condition of their endorsers or +securities. The new examiner's mind seemed to course and turn +and make unexpected dashes hither and thither like a bloodhound +seeking a trail. Finally he pushed aside all the notes except a +few, which he arranged in a neat pile before him, and began a +dry, formal little speech.</p> + +<p>"I find, sir, the condition of your bank to be very good, +considering the poor crops and the depression in the cattle +interests of your state. The clerical work seems to be done +accurately and punctually. Your past-due paper is moderate in +amount, and promises only a small loss. I would recommend the +calling in of your large loans, and the making of only sixty +and ninety day or call loans until general business revives. +And now, there is one thing more, and I will have finished with +the bank. Here are six notes aggregating something like +$40,000. They are secured, according to their faces, by various +stocks, bonds, shares, etc. to the value of $70,000. Those +securities are missing from the notes to which they should be +attached. I suppose you have them in the safe or vault. You +will permit me to examine them."</p> + +<p>Major Tom's light-blue eyes turned unflinchingly toward the +examiner.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," he said, in a low but steady tone; "those securities +are neither in the safe nor in the vault. I have taken them. +You may hold me personally responsible for their absence."</p> + +<p>Nettlewick felt a slight thrill. He had not expected this. He +had struck a momentous trail when the hunt was drawing to a +close.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said the examiner. He waited a moment, and then +continued: "May I ask you to explain more definitely?"</p> + +<p>"The securities were taken by me," repeated the major. "It was +not for my own use, but to save an old friend in trouble. Come +in here, sir, and we'll talk it over."</p> + +<p>He led the examiner into the bank's private office at the rear, +and closed the door. There was a desk, and a table, and +half-a-dozen leather-covered chairs. On the wall was the +mounted head of a Texas steer with horns five feet from tip to +tip. Opposite hung the major's old cavalry saber that he had +carried at Shiloh and Fort Pillow.</p> + +<p>Placing a chair for Nettlewick, the major seated himself by the +window, from which he could see the post-office and the carved +limestone front of the Stockmen's National. He did not speak at +once, and Nettlewick felt, perhaps, that the ice could be +broken by something so near its own temperature as the voice of +official warning.</p> + +<p>"Your statement," he began, "since you have failed to modify +it, amounts, as you must know, to a very serious thing. You are +aware, also, of what my duty must compel me to do. I shall have +to go before the United States Commissioner and make—"</p> + +<p>"I know, I know," said Major Tom, with a wave of his hand. "You +don't suppose I'd run a bank without being posted on national +banking laws and the revised statutes! Do your duty. I'm not +asking any favours. But, I spoke of my friend. I did want you +to hear me tell you about Bob."</p> + +<p>Nettlewick settled himself in his chair. There would be no +leaving San Rosario for him that day. He would have to +telegraph to the Comptroller of the Currency; he would have to +swear out a warrant before the United States Commissioner for +the arrest of Major Kingman; perhaps he would be ordered to +close the bank on account of the loss of the securities. It was +not the first crime the examiner had unearthed. Once or twice +the terrible upheaval of human emotions that his investigations +had loosed had almost caused a ripple in his official calm. He +had seen bank men kneel and plead and cry like women for a +chance—an hour's time—the overlooking of a single error. One +cashier had shot himself at his desk before him. None of them +had taken it with the dignity and coolness of this stern old +Westerner. Nettlewick felt that he owed it to him at least to +listen if he wished to talk. With his elbow on the arm of his +chair, and his square chin resting upon the fingers of his +right hand, the bank examiner waited to hear the confession of +the president of the First National Bank of San Rosario.</p> + +<p>"When a man's your friend," began Major Tom, somewhat +didactically, "for forty years, and tried by water, fire, +earth, and cyclones, when you can do him a little favour you +feel like doing it."</p> + +<p>("Embezzle for him $70,000 worth of securities," thought the +examiner.)</p> + +<p>"We were cowboys together, Bob and I," continued the major, +speaking slowly, and deliberately, and musingly, as if his +thoughts were rather with the past than the critical present, +"and we prospected together for gold and silver over Arizona, +New Mexico, and a good part of California. We were both in the +war of 'sixty-one, but in different commands. We've fought +Indians and horse thieves side by side; we've starved for weeks +in a cabin in the Arizona mountains, buried twenty feet deep in +snow; we've ridden herd together when the wind blew so hard the +lightning couldn't strike—well, Bob and I have been through +some rough spells since the first time we met in the branding +camp of the old Anchor-Bar ranch. And during that time we've +found it necessary more than once to help each other out of +tight places. In those days it was expected of a man to stick +to his friend, and he didn't ask any credit for it. Probably +next day you'd need him to get at your back and help stand off +a band of Apaches, or put a tourniquet on your leg above a +rattlesnake bite and ride for whisky. So, after all, it was +give and take, and if you didn't stand square with your +pardner, why, you might be shy one when you needed him. But Bob +was a man who was willing to go further than that. He never +played a limit.</p> + +<p>"Twenty years ago I was sheriff of this county, and I made Bob +my chief deputy. That was before the boom in cattle when we +both made our stake. I was sheriff and collector, and it was a +big thing for me then. I was married, and we had a boy and a +girl—a four and a six year old. There was a comfortable house +next to the courthouse, furnished by the county, rent free, and +I was saving some money. Bob did most of the office work. Both +of us had seen rough times and plenty of rustling and danger, +and I tell you it was great to hear the rain and the sleet +dashing against the windows of nights, and be warm and safe and +comfortable, and know you could get up in the morning and be +shaved and have folks call you 'mister.' And then, I had the +finest wife and kids that ever struck the range, and my old +friend with me enjoying the first fruits of prosperity and +white shirts, and I guess I was happy. Yes, I was happy about +that time."</p> + +<p>The major sighed and glanced casually out of the window. The +bank examiner changed his position, and leaned his chin upon +his other hand.</p> + +<p>"One winter," continued the major, "the money for the county +taxes came pouring in so fast that I didn't have time to take +the stuff to the bank for a week. I just shoved the checks into +a cigar box and the money into a sack, and locked them in the +big safe that belonged to the sheriff's office.</p> + +<p>"I had been overworked that week, and was about sick, anyway. +My nerves were out of order, and my sleep at night didn't seem +to rest me. The doctor had some scientific name for it, and I +was taking medicine. And so, added to the rest, I went to bed +at night with that money on my mind. Not that there was much +need of being worried, for the safe was a good one, and nobody +but Bob and I knew the combination. On Friday night there was +about $6,500 in cash in the bag. On Saturday morning I went to +the office as usual. The safe was locked, and Bob was writing +at his desk. I opened the safe, and the money was gone. I +called Bob, and roused everybody in the court-house to announce +the robbery. It struck me that Bob took it pretty quiet, +considering how much it reflected upon both him and me.</p> + +<p>"Two days went by and we never got a clew. It couldn't have +been burglars, for the safe had been opened by the combination +in the proper way. People must have begun to talk, for one +afternoon in comes Alice—that's my wife—and the boy and girl, +and Alice stamps her foot, and her eyes flash, and she cries +out, 'The lying wretches—Tom, Tom!' and I catch her in a +faint, and bring her 'round little by little, and she lays her +head down and cries and cries for the first time since she took +Tom Kingman's name and fortunes. And Jack and Zilla—the +youngsters—they were always wild as tiger cubs to rush at +Bob and climb all over him whenever they were allowed to come +to the court-house—they stood and kicked their little shoes, +and herded together like scared partridges. They were having +their first trip down into the shadows of life. Bob was working +at his desk, and he got up and went out without a word. The +grand jury was in session then, and the next morning Bob went +before them and confessed that he stole the money. He said he +lost it in a poker game. In fifteen minutes they had found a +true bill and sent me the warrant to arrest the man with whom +I'd been closer than a thousand brothers for many a year.</p> + +<p>"I did it, and then I said to Bob, pointing: 'There's my house, +and here's my office, and up there's Maine, and out that way is +California, and over there is Florida—and that's your range +'til court meets. You're in my charge, and I take the +responsibility. You be here when you're wanted.'</p> + +<p>"'Thanks, Tom,' he said, kind of carelessly; 'I was sort of +hoping you wouldn't lock me up. Court meets next Monday, so, if +you don't object, I'll just loaf around the office until then. +I've got one favour to ask, if it isn't too much. If you'd let +the kids come out in the yard once in a while and have a romp +I'd like it.'</p> + +<p>"'Why not?' I answered him. 'They're welcome, and so are you. +And come to my house, the same as ever.' You see, Mr. +Nettlewick, you can't make a friend of a thief, but neither can +you make a thief of a friend, all at once."</p> + +<p>The examiner made no answer. At that moment was heard the +shrill whistle of a locomotive pulling into the depot. That was +the train on the little, narrow-gauge road that struck into San +Rosario from the south. The major cocked his ear and listened +for a moment, and looked at his watch. The narrow-gauge was in +on time—10.35. The major continued:</p> + +<p>"So Bob hung around the office, reading the papers and smoking. +I put another deputy to work in his place, and after a while, +the first excitement of the case wore off.</p> + +<p>"One day when we were alone in the office Bob came over to +where I was sitting. He was looking sort of grim and blue—the +same look he used to get when he'd been up watching for +Indians all night or herd-riding.</p> + +<p>"'Tom,' says he, 'it's harder than standing off redskins; it's +harder than lying in the lava desert forty miles from water; +but I'm going to stick it out to the end. You know that's been +my style. But if you'd tip me the smallest kind of a sign—if +you'd just say, "Bob I understand," why, it would make it lots +easier.'</p> + +<p>"I was surprised. 'I don't know what you mean, Bob,' I said. +'Of course, you know that I'd do anything under the sun to help +you that I could. But you've got me guessing.'</p> + +<p>"'All right, Tom,' was all he said, and he went back to his +newspaper and lit another cigar.</p> + +<p>"It was the night before court met when I found out what he +meant. I went to bed that night with that same old, +light-headed, nervous feeling come back upon me. I dropped off +to sleep about midnight. When I awoke I was standing half +dressed in one of the court-house corridors. Bob was holding +one of my arms, our family doctor the other, and Alice was +shaking me and half crying. She had sent for the doctor without +my knowing it, and when he came they had found me out of bed +and missing, and had begun a search.</p> + +<p>"'Sleep-walking,' said the doctor.</p> + +<p>"All of us went back to the house, and the doctor told us some +remarkable stories about the strange things people had done +while in that condition. I was feeling rather chilly after my +trip out, and, as my wife was out of the room at the time, I +pulled open the door of an old wardrobe that stood in the room +and dragged out a big quilt I had seen in there. With it +tumbled out the bag of money for stealing which Bob was to be +tried—and convicted—in the morning.</p> + +<p>"'How the jumping rattlesnakes did that get there?' I yelled, +and all hands must have seen how surprised I was. Bob knew in a +flash.</p> + +<p>"'You darned old snoozer,' he said, with the old-time look on +his face, 'I saw you put it there. I watched you open the safe +and take it out, and I followed you. I looked through the +window and saw you hide it in that wardrobe.'</p> + +<p>"'Then, you blankety-blank, flop-eared, sheep-headed coyote, +what did you say you took it, for?'</p> + +<p>"'Because,' said Bob, simply, 'I didn't know you were asleep.'</p> + +<p>"I saw him glance toward the door of the room where Jack and +Zilla were, and I knew then what it meant to be a man's friend +from Bob's point of view."</p> + +<p>Major Tom paused, and again directed his glance out of the +window. He saw some one in the Stockmen's National Bank reach +and draw a yellow shade down the whole length of its +plate-glass, big front window, although the position of the sun +did not seem to warrant such a defensive movement against its +rays.</p> + +<p>Nettlewick sat up straight in his chair. He had listened +patiently, but without consuming interest, to the major's +story. It had impressed him as irrelevant to the situation, and +it could certainly have no effect upon the consequences. Those +Western people, he thought, had an exaggerated sentimentality. +They were not business-like. They needed to be protected from +their friends. Evidently the major had concluded. And what he +had said amounted to nothing.</p> + +<p>"May I ask," said the examiner, "if you have anything further +to say that bears directly upon the question of those +abstracted securities?"</p> + +<p>"Abstracted securities, sir!" Major Tom turned suddenly in his +chair, his blue eyes flashing upon the examiner. "What do you +mean, sir?"</p> + +<p>He drew from his coat pocket a batch of folded papers held +together by a rubber band, tossed them into Nettlewick's hands, +and rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>"You'll find those securities there, sir, every stock, bond, +and share of 'em. I took them from the notes while you were +counting the cash. Examine and compare them for yourself."</p> + +<p>The major led the way back into the banking room. The examiner, +astounded, perplexed, nettled, at sea, followed. He felt that +he had been made the victim of something that was not exactly a +hoax, but that left him in the shoes of one who had been played +upon, used, and then discarded, without even an inkling of the +game. Perhaps, also, his official position had been +irreverently juggled with. But there was nothing he could take +hold of. An official report of the matter would be an +absurdity. And, somehow, he felt that he would never know +anything more about the matter than he did then.</p> + +<p>Frigidly, mechanically, Nettlewick examined the securities, +found them to tally with the notes, gathered his black wallet, +and rose to depart.</p> + +<p>"I will say," he protested, turning the indignant glare of his +glasses upon Major Kingman, "that your statements—your +misleading statements, which you have not condescended to +explain—do not appear to be quite the thing, regarded either +as business or humour. I do not understand such motives or +actions."</p> + +<p>Major Tom looked down at him serenely and not unkindly.</p> + +<p>"Son," he said, "there are plenty of things in the chaparral, +and on the prairies, and up the canyons that you don't +understand. But I want to thank you for listening to a +garrulous old man's prosy story. We old Texans love to talk +about our adventures and our old comrades, and the home folks +have long ago learned to run when we begin with 'Once upon a +time,' so we have to spin our yarns to the stranger within our +gates."</p> + +<p>The major smiled, but the examiner only bowed coldly, and +abruptly quitted the bank. They saw him travel diagonally +across the street in a straight line and enter the Stockmen's +National Bank.</p> + +<p>Major Tom sat down at his desk, and drew from his vest pocket +the note Roy had given him. He had read it once, but hurriedly, +and now, with something like a twinkle in his eyes, he read it +again. These were the words he read:<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote class="med"> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">Dear Tom</span>:</p> + +<p>I hear there's one of Uncle Sam's grayhounds going through +you, and that means that we'll catch him inside of a couple +of hours, maybe. Now, I want you to do something for me. +We've got just $2,200 in the bank, and the law requires that +we have $20,000. I let Ross and Fisher have $18,000 late +yesterday afternoon to buy up that Gibson bunch of cattle. +They'll realise $40,000 in less than thirty days on the +transaction, but that won't make my cash on hand look any +prettier to that bank examiner. Now, I can't show him those +notes, for they're just plain notes of hand without any +security in sight, but you know very well that Pink Ross and +Jim Fisher are two of the finest white men God ever made, and +they'll do the square thing. You remember Jim Fisher—he was +the one who shot that faro dealer in El Paso. I wired Sam +Bradshaw's bank to send me $20,000, and it will get in on the +narrow-gauge at 10.35. You can't let a bank examiner in to +count $2,200 and close your doors. Tom, you hold that +examiner. Hold him. Hold him if you have to rope him and sit +on his head. Watch our front window after the narrow-gauge +gets in, and when we've got the cash inside we'll pull down +the shade for a signal. Don't turn him loose till then. I'm +counting on you, Tom.</p> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="ind10">Your Old Pard,</span><br /> +<span class="ind12"><span class="smallcaps">Bob +Buckly</span>,</span><br /> +<span class="ind12"><i>Prest. Stockmen's +National</i>.</span><br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>The major began to tear the note into small pieces and throw +them into his waste basket. He gave a satisfied little chuckle +as he did so.</p> + +<p>"Confounded old reckless cowpuncher!" he growled, contentedly, +"that pays him some on account for what he tried to do for me +in the sheriff's office twenty years ago."</p> + + +<p><a name="13"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>XIII</h3> +<h3>THE FOURTH IN SALVADOR<br /> </h3> + + +<p>On a summer's day, while the city was rocking with the din and +red uproar of patriotism, Billy Casparis told me this story.</p> + +<p>In his way, Billy is Ulysses, Jr. Like Satan, he comes from +going to and fro upon the earth and walking up and down in it. +To-morrow morning while you are cracking your breakfast egg he +may be off with his little alligator grip to boom a town site +in the middle of Lake Okeechobee or to trade horses with the +Patagonians.</p> + +<p>We sat at a little, round table, and between us were glasses +holding big lumps of ice, and above us leaned an artificial +palm. And because our scene was set with the properties of the +one they recalled to his mind, Billy was stirred to narrative.</p> + +<p>"It reminds me," said he, "of a Fourth I helped to celebrate +down in Salvador. 'Twas while I was running an ice factory down +there, after I unloaded that silver mine I had in Colorado. I +had what they called a 'conditional concession.' They made me +put up a thousand dollars cash forfeit that I would make ice +continuously for six months. If I did that I could draw down my +ante. If I failed to do so the government took the pot. So the +inspectors kept dropping in, trying to catch me without the +goods.</p> + +<p>"One day when the thermometer was at 110, the clock at +half-past one, and the calendar at July third, two of the +little, brown, oily nosers in red trousers slid in to make an +inspection. Now, the factory hadn't turned out a pound of ice +in three weeks, for a couple of reasons. The Salvador heathen +wouldn't buy it; they said it made things cold they put it in. +And I couldn't make any more, because I was broke. All I was +holding on for was to get down my thousand so I could leave the +country. The six months would be up on the sixth of July.</p> + +<p>"Well, I showed 'em all the ice I had. I raised the lid of a +darkish vat, and there was an elegant 100-pound block of ice, +beautiful and convincing to the eye. I was about to close down +the lid again when one of those brunette sleuths flops down on +his red knees and lays a slanderous and violent hand on my +guarantee of good faith. And in two minutes more they had +dragged out on the floor that fine chunk of molded glass that +had cost me fifty dollars to have shipped down from Frisco.</p> + +<p>"'Ice-y?' says the fellow that played me the dishonourable +trick; 'verree warm ice-y. Yes. The day is that hot, señor. +Yes. Maybeso it is of desirableness to leave him out to get the +cool. Yes.'</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' says I, 'yes,' for I knew they had me. 'Touching's +believing, ain't it, boys? Yes. Now there's some might say the +seats of your trousers are sky blue, but 'tis my opinion they +are red. Let's apply the tests of the laying on of hands and +feet.' And so I hoisted both those inspectors out the door on +the toe of my shoe, and sat down to cool off on my block of +disreputable glass.</p> + +<p>"And, as I live without oats, while I sat there, homesick for +money and without a cent to my ambition, there came on the +breeze the most beautiful smell my nose had entered for a year. +God knows where it came from in that backyard of a country—it +was a bouquet of soaked lemon peel, cigar stumps, and stale +beer—exactly the smell of Goldbrick Charley's place on +Fourteenth Street where I used to play pinochle of afternoons +with the third-rate actors. And that smell drove my troubles +through me and clinched 'em at the back. I began to long for my +country and feel sentiments about it; and I said words about +Salvador that you wouldn't think could come legitimate out of +an ice factory.</p> + +<p>"And while I was sitting there, down through the blazing +sunshine in his clean, white clothes comes Maximilian Jones, an +American interested in rubber and rosewood.</p> + +<p>"'Great carrambos!' says I, when he stepped in, for I was in a +bad temper, 'didn't I have catastrophes enough? I know what you +want. You want to tell me that story again about Johnny Ammiger +and the widow on the train. You've told it nine times already +this month.'</p> + +<p>"'It must be the heat,' says Jones, stopping in at the door, +amazed. 'Poor Billy. He's got bugs. Sitting on ice, and calling +his best friends pseudonyms. Hi!—<i>muchacho!</i>' Jones called my +force of employees, who was sitting in the sun, playing with +his toes, and told him to put on his trousers and run for the +doctor.</p> + +<p>"'Come back,' says I. 'Sit down, Maxy, and forget it. 'Tis not +ice you see, nor a lunatic upon it. 'Tis only an exile full of +homesickness sitting on a lump of glass that's just cost him a +thousand dollars. Now, what was it Johnny said to the widow +first? I'd like to hear it again, Maxy—honest. Don't mind what +I said.'</p> + +<p>"Maximilian Jones and I sat down and talked. He was about as +sick of the country as I was, for the grafters were squeezing +him for half the profits of his rosewood and rubber. Down in +the bottom of a tank of water I had a dozen bottles of sticky +Frisco beer; and I fished these up, and we fell to talking +about home and the flag and Hail Columbia and home-fried +potatoes; and the drivel we contributed would have sickened any +man enjoying those blessings. But at that time we were out of +'em. You can't appreciate home till you've left it, money till +it's spent, your wife till she's joined a woman's club, nor Old +Glory till you see it hanging on a broomstick on the shanty of +a consul in a foreign town.</p> + +<p>"And sitting there me and Maximilian Jones, scratching at our +prickly heat and kicking at the lizards on the floor, became +afflicted with a dose of patriotism and affection for our +country. There was me, Billy Casparis, reduced from a +capitalist to a pauper by over-addiction to my glass (in the +lump), declares my troubles off for the present and myself to +be an uncrowned sovereign of the greatest country on earth. And +Maximilian Jones pours out whole drug stores of his wrath on +oligarchies and potentates in red trousers and calico shoes. +And we issues a declaration of interference in which we +guarantee that the fourth day of July shall be celebrated in +Salvador with all the kinds of salutes, explosions, honours of +war, oratory, and liquids known to tradition. Yes, neither me +nor Jones breathed with soul so dead. There shall be rucuses in +Salvador, we say, and the monkeys had better climb the tallest +cocoanut trees and the fire department get out its red sashes +and two tin buckets.</p> + +<p>"About this time into the factory steps a native man +incriminated by the name of General Mary Esperanza Dingo. He +was some pumpkin both in politics and colour, and the friend of +me and Jones. He was full of politeness and a kind of +intelligence, having picked up the latter and managed to +preserve the former during a two years' residence in +Philadelphia studying medicine. For a Salvadorian he was not +such a calamitous little man, though he always would play jack, +queen, king, ace, deuce for a straight.</p> + +<p>"General Mary sits with us and has a bottle. While he was in +the States he had acquired a synopsis of the English language +and the art of admiring our institutions. By and by the General +gets up and tiptoes to the doors and windows and other stage +entrances, remarking 'Hist!' at each one. They all do that in +Salvador before they ask for a drink of water or the time of +day, being conspirators from the cradle and matinee idols by +proclamation.</p> + +<p>"'Hist!' says General Dingo again, and then he lays his chest +on the table quite like Gaspard the Miser. 'Good friends, +señores, to-morrow will be the great day of Liberty and +Independence. The hearts of Americans and Salvadorians should +beat together. Of your history and your great Washington I +know. Is it not so?'</p> + +<p>"Now, me and Jones thought that nice of the General to remember +when the Fourth came. It made us feel good. He must have heard +the news going round in Philadelphia about that disturbance we +had with England.</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' says me and Maxy together, 'we knew it. We were talking +about it when you came in. And you can bet your bottom +concession that there'll be fuss and feathers in the air +to-morrow. We are few in numbers, but the welkin may as well +reach out to push the button, for it's got to ring.'</p> + +<p>"'I, too, shall assist,' says the General, thumping his +collar-bone. 'I, too, am on the side of Liberty. Noble +Americans, we will make the day one to be never forgotten.'</p> + +<p>"'For us American whisky,' says Jones—'none of your Scotch +smoke or anisada or Three Star Hennessey to-morrow. We'll +borrow the consul's flag; old man Billfinger shall make +orations, and we'll have a barbecue on the plaza.'</p> + +<p>"'Fireworks,' says I, 'will be scarce; but we'll have all the +cartridges in the shops for our guns. I've got two navy sixes I +brought from Denver.'</p> + +<p>"'There is one cannon,' said the General; 'one big cannon that +will go "BOOM!" And three hundred men with rifles to shoot.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, say!' says Jones, 'Generalissimo, you're the real silk +elastic. We'll make it a joint international celebration. +Please, General, get a white horse and a blue sash and be grand +marshal.'</p> + +<p>"'With my sword,' says the General, rolling his eyes. 'I shall +ride at the head of the brave men who gather in the name of +Liberty.'</p> + +<p>"'And you might,' we suggest 'see the commandante and advise +him that we are going to prize things up a bit. We Americans, +you know, are accustomed to using municipal regulations for gun +wadding when we line up to help the eagle scream. He might +suspend the rules for one day. We don't want to get in the +calaboose for spanking his soldiers if they get in our way, do +you see?'</p> + +<p>"'Hist!' says General Mary. 'The commandant is with us, heart +and soul. He will aid us. He is one of us.'</p> + +<p>"We made all the arrangements that afternoon. There was a buck +coon from Georgia in Salvador who had drifted down there from a +busted-up coloured colony that had been started on some +possumless land in Mexico. As soon as he heard us say +'barbecue' he wept for joy and groveled on the ground. He dug +his trench on the plaza, and got half a beef on the coals for +an all-night roast. Me and Maxy went to see the rest of the +Americans in the town and they all sizzled like a seidlitz with +joy at the idea of solemnizing an old-time Fourth.</p> + +<p>"There were six of us all together—Martin Dillard, a coffee +planter; Henry Barnes, a railroad man; old man Billfinger, an +educated tintype taker; me and Jonesy, and Jerry, the boss of +the barbecue. There was also an Englishman in town named +Sterrett, who was there to write a book on Domestic +Architecture of the Insect World. We felt some bashfulness +about inviting a Britisher to help crow over his own country, +but we decided to risk it, out of our personal regard for him.</p> + +<p>"We found Sterrett in pajamas working at his manuscript with a +bottle of brandy for a paper weight.</p> + +<p>"'Englishman,' says Jones, 'let us interrupt your disquisition +on bug houses for a moment. To-morrow is the Fourth of July. We +don't want to hurt your feelings, but we're going to +commemorate the day when we licked you by a little refined +debauchery and nonsense—something that can be heard above five +miles off. If you are broad-gauged enough to taste whisky at +your own wake, we'd be pleased to have you join us.'</p> + +<p>"'Do you know,' says Sterrett, setting his glasses on his nose, +'I like your cheek in asking me if I'll join you; blast me if I +don't. You might have known I would, without asking. Not as a +traitor to my own country, but for the intrinsic joy of a +blooming row.'</p> + +<p>"On the morning of the Fourth I woke up in that old shanty of +an ice factory feeling sore. I looked around at the wreck of +all I possessed, and my heart was full of bile. From where I +lay on my cot I could look through the window and see the +consul's old ragged Stars and Stripes hanging over his shack. +'You're all kinds of a fool, Billy Casparis,' I says to myself; +'and of all your crimes against sense it does look like this +idea of celebrating the Fourth should receive the award of +demerit. Your business is busted up, your thousand dollars is +gone into the kitty of this corrupt country on that last bluff +you made, you've got just fifteen Chili dollars left, worth +forty-six cents each at bedtime last night and steadily going +down. To-day you'll blow in your last cent hurrahing for that +flag, and to-morrow you'll be living on bananas from the stalk +and screwing your drinks out of your friends. What's the flag +done for you? While you were under it you worked for what you +got. You wore your finger nails down skinning suckers, and +salting mines, and driving bears and alligators off your town +lot additions. How much does patriotism count for on deposit +when the little man with the green eye-shade in the +savings-bank adds up your book? Suppose you were to get pinched +over here in this irreligious country for some little crime or +other, and appealed to your country for protection—what would +it do for you? Turn your appeal over to a committee of one +railroad man, an army officer, a member of each labour union, +and a coloured man to investigate whether any of your ancestors +were ever related to a cousin of Mark Hanna, and then file the +papers in the Smithsonian Institution until after the next +election. That's the kind of a sidetrack the Stars and Stripes +would switch you onto.'</p> + +<p>"You can see that I was feeling like an indigo plant; but after +I washed my face in some cool water, and got out my navys and +ammunition, and started up to the Saloon of the Immaculate +Saints where we were to meet, I felt better. And when I saw +those other American boys come swaggering into the trysting +place—cool, easy, conspicuous fellows, ready to risk any kind +of a one-card draw, or to fight grizzlies, fire, or +extradition, I began to feel glad I was one of 'em. So, I says +to myself again: 'Billy, you've got fifteen dollars and a +country left this morning—blow in the dollars and blow up the +town as an American gentleman should on Independence Day.'</p> + +<p>"It is my recollection that we began the day along conventional +lines. The six of us—for Sterrett was along—made progress +among the cantinas, divesting the bars as we went of all strong +drink bearing American labels. We kept informing the atmosphere +as to the glory and preeminence of the United States and its +ability to subdue, outjump, and eradicate the other nations of +the earth. And, as the findings of American labels grew more +plentiful, we became more contaminated with patriotism. +Maximilian Jones hopes that our late foe, Mr. Sterrett, will +not take offense at our enthusiasm. He sets down his bottle and +shakes Sterrett's hand. 'As white man to white man,' says he, +'denude our uproar of the slightest taint of personality. +Excuse us for Bunker Hill, Patrick Henry, and Waldorf Astor, +and such grievances as might lie between us as nations.'</p> + +<p>"'Fellow hoodlums,' says Sterrett, 'on behalf of the Queen I +ask you to cheese it. It is an honour to be a guest at +disturbing the peace under the American flag. Let us chant the +passionate strains of "Yankee Doodle" while the señor +behind the bar mitigates the occasion with another round of +cochineal and aqua fortis.'</p> + +<p>"Old Man Billfinger, being charged with a kind of rhetoric, +makes speeches every time we stop. We explained to such +citizens as we happened to step on that we were celebrating the +dawn of our own private brand of liberty, and to please enter +such inhumanities as we might commit on the list of unavoidable +casualties.</p> + +<p>"About eleven o'clock our bulletins read: 'A considerable rise +in temperature, accompanied by thirst and other alarming +symptoms.' We hooked arms and stretched our line across the +narrow streets, all of us armed with Winchesters and navys for +purposes of noise and without malice. We stopped on a street +corner and fired a dozen or so rounds, and began a serial +assortment of United States whoops and yells, probably the +first ever heard in that town.</p> + +<p>"When we made that noise things began to liven up. We heard a +pattering up a side street, and here came General Mary +Esperanza Dingo on a white horse with a couple of hundred brown +boys following him in red undershirts and bare feet, dragging +guns ten feet long. Jones and me had forgot all about General +Mary and his promise to help us celebrate. We fired another +salute and gave another yell, while the General shook hands +with us and waved his sword.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, General,' shouts Jones, 'this is great. This will be a +real pleasure to the eagle. Get down and have a drink.'</p> + +<p>"'Drink?' says the general. 'No. There is no time to drink. +<i>Viva la Libertad!</i>'</p> + +<p>"'Don't forget <i>E Pluribus Unum!</i>' says Henry Barnes.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Viva</i> it good and strong,' says I. 'Likewise, <i>viva</i> George +Washington. God save the Union, and,' I says, bowing to +Sterrett, 'don't discard the Queen.'</p> + +<p>"'Thanks,' says Sterrett. 'The next round's mine. All in to the +bar. Army, too.'</p> + +<p>"But we were deprived of Sterrett's treat by a lot of gunshots +several squares sway, which General Dingo seemed to think he +ought to look after. He spurred his old white plug up that way, +and the soldiers scuttled along after him.</p> + +<p>"'Mary is a real tropical bird,' says Jones. 'He's turned out +the infantry to help us do honour to the Fourth. We'll get that +cannon he spoke of after a while and fire some window-breakers +with it. But just now I want some of that barbecued beef. Let +us on to the plaza.'</p> + +<p>"There we found the meat gloriously done, and Jerry waiting, +anxious. We sat around on the grass, and got hunks of it on our +tin plates. Maximilian Jones, always made tender-hearted by +drink, cried some because George Washington couldn't be there +to enjoy the day. 'There was a man I love, Billy,' he says, +weeping on my shoulder. 'Poor George! To think he's gone, and +missed the fireworks. A little more salt, please, Jerry.'</p> + +<p>"From what we could hear, General Dingo seemed to be kindly +contributing some noise while we feasted. There were guns going +off around town, and pretty soon we heard that cannon go +'BOOM!' just as he said it would. And then men began to skim +along the edge of the plaza, dodging in among the orange trees +and houses. We certainly had things stirred up in Salvador. We +felt proud of the occasion and grateful to General Dingo. +Sterrett was about to take a bite off a juicy piece of rib when +a bullet took it away from his mouth.</p> + +<p>"'Somebody's celebrating with ball cartridges,' says he, +reaching for another piece. 'Little over-zealous for a +non-resident patriot, isn't it?'</p> + +<p>"'Don't mind it,' I says to him. ''Twas an accident. They +happen, you know, on the Fourth. After one reading of the +Declaration of Independence in New York I've known the S. R. O. +sign to be hung out at all the hospitals and police stations.'</p> + +<p>"But then Jerry gives a howl and jumps up with one hand clapped +to the back of his leg where another bullet has acted +over-zealous. And then comes a quantity of yells, and round a +corner and across the plaza gallops General Mary Esperanza +Dingo embracing the neck of his horse, with his men running +behind him, mostly dropping their guns by way of discharging +ballast. And chasing 'em all is a company of feverish little +warriors wearing blue trousers and caps.</p> + +<p>"'Assistance, amigos,' the General shouts, trying to stop his +horse. 'Assistance, in the name of Liberty!'</p> + +<p>"'That's the Compañia Azul, the President's bodyguard,' +says Jones. 'What a shame! They've jumped on poor old Mary just +because he was helping us to celebrate. Come on, boys, it's our +Fourth;—do we let that little squad of A.D.T's break it up?'</p> + +<p>"'I vote No,' says Martin Dillard, gathering his Winchester. +'It's the privilege of an American citizen to drink, drill, +dress up, and be dreadful on the Fourth of July, no matter +whose country he's in.'</p> + +<p>"'Fellow citizens!' says old man Billfinger, 'In the darkest +hour of Freedom's birth, when our brave forefathers promulgated +the principles of undying liberty, they never expected that a +bunch of blue jays like that should be allowed to bust up an +anniversary. Let us preserve and protect the Constitution.'</p> + +<p>"We made it unanimous, and then we gathered our guns and +assaulted the blue troops in force. We fired over their heads, +and then charged 'em with a yell, and they broke and ran. We +were irritated at having our barbecue disturbed, and we chased +'em a quarter of a mile. Some of 'em we caught and kicked hard. +The General rallied his troops and joined in the chase. Finally +they scattered in a thick banana grove, and we couldn't flush a +single one. So we sat down and rested.</p> + +<p>"If I were to be put, severe, through the third degree, I +wouldn't be able to tell much about the rest of the day. I mind +that we pervaded the town considerable, calling upon the people +to bring out more armies for us to destroy. I remember seeing a +crowd somewhere, and a tall man that wasn't Billfinger making a +Fourth of July speech from a balcony. And that was about all.</p> + +<p>"Somebody must have hauled the old ice factory up to where I +was, and put it around me, for there's where I was when I woke +up the next morning. As soon as I could recollect by name and +address I got up and held an inquest. My last cent was gone. I +was all in.</p> + +<p>"And then a neat black carriage drives to the door, and out +steps General Dingo and a bay man in a silk hat and tan shoes.</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' says I to myself, 'I see it now. You're the Chief de +Policeos and High Lord Chamberlain of the Calaboosum; and you +want Billy Casparis for excess of patriotism and assault with +intent. All right. Might as well be in jail, anyhow.'</p> + +<p>"But it seems that General Mary is smiling, and the bay man +shakes my hand, and speaks in the American dialect.</p> + +<p>"'General Dingo has informed me, Señor Casparis, of +your gallant service in our cause. I desire to thank you with my +person. The bravery of you and the other señores Americanos +turned the struggle for liberty in our favour. Our party +triumphed. The terrible battle will live forever in history.</p> + +<p>"'Battle?' says I; 'what battle?' and I ran my mind back along +history, trying to think.</p> + +<p>"'Señor Casparis is modest,' says General Dingo. 'He +led his brave compadres into the thickest of the fearful +conflict. Yes. Without their aid the revolution would have +failed.'</p> + +<p>"'Why, now,' says I, 'don't tell me there was a revolution +yesterday. That was only a Fourth of—'</p> + +<p>"But right there I abbreviated. It seemed to me it might be +best.</p> + +<p>"'After the terrible struggle,' says the bay man, 'President +Bolano was forced to fly. To-day Caballo is President by +proclamation. Ah, yes. Beneath the new administration I am the +head of the Department of Mercantile Concessions. On my file I +find one report, Señor Casparis, that you have not made +ice in accord with your contract.' And here the bay man smiles +at me, 'cute.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, well,' says I, 'I guess the report's straight. I know +they caught me. That's all there is to it.'</p> + +<p>"'Do not say so,' says the bay man. He pulls off a glove and +goes over and lays his hand on that chunk of glass.</p> + +<p>"'Ice,' says he, nodding his head, solemn.</p> + +<p>"General Dingo also steps over and feels of it.</p> + +<p>"'Ice,' says the General; 'I'll swear to it.'</p> + +<p>"'If Señor Casparis,' says the bay man, 'will present +himself to the treasury on the sixth day of this month he will +receive back the thousand dollars he did deposit as a forfeit. +Adios, señor.'</p> + +<p>"The General and the bay man bowed themselves out, and I bowed +as often as they did.</p> + +<p>"And when the carriage rolls away through the sand I bows once +more, deeper than ever, till my hat touches the ground. But +this time 'twas not intended for them. For, over their heads, I +saw the old flag fluttering in the breeze above the consul's +roof; and 'twas to it I made my profoundest salute."</p> + + +<p><a name="14"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>XIV</h3> +<h3>THE EMANCIPATION OF BILLY<br /> </h3> + + +<p>In the old, old, square-porticoed mansion, with the wry +window-shutters and the paint peeling off in discoloured +flakes, lived one of the last of the war governors.</p> + +<p>The South has forgotten the enmity of the great conflict, but +it refuses to abandon its old traditions and idols. In +"Governor" Pemberton, as he was still fondly called, the +inhabitants of Elmville saw the relic of their state's ancient +greatness and glory. In his day he had been a man large in the +eye of his country. His state had pressed upon him every honour +within its gift. And now when he was old, and enjoying a richly +merited repose outside the swift current of public affairs, his +townsmen loved to do him reverence for the sake of the past.</p> + +<p>The Governor's decaying "mansion" stood upon the main street of +Elmville within a few feet of its rickety paling-fence. Every +morning the Governor would descend the steps with extreme care +and deliberation—on account of his rheumatism—and then the +click of his gold-headed cane would be heard as he slowly +proceeded up the rugged brick sidewalk. He was now nearly +seventy-eight, but he had grown old gracefully and beautifully. +His rather long, smooth hair and flowing, parted whiskers were +snow-white. His full-skirted frock-croak was always buttoned +snugly about his tall, spare figure. He wore a high, well-kept +silk hat—known as a "plug" in Elmville—and nearly always +gloves. His manners were punctilious, and somewhat overcharged +with courtesy.</p> + +<p>The Governor's walks up Lee Avenue, the principal street, +developed in their course into a sort of memorial, triumphant +procession. Everyone he met saluted him with profound respect. +Many would remove their hats. Those who were honoured with his +personal friendship would pause to shake hands, and then you +would see exemplified the genuine <i>beau ideal</i> Southern +courtesy.</p> + +<p>Upon reaching the corner of the second square from the mansion, +the Governor would pause. Another street crossed the venue +there, and traffic, to the extent of several farmers' wagons +and a peddler's cart or two, would rage about the junction. +Then the falcon eye of General Deffenbaugh would perceive the +situation, and the General would hasten, with ponderous +solicitude, from his office in the First National Bank building +to the assistance of his old friend.</p> + +<p>When the two exchanged greetings the decay of modern manners +would become accusingly apparent. The General's bulky and +commanding figure would bend lissomely at a point where you +would have regarded its ability to do so with incredulity. The +Governor would take the General's arm and be piloted safely +between the hay-wagons and the sprinkling-cart to the other +side of the street. Proceeding to the post-office in the care +of his friend, the esteemed statesmen would there hold an +informal levee among the citizens who were come for their +morning mail. Here, gathering two or three prominent in law, +politics, or family, the pageant would make a stately progress +along the Avenue, stopping at the Palace Hotel, where, perhaps, +would be found upon the register the name of some guest deemed +worthy of an introduction to the state's venerable and +illustrious son. If any such were found, an hour or two would +be spent in recalling the faded glories of the Governor's +long-vanished administration.</p> + +<p>On the return march the General would invariably suggest that, +His Excellency being no doubt fatigued, it would be wise to +recuperate for a few minutes at the Drug Emporium of Mr. +Appleby R. Fentress (an elegant gentleman, sir—one of the +Chatham County Fentresses—so many of our best-blooded families +have had to go into trade, sir, since the war).</p> + +<p>Mr. Appleby R. Fentress was a <i>connoisseur</i> in fatigue. Indeed, +if he had not been, his memory alone should have enabled him to +prescribe, for the majestic invasion of his pharmacy was a +casual happening that had surprised him almost daily for years. +Mr. Fentress knew the formula of, and possessed the skill to +compound, a certain potion antagonistic to fatigue, the salient +ingredient of which he described (no doubt in pharmaceutical +terms) as "genuine old hand-made Clover Leaf '59, Private +Stock."</p> + +<p>Nor did the ceremony of administering the potion ever vary. Mr. +Fentress would first compound two of the celebrated +mixtures—one for the Governor, and the other for the General +to "sample." Then the Governor would make this little speech in +his high, piping, quavering voice:</p> + +<p>"No, sir—not one drop until you have prepared one for yourself +and join us, Mr. Fentress. Your father, sir, was one of my most +valued supporters and friends during My Administration, and any +mark of esteem I can confer upon his son is not only a pleasure +but a duty, sir."</p> + +<p>Blushing with delight at the royal condescension, the druggist +would obey, and all would drink to the General's toast: "The +prosperity of our grand old state, gentlemen—the memory of her +glorious past—the health of her Favourite Son."</p> + +<p>Some one of the Old Guard was always at hand to escort the +Governor home. Sometimes the General's business duties denied +him the privilege, and then Judge Broomfield or Colonel Titus, +or one of the Ashford County Slaughters would be on hand to +perform the rite.</p> + +<p>Such were the observances attendant upon the Governor's morning +stroll to the post-office. How much more magnificent, +impressive, and spectacular, then, was the scene at public +functions when the General would lead forth the silver-haired +relic of former greatness, like some rare and fragile waxwork +figure, and trumpet his pristine eminence to his fellow +citizens!</p> + +<p>General Deffenbaugh was the Voice of Elmville. Some said he was +Elmville. At any rate, he had no competitor as the Mouthpiece. +He owned enough stock in the <i>Daily Banner</i> to dictate its +utterance, enough shares in the First National Bank to be the +referee of its loans, and a war record that left him without a +rival for first place at barbecues, school commencements, and +Decoration Days. Besides these acquirements he was possessed +with endowments. His personality was inspiring and triumphant. +Undisputed sway had moulded him to the likeness of a fatted +Roman emperor. The tones of his voice were not otherwise than +clarion. To say that the General was public-spirited would fall +short of doing him justice. He had spirit enough for a dozen +publics. And as a sure foundation for it all, he had a heart +that was big and stanch. Yes; General Deffenbaugh was Elmville.</p> + +<p>One little incident that usually occurred during the Governor's +morning walk has had its chronicling delayed by more important +matters. The procession was accustomed to halt before a small +brick office on the Avenue, fronted by a short flight of steep +wooden steps. A modest tin sign over the door bore the words: +"Wm. B. Pemberton: Attorney-at-Law."</p> + +<p>Looking inside, the General would roar: "Hello, Billy, my boy." +The less distinguished members of the escort would call: +"Morning, Billy." The Governor would pipe: "Good morning, +William."</p> + +<p>Then a patient-looking little man with hair turning gray along +the temples would come down the steps and shake hands with each +one of the party. All Elmville shook hands when it met.</p> + +<p>The formalities concluded, the little man would go back to his +table, heaped with law books and papers, while the procession +would proceed.</p> + +<p>Billy Pemberton was, as his sign declared, a lawyer by +profession. By occupation and common consent he was the Son of +his Father. This was the shadow in which Billy lived, the pit +out of which he had unsuccessfully striven for years to climb +and, he had come to believe, the grave in which his ambitions +were destined to be buried. Filial respect and duty he paid +beyond the habit of most sons, but he aspired to be known and +appraised by his own deeds and worth.</p> + +<p>After many years of tireless labour he had become known in +certain quarters far from Elmville as a master of the +principles of the law. Twice he had gone to Washington and +argued cases before the highest tribunal with such acute logic +and learning that the silken gowns on the bench had rustled +from the force of it. His income from his practice had grown +until he was able to support his father, in the old family +mansion (which neither of them would have thought of +abandoning, rickety as it was) in the comfort and almost the +luxury of the old extravagant days. Yet, he remained to +Elmville as only "Billy" Pemberton, the son of our +distinguished and honoured fellow-townsman, "ex-Governor +Pemberton." Thus was he introduced at public gatherings where +he sometimes spoke, haltingly and prosily, for his talents were +too serious and deep for extempore brilliancy; thus was he +presented to strangers and to the lawyers who made the circuit +of the courts; and so the <i>Daily Banner</i> referred to him in +print. To be "the son of" was his doom. What ever he should +accomplish would have to be sacrificed upon the altar of this +magnificent but fatal parental precedence.</p> + +<p>The peculiarity and the saddest thing about Billy's ambition +was that the only world he thirsted to conquer was Elmville. +His nature was diffident and unassuming. National or State +honours might have oppressed him. But, above all things, he +hungered for the appreciation of the friends among whom he had +been born and raised. He would not have plucked one leaf from +the garlands that were so lavishly bestowed upon his father, he +merely rebelled against having his own wreathes woven from +those dried and self-same branches. But Elmville "Billied" and +"sonned" him to his concealed but lasting chagrin, until at +length he grew more reserved and formal and studious than ever.</p> + +<p>There came a morning when Billy found among his mail a letter +from a very high source, tendering him the appointment to an +important judicial position in the new island possessions of +our country. The honour was a distinguished one, for the entire +nation had discussed the probable recipients of these +positions, and had agreed that the situation demanded only men +of the highest character, ripe learning, and evenly balanced +mind.</p> + +<p>Billy could not subdue a certain exultation at this token of +the success of his long and arduous labours, but, at the same +time, a whimsical smile lingered around his mouth, for he +foresaw in which column Elmville would place the credit. "We +congratulate Governor Pemberton upon the mark of appreciation +conferred upon his son"—"Elmville rejoices with our honoured +citizen, Governor Pemberton, at his son's success"—"Put her +there, Billy!"—"Judge Billy Pemberton, sir; son of our State's +war hero and the people's pride!"—these were the phrases, +printed and oral, conjured up by Billy's prophetic fancy. +Grandson of his State, and stepchild to Elmville—thus had fate +fixed his kinship to the body politic.</p> + +<p>Billy lived with his father in the old mansion. The two and an +elderly lady—a distant relative—comprised the family. +Perhaps, though, old Jeff, the Governor's ancient coloured +body-servant, should be included. Without doubt, he could have +claimed the honour. There were other servants, but Thomas +Jefferson Pemberton, sah, was a member of "de fambly."</p> + +<p>Jeff was the one Elmvillian who gave to Billy the gold of +approval unmixed with the alloy of paternalism. To him "Mars +William" was the greatest man in Talbot County. Beaten upon +though he was by the shining light that emanates from an ex-war +governor, and loyal as he remained to the old +<i>régime</i>, his faith and admiration were +Billy's. As valet to a hero, and a member of the family, +he may have had superior opportunities for judging.</p> + +<p>Jeff was the first one to whom Bill revealed the news. When he +reached home for supper Jeff took his "plug" hat and smoothed +it before hanging it upon the hall-rack.</p> + +<p>"Dar now!" said the old man: "I knowed it was er comin'. I +knowed it was gwine ter happen. Er Judge, you says, Mars +William? Dem Yankees done made you er judge? It's high time, +sah, dey was doin' somep'n to make up for dey rascality +endurin' de war. I boun' dey holds a confab and says: 'Le's +make Mars William Pemberton er judge, and dat'll settle it.' +Does you have to go way down to dem Fillypines, Mars William, +or kin you judge 'em from here?"</p> + +<p>"I'd have to live there most of the time, of course," said +Billy.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what de Gubnor gwine say 'bout dat," speculated Jeff.</p> + +<p>Billy wondered too.</p> + +<p>After supper, when the two sat in the library, according to +their habit, the Governor smoking his clay pipe and Billy his +cigar, the son dutifully confessed to having been tendered the +appointment.</p> + +<p>For a long time the Governor sat, smoking, without making any +comment. Billy reclined in his favourite rocker, waiting, +perhaps still flushed with satisfaction over the tender that +had come to him, unsolicited, in his dingy little office, above +the heads of the intriguing, time-serving, clamorous multitude.</p> + +<p>At last the Governor spoke; and, though his words were +seemingly irrelevant, they were to the point. His voice had a +note of martyrdom running through its senile quaver.</p> + +<p>"My rheumatism has been growing steadily worse these past +months, William."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, father," said Billy, gently.</p> + +<p>"And I am nearly seventy-eight. I am getting to be an old man. +I can recall the names of but two or three who were in public +life during My Administration. What did you say is the nature +of this position that is offered you, William?"</p> + +<p>"A Federal Judgeship, father. I believe it is considered to be +a somewhat flattering tender. It is outside of politics and +wire-pulling, you know."</p> + +<p>"No doubt, no doubt. Few of the Pembertons have engaged in +professional life for nearly a century. None of them have ever +held Federal positions. They have been land-holders, +slave-owners, and planters on a large scale. One of two of the +Derwents—your mother's family—were in the law. Have you +decided to accept this appointment, William?"</p> + +<p>"I am thinking it over," said Billy, slowly, regarding the ash +of his cigar.</p> + +<p>"You have been a good son to me," continued the Governor, +stirring his pipe with the handle of a penholder.</p> + +<p>"I've been your son all my life," said Billy, darkly.</p> + +<p>"I am often gratified," piped the Governor, betraying a touch +of complacency, "by being congratulated upon having a son with +such sound and sterling qualities. Especially in this, our +native town, is your name linked with mine in the talk of our +citizens."</p> + +<p>"I never knew anyone to forget the vindculum," murmured Billy, +unintelligibly.</p> + +<p>"Whatever prestige," pursued the parent, "I may be possessed +of, by virtue of my name and services to the state, has been +yours to draw upon freely. I have not hesitated to exert it in +your behalf whenever opportunity offered. And you have deserved +it, William. You've been the best of sons. And now this +appointment comes to take you away from me. I have but a few +years left to live. I am almost dependent upon others now, even +in walking and dressing. What would I do without you, my son?"</p> + +<p>The Governor's pipe dropped to the floor. A tear trickled from +his eye. His voice had risen, and crumbled to a weakling +falsetto, and ceased. He was an old, old man about to be bereft +of a son that cherished him.</p> + +<p>Billy rose, and laid his hand upon the Governor's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry, father," he said, cheerfully. "I'm not going to +accept. Elmville is good enough for me. I'll write to-night and +decline it."</p> + +<p>At the next interchange of devoirs between the Governor and +General Deffenbaugh on Lee Avenue, His Excellency, with a +comfortable air of self-satisfaction, spoke of the appointment +that had been tendered to Billy.</p> + +<p>The General whistled.</p> + +<p>"That's a plum for Billy," he shouted. "Who'd have thought that +Billy—but, confound it, it's been in him all the time. It's a +boost for Elmville. It'll send real estate up. It's an honour +to our state. It's a compliment to the South. We've all been +blind about Billy. When does he leave? We must have a +reception. Great Gatlings! that job's eight thousand a year! +There's been a car-load of lead-pencils worn to stubs figuring +on those appointments. Think of it! Our little, wood-sawing, +mealy-mouthed Billy! Angel unawares doesn't begin to express +it. Elmville is disgraced forever until she lines up in a hurry +for ratification and apology."</p> + +<p>The venerable Moloch smiled fatuously. He carried the fire with +which to consume all these tributes to Billy, the smoke of +which would ascend as an incense to himself.</p> + +<p>"William," said the Governor, with modest pride, "has declined +the appointment. He refuses to leave me in my old age. He is a +good son."</p> + +<p>The General swung round, and laid a large forefinger upon the +bosom of his friend. Much of the General's success had been due +to his dexterity in establishing swift lines of communication +between cause and effect.</p> + +<p>"Governor," he said, with a keen look in his big, ox-like eyes, +"you've been complaining to Billy about your rheumatism."</p> + +<p>"My dear General," replied the Governor, stiffly, "my son is +forty-two. He is quite capable of deciding such questions for +himself. And I, as his parent, feel it my duty to state that +your remark about—er—rheumatism is a mighty poor shot from a +very small bore, sir, aimed at a purely personal and private +affliction."</p> + +<p>"If you will allow me," retorted the General, "you've afflicted +the public with it for some time; and 'twas no small bore, at +that."</p> + +<p>This first tiff between the two old comrades might have grown +into something more serious, but for the fortunate interruption +caused by the ostentatious approach of Colonel Titus and +another one of the court retinue from the right county, to whom +the General confided the coddled statesman and went his way.</p> + +<p>After Billy had so effectually entombed his ambitions, and +taken the veil, so to speak, in a sonnery, he was surprised to +discover how much lighter of heart and happier he felt. He +realized what a long, restless struggle he had maintained, and +how much he had lost by failing to cull the simple but +wholesome pleasures by the way. His heart warmed now to +Elmville and the friends who had refused to set him upon a +pedestal. It was better, he began to think, to be "Billy" and +his father's son, and to be hailed familiarly by cheery +neighbours and grown-up playmates, than to be "Your Honour," +and sit among strangers, hearing, maybe, through the arguments +of learned counsel, that old man's feeble voice crying: "What +would I do without you, my son?"</p> + +<p>Billy began to surprise his acquaintances by whistling as he +walked up the street; others he astounded by slapping them +disrespectfully upon their backs and raking up old anecdotes he +had not had the time to recollect for years. Though he hammered +away at his law cases as thoroughly as ever, he found more time +for relaxation and the company of his friends. Some of the +younger set were actually after him to join the golf club. A +striking proof of his abandonment to obscurity was his adoption +of a most undignified, rakish, little soft hat, reserving the +"plug" for Sundays and state occasions. Billy was beginning to +enjoy Elmville, though that irreverent burgh had neglected to +crown him with bay and myrtle.</p> + +<p>All the while uneventful peace pervaded Elmville. The Governor +continued to make his triumphal parades to the post-office with +the General as chief marshal, for the slight squall that had +rippled their friendship had, to all indications, been +forgotten by both.</p> + +<p>But one day Elmville woke to sudden excitement. The news had +come that a touring presidential party would honour Elmville by +a twenty-minute stop. The Executive had promised a five-minute +address from the balcony of the Palace Hotel.</p> + +<p>Elmville arose as one man—that man being, of course, General +Deffenbaugh—to receive becomingly the chieftain of all the +clans. The train with the tiny Stars and Stripes fluttering +from the engine pilot arrived. Elmville had done her best. +There were bands, flowers, carriages, uniforms, banners, and +committees without end. High-school girls in white frocks +impeded the steps of the party with roses strewn nervously in +bunches. The chieftain had seen it all before—scores of times. +He could have pictured it exactly in advance, from the +Blue-and-Gray speech down to the smallest rosebud. Yet his +kindly smile of interest greeted Elmville's display as if it +had been the only and original.</p> + +<p>In the upper rotunda of the Palace Hotel the town's most +illustrious were assembled for the honour of being presented to +the distinguished guests previous to the expected address. +Outside, Elmville's inglorious but patriotic masses filled the +streets.</p> + +<p>Here, in the hotel General Deffenbaugh was holding in reserve +Elmville's trump card. Elmville knew; for the trump was a fixed +one, and its lead consecrated by archaic custom.</p> + +<p>At the proper moment Governor Pemberton, beautifully venerable, +magnificently antique, tall, paramount, stepped forward upon +the arm of the General.</p> + +<p>Elmville watched and harked with bated breath. Never until +now—when a Northern President of the United States should +clasp hands with ex-war-Governor Pemberton would the breach be +entirely closed—would the country be made one and +indivisible—no North, not much South, very little East, and no +West to speak of. So Elmville excitedly scraped kalsomine from +the walls of the Palace Hotel with its Sunday best, and waited +for the Voice to speak.</p> + +<p>And Billy! We had nearly forgotten Billy. He was cast for Son, +and he waited patiently for his cue. He carried his "plug" in +his hand, and felt serene. He admired his father's striking air +and pose. After all, it was a great deal to be a son of a man +who could so gallantly hold the position of a cynosure for +three generations.</p> + +<p>General Deffenbaugh cleared his throat. Elmville opened its +mouth, and squirmed. The chieftain with the kindly, fateful +face was holding out his hand, smiling. Ex-war-Governor +Pemberton extended his own across the chasm. But what was this +the General was saying?</p> + +<p>"Mr. President, allow me to present to you one who has the +honour to be the father of our foremost, distinguished citizen, +learned and honoured jurist, beloved townsman, and model +Southern gentleman—the Honourable William B. Pemberton."</p> + + +<p><a name="15"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>XV</h3> +<h3>THE ENCHANTED KISS<br /> </h3> + + +<p>But a clerk in the Cut-rate Drug Store was Samuel Tansey, yet +his slender frame was a pad that enfolded the passion of Romeo, +the gloom of Laura, the romance of D'Artagnan, and the +desperate inspiration of Melnotte. Pity, then, that he had been +denied expression, that he was doomed to the burden of utter +timidity and diffidence, that Fate had set him tongue-tied and +scarlet before the muslin-clad angels whom he adored and vainly +longed to rescue, clasp, comfort, and subdue.</p> + +<p>The clock's hands were pointing close upon the hour of ten +while Tansey was playing billiards with a number of his +friends. On alternate evenings he was released from duty at the +store after seven o'clock. Even among his fellow-men Tansey was +timorous and constrained. In his imagination he had done +valiant deeds and performed acts of distinguished gallantry; +but in fact he was a sallow youth of twenty-three, with an +over-modest demeanour and scant vocabulary.</p> + +<p>When the clock struck ten, Tansey hastily laid down his cue and +struck sharply upon the show-case with a coin for the attendant +to come and receive the pay for his score.</p> + +<p>"What's your hurry, Tansey?" called one. "Got another +engagement?"</p> + +<p>"Tansey got an engagement!" echoed another. "Not on your life. +Tansey's got to get home at Motten by her Peek's orders."</p> + +<p>"It's no such thing," chimed in a pale youth, taking a large +cigar from his mouth; "Tansey's afraid to be late because Miss +Katie might come down stairs to unlock the door, and kiss him +in the hall."</p> + +<p>This delicate piece of raillery sent a fiery tingle into +Tansey's blood, for the indictment was true—barring the kiss. +That was a thing to dream of; to wildly hope for; but too +remote and sacred a thing to think of lightly.</p> + +<p>Casting a cold and contemptuous look at the speaker—a +punishment commensurate with his own diffident spirit—Tansey +left the room, descending the stairs into the street.</p> + +<p>For two years he had silently adored Miss Peek, worshipping her +from a spiritual distance through which her attractions took on +stellar brightness and mystery. Mrs. Peek kept a few choice +boarders, among whom was Tansey. The other young men romped +with Katie, chased her with crickets in their fingers, and +"jollied" her with an irreverent freedom that turned Tansey's +heart into cold lead in his bosom. The signs of his adoration +were few—a tremulous "Good morning," stealthy glances at her +during meals, and occasionally (Oh, rapture!) a blushing, +delirious game of cribbage with her in the parlour on some rare +evening when a miraculous lack of engagement kept her at home. +Kiss him in the hall! Aye, he feared it, but it was an ecstatic +fear such as Elijah must have felt when the chariot lifted him +into the unknown.</p> + +<p>But to-night the gibes of his associates had stung him to a +feeling of forward, lawless mutiny; a defiant, challenging, +atavistic recklessness. Spirit of corsair, adventurer, lover, +poet, bohemian, possessed him. The stars he saw above him +seemed no more unattainable, no less high, than the favour of +Miss Peek or the fearsome sweetness of her delectable lips. His +fate seemed to him strangely dramatic and pathetic, and to call +for a solace consonant with its extremity. A saloon was near +by, and to this he flitted, calling for absinthe—beyond doubt +the drink most adequate to his mood—the tipple of the +roué, the abandoned, the vainly sighing lover.</p> + +<p>Once he drank of it, and again, and then again until he felt a +strange, exalted sense of non-participation in worldly affairs +pervade him. Tansey was no drinker; his consumption of three +absinthe anisettes within almost as few minutes proclaimed his +unproficiency in the art; Tansey was merely flooding with +unproven liquor his sorrows; which record and tradition alleged +to be drownable.</p> + +<p>Coming out upon the sidewalk, he snapped his fingers defiantly +in the direction of the Peek homestead, turned the other way, +and voyaged, Columbus-like into the wilds of an enchanted +street. Nor is the figure exorbitant, for, beyond his store the +foot of Tansey had scarcely been set for years—store and +boarding-house; between these ports he was chartered to run, and +contrary currents had rarely deflected his prow.</p> + +<p>Tansey aimlessly protracted his walk, and, whether it was his +unfamiliarity with the district, his recent accession of +audacious errantry, or the sophistical whisper of a certain +green-eyed fairy, he came at last to tread a shuttered, blank, +and echoing thoroughfare, dark and unpeopled. And, suddenly, +this way came to an end (as many streets do in the +Spanish-built, archaic town of San Antone), butting its head +against an imminent, high, brick wall. No—the street still +lived! To the right and to the left it breathed through slender +tubes of exit—narrow, somnolent ravines, cobble paved and +unlighted. Accommodating a rise in the street to the right was +reared a phantom flight of five luminous steps of limestone, +flanked by a wall of the same height and of the same material.</p> + +<p>Upon one of these steps Tansey seated himself and bethought him +of his love, and how she might never know she was his love. And +of Mother Peek, fat, vigilant and kind; not unpleased, Tansey +thought, that he and Katie should play cribbage in the parlour +together. For the Cut-rate had not cut his salary, which, +sordidly speaking, ranked him star boarder at the Peek's. And +he thought of Captain Peek, Katie's father, a man he dreaded +and abhorred; a genteel loafer and spendthrift, battening upon +the labour of his women-folk; a very queer fish, and, according +to repute, not of the freshest.</p> + +<p>The night had turned chill and foggy. The heart of the town, +with its noises, was left behind. Reflected from the high +vapours, its distant lights were manifest in quivering, +cone-shaped streamers, in questionable blushes of unnamed +colours, in unstable, ghostly waves of far, electric flashes. +Now that the darkness was become more friendly, the wall +against which the street splintered developed a stone coping +topped with an armature of spikes. Beyond it loomed what +appeared to be the acute angles of mountain peaks, pierced here +and there by little lambent parallelograms. Considering this +vista, Tansey at length persuaded himself that the seeming +mountains were, in fact, the convent of Santa Mercedes, with +which ancient and bulky pile he was better familiar from +different coigns of view. A pleasant note of singing in his +ears reinforced his opinion. High, sweet, holy carolling, far +and harmonious and uprising, as of sanctified nuns at their +responses. At what hour did the Sisters sing? He tried to +think—was it six, eight, twelve? Tansey leaned his back +against the limestone wall and wondered. Strange things +followed. The air was full of white, fluttering pigeons that +circled about, and settled upon the convent wall. The wall +blossomed with a quantity of shining green eyes that blinked +and peered at him from the solid masonry. A pink, classic nymph +came from an excavation in the cavernous road and danced, +barefoot and airy, upon the ragged flints. The sky was +traversed by a company of beribboned cats, marching in +stupendous, aërial procession. The noise of singing grew +louder; an illumination of unseasonable fireflies danced past, +and strange whispers came out of the dark without meaning or +excuse.</p> + +<p>Without amazement Tansey took note of these phenomena. He was +on some new plane of understanding, though his mind seemed to +him clear and, indeed, happily tranquil.</p> + +<p>A desire for movement and exploration seized him: he rose and +turned into the black gash of street to his right. For a time +the high wall formed one of its boundaries; but further on, two +rows of black-windowed houses closed it in.</p> + +<p>Here was the city's quarter once given over to the Spaniard. +Here were still his forbidding abodes of concrete and adobe, +standing cold and indomitable against the century. From the +murky fissure, the eye saw, flung against the sky, the tangled +filigree of his Moorish balconies. Through stone archways +breaths of dead, vault-chilled air coughed upon him; his feet +struck jingling iron rings in staples stone-buried for half a +cycle. Along these paltry avenues had swaggered the arrogant +Don, had caracoled and serenaded and blustered while the +tomahawk and the pioneer's rifle were already uplifted to expel +him from a continent. And Tansey, stumbling through this +old-world dust, looked up, dark as it was, and saw Andalusian +beauties glimmering on the balconies. Some of them were +laughing and listening to the goblin music that still followed; +others harked fearfully through the night, trying to catch the +hoof beats of caballeros whose last echoes from those stones +had died away a century ago. Those women were silent, but +Tansey heard the jangle of horseless bridle-bits, the whirr of +riderless rowels, and, now and then, a muttered malediction in +a foreign tongue. But he was not frightened. Shadows, nor +shadows of sounds could daunt him. Afraid? No. Afraid of Mother +Peek? Afraid to face the girl of his heart? Afraid of tipsy +Captain Peek? Nay! nor of these apparitions, nor of that +spectral singing that always pursued him. Singing! He would +show them! He lifted up a strong and untuneful +voice:<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">"When you hear them bells go +tingalingling,"<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + +<p class="noindent">serving notice upon those mysterious +agencies that if it should come to a face-to-face +encounter<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote> +<p class="noindent">"There'll be a hot time<br /> + In the old town<br /> + To-night!"<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>How long Tansey consumed in treading this haunted byway was not +clear to him, but in time he emerged into a more commodious +avenue. When within a few yards of the corner he perceived, +through a window, that a small confectionary of mean appearance +was set in the angle. His same glance that estimated its meagre +equipment, its cheap soda-water fountain and stock of tobacco +and sweets, took cognizance of Captain Peek within lighting a +cigar at a swinging gaslight.</p> + +<p>As Tansey rounded the corner Captain Peek came out, and they +met <i>vis-a-vis</i>. An exultant joy filled Tansey when he found +himself sustaining the encounter with implicit courage. Peek, +indeed! He raised his hand, and snapped his fingers loudly.</p> + +<p>It was Peek himself who quailed guiltily before the valiant +mien of the drug clerk. Sharp surprise and a palpable fear +bourgeoned upon the Captain's face. And, verily, that face was +one to rather call up such expressions on the faces of others. +The face of a libidinous heathen idol, small eyed, with carven +folds in the heavy jowls, and a consuming, pagan license in its +expression. In the gutter just beyond the store Tansey saw a +closed carriage standing with its back toward him and a +motionless driver perched in his place.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's Tansey!" exclaimed Captain Peek. "How are you, +Tansey? H-have a cigar, Tansey?"</p> + +<p>"Why, it's Peek!" cried Tansey, jubilant at his own temerity. +"What deviltry are you up to now, Peek? Back streets and a +closed carriage! Fie! Peek!"</p> + +<p>"There's no one in the carriage," said the Captain, smoothly.</p> + +<p>"Everybody out of it is in luck," continued Tansey, +aggressively. "I'd love for you to know, Peek, that I'm not +stuck on you. You're a bottle-nosed scoundrel."</p> + +<p>"Why, the little rat's drunk!" cried the Captain, joyfully; +"only drunk, and I thought he was on! Go home, Tansey, and quit +bothering grown persons on the street."</p> + +<p>But just then a white-clad figure sprang out of the carriage, +and a shrill voice—Katie's voice—sliced the air: "Sam! +Sam!—help me, Sam!"</p> + +<p>Tansey sprung toward her, but Captain Peek interposed his bulky +form. Wonder of wonders! the whilom spiritless youth struck out +with his right, and the hulking Captain went over in a swearing +heap. Tansey flew to Katie, and took her in his arms like a +conquering knight. She raised her face, and he kissed +her—violets! electricity! caramels! champagne! Here was the +attainment of a dream that brought no disenchantment.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sam," cried Katie, when she could, "I knew you would come +to rescue me. What do you suppose the mean things were going to +do with me?"</p> + +<p>"Have your picture taken," said Tansey, wondering at the +foolishness of his remark.</p> + +<p>"No, they were going to eat me. I heard them talking about it."</p> + +<p>"Eat you!" said Tansey, after pondering a moment. "That can't +be; there's no plates."</p> + +<p>But a sudden noise warned him to turn. Down upon him were +bearing the Captain and a monstrous long-bearded dwarf in a +spangled cloak and red trunk-hose. The dwarf leaped twenty feet +and clutched them. The Captain seized Katie and hurled her, +shrieking, back into the carriage, himself followed, and the +vehicle dashed away. The dwarf lifted Tansey high above his +head and ran with him into the store. Holding him with one +hand, he raised the lid of an enormous chest half filled with +cakes of ice, flung Tansey inside, and closed down the cover.</p> + +<p>The force of the fall must have been great, for Tansey lost +consciousness. When his faculties revived his first sensation +was one of severe cold along his back and limbs. Opening his +eyes, he found himself to be seated upon the limestone steps +still facing the wall and convent of Santa Mercedes. His first +thought was of the ecstatic kiss from Katie. The outrageous +villainy of Captain Peek, the unnatural mystery of the +situation, his preposterous conflict with the improbable +dwarf—these things roused and angered him, but left no +impression of the unreal.</p> + +<p>"I'll go back there to-morrow," he grumbled aloud, "and knock +the head off that comic-opera squab. Running out and picking up +perfect strangers, and shoving them into cold storage!"</p> + +<p>But the kiss remained uppermost in his mind. "I might have done +that long ago," he mused. "She liked it, too. She called me +'Sam' four times. I'll not go up that street again. Too much +scrapping. Guess I'll move down the other way. Wonder what she +meant by saying they were going to eat her!"</p> + +<p>Tansey began to feel sleepy, but after a while he decided to +move along again. This time he ventured into the street to his +left. It ran level for a distance, and then dipped gently +downward, opening into a vast, dim, barren space—the old +Military Plaza. To his left, some hundred yards distant, he saw +a cluster of flickering lights along the Plaza's border. He +knew the locality at once.</p> + +<p>Huddled within narrow confines were the remnants of the +once-famous purveyors of the celebrated Mexican national +cookery. A few years before, their nightly encampments upon the +historic Alamo Plaza, in the heart of the city, had been a +carnival, a saturnalia that was renowned throughout the land. +Then the caterers numbered hundreds; the patrons thousands. +Drawn by the coquettish <i>señoritas</i>, the music of the +weird Spanish minstrels, and the strange piquant Mexican dishes +served at a hundred competing tables, crowds thronged the Alamo +Plaza all night. Travellers, rancheros, family parties, gay +gasconading rounders, sightseers and prowlers of polyglot, +owlish San Antone mingled there at the centre of the city's fun +and frolic. The popping of corks, pistols, and questions; the +glitter of eyes, jewels and daggers; the ring of laughter and +coin—these were the order of the night.</p> + +<p>But now no longer. To some half-dozen tents, fires, and tables +had dwindled the picturesque festival, and these had been +relegated to an ancient disused plaza.</p> + +<p>Often had Tansey strolled down to these stands at night to +partake of the delectable <i>chili-con-carne</i>, a dish evolved by +the genius of Mexico, composed of delicate meats minced with +aromatic herbs and the poignant <i>chili colorado</i>—a compound +full of singular flavour and a fiery zest delightful to the +Southron's palate.</p> + +<p>The titillating odour of this concoction came now, on the +breeze, to the nostrils of Tansey, awakening in him hunger for +it. As he turned in that direction he saw a carriage dash up to +the Mexicans' tents out of the gloom of the Plaza. Some figures +moved back and forward in the uncertain light of the lanterns, +and then the carriage was driven swiftly away.</p> + +<p>Tansey approached, and sat at one of the tables covered with +gaudy oil-cloth. Traffic was dull at the moment. A few +half-grown boys noisily fared at another table; the Mexicans +hung listless and phlegmatic about their wares. And it was +still. The night hum of the city crowded to the wall of dark +buildings surrounding the Plaza, and subsided to an indefinite +buzz through which sharply perforated the crackle of the +languid fires and the rattle of fork and spoon. A sedative wind +blew from the southeast. The starless firmament pressed down +upon the earth like a leaden cover.</p> + +<p>In all that quiet Tansey turned his head suddenly, and saw, +without disquietude, a troop of spectral horsemen deploy into +the Plaza and charge a luminous line of infantry that advanced +to sustain the shock. He saw the fierce flame of cannon and +small arms, but heard no sound. The careless victuallers +lounged vacantly, not deigning to view the conflict. Tansey +mildly wondered to what nations these mute combatants might +belong; turned his back to them and ordered his chili and +coffee from the Mexican woman who advanced to serve him. This +woman was old and careworn; her face was lined like the rind of +a cantaloupe. She fetched the viands from a vessel set by the +smouldering fire, and then retired to a tent, dark within, that +stood near by.</p> + +<p>Presently Tansey heard a turmoil in the tent; a wailing, +broken-hearted pleading in the harmonious Spanish tongue, and +then two figures tumbled out into the light of the lanterns. +One was the old woman; the other was a man clothed with a +sumptuous and flashing splendour. The woman seemed to clutch +and beseech from him something against his will. The man broke +from her and struck her brutally back into the tent, where she +lay, whimpering and invisible. Observing Tansey, he walked +rapidly to the table where he sat. Tansey recognized him to be +Ramon Torres, a Mexican, the proprietor of the stand he was +patronizing.</p> + +<p>Torres was a handsome, nearly full-blooded descendant of the +Spanish, seemingly about thirty years of age, and of a haughty, +but extremely courteous demeanour. To-night he was dressed with +signal magnificence. His costume was that of a triumphant +<i>matador</i>, made of purple velvet almost hidden by jeweled +embroidery. Diamonds of enormous size flashed upon his garb and +his hands. He reached for a chair, and, seating himself at the +opposite side of the table, began to roll a finical cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Meester Tansee," he said, with a sultry fire in his silky, +black eyes, "I give myself pleasure to see you this evening. +Meester Tansee, you have many times come to eat at my table. I +theenk you a safe man—a verree good friend. How much would it +please you to leeve forever?"</p> + +<p>"Not come back any more?" inquired Tansey.</p> + +<p>"No; not leave—<i>leeve</i>; the not-to-die."</p> + +<p>"I would call that," said Tansey, "a snap."</p> + +<p>Torres leaned his elbows upon the table, swallowed a mouthful +of smoke, and spake—each word being projected in a little puff +of gray.</p> + +<p>"How old do you theenk I am, Meester Tansee?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, twenty-eight or thirty."</p> + +<p>"Thees day," said the Mexican, "ees my birthday. I am four +hundred and three years of old to-day."</p> + +<p>"Another proof," said Tansey, airily, "of the healthfulness of +our climate."</p> + +<p>"Eet is not the air. I am to relate to you a secret of verree +fine value. Listen me, Meester Tansee. At the age of +twenty-three I arrive in Mexico from Spain. When? In the year +fifteen hundred nineteen, with the <i>soldados</i> of Hernando +Cortez. I come to thees country seventeen fifteen. I saw your +Alamo reduced. It was like yesterday to me. Three hundred +ninety-six year ago I learn the secret always to leeve. Look at +these clothes I war—at these <i>diamantes</i>. Do you theenk I buy +them with the money I make with selling the <i>chili-con-carne</i>, +Meester Tansee?"</p> + +<p>"I should think not," said Tansey, promptly. Torres laughed +loudly.</p> + +<p>"<i>Valgame Dios!</i> but I do. But it not the kind you eating now. +I make a deeferent kind, the eating of which makes men to +always leeve. What do you think! One thousand people I +supply—<i>diez pesos</i> each one pays me the month. You see! ten +thousand <i>pesos</i> everee month! <i>Que diable!</i> how not I wear the +fine <i>ropa</i>! You see that old woman try to hold me back a +little while ago? That ees my wife. When I marry her she is +young—seventeen year—<i>bonita</i>. Like the rest she ees become +old and—what you say!—tough? I am the same—young all the +time. To-night I resolve to dress myself and find another wife +befitting my age. This old woman try to scr-r-ratch my face. +Ha! ha! Meester Tansee—same way they do <i>entre los +Americanos</i>."</p> + +<p>"And this health-food you spoke of?" said Tansey.</p> + +<p>"Hear me," said Torres, leaning over the table until he lay +flat upon it; "eet is the <i>chili-con-carne</i> made not from the +beef or the chicken, but from the flesh of the +<i>señorita</i>—young and tender. That ees the secret. +Everee month you must eat of it, having care to do so +before the moon is full, and you will not die any times. +See how I trust you, friend Tansee! To-night I have bought +one young ladee—verree pretty—so <i>fina, gorda, +blandita!</i> To-morrow the <i>chili</i> will be ready. +<i>Ahora si!</i> One thousand dollars I pay for thees +young ladee. From an <i>Americano</i> I have bought—a verree +tip-top man—<i>el Capitan Peek</i>—<i>que es, +Señor?</i>"</p> + +<p>For Tansey had sprung to his feet, upsetting the chair. The +words of Katie reverberated in his ears: "They're going to eat +me, Sam." This, then, was the monstrous fate to which she had +been delivered by her unnatural parent. The carriage he had +seen drive up from the Plaza was Captain Peek's. Where was +Katie? Perhaps already—</p> + +<p>Before he could decide what to do a loud scream came from the +tent. The old Mexican woman ran out, a flashing knife in her +hand. "I have released her," she cried. "You shall kill no +more. They will hang you—<i>ingrato</i>—<i>encatador!</i>"</p> + +<p>Torres, with a hissing exclamation, sprang at her.</p> + +<p>"Ramoncito!" she shrieked; "once you loved me."</p> + +<p>The Mexican's arm raised and descended. "You are old," he +cried; and she fell and lay motionless.</p> + +<p>Another scream; the flaps of the tent were flung aside, and +there stood Katie, white with fear, her wrists still bound with +a cruel cord.</p> + +<p>"Sam!" she cried, "save me again!"</p> + +<p>Tansey rounded the table, and flung himself, with superb nerve, +upon the Mexican. Just then a clangour began; the clocks of the +city were tolling the midnight hour. Tansey clutched at Torres, +and, for a moment, felt in his grasp the crunch of velvet and +the cold facets of the glittering gems. The next instant, the +bedecked caballero turned in his hands to a shrunken, +leather-visaged, white-bearded, old, old, screaming mummy, +sandalled, ragged, and four hundred and three. The Mexican +woman was crawling to her feet, and laughing. She shook her +brown hand in the face of the whining <i>viejo</i>.</p> + +<p>"Go, now," she cried, "and seek your señorita. It was I, +Ramoncito, who brought you to this. Within each moon you eat of +the life-giving <i>chili</i>. It was I that kept the wrong time for +you. You should have eaten <i>yesterday</i> instead of <i>to-morrow</i>. +It is too late. Off with you, <i>hombre</i>! You are too old for +me!"</p> + +<p>"This," decided Tansey, releasing his hold of the gray-beard, +"is a private family matter concerning age, and no business of +mine."</p> + +<p>With one of the table knives he hastened to saw asunder the +fetters of the fair captive; and then, for the second time that +night he kissed Katie Peek—tasted again the sweetness, the +wonder, the thrill of it, attained once more the maximum of his +incessant dreams.</p> + +<p>The next instant an icy blade was driven deep between his +shoulders; he felt his blood slowly congeal; heard the senile +cackle of the perennial Spaniard; saw the Plaza rise and reel +till the zenith crashed into the horizon—and knew no more.</p> + +<p>When Tansey opened his eyes again he was sitting upon those +self-same steps gazing upon the dark bulk of the sleeping +convent. In the middle of his back was still the acute, +chilling pain. How had he been conveyed back there again? He +got stiffly to his feet and stretched his cramped limbs. +Supporting himself against the stonework he revolved in his +mind the extravagant adventures that had befallen him each time +he had strayed from the steps that night. In reviewing them +certain features strained his credulity. Had he really met +Captain Peek or Katie or the unparalleled Mexican in his +wanderings—had he really encountered them under commonplace +conditions and his over-stimulated brain had supplied the +incongruities? However that might be, a sudden, elating thought +caused him an intense joy. Nearly all of us have, at some point +in our lives—either to excuse our own stupidity or to placate +our consciences—promulgated some theory of fatalism. We have +set up an intelligent Fate that works by codes and signals. +Tansey had done likewise; and now he read, through the night's +incidents, the finger-prints of destiny. Each excursion that he +had made had led to the one paramount finale—to Katie and that +kiss, which survived and grew strong and intoxicating in his +memory. Clearly, Fate was holding up to him the mirror that +night, calling him to observe what awaited him at the end of +whichever road he might take. He immediately turned, and +hurried homeward.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Clothed in an elaborate, pale blue wrapper, cut to fit, Miss +Katie Peek reclined in an armchair before a waning fire in her +room. Her little, bare feet were thrust into house-shoes rimmed +with swan's down. By the light of a small lamp she was +attacking the society news of the latest Sunday paper. Some +happy substance, seemingly indestructible, was being +rhythmically crushed between her small white teeth. Miss Katie +read of functions and furbelows, but she kept a vigilant ear +for outside sounds and a frequent eye upon the clock over the +mantel. At every footstep upon the asphalt sidewalk her smooth, +round chin would cease for a moment its regular rise and fall, +and a frown of listening would pucker her pretty brows.</p> + +<p>At last she heard the latch of the iron gate click. She sprang +up, tripped softly to the mirror, where she made a few of those +feminine, flickering passes at her front hair and throat which +are warranted to hypnotize the approaching guest.</p> + +<p>The door-bell rang. Miss Katie, in her haste, turned the blaze +of the lamp lower instead of higher, and hastened noiselessly +down stairs into the hall. She turned the key, the door opened, +and Mr. Tansey side-stepped in.</p> + +<p>"Why, the i-de-a!" exclaimed Miss Katie, "is this you, Mr. +Tansey? It's after midnight. Aren't you ashamed to wake me up +at such an hour to let you in? You're just <i>awful</i>!"</p> + +<p>"I was late," said Tansey, brilliantly.</p> + +<p>"I should think you were! Ma was awfully worried about you. +When you weren't in by ten, that hateful Tom McGill said you +were out calling on another—said you were out calling on some +young lady. I just despise Mr. McGill. Well, I'm not going to +scold you any more, Mr. Tansey, if it <i>is</i> a little late—Oh! I +turned it the wrong way!"</p> + +<p>Miss Katie gave a little scream. Absent-mindedly she had turned +the blaze of the lamp entirely out instead of higher. It was +very dark.</p> + +<p>Tansey heard a musical, soft giggle, and breathed an entrancing +odour of heliotrope. A groping light hand touched his arm.</p> + +<p>"How awkward I was! Can you find your way—Sam?"</p> + +<p>"I—I think I have a match, Miss K-Katie."</p> + +<p>A scratching sound; a flame; a glow of light held at arm's +length by the recreant follower of Destiny illuminating a +tableau which shall end the ignominious chronicle—a maid with +unkissed, curling, contemptuous lips slowly lifting the lamp +chimney and allowing the wick to ignite; then waving a scornful +and abjuring hand toward the staircase—the unhappy Tansey, +erstwhile champion in the prophetic lists of fortune, +ingloriously ascending to his just and certain doom, while (let +us imagine) half within the wings stands the imminent figure of +Fate jerking wildly at the wrong strings, and mixing things up +in her usual able manner.</p> + + +<p><a name="16"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>XVI</h3> +<h3>A DEPARTMENTAL CASE<br /> </h3> + + +<p>In Texas you may travel a thousand miles in a straight line. If +your course is a crooked one, it is likely that both the +distance and your rate of speed may be vastly increased. Clouds +there sail serenely against the wind. The whip-poor-will +delivers its disconsolate cry with the notes exactly reversed +from those of his Northern brother. Given a drought and a +subsequently lively rain, and lo! from a glazed and stony soil +will spring in a single night blossomed lilies, miraculously +fair. Tom Green County was once the standard of measurement. I +have forgotten how many New Jerseys and Rhode Islands it was +that could have been stowed away and lost in its chaparral. But +the legislative axe has slashed Tom Green into a handful of +counties hardly larger than European kingdoms. The legislature +convenes at Austin, near the centre of the state; and, while +the representative from the Rio Grande country is gathering his +palm-leaf fan and his linen duster to set out for the capital, +the Pan-handle solon winds his muffler above his well-buttoned +overcoat and kicks the snow from his well-greased boots ready +for the same journey. All this merely to hint that the big +ex-republic of the Southwest forms a sizable star on the flag, +and to prepare for the corollary that things sometimes happen +there uncut to pattern and unfettered by metes and bounds.</p> + +<p>The Commissioner of Insurance, Statistics, and History of the +State of Texas was an official of no very great or very small +importance. The past tense is used, for now he is Commissioner +of Insurance alone. Statistics and history are no longer proper +nouns in the government records.</p> + +<p>In the year 188––, the governor +appointed Luke Coonrod Standifer +to be the head of this department. Standifer was then +fifty-five years of age, and a Texan to the core. His father +had been one of the state's earliest settlers and pioneers. +Standifer himself had served the commonwealth as Indian +fighter, soldier, ranger, and legislator. Much learning he did +not claim, but he had drank pretty deep of the spring of +experience.</p> + +<p>If other grounds were less abundant, Texas should be well up in +the lists of glory as the grateful republic. For both as +republic and state, it has busily heaped honours and solid +rewards upon its sons who rescued it from the wilderness.</p> + +<p>Wherefore and therefore, Luke Coonrod Standifer, son of Ezra +Standifer, ex-Terry ranger, simon-pure democrat, and lucky +dweller in an unrepresented portion of the +politico-geographical map, was appointed Commissioner of +Insurance, Statistics, and History.</p> + +<p>Standifer accepted the honour with some doubt as to the nature +of the office he was to fill and his capacity for filling +it—but he accepted, and by wire. He immediately set out from +the little country town where he maintained (and was scarcely +maintained by) a somnolent and unfruitful office of surveying +and map-drawing. Before departing, he had looked up under the +I's, S's and H's in the "Encyclopædia Britannica" what +information and preparation toward his official duties that +those weighty volumes afforded.</p> + +<p>A few weeks of incumbency diminished the new commissioner's awe +of the great and important office he had been called upon to +conduct. An increasing familiarity with its workings soon +restored him to his accustomed placid course of life. In his +office was an old, spectacled clerk—a consecrated, informed, +able machine, who held his desk regardless of changes of +administrative heads. Old Kauffman instructed his new chief +gradually in the knowledge of the department without seeming to +do so, and kept the wheels revolving without the slip of a cog.</p> + +<p>Indeed, the Department of Insurance, Statistics, and History +carried no great heft of the burden of state. Its main work was +the regulating of the business done in the state by foreign +insurance companies, and the letter of the law was its guide. +As for statistics—well, you wrote letters to county officers, +and scissored other people's reports, and each year you got out +a report of your own about the corn crop and the cotton crop +and pecans and pigs and black and white population, and a great +many columns of figures headed "bushels" and "acres" and +"square miles," etc.—and there you were. History? The branch +was purely a receptive one. Old ladies interested in the +science bothered you some with long reports of proceedings of +their historical societies. Some twenty or thirty people would +write you each year that they had secured Sam Houston's +pocket-knife or Santa Ana's whisky-flask or Davy Crockett's +rifle—all absolutely authenticated—and demanded legislative +appropriation to purchase. Most of the work in the history +branch went into pigeon-holes.</p> + +<p>One sizzling August afternoon the commissioner reclined in his +office chair, with his feet upon the long, official table +covered with green billiard cloth. The commissioner was smoking +a cigar, and dreamily regarding the quivering landscape framed +by the window that looked upon the treeless capitol grounds. +Perhaps he was thinking of the rough and ready life he had led, +of the old days of breathless adventure and movement, of the +comrades who now trod other paths or had ceased to tread any, +of the changes civilization and peace had brought, and, maybe, +complacently, of the snug and comfortable camp pitched for him +under the dome of the capitol of the state that had not +forgotten his services.</p> + +<p>The business of the department was lax. Insurance was easy. +Statistics were not in demand. History was dead. Old Kauffman, +the efficient and perpetual clerk, had requested an infrequent +half-holiday, incited to the unusual dissipation by the joy of +having successfully twisted the tail of a Connecticut insurance +company that was trying to do business contrary to the edicts +of the great Lone Star State.</p> + +<p>The office was very still. A few subdued noises trickled in +through the open door from the other departments—a dull +tinkling crash from the treasurer's office adjoining, as a +clerk tossed a bag of silver to the floor of the vault—the +vague, intermittent clatter of a dilatory typewriter—a dull +tapping from the state geologist's quarters as if some +woodpecker had flown in to bore for his prey in the cool of the +massive building—and then a faint rustle and the light +shuffling of the well-worn shoes along the hall, the sounds +ceasing at the door toward which the commissioner's lethargic +back was presented. Following this, the sound of a gentle voice +speaking words unintelligible to the commissioner's somewhat +dormant comprehension, but giving evidence of bewilderment and +hesitation.</p> + +<p>The voice was feminine; the commissioner was of the race of +cavaliers who make salaam before the trail of a skirt without +considering the quality of its cloth.</p> + +<p>There stood in the door a faded woman, one of the numerous +sisterhood of the unhappy. She was dressed all in +black—poverty's perpetual mourning for lost joys. Her face had +the contours of twenty and the lines of forty. She may have +lived that intervening score of years in a twelve-month. There +was about her yet an aurum of indignant, unappeased, protesting +youth that shone faintly through the premature veil of unearned +decline.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, ma'am," said the commissioner, gaining his +feet to the accompaniment of a great creaking and sliding of +his chair.</p> + +<p>"Are you the governor, sir?" asked the vision of melancholy.</p> + +<p>The commissioner hesitated at the end of his best bow, with his +hand in the bosom of his double-breasted "frock." Truth at last +conquered.</p> + +<p>"Well, no, ma'am. I am not the governor. I have the honour to +be Commissioner of Insurance, Statistics, and History. Is there +anything, ma'am, I can do for you? Won't you have a chair, +ma'am?"</p> + +<p>The lady subsided into the chair handed her, probably from +purely physical reasons. She wielded a cheap fan—last token of +gentility to be abandoned. Her clothing seemed to indicate a +reduction almost to extreme poverty. She looked at the man who +was not the governor, and saw kindliness and simplicity and a +rugged, unadorned courtliness emanating from a countenance +tanned and toughened by forty years of outdoor life. Also, she +saw that his eyes were clear and strong and blue. Just so they +had been when he used them to skim the horizon for raiding +Kiowas and Sioux. His mouth was as set and firm as it had been +on that day when he bearded the old Lion Sam Houston himself, +and defied him during that season when secession was the theme. +Now, in bearing and dress, Luke Coonrod Sandifer endeavoured to +do credit to the important arts and sciences of Insurance, +Statistics, and History. He had abandoned the careless dress of +his country home. Now, his broad-brimmed black slouch hat, and +his long-tailed "frock" made him not the least imposing of the +official family, even if his office was reckoned to stand at +the tail of the list.</p> + +<p>"You wanted to see the governor, ma'am?" asked the +commissioner, with a deferential manner he always used toward +the fair sex.</p> + +<p>"I hardly know," said the lady, hesitatingly. "I suppose so." +And then, suddenly drawn by the sympathetic look of the other, +she poured forth the story of her need.</p> + +<p>It was a story so common that the public has come to look at +its monotony instead of its pity. The old tale of an unhappy +married life—made so by a brutal, conscienceless husband, a +robber, a spendthrift, a moral coward and a bully, who failed +to provide even the means of the barest existence. Yes, he had +come down in the scale so low as to strike her. It happened +only the day before—there was the bruise on one temple—she +had offended his highness by asking for a little money to live +on. And yet she must needs, woman-like, append a plea for her +tyrant—he was drinking; he had rarely abused her thus when +sober.</p> + +<p>"I thought," mourned this pale sister of sorrow, "that maybe +the state might be willing to give me some relief. I've heard +of such things being done for the families of old settlers. +I've heard tell that the state used to give land to the men who +fought for it against Mexico, and settled up the country, and +helped drive out the Indians. My father did all of that, and he +never received anything. He never would take it. I thought the +governor would be the one to see, and that's why I came. If +father was entitled to anything, they might let it come to me."</p> + +<p>"It's possible, ma'am," said Standifer, "that such might be the +case. But 'most all the veterans and settlers got their land +certificates issued, and located long ago. Still, we can look +that up in the land office, and be sure. Your father's name, +now, was—"</p> + +<p>"Amos Colvin, sir."</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" exclaimed Standifer, rising and unbuttoning his +tight coat, excitedly. "Are you Amos Colvin's daughter? Why, +ma'am, Amos Colvin and me were thicker than two hoss thieves +for more than ten years! We fought Kiowas, drove cattle, and +rangered side by side nearly all over Texas. I remember seeing +you once before, now. You were a kid, about seven, a-riding a +little yellow pony up and down. Amos and me stopped at your +home for a little grub when we were trailing that band of +Mexican cattle thieves down through Karnes and Bee. Great +tarantulas! and you're Amos Colvin's little girl! Did you ever +hear your father mention Luke Standifer—just kind of +casually—as if he'd met me once or twice?"</p> + +<p>A little pale smile flitted across the lady's white face.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me," she said, "that I don't remember hearing him +talk about much else. Every day there was some story he had to +tell about what he and you had done. Mighty near the last thing +I heard him tell was about the time when the Indians wounded +him, and you crawled out to him through the grass, with a +canteen of water, while they—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—well—oh, that wasn't anything," said Standifer, +"hemming" loudly and buttoning his coat again, briskly. "And +now, ma'am, who was the infernal skunk—I beg your pardon, +ma'am—who was the gentleman you married?"</p> + +<p>"Benton Sharp."</p> + +<p>The commissioner plumped down again into his chair, with a +groan. This gentle, sad little woman, in the rusty black gown, +the daughter of his oldest friend, the wife of Benton Sharp! +Benton Sharp, one of the most noted "bad" men in that part of +the state—a man who had been a cattle thief, an outlaw, a +desperado, and was now a gambler, a swaggering bully, who plied +his trade in the larger frontier towns, relying upon his record +and the quickness of his gun play to maintain his supremacy. +Seldom did any one take the risk of going "up against" Benton +Sharp. Even the law officers were content to let him make his +own terms of peace. Sharp was a ready and an accurate shot, and +as lucky as a brand-new penny at coming clear from his scrapes. +Standifer wondered how this pillaging eagle ever came to be +mated with Amos Colvin's little dove, and expressed his wonder.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sharp sighed.</p> + +<p>"You see, Mr. Standifer, we didn't know anything about him, and +he can be very pleasant and kind when he wants to. We lived +down in the little town of Goliad. Benton came riding down that +way, and stopped there a while. I reckon I was some better +looking then than I am now. He was good to me for a whole year +after we were married. He insured his life for me for five +thousand dollars. But for the last six months he has done +everything but kill me. I often wish he had done that, too. He +got out of money for a while, and abused me shamefully for not +having anything he could spend. Then father died, and left me +the little home in Goliad. My husband made me sell that, and +turned me out into the world. I've barely been able to live, +for I'm not strong enough to work. Lately, I heard he was +making money in San Antonio, so I went there, and found him, +and asked for a little help. This," touching the livid bruise +on her temple, "is what he gave me. So I came on to Austin to +see the governor. I once heard father say that there was some +land, or a pension, coming to him from the state that he never +would ask for."</p> + +<p>Luke Standifer rose to his feet, and pushed his chair back. He +looked rather perplexedly around the big office, with its +handsome furniture.</p> + +<p>"It's a long trail to follow," he said, slowly, "trying to get +back dues from the government. There's red tape and lawyers and +rulings and evidence and courts to keep you waiting. I'm not +certain," continued the commissioner, with a profoundly +meditative frown, "whether this department that I'm the boss of +has any jurisdiction or not. It's only Insurance, Statistics, +and History, ma'am, and it don't sound as if it would cover the +case. But sometimes a saddle blanket can be made to stretch. +You keep your seat, just for a few minutes, ma'am, till I step +into the next room and see about it."</p> + +<p>The state treasurer was seated within his massive, complicated +railings, reading a newspaper. Business for the day was about +over. The clerks lolled at their desks, awaiting the closing +hour. The Commissioner of Insurance, Statistics, and History +entered, and leaned in at the window.</p> + +<p>The treasurer, a little, brisk old man, with snow-white +moustache and beard, jumped up youthfully and came forward to +greet Standifer. They were friends of old.</p> + +<p>"Uncle Frank," said the commissioner, using the familiar name +by which the historic treasurer was addressed by every Texan, +"how much money have you got on hand?"</p> + +<p>The treasurer named the sum of the last balance down to the odd +cents—something more than a million dollars.</p> + +<p>The commissioner whistled lowly, and his eyes grew hopefully +bright.</p> + +<p>"You know, or else you've heard of, Amos Colvin, Uncle Frank?"</p> + +<p>"Knew him well," said the treasurer, promptly. "A good man. A +valuable citizen. One of the first settlers in the Southwest."</p> + +<p>"His daughter," said Standifer, "is sitting in my office. She's +penniless. She's married to Benton Sharp, a coyote and a +murderer. He's reduced her to want, and broken her heart. Her +father helped build up this state, and it's the state's turn to +help his child. A couple of thousand dollars will buy back her +home and let her live in peace. The State of Texas can't afford +to refuse it. Give me the money, Uncle Frank, and I'll give it +to her right away. We'll fix up the red-tape business +afterward."</p> + +<p>The treasurer looked a little bewildered.</p> + +<p>"Why, Standifer," he said, "you know I can't pay a cent out of +the treasury without a warrant from the comptroller. I can't +disburse a dollar without a voucher to show for it."</p> + +<p>The commissioner betrayed a slight impatience.</p> + +<p>"I'll give you a voucher," he declared. "What's this job +they've given me for? Am I just a knot on a mesquite stump? +Can't my office stand for it? Charge it up to Insurance and the +other two sideshows. Don't Statistics show that Amos Colvin +came to this state when it was in the hands of Greasers and +rattlesnakes and Comanches, and fought day and night to make a +white man's country of it? Don't they show that Amos Colvin's +daughter is brought to ruin by a villain who's trying to pull +down what you and I and old Texans shed our blood to build up? +Don't History show that the Lone Star State never yet failed to +grant relief to the suffering and oppressed children of the men +who made her the grandest commonwealth in the Union? If +Statistics and History don't bear out the claim of Amos +Colvin's child I'll ask the next legislature to abolish my +office. Come, now, Uncle Frank, let her have the money. I'll +sign the papers officially, if you say so; and then if the +governor or the comptroller or the janitor or anybody else +makes a kick, by the Lord I'll refer the matter to the people, +and see if they won't endorse the act."</p> + +<p>The treasurer looked sympathetic but shocked. The +commissioner's voice had grown louder as he rounded off the +sentences that, however praiseworthy they might be in +sentiment, reflected somewhat upon the capacity of the head of +a more or less important department of state. The clerks were +beginning to listen.</p> + +<p>"Now, Standifer," said the treasurer, soothingly, "you know I'd +like to help in this matter, but stop and think a moment, +please. Every cent in the treasury is expended only by +appropriation made by the legislature, and drawn out by checks +issued by the comptroller. I can't control the use of a cent of +it. Neither can you. Your department isn't disbursive—it isn't +even administrative—it's purely clerical. The only way for the +lady to obtain relief is to petition the legislature, and—"</p> + +<p>"To the devil with the legislature," said Standifer, turning +away.</p> + +<p>The treasurer called him back.</p> + +<p>"I'd be glad, Standifer, to contribute a hundred dollars +personally toward the immediate expenses of Colvin's daughter." +He reached for his pocketbook.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Uncle Frank," said the commissioner, in a softer +tone. "There's no need of that. She hasn't asked for anything +of that sort yet. Besides, her case is in my hands. I see now +what a little, rag-tag, bob-tail, gotch-eared department I've +been put in charge of. It seems to be about as important as an +almanac or a hotel register. But while I'm running it, it won't +turn away any daughters of Amos Colvin without stretching its +jurisdiction to cover, if possible. You want to keep your eye +on the Department of Insurance, Statistics, and History."</p> + +<p>The commissioner returned to his office, looking thoughtful. He +opened and closed an inkstand on his desk many times with +extreme and undue attention. "Why don't you get a divorce?" he +asked, suddenly.</p> + +<p>"I haven't the money to pay for it," answered the lady.</p> + +<p>"Just at present," announced the commissioner, in a formal +tone, "the powers of my department appear to be considerably +string-halted. Statistics seem to be overdrawn at the bank, and +History isn't good for a square meal. But you've come to the +right place, ma'am. The department will see you through. Where +did you say your husband is, ma'am?"</p> + +<p>"He was in San Antonio yesterday. He is living there now."</p> + +<p>Suddenly the commissioner abandoned his official air. He took +the faded little woman's hands in his, and spoke in the old +voice he used on the trail and around campfires.</p> + +<p>"Your name's Amanda, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"I thought so. I've heard your dad say it often enough. Well, +Amanda, here's your father's best friend, the head of a big +office in the state government, that's going to help you out of +your troubles. And here's the old bushwhacker and cowpuncher +that your father has helped out of scrapes time and time again +wants to ask you a question. Amanda, have you got money enough +to run you for the next two or three days?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sharp's white face flushed the least bit.</p> + +<p>"Plenty, sir—for a few days."</p> + +<p>"All right, then, ma'am. Now you go back where you are stopping +here, and you come to the office again the day after to-morrow +at four o'clock in the afternoon. Very likely by that time +there will be something definite to report to you." The +commissioner hesitated, and looked a trifle embarrassed. "You +said your husband had insured his life for $5,000. Do you know +whether the premiums have been kept paid upon it or not?"</p> + +<p>"He paid for a whole year in advance about five months ago," +said Mrs. Sharp. "I have the policy and receipts in my trunk."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right, then," said Standifer. "It's best to +look after things of that sort. Some day they may come in +handy."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sharp departed, and soon afterward Luke Standifer went +down to the little hotel where he boarded and looked up the +railroad time-table in the daily paper. Half an hour later he +removed his coat and vest, and strapped a peculiarly +constructed pistol holster across his shoulders, leaving the +receptacle close under his left armpit. Into the holster he +shoved a short-barrelled .44 calibre revolver. Putting on his +clothes again, he strolled to the station and caught the +five-twenty afternoon train for San Antonio.</p> + +<p>The San Antonio <i>Express</i> of the following morning contained +this sensational piece of news:<br /> </p> + + +<h4>BENTON SHARP MEETS HIS MATCH</h4> +<blockquote><blockquote class="med"> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">The Most Noted +Desperado in Southwest Texas Shot to Death in the Gold Front +Restaurant—Prominent State Official Successfully Defends +Himself Against the Noted Bully—Magnificent Exhibition of +Quick Gun Play.</span></p> + +<p>Last night about eleven o'clock Benton Sharp, with two other +men, entered the Gold Front Restaurant and seated themselves +at a table. Sharp had been drinking, and was loud and +boisterous, as he always was when under the influence of +liquor. Five minutes after the party was seated a tall, +well-dressed, elderly gentleman entered the restaurant. Few +present recognized the Honourable Luke Standifer, the +recently appointed Commissioner of Insurance, Statistics, and +History.</p> + +<p>Going over to the same side where Sharp was, Mr. Standifer +prepared to take a seat at the next table. In hanging his hat +upon one of the hooks along the wall he let it fall upon +Sharp's head. Sharp turned, being in an especially ugly +humour, and cursed the other roundly. Mr. Standifer +apologized calmly for the accident, but Sharp continued his +vituperations. Mr. Standifer was observed to draw near and +speak a few sentences to the desperado in so low a tone that +no one else caught the words. Sharp sprang up, wild with +rage. In the meantime Standifer had stepped some yards away, +and was standing quietly with his arms folded across the breast +of his loosely hanging coat.</p> + +<p>With that impetuous and deadly rapidity that made Sharp so +dreaded, he reached for the gun he always carried in his hip +pocket—a movement that has preceded the death of at least a +dozen men at his hands. Quick as the motion was, the +bystanders assert that it was met by the most beautiful +exhibition of lightning gun-pulling ever witnessed in the +Southwest. As Sharp's pistol was being raised—and the act +was really quicker than the eye could follow—a glittering +.44 appeared as if by some conjuring trick in the right hand +of Mr. Standifer, who, without a perceptible movement of his +arm, shot Benton Sharp through the heart. It seems that the +new Commissioner of Insurance, Statistics, and History has +been an old-time Indian fighter and ranger for many years, +which accounts for the happy knack he has of handling a .44.</p> + +<p>It is not believed that Mr. Standifer will be put to any +inconvenience beyond a necessary formal hearing to-day, as all +the witnesses who were present unite in declaring that the +deed was done in self-defence.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>When Mrs. Sharp appeared at the office of the commissioner, +according to appointment, she found that gentleman calmly +eating a golden russet apple. He greeted her without +embarrassment and without hesitation at approaching the subject +that was the topic of the day.</p> + +<p>"I had to do it, ma'am," he said, simply, "or get it myself. +Mr. Kauffman," he added, turning to the old clerk, "please look +up the records of the Security Life Insurance Company and see +if they are all right."</p> + +<p>"No need to look," grunted Kauffman, who had everything in his +head. "It's all O.K. They pay all losses within ten days."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Sharp soon rose to depart. She had arranged to remain in +town until the policy was paid. The commissioner did not detain +her. She was a woman, and he did not know just what to say to +her at present. Rest and time would bring her what she needed.</p> + +<p>But, as she was leaving, Luke Standifer indulged himself in an +official remark:</p> + +<p>"The Department of Insurance, Statistics, and History, ma'am, +has done the best it could with your case. 'Twas a case hard to +cover according to red tape. Statistics failed, and History +missed fire, but, if I may be permitted to say it, we came out +particularly strong on Insurance."</p> + + +<p><a name="17"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>XVII</h3> +<h3>THE RENAISSANCE AT CHARLEROI<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Grandemont Charles was a little Creole gentleman, aged +thirty-four, with a bald spot on the top of his head and the +manners of a prince. By day he was a clerk in a cotton broker's +office in one of those cold, rancid mountains of oozy brick, +down near the levee in New Orleans. By night, in his +three-story-high <i>chambre garnier</i> in the old French Quarter he +was again the last male descendant of the Charles family, that +noble house that had lorded it in France, and had pushed its +way smiling, rapiered, and courtly into Louisiana's early and +brilliant days. Of late years the Charleses had subsided into +the more republican but scarcely less royally carried +magnificence and ease of plantation life along the Mississippi. +Perhaps Grandemont was even Marquis de Brassé. There +was that title in the family. But a Marquis on seventy-five +dollars per month! <i>Vraiment!</i> Still, it has been done +on less.</p> + +<p>Grandemont had saved out of his salary the sum of six hundred +dollars. Enough, you would say, for any man to marry on. So, +after a silence of two years on that subject, he reopened that +most hazardous question to Mlle. Adèle Fauquier, riding +down to Meade d'Or, her father's plantation. Her answer was +the same that it had been any time during the last ten years: +"First find my brother, Monsieur Charles."</p> + +<p>This time he had stood before her, perhaps discouraged by a +love so long and hopeless, being dependent upon a contingency +so unreasonable, and demanded to be told in simple words +whether she loved him or no.</p> + +<p>Adèle looked at him steadily out of her gray eyes +that betrayed no secrets and answered, a little more softly:</p> + +<p>"Grandemont, you have no right to ask that question unless you +can do what I ask of you. Either bring back brother Victor to +us or the proof that he died."</p> + +<p>Somehow, though five times thus rejected, his heart was not so +heavy when he left. She had not denied that she loved. Upon +what shallow waters can the bark of passion remain afloat! Or, +shall we play the doctrinaire, and hint that at thirty-four the +tides of life are calmer and cognizant of many sources instead +of but one—as at four-and-twenty?</p> + +<p>Victor Fauquier would never be found. In those early days of +his disappearance there was money to the Charles name, and +Grandemont had spent the dollars as if they were picayunes in +trying to find the lost youth. Even then he had had small hope +of success, for the Mississippi gives up a victim from its oily +tangles only at the whim of its malign will.</p> + +<p>A thousand times had Grandemont conned in his mind the scene of +Victor's disappearance. And, at each time that Adèle had +set her stubborn but pitiful alternative against his suit, still +clearer it repeated itself in his brain.</p> + +<p>The boy had been the family favourite; daring, winning, +reckless. His unwise fancy had been captured by a girl on the +plantation—the daughter of an overseer. Victor's family was in +ignorance of the intrigue, as far as it had gone. To save them +the inevitable pain that his course promised, Grandemont strove +to prevent it. Omnipotent money smoothed the way. The overseer +and his daughter left, between a sunset and dawn, for an +undesignated bourne. Grandemont was confident that this stroke +would bring the boy to reason. He rode over to Meade d'Or to +talk with him. The two strolled out of the house and grounds, +crossed the road, and, mounting the levee, walked its broad +path while they conversed. A thunder-cloud was hanging, +imminent, above, but, as yet, no rain fell. At Grandemont's +disclosure of his interference in the clandestine romance, +Victor attacked him, in a wild and sudden fury. Grandemont, +though of slight frame, possessed muscles of iron. He caught +the wrists amid a shower of blows descending upon him, bent the +lad backward and stretched him upon the levee path. In a little +while the gust of passion was spent, and he was allowed to +rise. Calm now, but a powder mine where he had been but a whiff +of the tantrums, Victor extended his hand toward the dwelling +house of Meade d'Or.</p> + +<p>"You and they," he cried, "have conspired to destroy my +happiness. None of you shall ever look upon my face again."</p> + +<p>Turning, he ran swiftly down the levee, disappearing in the +darkness. Grandemont followed as well as he could, calling to +him, but in vain. For longer than an hour he pursued the +search. Descending the side of the levee, he penetrated the +rank density of weeds and willows that undergrew the trees +until the river's edge, shouting Victor's name. There was never +an answer, though once he thought he heard a bubbling scream +from the dun waters sliding past. Then the storm broke, and he +returned to the house drenched and dejected.</p> + +<p>There he explained the boy's absence sufficiently, he thought, +not speaking of the tangle that had led to it, for he hoped +that Victor would return as soon as his anger had cooled. +Afterward, when the threat was made good and they saw his face +no more, he found it difficult to alter his explanations of +that night, and there clung a certain mystery to the boy's +reasons for vanishing as well as to the manner of it.</p> + +<p>It was on that night that Grandemont first perceived a new and +singular expression in Adèle's eyes whenever she looked +at him. And through the years following that expression was always +there. He could not read it, for it was born of a thought she +would never otherwise reveal.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, if he had known that Adèle had stood at the +gate on that unlucky night, where she had followed, lingering, +to await the return of her brother and lover, wondering why they +had chosen so tempestuous an hour and so black a spot to hold +converse—if he had known that a sudden flash of lightning had +revealed to her sight that short, sharp struggle as Victor was +sinking under his hands, he might have explained everything, +and she—</p> + +<p>I know what she would have done. But one thing is clear—there +was something besides her brother's disappearance between +Grandemont's pleadings for her hand and Adèle's "yes." +Ten years had passed, and what she had seen during the space of +that lightning flash remained an indelible picture. She had +loved her brother, but was she holding out for the solution of +that mystery or for the "Truth"? Women have been known to +reverence it, even as an abstract principle. It is said there +have been a few who, in the matter of their affections, have +considered a life to be a small thing as compared with a lie. +That I do not know. But, I wonder, had Grandemont cast himself +at her feet crying that his hand had sent Victor to the bottom +of that inscrutable river, and that he could no longer sully +his love with a lie, I wonder if—I wonder what she would have +done!</p> + +<p>But, Grandemont Charles, Arcadian little gentleman, never +guessed the meaning of that look in Adèle's eyes; and from +this last bootless payment of his devoirs he rode away as rich as +ever in honour and love, but poor in hope.</p> + +<p>That was in September. It was during the first winter month +that Grandemont conceived his idea of the <i>renaissance</i>. +Since Adèle would never be his, and wealth without her +were useless trumpery, why need he add to that hoard of slowly +harvested dollars? Why should he even retain that hoard?</p> + +<p>Hundreds were the cigarettes he consumed over his claret, +sitting at the little polished tables in the Royal street +cafés while thinking over his plan. By and by +he had it perfect. It would cost, beyond doubt, +all the money he had, but—<i>le jeu +vaut la chandelle</i>—for some hours he would be once more a +Charles of Charleroi. Once again should the nineteenth of +January, that most significant day in the fortunes of the house +of Charles, be fittingly observed. On that date the French king +had seated a Charles by his side at table; on that date Armand +Charles, Marquis de Brassé, landed, like a brilliant +meteor, in New Orleans; it was the date of his mother's wedding; +of Grandemont's birth. Since Grandemont could remember until the +breaking up of the family that anniversary had been the synonym +for feasting, hospitality, and proud commemoration.</p> + +<p>Charleroi was the old family plantation, lying some twenty +miles down the river. Years ago the estate had been sold to +discharge the debts of its too-bountiful owners. Once again it +had changed hands, and now the must and mildew of litigation +had settled upon it. A question of heirship was in the courts, +and the dwelling house of Charleroi, unless the tales told of +ghostly powdered and laced Charleses haunting its unechoing +chambers were true, stood uninhabited.</p> + +<p>Grandemont found the solicitor in chancery who held the keys +pending the decision. He proved to be an old friend of the +family. Grandemont explained briefly that he desired to rent +the house for two or three days. He wanted to give a dinner at +his old home to a few friends. That was all.</p> + +<p>"Take it for a week—a month, if you will," said the solicitor; +"but do not speak to me of rental." With a sigh he concluded: +"The dinners I have eaten under that roof, <i>mon fils</i>!"</p> + +<p>There came to many of the old, established dealers in +furniture, china, silverware, decorations and household +fittings at their stores on Canal, Chartres, St. Charles, and +Royal Streets, a quiet young man with a little bald spot on the +top of his head, distinguished manners, and the eye of a +<i>connoisseur</i>, who explained what he wanted. To hire the +complete and elegant equipment of a dining-room, hall, +reception-room, and cloak-rooms. The goods were to be packed +and sent, by boat, to the Charleroi landing, and would be +returned within three or four days. All damage or loss to be +promptly paid for.</p> + +<p>Many of those old merchants knew Grandemont by sight, and the +Charleses of old by association. Some of them were of Creole +stock and felt a thrill of responsive sympathy with the +magnificently indiscreet design of this impoverished clerk who +would revive but for a moment the ancient flame of glory with +the fuel of his savings.</p> + +<p>"Choose what you want," they said to him. "Handle everything +carefully. See that the damage bill is kept low, and the +charges for the loan will not oppress you."</p> + +<p>To the wine merchants next; and here a doleful slice was lopped +from the six hundred. It was an exquisite pleasure to +Grandemont once more to pick among the precious vintages. The +champagne bins lured him like the abodes of sirens, but these +he was forced to pass. With his six hundred he stood before +them as a child with a penny stands before a French doll. But +he bought with taste and discretion of other wines—Chablis, +Moselle, Château d'Or, Hochheimer, and port of right age and +pedigree.</p> + +<p>The matter of the cuisine gave him some studious hours until he +suddenly recollected André—André, their old +<i>chef</i>—the most sublime master of French Creole cookery +in the Mississippi Valley. Perhaps he was yet somewhere about +the plantation. The solicitor had told him that the place was +still being cultivated, in accordance with a compromise agreement +between the litigants.</p> + +<p>On the next Sunday after the thought Grandemont rode, +horseback, down to Charleroi. The big, square house with its +two long ells looked blank and cheerless with its closed +shutters and doors.</p> + +<p>The shrubbery in the yard was ragged and riotous. Fallen leaves +from the grove littered the walks and porches. Turning down the +lane at the side of the house, Grandemont rode on to the +quarters of the plantation hands. He found the workers just +streaming back from church, careless, happy, and bedecked in +gay yellows, reds, and blues.</p> + +<p>Yes, André was still there; his wool a little grayer; +his mouth as wide; his laughter as ready as ever. Grandemont told +him of his plan, and the old <i>chef</i> swayed with pride and +delight. With a sigh of relief, knowing that he need have no +further concern until the serving of that dinner was announced, +he placed in André's hands a liberal sum for the cost of +it, giving <i>carte blanche</i> for its creation.</p> + +<p>Among the blacks were also a number of the old house servants. +Absalom, the former major domo, and a half-dozen of the younger +men, once waiters and attachés of the kitchen, pantry, +and other domestic departments crowded around to greet "M'shi +Grande." Absalom guaranteed to marshal, of these, a corps of +assistants that would perform with credit the serving of the +dinner.</p> + +<p>After distributing a liberal largesse among the faithful, +Grandemont rode back to town well pleased. There were many +other smaller details to think of and provide for, but +eventually the scheme was complete, and now there remained only +the issuance of the invitations to his guests.</p> + +<p>Along the river within the scope of a score of miles dwelt some +half-dozen families with whose princely hospitality that of the +Charleses had been contemporaneous. They were the proudest and +most august of the old régime. Their small circle had been +a brilliant one; their social relations close and warm; their +houses full of rare welcome and discriminating bounty. Those +friends, said Grandemont, should once more, if never again, sit +at Charleroi on a nineteenth of January to celebrate the festal +day of his house.</p> + +<p>Grandemont had his cards of invitation engraved. They were +expensive, but beautiful. In one particular their good taste +might have been disputed; but the Creole allowed himself that +one feather in the cap of his fugacious splendour. Might he not +be allowed, for the one day of the <i>renaissance</i>, to be +"Grandemont du Puy Charles, of Charleroi"? He sent the +invitations out early in January so that the guests might not +fail to receive due notice.</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock in the morning of the nineteenth, the lower +coast steamboat <i>River Belle</i> gingerly approached the long +unused landing at Charleroi. The bridge was lowered, and a +swarm of the plantation hands streamed along the rotting pier, +bearing ashore a strange assortment of freight. Great shapeless +bundles and bales and packets swathed in cloth and bound with +ropes; tubs and urns of palms, evergreens, and tropical +flowers; tables, mirrors, chairs, couches, carpets, and +pictures—all carefully bound and padded against the dangers of +transit.</p> + +<p>Grandemont was among them, the busiest there. To the safe +conveyance of certain large hampers eloquent with printed +cautions to delicate handling he gave his superintendence, for +they contained the fragile china and glassware. The dropping of +one of those hampers would have cost him more than he could +have saved in a year.</p> + +<p>The last article unloaded, the <i>River Belle</i> backed off and +continued her course down stream. In less than an hour +everything had been conveyed to the house. And came then +Absalom's task, directing the placing of the furniture and +wares. There was plenty of help, for that day was always a +holiday at Charleroi, and the Negroes did not suffer the old +traditions to lapse. Almost the entire population of the +quarters volunteered their aid. A score of piccaninnies were +sweeping at the leaves in the yard. In the big kitchen at the +rear André was lording it with his old-time magnificence +over his numerous sub-cooks and scullions. Shutters were flung +wide; dust spun in clouds; the house echoed to voices and the +tread of busy feet. The prince had come again, and Charleroi +woke from its long sleep.</p> + +<p>The full moon, as she rose across the river that night and +peeped above the levee saw a sight that had long been missing +from her orbit. The old plantation house shed a soft and +alluring radiance from every window. Of its two-score rooms +only four had been refurnished—the larger reception chamber, +the dining hall, and two smaller rooms for the convenience of +the expected guests. But lighted wax candles were set in the +windows of every room.</p> + +<p>The dining-hall was the <i>chef d'œuvre</i>. The long +table, set with twenty-five covers, sparkled like a winter +landscape with its snowy napery and china and the icy gleam +of crystal. The chaste beauty of the room had required small +adornment. The polished floor burned to a glowing ruby with +the reflection of candle light. The rich wainscoting reached +half way to the ceiling. Along and above this had been set +the relieving lightness of a few water-colour sketches of +fruit and flower.</p> + +<p>The reception chamber was fitted in a simple but elegant style. +Its arrangement suggested nothing of the fact that on the +morrow the room would again be cleared and abandoned to the +dust and the spider. The entrance hall was imposing with palms +and ferns and the light of an immense candelabrum.</p> + +<p>At seven o'clock Grandemont, in evening dress, with pearls—a +family passion—in his spotless linen, emerged from somewhere. +The invitations had specified eight as the dining hour. He drew +an armchair upon the porch, and sat there, smoking cigarettes +and half dreaming.</p> + +<p>The moon was an hour high. Fifty years back from the gate stood +the house, under its noble grove. The road ran in front, and +then came the grass-grown levee and the insatiate river beyond. +Just above the levee top a tiny red light was creeping down and +a tiny green one was creeping up. Then the passing steamers +saluted, and the hoarse din startled the drowsy silence of the +melancholy lowlands. The stillness returned, save for the +little voices of the night—the owl's recitative, the capriccio +of the crickets, the concerto of the frogs in the grass. The +piccaninnies and the dawdlers from the quarters had been +dismissed to their confines, and the melée of the day was +reduced to an orderly and intelligent silence. The six coloured +waiters, in their white jackets, paced, cat-footed, about the +table, pretending to arrange where all was beyond betterment. +Absalom, in black and shining pumps posed, superior, here and +there where the lights set off his grandeur. And Grandemont +rested in his chair, waiting for his guests.</p> + +<p>He must have drifted into a dream—and an extravagant one—for +he was master of Charleroi and Adèle was his wife. She was +coming out to him now; he could hear her steps; he could feel +her hand upon his shoulder—</p> + +<p>"<i>Pardon moi, M'shi Grande</i>"—it was Absalom's hand touching +him, it was Absalom's voice, speaking the <i>patois</i> of the +blacks—"but it is eight o'clock."</p> + +<p>Eight o'clock. Grandemont sprang up. In the moonlight he could +see the row of hitching-posts outside the gate. Long ago the +horses of the guests should have stood there. They were vacant.</p> + +<p>A chanted roar of indignation, a just, waxing bellow of affront +and dishonoured genius came from André's kitchen, filling +the house with rhythmic protest. The beautiful dinner, the pearl +of a dinner, the little excellent superb jewel of a dinner! But +one moment more of waiting and not even the thousand thunders +of black pigs of the quarter would touch it!</p> + +<p>"They are a little late," said Grandemont, calmly. "They will +come soon. Tell André to hold back dinner. And ask him if, +by some chance, a bull from the pastures has broken, roaring, into +the house."</p> + +<p>He seated himself again to his cigarettes. Though he had said +it, he scarcely believed Charleroi would entertain company that +night. For the first time in history the invitation of a +Charles had been ignored. So simple in courtesy and honour was +Grandemont, and, perhaps, so serenely confident in the prestige +of his name, that the most likely reasons for the vacant board +did not occur to him.</p> + +<p>Charleroi stood by a road travelled daily by people from those +plantations whither his invitations had gone. No doubt even on +the day before the sudden reanimation of the old house they had +driven past and observed the evidences of long desertion and +decay. They had looked at the corpse of Charleroi and then at +Grandemont's invitations, and, though the puzzle or tasteless +hoax or whatever the thing meant left them perplexed, they +would not seek its solution by the folly of a visit to that +deserted house.</p> + +<p>The moon was now above the grove, and the yard was pied with +deep shadows save where they lightened in the tender glow of +outpouring candle light. A crisp breeze from the river hinted +at the possibility of frost when the night should have become +older. The grass at one side of the steps was specked with the +white stubs of Grandemont's cigarettes. The cotton-broker's +clerk sat in his chair with the smoke spiralling above him. I +doubt that he once thought of the little fortune he had so +impotently squandered. Perhaps it was compensation enough for +him to sit thus at Charleroi for a few retrieved hours. Idly +his mind wandered in and out many fanciful paths of memory. He +smiled to himself as a paraphrased line of Scripture strayed +into his mind: "A certain <i>poor</i> man made a feast."</p> + +<p>He heard the sound of Absalom coughing a note of summons. +Grandemont stirred. This time he had not been asleep—only +drowsing.</p> + +<p>"Nine o'clock, <i>M'shi Grande</i>," said Absalom in the uninflected +voice of a good servant who states a fact unqualified by +personal opinion.</p> + +<p>Grandemont rose to his feet. In their time all the Charleses +had been proven, and they were gallant losers.</p> + +<p>"Serve dinner," he said calmly. And then he checked Absalom's +movement to obey, for something clicked the gate latch and was +coming down the walk toward the house. Something that shuffled +its feet and muttered to itself as it came. It stopped in the +current of light at the foot of the steps and spake, in the +universal whine of the gadding mendicant.</p> + +<p>"Kind sir, could you spare a poor, hungry man, out of luck, a +little to eat? And to sleep in the corner of a shed? For"—the +thing concluded, irrelevantly—"I can sleep now. There are no +mountains to dance reels in the night; and the copper kettles +are all scoured bright. The iron band is still around my ankle, +and a link, if it is your desire I should be chained."</p> + +<p>It set a foot upon the step and drew up the rags that hung upon +the limb. Above the distorted shoe, caked with the dust of a +hundred leagues, they saw the link and the iron band. The +clothes of the tramp were wreaked to piebald tatters by sun and +rain and wear. A mat of brown, tangled hair and beard covered +his head and face, out of which his eyes stared distractedly. +Grandemont noticed that he carried in one hand a white, square +card.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I picked it up, sir, at the side of the road." The vagabond +handed the card to Grandemont. "Just a little to eat, sir. A +little parched corn, a <i>tartilla</i>, or a handful of beans. +Goat's meat I cannot eat. When I cut their throats they cry +like children."</p> + +<p>Grandemont held up the card. It was one of his own invitations +to dinner. No doubt some one had cast it away from a passing +carriage after comparing it with the tenantless house of +Charleroi.</p> + +<p>"From the hedges and highways bid them come," he said to +himself, softly smiling. And then to Absalom: "Send Louis to +me."</p> + +<p>Louis, once his own body-servant, came promptly, in his white +jacket.</p> + +<p>"This gentleman," said Grandemont, "will dine with me. Furnish +him with bath and clothes. In twenty minutes have him ready and +dinner served."</p> + +<p>Louis approached the disreputable guest with the suavity due to +a visitor to Charleroi, and spirited him away to inner regions.</p> + +<p>Promptly, in twenty minutes, Absalom announced dinner, and, a +moment later, the guest was ushered into the dining hall where +Grandemont waited, standing, at the head of the table. The +attentions of Louis had transformed the stranger into something +resembling the polite animal. Clean linen and an old evening +suit that had been sent down from town to clothe a waiter had +worked a miracle with his exterior. Brush and comb had +partially subdued the wild disorder of his hair. Now he might +have passed for no more extravagant a thing than one of those +<i>poseurs</i> in art and music who affect such oddity of guise. The +man's countenance and demeanour, as he approached the table, +exhibited nothing of the awkwardness or confusion to be +expected from his Arabian Nights change. He allowed Absalom to +seat him at Grandemont's right hand with the manner of one thus +accustomed to be waited upon.</p> + +<p>"It grieves me," said Grandemont, "to be obliged to exchange +names with a guest. My own name is Charles."</p> + +<p>"In the mountains," said the wayfarer, "they call me Gringo. +Along the roads they call me Jack."</p> + +<p>"I prefer the latter," said Grandemont. "A glass of wine with +you, Mr. Jack."</p> + +<p>Course after course was served by the supernumerous waiters. +Grandemont, inspired by the results of André's exquisite +skill in cookery and his own in the selection of wines became the +model host, talkative, witty, and genial. The guest was fitful +in conversation. His mind seemed to be sustaining a succession +of waves of dementia followed by intervals of comparative +lucidity. There was the glassy brightness of recent fever in +his eyes. A long course of it must have been the cause of his +emaciation and weakness, his distracted mind, and the dull +pallor that showed even through the tan of wind and sun.</p> + +<p>"Charles," he said to Grandemont—for thus he seemed to +interpret his name—"you never saw the mountains dance, did +you?"</p> + +<p>"No, Mr. Jack," answered Grandemont, gravely, "the spectacle +has been denied me. But, I assure you, I can understand it must +be a diverting sight. The big ones, you know, white with snow +on the tops, waltzing—<i>décolleté</i>, we may +say."</p> + +<p>"You first scour the kettles," said Mr. Jack, leaning toward +him excitedly, "to cook the beans in the morning, and you lie +down on a blanket and keep quite still. Then they come out and +dance for you. You would go out and dance with them but you are +chained every night to the centre pole of the hut. You believe +the mountains dance, don't you, Charlie?"</p> + +<p>"I contradict no traveller's tales," said Grandemont, with a +smile.</p> + +<p>Mr. Jack laughed loudly. He dropped his voice to a confidential +whisper.</p> + +<p>"You are a fool to believe it," he went on. "They don't really +dance. It's the fever in your head. It's the hard work and +the bad water that does it. You are sick for weeks and there +is no medicine. The fever comes on every evening, and then you +are as strong as two men. One night the <i>compania</i> are lying +drunk with <i>mescal</i>. They have brought back sacks of silver +dollars from a ride, and they drink to celebrate. In the night +you file the chain in two and go down the mountain. You walk +for miles—hundreds of them. By and by the mountains are all +gone, and you come to the prairies. They do not dance at night; +they are merciful, and you sleep. Then you come to the river, +and it says things to you. You follow it down, down, but you +can't find what you are looking for."</p> + +<p>Mr. Jack leaned back in his chair, and his eyes slowly closed. +The food and wine had steeped him in a deep calm. The tense +strain had been smoothed from his face. The languor of +repletion was claiming him. Drowsily he spoke again.</p> + +<p>"It's bad manners—I know—to go to sleep—at table—but—that +was—such a good dinner—Grande, old fellow."</p> + +<p><i>Grande!</i> The owner of the name started and set down his glass. +How should this wretched tatterdemalion whom he had invited, +Caliph-like, to sit at his feet know his name?</p> + +<p>Not at first, but soon, little by little, the suspicion, wild +and unreasonable as it was, stole into his brain. He drew out +his watch with hands that almost balked him by their trembling, +and opened the back case. There was a picture there—a +photograph fixed to the inner side.</p> + +<p>Rising, Grandemont shook Mr. Jack by the shoulder. The weary +guest opened his eyes. Grandemont held the watch.</p> + +<p>"Look at this picture, Mr. Jack. Have you ever—"</p> + +<p>"<i>My sister Adèle</i>!"</p> + +<p>The vagrant's voice rang loud and sudden through the room. He +started to his feet, but Grandemont's arms were about him, and +Grandemont was calling him "Victor!—Victor Fauquier! <i>Merci, +merci, mon Dieu!</i>"</p> + +<p>Too far overcome by sleep and fatigue was the lost one to talk +that night. Days afterward, when the tropic <i>calentura</i> had +cooled in his veins, the disordered fragments he had spoken +were completed in shape and sequence. He told the story of his +angry flight, of toils and calamities on sea and shore, of his +ebbing and flowing fortune in southern lands, and of his latest +peril when, held a captive, he served menially in a stronghold +of bandits in the Sonora Mountains of Mexico. And of the fever +that seized him there and his escape and delirium, during which +he strayed, perhaps led by some marvellous instinct, back to +the river on whose bank he had been born. And of the proud and +stubborn thing in his blood that had kept him silent through +all those years, clouding the honour of one, though he knew it +not, and keeping apart two loving hearts. "What a thing is +love!" you may say. And if I grant it, you shall say, with me: +"What a thing is pride!"</p> + +<p>On a couch in the reception chamber Victor lay, with a dawning +understanding in his heavy eyes and peace in his softened +countenance. Absalom was preparing a lounge for the transient +master of Charleroi, who, to-morrow, would be again the clerk +of a cotton-broker, but also—</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," Grandemont was saying, as he stood by the couch of +his guest, speaking the words with his face shining as must +have shone the face of Elijah's charioteer when he announced +the glories of that heavenly journey—"To-morrow I will take +you to Her."</p> + + +<p><a name="18"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>XVIII</h3> +<h3>ON BEHALF OF THE MANAGEMENT<br /> </h3> + + +<p>This is the story of the man manager, and how he held his own +until the very last paragraph.</p> + +<p>I had it from Sully Magoon, <i>viva voce</i>. The words are indeed +his; and if they do not constitute truthful fiction my memory +should be taxed with the blame.</p> + +<p>It is not deemed amiss to point out, in the beginning, the +stress that is laid upon the masculinity of the manager. For, +according to Sully, the term when applied to the feminine +division of mankind has precisely an opposite meaning. The +woman manager (he says) economizes, saves, oppresses her +household with bargains and contrivances, and looks sourly upon +any pence that are cast to the fiddler for even a single +jig-step on life's arid march. Wherefore her men-folk call her +blessed, and praise her; and then sneak out the backdoor to see +the Gilhooly Sisters do a buck-and-wing dance.</p> + +<p>Now, the man manager (I still quote Sully) is a Cæsar +without a Brutus. He is an autocrat without responsibility, a +player who imperils no stake of his own. His office is to enact, +to reverberate, to boom, to expand, to out-coruscate—profitably, +if he can. Bill-paying and growing gray hairs over results +belong to his principals. It is his to guide the risk, to be +the Apotheosis of Front, the three-tailed Bashaw of Bluff, the +Essential Oil of Razzle-Dazzle.</p> + +<p>We sat at luncheon, and Sully Magoon told me. I asked for +particulars.</p> + +<p>"My old friend Denver Galloway was a born manager," said Sully. +He first saw the light of day in New York at three years of +age. He was born in Pittsburg, but his parents moved East the +third summer afterward.</p> + +<p>"When Denver grew up, he went into the managing business. At +the age of eight he managed a news-stand for the Dago that +owned it. After that he was manager at different times of a +skating-rink, a livery-stable, a policy game, a restaurant, a +dancing academy, a walking match, a burlesque company, a +dry-goods store, a dozen hotels and summer resorts, an +insurance company, and a district leader's campaign. That +campaign, when Coughlin was elected on the East Side, gave +Denver a boost. It got him a job as manager of a Broadway +hotel, and for a while he managed Senator O'Grady's campaign in +the nineteenth.</p> + +<p>"Denver was a New Yorker all over. I think he was out of the +city just twice before the time I'm going to tell you about. +Once he went rabbit-shooting in Yonkers. The other time I met +him just landing from a North River ferry. 'Been out West on a +big trip, Sully, old boy,' says he. 'Gad! Sully, I had no idea +we had such a big country. It's immense. Never conceived of the +magnificence of the West before. It's gorgeous and glorious and +infinite. Makes the East seemed cramped and little. It's a +grand thing to travel and get an idea of the extent and +resources of our country.'</p> + +<p>"I'd made several little runs out to California and down to +Mexico and up through Alaska, so I sits down with Denver for a +chat about the things he saw.</p> + +<p>"'Took in the Yosemite, out there, of course?' I asks.</p> + +<p>"'Well—no,' says Denver, 'I don't think so. At least, I don't +recollect it. You see, I only had three days, and I didn't get +any farther west than Youngstown, Ohio.'</p> + +<p>"About two years ago I dropped into New York with a little +fly-paper proposition about a Tennessee mica mine that I wanted +to spread out in a nice, sunny window, in the hopes of catching +a few. I was coming out of a printing-shop one afternoon with a +batch of fine, sticky prospectuses when I ran against Denver +coming round a corner. I never saw him looking so much like a +tiger-lily. He was as beautiful and new as a trellis of sweet +peas, and as rollicking as a clarinet solo. We shook hands, and +he asked me what I was doing, and I gave him the outlines of +the scandal I was trying to create in mica.</p> + +<p>"'Pooh, pooh! for your mica,' says Denver. 'Don't you know +better, Sully, than to bump up against the coffers of little +old New York with anything as transparent as mica? Now, you +come with me over to the Hotel Brunswick. You're just the man I +was hoping for. I've got something there in sepia and curled +hair that I want you to look at.'</p> + +<p>"'You putting up at the Brunswick?' I asks.</p> + +<p>"'Not a cent,' says Denver, cheerful. 'The syndicate that owns +the hotel puts up. I'm manager.'</p> + +<p>"The Brunswick wasn't one of them Broadway pot-houses all full +of palms and hyphens and flowers and costumes—kind of a +mixture of lawns and laundries. It was on one of the East Side +avenues; but it was a solid, old-time caravansary such as the +Mayor of Skaneateles or the Governor of Missouri might stop +at. Eight stories high it stalked up, with new striped awnings, +and the electrics had it as light as day.</p> + +<p>"'I've been manager here for a year,' says Denver, as we drew +nigh. 'When I took charge,' says he, 'nobody nor nothing ever +stopped at the Brunswick. The clock over the clerks' desk used +to run for weeks without winding. A man fell dead with +heart-disease on the sidewalk in front of it one day, and when +they went to pick him up he was two blocks away. I figured out +a scheme to catch the West Indies and South American trade. I +persuaded the owners to invest a few more thousands, and I put +every cent of it in electric lights, cayenne pepper, gold-leaf, +and garlic. I got a Spanish-speaking force of employees and a +string band; and there was talk going round of a cockfight in +the basement every Sunday. Maybe I didn't catch the nut-brown +gang! From Havana to Patagonia the Don Señors knew about +the Brunswick. We get the highfliers from Cuba and Mexico and the +couple of Americas farther south; and they've simply got the +boodle to bombard every bulfinch in the bush with.'</p> + +<p>"When we got to the hotel, Denver stops me at the door.</p> + +<p>"'There's a little liver-coloured man,' says he, 'sitting in a +big leather chair to your right, inside. You sit down and watch +him for a few minutes, and then tell me what you think.'</p> + +<p>"I took a chair, while Denver circulates around in the big +rotunda. The room was about full of curly-headed Cubans and +South American brunettes of different shades; and the +atmosphere was international with cigarette smoke, lit up by +diamond rings and edged off with a whisper of garlic.</p> + +<p>"That Denver Galloway was sure a relief to the eye. Six feet +two he was, red-headed and pink-gilled as a sun-perch. And the +air he had! Court of Saint James, Chauncy Olcott, Kentucky +colonels, Count of Monte Cristo, grand opera—all these things +he reminded you of when he was doing the honours. When he +raised his finger the hotel porters and bell-boys skated across +the floor like cockroaches, and even the clerk behind the desk +looked as meek and unimportant as Andy Carnegie.</p> + +<p>"Denver passed around, shaking hands with his guests, and +saying over the two or three Spanish words he knew until it was +like a coronation rehearsal or a Bryan barbecue in Texas.</p> + +<p>"I watched the little man he told me to. 'Twas a little foreign +person in a double-breasted frock-coat, trying to touch the +floor with his toes. He was the colour of vici kid, and his +whiskers was like excelsior made out of mahogany wood. He +breathed hard, and he never once took his eyes off of Denver. +There was a look of admiration and respect on his face like you +see on a boy that's following a champion base-ball team, or the +Kaiser William looking at himself in a glass.</p> + +<p>"After Denver goes his rounds he takes me into his private +office.</p> + +<p>"'What's your report on the dingy I told you to watch?' he +asks.</p> + +<p>"'Well,' says I, 'if you was as big a man as he takes you to +be, nine rooms and bath in the Hall of Fame, rent free till +October 1st, would be about your size.'</p> + +<p>"'You've caught the idea,' says Denver. 'I've given him the +wizard grip and the cabalistic eye. The glamour that emanates +from yours truly has enveloped him like a North River fog. He +seems to think that Señor Galloway is the man who. +I guess they don't raise 74-inch sorrel-tops with romping +ways down in his precinct. Now, Sully,' goes on Denver, +'if you was asked, what would you take the little man to be?'</p> + +<p>"'Why,' says I, 'the barber around the corner; or, if he's +royal, the king of the boot-blacks.'</p> + +<p>"'Never judge by looks,' says Denver; 'he's the dark-horse +candidate for president of a South American republic.'</p> + +<p>"'Well,' says I, 'he didn't look quite that bad to me.'</p> + +<p>"Then Denver draws his chair up close and gives out his scheme.</p> + +<p>"'Sully,' says he, with seriousness and levity, 'I've been a +manager of one thing and another for over twenty years. That's +what I was cut out for—to have somebody else to put up the +money and look after the repairs and the police and taxes while +I run the business. I never had a dollar of my own invested in +my life. I wouldn't know how it felt to have the dealer rake in +a coin of mine. But I can handle other people's stuff and +manage other people's enterprises. I've had an ambition to get +hold of something big—something higher than hotels and +lumber-yards and local politics. I want to be manager of +something way up—like a railroad or a diamond trust or an +automobile factory. Now here comes this little man from the +tropics with just what I want, and he's offered me the job.'</p> + +<p>"'What job?' I asks. 'Is he going to revive the Georgia +Minstrels or open a cigar store?'</p> + +<p>"'He's no 'coon,' says Denver. 'He's General Rompiro—General +Josey Alfonso Sapolio Jew-Ann Rompiro—he has his cards printed +by a news-ticker. He's the real thing, Sully, and he wants me +to manage his campaign—he wants Denver C. Galloway for a +president-maker. Think of that, Sully! Old Denver romping down +to the tropics, plucking lotus-flowers and pineapples with one +hand and making presidents with the other! Won't it make Uncle +Mark Hanna mad? And I want you to go too, Sully. You can help +me more than any man I know. I've been herding that brown man +for a month in the hotel so he wouldn't stray down Fourteenth +Street and get roped in by that crowd of refugee tamale-eaters +down there. And he's landed, and D. C. G. is manager of General +J. A. S. J. Rompiro's presidential campaign in the great +republic of—what's its name?'</p> + +<p>"Denver gets down an atlas from a shelf, and we have a look at +the afflicted country. 'Twas a dark blue one, on the west +coast, about the size of a special delivery stamp.</p> + +<p>"'From what the General tells me,' says Denver, 'and from what +I can gather from the encyclopædia and by conversing with +the janitor of the Astor Library, it'll be as easy to handle the +vote of that country as it would be for Tammany to get a man +named Geoghan appointed on the White Wings force.'</p> + +<p>"'Why don't General Rumptyro stay at home,' says I, 'and manage +his own canvass?'</p> + +<p>"'You don't understand South American politics,' says Denver, +getting out the cigars. 'It's this way. General Rompiro had the +misfortune of becoming a popular idol. He distinguished himself +by leading the army in pursuit of a couple of sailors who had +stolen the plaza—or the carramba, or something belonging to +the government. The people called him a hero and the government +got jealous. The president sends for the chief of the +Department of Public Edifices. "Find me a nice, clean adobe +wall," says he, "and send Señor Rompiro up against it. +Then call out a file of soldiers and—then let him be up against +it." Something,' goes on Denver, 'like the way they've treated +Hobson and Carrie Nation in our country. So the General had to +flee. But he was thoughtful enough to bring along his roll. +He's got sinews of war enough to buy a battleship and float her +off in the christening fluid.'</p> + +<p>"'What chance has he got to be president?'</p> + +<p>"'Wasn't I just giving you his rating?' says Denver. 'His +country is one of the few in South America where the presidents +are elected by popular ballot. The General can't go there just +now. It hurts to be shot against a wall. He needs a campaign +manager to go down and whoop things up for him—to get the boys +in line and the new two-dollar bills afloat and the babies +kissed and the machine in running order. Sully, I don't want to +brag, but you remember how I brought Coughlin under the wire +for leader of the nineteenth? Ours was the banner district. +Don't you suppose I know how to manage a little monkey-cage of +a country like that? Why, with the dough the General's willing +to turn loose I could put two more coats of Japan varnish on +him and have him elected Governor of Georgia. New York has got +the finest lot of campaign managers in the world, Sully, and +you give me a feeling of hauteur when you cast doubts on my +ability to handle the political situation in a country so small +that they have to print the names of the towns in the appendix +and footnotes.'</p> + +<p>"I argued with Denver some. I told him that politics down in +that tropical atmosphere was bound to be different from the +nineteenth district; but I might just as well have been a +Congressman from North Dakota trying to get an appropriation +for a lighthouse and a coast survey. Denver Galloway had +ambitions in the manager line, and what I said didn't amount to +as much as a fig-leaf at the National Dressmakers' Convention. +'I'll give you three days to cogitate about going,' says +Denver; 'and I'll introduce you to General Rompiro to-morrow, +so you can get his ideas drawn right from the rose wood.'</p> + +<p>"I put on my best reception-to-Booker-Washington manner the +next day and tapped the distinguished rubber-plant for what he +knew.</p> + +<p>"General Rompiro wasn't so gloomy inside as he appeared on the +surface. He was polite enough; and he exuded a number of sounds +that made a fair stagger at arranging themselves into language. +It was English he aimed at, and when his system of syntax +reached your mind it wasn't past you to understand it. If you +took a college professor's magazine essay and a Chinese +laundryman's explanation of a lost shirt and jumbled 'em +together, you'd have about what the General handed you out for +conversation. He told me all about his bleeding country, and +what they were trying to do for it before the doctor came. But +he mostly talked of Denver C. Galloway.</p> + +<p>"'Ah, señor,' says he, 'that is the most fine +of mans. Never I have seen one man so magnifico, so +gr-r-rand, so conformable to make done things so +swiftly by other mans. He shall make other +mans do the acts and himself to order and regulate, until we +arrive at seeing accomplishments of a suddenly. Oh, yes, +señor. In my countree there is not such mans of +so beegness, so good talk, so compliments, so strongness +of sense and such. Ah, that Señor Galloway!'</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' says I, 'old Denver is the boy you want. He's managed +every kind of business here except filibustering, and he might +as well complete the list.'</p> + +<p>"Before the three days was up I decided to join Denver in his +campaign. Denver got three months' vacation from his hotel +owners. For a week we lived in a room with the General, and got +all the pointers about his country that we could interpret from +the noises he made. When we got ready to start, Denver had a +pocket full of memorandums, and letters from the General to his +friends, and a list of names and addresses of loyal politicians +who would help along the boom of the exiled popular idol. +Besides these liabilities we carried assets to the amount of +$20,000 in assorted United States currency. General Rompiro +looked like a burnt effigy, but he was Br'er Fox himself when +it came to the real science of politics.</p> + +<p>"'Here is moneys,' says the General, 'of a small amount. There +is more with me—moocho more. Plentee moneys shall you be +supplied, Señor Galloway. More I shall send you at all +times that you need. I shall desire to pay feefty—one hundred +thousand pesos, if necessario, to be elect. How no? Sacramento! +If that I am president and do not make one meelion dolla in the +one year you shall keek me on that side!—<i>valgame Dios!</i>'</p> + +<p>"Denver got a Cuban cigar-maker to fix up a little cipher code +with English and Spanish words, and gave the General a copy, so +we could cable him bulletins about the election, or for more +money, and then we were ready to start. General Rompiro +escorted us to the steamer. On the pier he hugged Denver around +the waist and sobbed. 'Noble mans,' says he, 'General Rompiro +propels you into his confidence and trust. Go, in the hands of +the saints to do the work for your friend. <i>Viva la libertad!</i>'</p> + +<p>"'Sure,' says Denver. 'And viva la liberality an' la soaperino +and hoch der land of the lotus and the vote us. Don't worry, +General. We'll have you elected as sure as bananas grow upside +down.'</p> + +<p>"'Make pictures on me,' pleads the General—'make pictures on +me for money as it is needful.'</p> + +<p>"'Does he want to be tattooed, would you think?' asks Denver, +wrinkling up his eyes.</p> + +<p>"'Stupid!' says I. 'He wants you to draw on him for election +expenses. It'll be worse than tattooing. More like an autopsy.'</p> + +<p>"Me and Denver steamed down to Panama, and then hiked across +the Isthmus, and then by steamer again down to the town of +Espiritu on the coast of the General's country.</p> + +<p>"That was a town to send J. Howard Payne to the growler. I'll +tell you how you could make one like it. Take a lot of Filipino +huts and a couple of hundred brick-kilns and arrange 'em in +squares in a cemetery. Cart down all the conservatory plants in +the Astor and Vanderbilt greenhouses, and stick 'em about +wherever there's room. Turn all the Bellevue patients and the +barbers' convention and the Tuskegee school loose in the +streets, and run the thermometer up to 120 in the shade. Set a +fringe of the Rocky Mountains around the rear, let it rain, and +set the whole business on Rockaway Beach in the middle of +January—and you'd have a good imitation of Espiritu.</p> + +<p>"It took me and Denver about a week to get acclimated. Denver +sent out the letters the General had given him, and notified +the rest of the gang that there was something doing at the +captain's office. We set up headquarters in an old 'dobe house +on a side street where the grass was waist high. The election +was only four weeks off; but there wasn't any excitement. The +home candidate for president was named Roadrickeys. This town +of Esperitu wasn't the capital any more than Cleveland, Ohio, +is the capital of the United States, but it was the political +centre where they cooked up revolutions, and made up the +slates.</p> + +<p>"At the end of the week Denver says the machine is started +running.</p> + +<p>"'Sully,' says he, 'we've got a walkover. Just because General +Rompiro ain't Don Juan-on-the-spot the other crowd ain't at +work. They're as full of apathy as a territorial delegate +during the chaplain's prayer. Now, we want to introduce a +little hot stuff in the way of campaigning, and we'll surprise +'em at the polls.'</p> + +<p>"'How are you going to go about it?' I asks.</p> + +<p>"'Why, the usual way,' says Denver, surprised. 'We'll get the +orators on our side out every night to make speeches in the +native lingo, and have torch-light parades under the shade of +the palms, and free drinks, and buy up all the brass bands, of +course, and—well, I'll turn the baby-kissing over to you, +Sully—I've seen a lot of 'em.'</p> + +<p>"'What else?' says I.</p> + +<p>"'Why, you know,' says Denver. 'We get the heelers out with the +crackly two-spots, and coal-tickets, and orders for groceries, +and have a couple of picnics out under the banyan-trees, and +dances in the Firemen's Hall—and the usual things. But first +of all, Sully, I'm going to have the biggest clam-bake down on +the beach that was ever seen south of the tropic of Capricorn. +I figured that out from the start. We'll stuff the whole town +and the jungle folk for miles around with clams. That's the +first thing on the programme. Suppose you go out now, and make +the arrangements for that. I want to look over the estimates +the General made of the vote in the coast districts.'</p> + +<p>"I had learned some Spanish in Mexico, so I goes out, as Denver +says, and in fifteen minutes I come back to headquarters.</p> + +<p>"'If there ever was a clam in this country nobody ever saw it,' +I says.</p> + +<p>"'Great sky-rockets!' says Denver, with his mouth and eyes +open. 'No clams? How in the—who ever saw a country without +clams? What kind of a—how's an election to be pulled off +without a clam-bake, I'd like to know? Are you sure there's no +clams, Sully?'</p> + +<p>"'Not even a can,' says I.</p> + +<p>"'Then for God's sake go out and try to find what the people +here do eat. We've got to fill 'em up with grub of some kind.'</p> + +<p>"I went out again. Denver was manager. In half an hour I gets +back.</p> + +<p>"'They eat,' says I, 'tortillas, cassava, carne de chivo, arroz +con pollo, aquacates, zapates, yucca, and huevos fritos.'</p> + +<p>"'A man that would eat them things,' says Denver, getting a +little mad, 'ought to have his vote challenged.'</p> + +<p>"In a few more days the campaign managers from the other towns +came sliding into Esperitu. Our headquarters was a busy place. +We had an interpreter, and ice-water, and drinks, and cigars, +and Denver flashed the General's roll so often that it got so +small you couldn't have bought a Republican vote in Ohio with +it.</p> + +<p>"And then Denver cabled to General Rompiro for ten thousand +dollars more and got it.</p> + +<p>"There were a number of Americans in Esperitu, but they were +all in business or grafts of some kind, and wouldn't take any +hand in politics, which was sensible enough. But they showed me +and Denver a fine time, and fixed us up so we could get decent +things to eat and drink. There was one American, named Hicks, +used to come and loaf at the headquarters. Hicks had had +fourteen years of Esperitu. He was six feet four and weighed in +at 135. Cocoa was his line; and coast fever and the climate had +taken all the life out of him. They said he hadn't smiled in +eight years. His face was three feet long, and it never moved +except when he opened it to take quinine. He used to sit in our +headquarters and kill fleas and talk sarcastic.</p> + +<p>"'I don't take much interest in politics,' says Hicks, one day, +'but I'd like you to tell me what you're trying to do down +here, Galloway?'</p> + +<p>"'We're boosting General Rompiro, of course,' says Denver. +'We're going to put him in the presidential chair. I'm his +manager.'</p> + +<p>"'Well,' says Hicks, 'if I was you I'd be a little slower about +it. You've got a long time ahead of you, you know.'</p> + +<p>"'Not any longer than I need,' says Denver.</p> + +<p>"Denver went ahead and worked things smooth. He dealt out money +on the quiet to his lieutenants, and they were always coming +after it. There was free drinks for everybody in town, and +bands playing every night, and fireworks, and there was a lot +of heelers going around buying up votes day and night for the +new style of politics in Espiritu, and everybody liked it.</p> + +<p>"The day set for the election was November 4th. On the night +before Denver and me were smoking our pipes in headquarters, +and in comes Hicks and unjoints himself, and sits in a chair, +mournful. Denver is cheerful and confident. 'Rompiro will win +in a romp,' says he. 'We'll carry the country by 10,000. It's +all over but the vivas. To-morrow will tell the tale.'</p> + +<p>"'What's going to happen to-morrow?' asks Hicks.</p> + +<p>"'Why, the presidential election, of course,' says Denver.</p> + +<p>"'Say,' says Hicks, looking kind of funny, 'didn't anybody tell +you fellows that the election was held a week before you came? +Congress changed the date to July 27th. Roadrickeys was elected +by 17,000. I thought you was booming old Rompiro for next term, +two years from now. Wondered if you was going to keep up such a +hot lick that long.'</p> + +<p>"I dropped my pipe on the floor. Denver bit the stem off of +his. Neither of us said anything.</p> + +<p>"And then I heard a sound like somebody ripping a clapboard +off of a barn-roof. 'Twas Hicks laughing for the first time in +eight years."</p> + +<p>Sully Magoon paused while the waiter poured us a black coffee.</p> + +<p>"Your friend was, indeed, something of a manager," I said.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," said Sully, "I haven't given you any idea of +what he could do yet. That's all to come.</p> + +<p>"When we got back to New York there was General Rompiro waiting +for us on the pier. He was dancing like a cinnamon bear, all +impatient for the news, for Denver had just cabled him when we +would arrive and nothing more.</p> + +<p>"'Am I elect?' he shouts. 'Am I elect, friend of mine? Is that +mine country have demand General Rompiro for the president? +The last dollar of mine have I sent you that last time. It is +necessario that I am elect. I have not more money. Am I elect, +Señor Galloway?'</p> + +<p>"Denver turns to me.</p> + +<p>"'Leave me with old Rompey, Sully,' he says. 'I've got to break +it to him gently. 'Twould be indecent for other eyes to witness +the operation. This is the time, Sully,' says he, 'when old +Denver has got to make good as a jollier and a silver-tongued +sorcerer, or else give up all the medals he's earned.'</p> + +<p>"A couple of days later I went around to the hotel. There was +Denver in his old place, looking like the hero of two +historical novels, and telling 'em what a fine time he'd had +down on his orange plantation in Florida.</p> + +<p>"'Did you fix things up with the General?' I asks him.</p> + +<p>"'Did I?' says Denver. 'Come and see.'</p> + +<p>"He takes me by the arm and walks me to the dining-room door. +There was a little chocolate-brown fat man in a dress suit, +with his face shining with joy as he swelled himself and +skipped about the floor. Danged if Denver hadn't made General +Rompiro head waiter of the Hotel Brunswick!"</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Galloway still in the managing business?" I asked, as +Mr. Magoon ceased.</p> + +<p>Sully shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Denver married an auburn-haired widow that owns a big hotel in +Harlem. He just helps around the place."</p> + + +<p><a name="19"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>XIX</h3> +<h3>WHISTLING DICK'S CHRISTMAS STOCKING<br /> </h3> + + +<p>It was with much caution that Whistling Dick slid back the door +of the box-car, for Article 5716, City Ordinances, authorized +(perhaps unconstitutionally) arrest on suspicion, and he was +familiar of old with this ordinance. So, before climbing out, +he surveyed the field with all the care of a good general.</p> + +<p>He saw no change since his last visit to this big, alms-giving, +long-suffering city of the South, the cold weather paradise of +the tramps. The levee where his freight-car stood was pimpled +with dark bulks of merchandise. The breeze reeked with the +well-remembered, sickening smell of the old tarpaulins that +covered bales and barrels. The dun river slipped along among +the shipping with an oily gurgle. Far down toward Chalmette he +could see the great bend in the stream, outlined by the row of +electric lights. Across the river Algiers lay, a long, +irregular blot, made darker by the dawn which lightened the sky +beyond. An industrious tug or two, coming for some early +sailing ship, gave a few appalling toots, that seemed to be the +signal for breaking day. The Italian luggers were creeping +nearer their landing, laden with early vegetables and +shellfish. A vague roar, subterranean in quality, from dray +wheels and street cars, began to make itself heard and felt; +and the ferryboats, the Mary Anns of water craft, stirred +sullenly to their menial morning tasks.</p> + +<p>Whistling Dick's red head popped suddenly back into the car. A +sight too imposing and magnificent for his gaze had been added +to the scene. A vast, incomparable policeman rounded a pile of +rice sacks and stood within twenty yards of the car. The daily +miracle of the dawn, now being performed above Algiers, +received the flattering attention of this specimen of municipal +official splendour. He gazed with unbiased dignity at the +faintly glowing colours until, at last, he turned to them his +broad back, as if convinced that legal interference was not +needed, and the sunrise might proceed unchecked. So he turned +his face to the rice bags, and, drawing a flat flask from an +inside pocket, he placed it to his lips and regarded the +firmament.</p> + +<p>Whistling Dick, professional tramp, possessed a half-friendly +acquaintance with this officer. They had met several times +before on the levee at night, for the officer, himself a lover +of music, had been attracted by the exquisite whistling of the +shiftless vagabond. Still, he did not care, under the present +circumstances, to renew the acquaintance. There is a difference +between meeting a policeman on a lonely wharf and whistling a +few operatic airs with him, and being caught by him crawling +out of a freight-car. So Dick waited, as even a New Orleans +policeman must move on some time—perhaps it is a retributive +law of nature—and before long "Big Fritz" majestically +disappeared between the trains of cars.</p> + +<p>Whistling Dick waited as long as his judgment advised, and then +slid swiftly to the ground. Assuming as far as possible the air +of an honest labourer who seeks his daily toil, he moved across +the network of railway lines, with the intention of making his +way by quiet Girod Street to a certain bench in Lafayette +Square, where, according to appointment, he hoped to rejoin a +pal known as "Slick," this adventurous pilgrim having preceded +him by one day in a cattle-car into which a loose slat had +enticed him.</p> + +<p>As Whistling Dick picked his way where night still lingered +among the big, reeking, musty warehouses, he gave way to the +habit that had won for him his title. Subdued, yet clear, with +each note as true and liquid as a bobolink's, his whistle +tinkled about the dim, cold mountains of brick like drops of +rain falling into a hidden pool. He followed an air, but it +swam mistily into a swirling current of improvisation. You +could cull out the trill of mountain brooks, the staccato of +green rushes shivering above chilly lagoons, the pipe of sleepy +birds.</p> + +<p>Rounding a corner, the whistler collided with a mountain of +blue and brass.</p> + +<p>"So," observed the mountain calmly, "You are already pack. Und +dere vill not pe frost before two veeks yet! Und you haf +forgotten how to vistle. Dere was a valse note in dot last +bar."</p> + +<p>"Watcher know about it?" said Whistling Dick, with tentative +familiarity; "you wit yer little Gherman-band nixcumrous +chunes. Watcher know about music? Pick yer ears, and listen +agin. Here's de way I whistled it—see?"</p> + +<p>He puckered his lips, but the big policeman held up his hand.</p> + +<p>"Shtop," he said, "und learn der right way. Und learn also dot +a rolling shtone can't vistle for a cent."</p> + +<p>Big Fritz's heavy moustache rounded into a circle, and from its +depths came a sound deep and mellow as that from a flute. He +repeated a few bars of the air the tramp had been whistling. +The rendition was cold, but correct, and he emphasized the note +he had taken exception to.</p> + +<p>"Dot p is p natural, und not p vlat. Py der vay, you petter pe +glad I meet you. Von hour later, und I vould half to put you in +a gage to vistle mit der chail pirds. Der orders are to bull +all der pums after sunrise."</p> + +<p>"To which?"</p> + +<p>"To bull der pums—eferybody mitout fisible means. Dirty days +is der price, or fifteen tollars."</p> + +<p>"Is dat straight, or a game you givin' me?"</p> + +<p>"It's der pest tip you efer had. I gif it to you pecause I +pelief you are not so bad as der rest. Und pecause you gan visl +'Der Freischütz' bezzer dan I myself gan. Don't run against +any more bolicemans aroundt der corners, but go away from town +a few tays. Good-pye."</p> + +<p>So Madame Orleans had at last grown weary of the strange and +ruffled brood that came yearly to nestle beneath her charitable +pinions.</p> + +<p>After the big policeman had departed, Whistling Dick stood for +an irresolute minute, feeling all the outraged indignation of a +delinquent tenant who is ordered to vacate his premises. He had +pictured to himself a day of dreamful ease when he should have +joined his pal; a day of lounging on the wharf, munching the +bananas and cocoanuts scattered in unloading the fruit +steamers; and then a feast along the free-lunch counters from +which the easy-going owners were too good-natured or too +generous to drive him away, and afterward a pipe in one of the +little flowery parks and a snooze in some shady corner of the +wharf. But here was a stern order to exile, and one that he +knew must be obeyed. So, with a wary eye open for the gleam of +brass buttons, he began his retreat toward a rural refuge. A +few days in the country need not necessarily prove disastrous. +Beyond the possibility of a slight nip of frost, there was no +formidable evil to be looked for.</p> + +<p>However, it was with a depressed spirit that Whistling Dick +passed the old French market on his chosen route down the +river. For safety's sake he still presented to the world his +portrayal of the part of the worthy artisan on his way to +labour. A stall-keeper in the market, undeceived, hailed him by +the generic name of his ilk, and "Jack" halted, taken by +surprise. The vender, melted by this proof of his own +acuteness, bestowed a foot of Frankfurter and half a loaf, and +thus the problem of breakfast was solved.</p> + +<p>When the streets, from topographical reasons, began to shun the +river bank the exile mounted to the top of the levee, and on +its well-trodden path pursued his way. The suburban eye +regarded him with cold suspicion, individuals reflected the +stern spirit of the city's heartless edict. He missed the +seclusion of the crowded town and the safety he could always +find in the multitude.</p> + +<p>At Chalmette, six miles upon his desultory way, there suddenly +menaced him a vast and bewildering industry. A new port was +being established; the dock was being built, compresses were +going up; picks and shovels and barrows struck at him like +serpents from every side. An arrogant foreman bore down upon +him, estimating his muscles with the eye of a +recruiting-sergeant. Brown men and black men all about him were +toiling away. He fled in terror.</p> + +<p>By noon he had reached the country of the plantations, the +great, sad, silent levels bordering the mighty river. He +overlooked fields of sugar-cane so vast that their farthest +limits melted into the sky. The sugar-making season was well +advanced, and the cutters were at work; the waggons creaked +drearily after them; the Negro teamsters inspired the mules to +greater speed with mellow and sonorous imprecations. Dark-green +groves, blurred by the blue of distance, showed where the +plantation-houses stood. The tall chimneys of the sugar-mills +caught the eye miles distant, like lighthouses at sea.</p> + +<p>At a certain point Whistling Dick's unerring nose caught the +scent of frying fish. Like a pointer to a quail, he made his +way down the levee side straight to the camp of a credulous and +ancient fisherman, whom he charmed with song and story, so that +he dined like an admiral, and then like a philosopher +annihilated the worst three hours of the day by a nap under the +trees.</p> + +<p>When he awoke and again continued his hegira, a frosty sparkle +in the air had succeeded the drowsy warmth of the day, and as +this portent of a chilly night translated itself to the brain +of Sir Peregrine, he lengthened his stride and bethought him of +shelter. He travelled a road that faithfully followed the +convolutions of the levee, running along its base, but whither +he knew not. Bushes and rank grass crowded it to the wheel +ruts, and out of this ambuscade the pests of the lowlands +swarmed after him, humming a keen, vicious soprano. And as the +night grew nearer, although colder, the whine of the mosquitoes +became a greedy, petulant snarl that shut out all other sounds. +To his right, against the heavens, he saw a green light moving, +and, accompanying it, the masts and funnels of a big incoming +steamer, moving as upon a screen at a magic-lantern show. And +there were mysterious marshes at his left, out of which came +queer gurgling cries and a choked croaking. The whistling +vagrant struck up a merry warble to offset these melancholy +influences, and it is likely that never before, since Pan +himself jigged it on his reeds, had such sounds been heard in +those depressing solitudes.</p> + +<p>A distant clatter in the rear quickly developed into the swift +beat of horses' hoofs, and Whistling Dick stepped aside into +the dew-wet grass to clear the track. Turning his head, he saw +approaching a fine team of stylish grays drawing a double +surrey. A stout man with a white moustache occupied the front +seat, giving all his attention to the rigid lines in his hands. +Behind him sat a placid, middle-aged lady and a +brilliant-looking girl hardly arrived at young ladyhood. The +lap-robe had slipped partly from the knees of the gentleman +driving, and Whistling Dick saw two stout canvas bags between +his feet—bags such as, while loafing in cities, he had seen +warily transferred between express waggons and bank doors. The +remaining space in the vehicle was filled with parcels of +various sizes and shapes.</p> + +<p>As the surrey swept even with the sidetracked tramp, the +bright-eyed girl, seized by some merry, madcap impulse, leaned +out toward him with a sweet, dazzling smile, and cried, "Mer-ry +Christ-mas!" in a shrill, plaintive treble.</p> + +<p>Such a thing had not often happened to Whistling Dick, and he +felt handicapped in devising the correct response. But lacking +time for reflection, he let his instinct decide, and snatching +off his battered derby, he rapidly extended it at arm's length, +and drew it back with a continuous motion, and shouted a loud, +but ceremonious, "Ah, there!" after the flying surrey.</p> + +<p>The sudden movement of the girl had caused one of the parcels +to become unwrapped, and something limp and black fell from it +into the road. The tramp picked it up, and found it to be a new +black silk stocking, long and fine and slender. It crunched +crisply, and yet with a luxurious softness, between his +fingers.</p> + +<p>"Ther bloomin' little skeezicks!" said Whistling Dick, with a +broad grin bisecting his freckled face. "W'ot d' yer think of +dat, now! Mer-ry Chris-mus! Sounded like a cuckoo clock, da'ts +what she did. Dem guys is swells, too, bet yer life, an' der +old 'un stacks dem sacks of dough down under his trotters like +dey was common as dried apples. Been shoppin' for Chrismus, and +de kid's lost one of her new socks w'ot she was goin' to hold +up Santy wid. De bloomin' little skeezicks! Wit' her 'Mer-ry +Chris-mus!' W'ot d' yer t'ink! Same as to say, 'Hello, Jack, +how goes it?' and as swell as Fift' Av'noo, and as easy as a +blowout in Cincinnat."</p> + +<p>Whistling Dick folded the stocking carefully, and stuffed it +into his pocket.</p> + +<p>It was nearly two hours later when he came upon signs of +habitation. The buildings of an extensive plantation were +brought into view by a turn in the road. He easily selected the +planter's residence in a large square building with two wings, +with numerous good-sized, well-lighted windows, and broad +verandas running around its full extent. It was set upon a +smooth lawn, which was faintly lit by the far-reaching rays of +the lamps within. A noble grove surrounded it, and +old-fashioned shrubbery grew thickly about the walks and +fences. The quarters of the hands and the mill buildings were +situated at a distance in the rear.</p> + +<p>The road was now enclosed on each side by a fence, and +presently, as Whistling Dick drew nearer the house, he suddenly +stopped and sniffed the air.</p> + +<p>"If dere ain't a hobo stew cookin' somewhere in dis immediate +precinct," he said to himself, "me nose has quit tellin' de +trut'."</p> + +<p>Without hesitation he climbed the fence to windward. He found +himself in an apparently disused lot, where piles of old bricks +were stacked, and rejected, decaying lumber. In a corner he saw +the faint glow of a fire that had become little more than a bed +of living coals, and he thought he could see some dim human +forms sitting or lying about it. He drew nearer, and by the +light of a little blaze that suddenly flared up he saw plainly +the fat figure of a ragged man in an old brown sweater and cap.</p> + +<p>"Dat man," said Whistling Dick to himself softly, "is a dead +ringer for Boston Harry. I'll try him wit de high sign."</p> + +<p>He whistled one or two bars of a rag-time melody, and the air +was immediately taken up, and then quickly ended with a +peculiar run. The first whistler walked confidently up to the +fire. The fat man looked up, and spake in a loud, asthmatic +wheeze:</p> + +<p>"Gents, the unexpected but welcome addition to our circle is +Mr. Whistling Dick, an old friend of mine for whom I fully +vouches. The waiter will lay another cover at once. Mr. W. D. +will join us at supper, during which function he will enlighten +us in regard to the circumstances that gave us the pleasure of +his company."</p> + +<p>"Chewin' de stuffin' out 'n de dictionary, as usual, Boston," +said Whistling Dick; "but t'anks all de same for de invitashun. +I guess I finds meself here about de same way as yous guys. A +cop gimme de tip dis mornin'. Yous workin' on dis farm?"</p> + +<p>"A guest," said Boston, sternly, "shouldn't never insult his +entertainers until he's filled up wid grub. 'Tain't good +business sense. Workin'!—but I will restrain myself. We +five—me, Deaf Pete, Blinky, Goggles, and Indiana Tom—got put +on to this scheme of Noo Orleans to work visiting gentlemen +upon her dirty streets, and we hit the road last evening just +as the tender hues of twilight had flopped down upon the +daisies and things. Blinky, pass the empty oyster-can at your +left to the empty gentleman at your right."</p> + +<p>For the next ten minutes the gang of roadsters paid their +undivided attention to the supper. In an old five-gallon +kerosene can they had cooked a stew of potatoes, meat, and +onions, which they partook of from smaller cans they had found +scattered about the vacant lot.</p> + +<p>Whistling Dick had known Boston Harry of old, and knew him to +be one of the shrewdest and most successful of his brotherhood. +He looked like a prosperous stock-drover or solid merchant from +some country village. He was stout and hale, with a ruddy, +always smoothly shaven face. His clothes were strong and neat, +and he gave special attention to his decent-appearing shoes. +During the past ten years he had acquired a reputation for +working a larger number of successfully managed confidence +games than any of his acquaintances, and he had not a day's +work to be counted against him. It was rumoured among his +associates that he had saved a considerable amount of money. +The four other men were fair specimens of the slinking, +ill-clad, noisome genus who carried their labels of +"suspicious" in plain view.</p> + +<p>After the bottom of the large can had been scraped, and pipes +lit at the coals, two of the men called Boston aside and spake +with him lowly and mysteriously. He nodded decisively, and then +said aloud to Whistling Dick:</p> + +<p>"Listen, sonny, to some plain talky-talk. We five are on a lay. +I've guaranteed you to be square, and you're to come in on the +profits equal with the boys, and you've got to help. Two +hundred hands on this plantation are expecting to be paid a +week's wages to-morrow morning. To-morrow's Christmas, and they +want to lay off. Says the boss: 'Work from five to nine in the +morning to get a train load of sugar off, and I'll pay every +man cash down for the week and a day extra.' They say: 'Hooray +for the boss! It goes.' He drives to Noo Orleans to-day, and +fetches back the cold dollars. Two thousand and seventy-four +fifty is the amount. I got the figures from a man who talks too +much, who got 'em from the bookkeeper. The boss of this +plantation thinks he's going to pay this wealth to the hands. +He's got it down wrong; he's going to pay it to us. It's going +to stay in the leisure class, where it belongs. Now, half of +this haul goes to me, and the other half the rest of you may +divide. Why the difference? I represent the brains. It's my +scheme. Here's the way we're going to get it. There's some +company at supper in the house, but they'll leave about nine. +They've just happened in for an hour or so. If they don't go +pretty soon, we'll work the scheme anyhow. We want all night to +get away good with the dollars. They're heavy. About nine +o'clock Deaf Pete and Blinky'll go down the road about a +quarter beyond the house, and set fire to a big cane-field +there that the cutters haven't touched yet. The wind's just +right to have it roaring in two minutes. The alarm'll be given, +and every man Jack about the place will be down there in ten +minutes, fighting fire. That'll leave the money sacks and the +women alone in the house for us to handle. You've heard cane +burn? Well, there's mighty few women can screech loud enough to +be heard above its crackling. The thing's dead safe. The only +danger is in being caught before we can get far enough away +with the money. Now, if you—"</p> + +<p>"Boston," interrupted Whistling Dick, rising to his feet, +"T'anks for the grub yous fellers has given me, but I'll be +movin' on now."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" asked Boston, also rising.</p> + +<p>"W'y, you can count me outer dis deal. You oughter know that. +I'm on de bum all right enough, but dat other t'ing don't go +wit' me. Burglary is no good. I'll say good night and many +t'anks fer—"</p> + +<p>Whistling Dick had moved away a few steps as he spoke, but he +stopped very suddenly. Boston had covered him with a short +revolver of roomy calibre.</p> + +<p>"Take your seat," said the tramp leader. "I'd feel mighty proud +of myself if I let you go and spoil the game. You'll stick +right in this camp until we finish the job. The end of that +brick pile is your limit. You go two inches beyond that, and +I'll have to shoot. Better take it easy, now."</p> + +<p>"It's my way of doin'," said Whistling Dick. "Easy goes. You +can depress de muzzle of dat twelve-incher, and run 'er back on +de trucks. I remains, as de newspapers says, 'in yer midst.'"</p> + +<p>"All right," said Boston, lowering his piece, as the other +returned and took his seat again on a projecting plank in a +pile of timber. "Don't try to leave; that's all. I wouldn't +miss this chance even if I had to shoot an old acquaintance to +make it go. I don't want to hurt anybody specially, but this +thousand dollars I'm going to get will fix me for fair. I'm +going to drop the road, and start a saloon in a little town I +know about. I'm tired of being kicked around."</p> + +<p>Boston Harry took from his pocket a cheap silver watch, and +held it near the fire.</p> + +<p>"It's a quarter to nine," he said. "Pete, you and Blinky start. +Go down the road past the house, and fire the cane in a dozen +places. Then strike for the levee, and come back on it, instead +of the road, so you won't meet anybody. By the time you get +back the men will all be striking out for the fire, and we'll +break for the house and collar the dollars. Everybody cough up +what matches he's got."</p> + +<p>The two surly tramps made a collection of all the matches in +the party, Whistling Dick contributing his quota with +propitiatory alacrity, and then they departed in the dim +starlight in the direction of the road.</p> + +<p>Of the three remaining vagrants, two, Goggles and Indiana Tom, +reclined lazily upon convenient lumber and regarded Whistling +Dick with undisguised disfavour. Boston, observing that the +dissenting recruit was disposed to remain peaceably, relaxed a +little of his vigilance. Whistling Dick arose presently and +strolled leisurely up and down keeping carefully within the +territory assigned him.</p> + +<p>"Dis planter chap," he said, pausing before Boston Harry, "w'ot +makes yer t'ink he's got de tin in de house wit' 'im?"</p> + +<p>"I'm advised of the facts in the case," said Boston. "He drove +to Noo Orleans and got it, I say, to-day. Want to change your +mind now and come in?"</p> + +<p>"Naw, I was just askin'. Wot kind o' team did de boss drive?"</p> + +<p>"Pair of grays."</p> + +<p>"Double surrey?"</p> + +<p>"Yep."</p> + +<p>"Women folks along?"</p> + +<p>"Wife and kid. Say, what morning paper are you trying to pump +news for?"</p> + +<p>"I was just conversin' to pass de time away. I guess dat team +passed me in de road dis evenin'. Dat's all."</p> + +<p>As Whistling Dick put his hands in his pockets and continued +his curtailed beat up and down by the fire, he felt the silk +stocking he had picked up in the road.</p> + +<p>"Ther bloomin' little skeezicks," he muttered, with a grin.</p> + +<p>As he walked up and down he could see, through a sort of +natural opening or lane among the trees, the planter's +residence some seventy-five yards distant. The side of the +house toward him exhibited spacious, well-lighted windows +through which a soft radiance streamed, illuminating the broad +veranda and some extent of the lawn beneath.</p> + +<p>"What's that you said?" asked Boston, sharply.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nuttin' 't all," said Whistling Dick, lounging carelessly, +and kicking meditatively at a little stone on the ground.</p> + +<p>"Just as easy," continued the warbling vagrant softly to +himself, "an' sociable an' swell an' sassy, wit' her 'Mer-ry +Chris-mus,' Wot d'yer t'ink, now!"</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>Dinner, two hours late, was being served in the Bellemeade +plantation dining-room.</p> + +<p>The dining-room and all its appurtenances spoke of an old +regime that was here continued rather than suggested to +the memory. The plate was rich to the extent that its age and +quaintness alone saved it from being showy; there were +interesting names signed in the corners of the pictures on the +walls; the viands were of the kind that bring a shine into the +eyes of gourmets. The service was swift, silent, lavish, as in +the days when the waiters were assets like the plate. The names +by which the planter's family and their visitors addressed one +another were historic in the annals of two nations. Their +manners and conversation had that most difficult kind of +ease—the kind that still preserves punctilio. The planter +himself seemed to be the dynamo that generated the larger +portion of the gaiety and wit. The younger ones at the board +found it more than difficult to turn back on him his guns of +raillery and banter. It is true, the young men attempted to +storm his works repeatedly, incited by the hope of gaining the +approbation of their fair companions; but even when they sped a +well-aimed shaft, the planter forced them to feel defeat by the +tremendous discomfiting thunder of the laughter with which he +accompanied his retorts. At the head of the table, serene, +matronly, benevolent, reigned the mistress of the house, +placing here and there the right smile, the right word, the +encouraging glance.</p> + +<p>The talk of the party was too desultory, too evanescent to +follow, but at last they came to the subject of the tramp +nuisance, one that had of late vexed the plantations for many +miles around. The planter seized the occasion to direct his +good-natured fire of raillery at the mistress, accusing her of +encouraging the plague. "They swarm up and down the river every +winter," he said. "They overrun New Orleans, and we catch the +surplus, which is generally the worst part. And, a day or two +ago, Madame New Orleans, suddenly discovering that she can't go +shopping without brushing her skirts against great rows of the +vagabonds sunning themselves on the banquettes, says to the +police: 'Catch 'em all,' and the police catch a dozen or two, +and the remaining three or four thousand overflow up and down +the levee, and madame there,"—pointing tragically with the +carving-knife at her—"feeds them. They won't work; they defy +my overseers, and they make friends with my dogs; and you, +madame, feed them before my eyes, and intimidate me when I +would interfere. Tell us, please, how many to-day did you thus +incite to future laziness and depredation?"</p> + +<p>"Six, I think," said madame, with a reflective smile; "but you +know two of them offered to work, for you heard them yourself."</p> + +<p>The planter's disconcerting laugh rang out again.</p> + +<p>"Yes, at their own trades. And one was an artificial-flower +maker, and the other a glass-blower. Oh, they were looking for +work! Not a hand would they consent to lift to labour of any +other kind."</p> + +<p>"And another one," continued the soft-hearted mistress, "used +quite good language. It was really extraordinary for one of his +class. And he carried a watch. And had lived in Boston. I don't +believe they are all bad. They have always seemed to me to +rather lack development. I always look upon them as children +with whom wisdom has remained at a standstill while whiskers +have continued to grow. We passed one this evening as we were +driving home who had a face as good as it was incompetent. He +was whistling the intermezzo from 'Cavalleria' and blowing the +spirit of Mascagni himself into it."</p> + +<p>A bright eyed young girl who sat at the left of the mistress +leaned over, and said in a confidential undertone:</p> + +<p>"I wonder, mamma, if that tramp we passed on the road found my +stocking, and do you think he will hang it up to-night? Now I +can hang up but one. Do you know why I wanted a new pair of +silk stockings when I have plenty? Well, old Aunt Judy says, if +you hang up two that have never been worn, Santa Claus will +fill one with good things, and Monsieur Pambe will place in the +other payment for all the words you have spoken—good or +bad—on the day before Christmas. That's why I've been +unusually nice and polite to everyone to-day. Monsieur Pambe, +you know, is a witch gentleman; he—"</p> + +<p>The words of the young girl were interrupted by a startling +thing.</p> + +<p>Like the wraith of some burned-out shooting star, a black +streak came crashing through the window-pane and upon the +table, where it shivered into fragments a dozen pieces of +crystal and china ware, and then glanced between the heads of +the guests to the wall, imprinting therein a deep, round +indentation, at which, to-day, the visitor to Bellemeade +marvels as he gazes upon it and listens to this tale as it is +told.</p> + +<p>The women screamed in many keys, and the men sprang to their +feet, and would have laid their hands upon their swords had not +the verities of chronology forbidden.</p> + +<p>The planter was the first to act; he sprang to the intruding +missile, and held it up to view.</p> + +<p>"By Jupiter!" he cried. "A meteoric shower of hosiery! Has +communication at last been established with Mars?"</p> + +<p>"I should say—ahem—Venus," ventured a young-gentleman +visitor, looking hopefully for approbation toward the +unresponsive young-lady visitors.</p> + +<p>The planter held at arm's length the unceremonious visitor—a +long dangling black stocking. "It's loaded," he announced.</p> + +<p>As he spoke, he reversed the stocking, holding it by the toe, +and down from it dropped a roundish stone, wrapped about by a +piece of yellowish paper. "Now for the first interstellar +message of the century!" he cried; and nodding to the company, +who had crowded about him, he adjusted his glasses with +provoking deliberation, and examined it closely. When he +finished, he had changed from the jolly host to the practical, +decisive man of business. He immediately struck a bell, and +said to the silent-footed mulatto man who responded: "Go and +tell Mr. Wesley to get Reeves and Maurice and about ten stout +hands they can rely upon, and come to the hall door at once. +Tell him to have the men arm themselves, and bring plenty of +ropes and plough lines. Tell him to hurry." And then he read +aloud from the paper these words:<br /> </p> + + +<blockquote><blockquote class="med"> +<p class="noindent"><span class="smallcaps">To +the Gent of de Hous</span>:</p> + +<p>Dere is five tuff hoboes xcept meself in the vaken lot near +de road war de old brick piles is. Dey got me stuck up wid a +gun see and I taken dis means of communication. 2 of der lads +is gone down to set fire to de cain field below de hous and +when yous fellers goes to turn de hoes on it de hole gang is +goin to rob de hous of de money yoo gotto pay off wit say git +a move on ye say de kid dropt dis sock in der rode tel her +mery crismus de same as she told me. Ketch de bums down de +rode first and den sen a relefe core to get me out of soke +youres truly,</p> + +<p class="ind15"><span class="smallcaps">Whistlen +Dick</span>.<br /> </p> +</blockquote></blockquote> + + +<p>There was some quiet, but rapid, mavœuvring at Bellemeade +during the ensuring half hour, which ended in five disgusted +and sullen tramps being captured, and locked securely in an +outhouse pending the coming of the morning and retribution. For +another result, the visiting young gentlemen had secured the +unqualified worship of the visiting young ladies by their +distinguished and heroic conduct. For still another, behold +Whistling Dick, the hero, seated at the planter's table, +feasting upon viands his experience had never before included, +and waited upon by admiring femininity in shapes of such beauty +and "swellness" that even his ever-full mouth could scarcely +prevent him from whistling. He was made to disclose in detail +his adventure with the evil gang of Boston Harry, and how he +cunningly wrote the note and wrapped it around the stone and +placed it at the toe of the stocking, and, watching his chance, +sent it silently, with a wonderful centrifugal momentum, like a +comet, at one of the big lighted windows of the dining-room.</p> + +<p>The planter vowed that the wanderer should wander no more; that +his was a goodness and an honesty that should be rewarded, and +that a debt of gratitude had been made that must be paid; for +had he not saved them from a doubtless imminent loss, and maybe +a greater calamity? He assured Whistling Dick that he might +consider himself a charge upon the honour of Bellemeade; that a +position suited to his powers would be found for him at once, +and hinted that the way would be heartily smoothed for him to +rise to as high places of emolument and trust as the plantation +afforded.</p> + +<p>But now, they said, he must be weary, and the immediate thing +to consider was rest and sleep. So the mistress spoke to a +servant, and Whistling Dick was conducted to a room in the wing +of the house occupied by the servants. To this room, in a few +minutes, was brought a portable tin bathtub filled with water, +which was placed on a piece of oiled cloth upon the floor. +There the vagrant was left to pass the night.</p> + +<p>By the light of a candle he examined the room. A bed, with the +covers neatly turned back, revealed snowy pillows and sheets. A +worn, but clean, red carpet covered the floor. There was a +dresser with a beveled mirror, a washstand with a flowered bowl +and pitcher; the two or three chairs were softly upholstered. A +little table held books, papers, and a day-old cluster of roses +in a jar. There were towels on a rack and soap in a white dish.</p> + +<p>Whistling Dick set his candle on a chair and placed his hat +carefully under the table. After satisfying what we must +suppose to have been his curiosity by a sober scrutiny, he +removed his coat, folded it, and laid it upon the floor, near +the wall, as far as possible from the unused bathtub. Taking +his coat for a pillow, he stretched himself luxuriously upon +the carpet.</p> + +<p>When, on Christmas morning, the first streaks of dawn broke +above the marshes, Whistling Dick awoke, and reached +instinctively for his hat. Then he remembered that the skirts +of Fortune had swept him into their folds on the night +previous, and he went to the window and raised it, to let the +fresh breath of the morning cool his brow and fix the yet +dream-like memory of his good luck within his brain.</p> + +<p>As he stood there, certain dread and ominous sounds pierced the +fearful hollow of his ear.</p> + +<p>The force of plantation workers, eager to complete the +shortened task allotted to them, were all astir. The mighty din +of the ogre Labour shook the earth, and the poor tattered and +forever disguised Prince in search of his fortune held tight to +the window-sill even in the enchanted castle, and trembled.</p> + +<p>Already from the bosom of the mill came the thunder of rolling +barrels of sugar, and (prison-like sounds) there was a great +rattling of chains as the mules were harried with stimulant +imprecations to their places by the waggon-tongues. A little +vicious "dummy" engine, with a train of flat cars in tow, +stewed and fumed on the plantation tap of the narrow-gauge +railroad, and a toiling, hurrying, hallooing stream of workers +were dimly seen in the half darkness loading the train with the +weekly output of sugar. Here was a poem; an epic—nay, a +tragedy—with work, the curse of the world, for its theme.</p> + +<p>The December air was frosty, but the sweat broke out upon +Whistling Dick's face. He thrust his head out of the window, +and looked down. Fifteen feet below him, against the wall of +the house, he could make out that a border of flowers grew, and +by that token he overhung a bed of soft earth.</p> + +<p>Softly as a burglar goes, he clambered out upon the sill, +lowered himself until he hung by his hands alone, and then +dropped safely. No one seemed to be about upon this side of the +house. He dodged low, and skimmed swiftly across the yard to +the low fence. It was an easy matter to vault this, for a +terror urged him such as lifts the gazelle over the thorn bush +when the lion pursues. A crash through the dew-drenched weeds +on the roadside, a clutching, slippery rush up the grassy side +of the levee to the footpath at the summit, and—he was free!</p> + +<p>The east was blushing and brightening. The wind, himself a +vagrant rover, saluted his brother upon the cheek. Some wild +geese, high above, gave cry. A rabbit skipped along the path +before him, free to turn to the right or to the left as his +mood should send him. The river slid past, and certainly no one +could tell the ultimate abiding place of its waters.</p> + +<p>A small, ruffled, brown-breasted bird, sitting upon a dog-wood +sapling, began a soft, throaty, tender little piping in praise +of the dew which entices foolish worms from their holes; but +suddenly he stopped, and sat with his head turned sidewise, +listening.</p> + +<p>From the path along the levee there burst forth a jubilant, +stirring, buoyant, thrilling whistle, loud and keen and clear +as the cleanest notes of the piccolo. The soaring sound rippled +and trilled and arpeggioed as the songs of wild birds do not; +but it had a wild free grace that, in a way, reminded the +small, brown bird of something familiar, but exactly what he +could not tell. There was in it the bird call, or reveille, +that all birds know; but a great waste of lavish, unmeaning +things that art had added and arranged, besides, and that were +quite puzzling and strange; and the little brown bird sat with +his head on one side until the sound died away in the distance.</p> + +<p>The little bird did not know that the part of that strange +warbling that he understood was just what kept the warbler +without his breakfast; but he knew very well that the part he +did not understand did not concern him, so he gave a little +flutter of his wings and swooped down like a brown bullet upon +a big fat worm that was wriggling along the levee path.</p> + + +<p><a name="20"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>XX</h3> +<h3>THE HALBERDIER OF THE LITTLE RHEINSCHLOSS<br /> </h3> + + +<p>I go sometimes into the <i>Bierhalle</i> and restaurant called Old +Munich. Not long ago it was a resort of interesting Bohemians, +but now only artists and musicians and literary folk frequent +it. But the Pilsner is yet good, and I take some diversion from +the conversation of Waiter No. 18.</p> + +<p>For many years the customers of Old Munich have accepted the +place as a faithful copy from the ancient German town. The big +hall with its smoky rafters, rows of imported steins, portrait +of Goethe, and verses painted on the walls—translated into +German from the original of the Cincinnati poets—seems +atmospherically correct when viewed through the bottom of a +glass.</p> + +<p>But not long ago the proprietors added the room above, called +it the Little Rheinschloss, and built in a stairway. Up there +was an imitation stone parapet, ivy-covered, and the walls were +painted to represent depth and distance, with the Rhine winding +at the base of the vineyarded slopes, and the castle of +Ehrenbreitstein looming directly opposite the entrance. Of +course there were tables and chairs; and you could have beer +and food brought you, as you naturally would on the top of a +castle on the Rhine.</p> + +<p>I went into Old Munich one afternoon when there were few +customers, and sat at my usual table near the stairway. I was +shocked and almost displeased to perceive that the glass +cigar-case by the orchestra stand had been smashed to +smithereens. I did not like things to happen in Old Munich. +Nothing had ever happened there before.</p> + +<p>Waiter No. 18 came and breathed on my neck. I was his by right +of discovery. Eighteen's brain was built like a corral. It was +full of ideas which, when he opened the gate, came huddling out +like a flock of sheep that might get together afterward or +might not. I did not shine as a shepherd. As a type Eighteen +fitted nowhere. I did not find out if he had a nationality, +family, creed, grievance, hobby, soul, preference, home, or +vote. He only came always to my table and, as long as his +leisure would permit, let words flutter from him like swallows +leaving a barn at daylight.</p> + +<p>"How did the cigar-case come to be broken, Eighteen?" I asked, +with a certain feeling of personal grievance.</p> + +<p>"I can tell you about that, sir," said he, resting his foot on +the chair next to mine. "Did you ever have anybody hand you a +double handful of good luck while both your hands was full of +bad luck, and stop to notice how your fingers behaved?"</p> + +<p>"No riddles, Eighteen," said I. "Leave out palmistry and +manicuring."</p> + +<p>"You remember," said Eighteen, "the guy in the hammered brass +Prince Albert and the oroide gold pants and the amalgamated +copper hat, that carried the combination meat-axe, ice-pick, +and liberty-pole, and used to stand on the first landing as you +go up to the Little Rindslosh."</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," said I. "The halberdier. I never noticed him +particularly. I remember he thought he was only a suit of +armour. He had a perfect poise."</p> + +<p>"He had more than that," said Eighteen. "He was me friend. He +was an advertisement. The boss hired him to stand on the stairs +for a kind of scenery to show there was something doing in the +has-been line upstairs. What did you call him—a what kind of a +beer?"</p> + +<p>"A halberdier," said I. "That was an ancient man-at-arms of +many hundred years ago."</p> + +<p>"Some mistake," said Eighteen. "This one wasn't that old. He +wasn't over twenty-three or four.</p> + +<p>"It was the boss's idea, rigging a man up in an ante-bellum +suit of tinware and standing him on the landing of the slosh. +He bought the goods at a Fourth Avenue antique store, and hung +a sign-out: 'Able-bodied hal—halberdier wanted. Costume +furnished.'</p> + +<p>"The same morning a young man with wrecked good clothes and a +hungry look comes in, bringing the sign with him. I was filling +the mustard-pots at my station.</p> + +<p>"'I'm it,' says he, 'whatever it is. But I never halberdiered +in a restaurant. Put me on. Is it a masquerade?'</p> + +<p>"'I hear talk in the kitchen of a fishball,' says I.</p> + +<p>"'Bully for you, Eighteen,' says he. 'You and I'll get on. Show +me the boss's desk.'</p> + +<p>"Well, the boss tries the Harveyized pajamas on him, and they +fitted him like the scales on a baked redsnapper, and he gets +the job. You've seen what it is—he stood straight up in the +corner of the first landing with his halberd to his shoulder, +looking right ahead and guarding the Portugals of the castle. +The boss is nutty about having the true Old-World flavour to +his joint. 'Halberdiers goes with Rindsloshes,' says he, 'just +as rats goes with rathskellers and white cotton stockings with +Tyrolean villages.' The boss is a kind of a antiologist, and is +all posted up on data and such information.</p> + +<p>"From 8 <span class="smallcaps">p.m.</span> to two in the +morning was the halberdier's hours. +He got two meals with us help and a dollar a night. I eat with +him at the table. He liked me. He never told his name. He was +travelling impromptu, like kings, I guess. The first time at +supper I says to him: 'Have some more of the spuds, Mr. +Frelinghuysen.' 'Oh, don't be so formal and offish, Eighteen,' +says he. 'Call me Hal—that's short for halberdier.' 'Oh, don't +think I wanted to pry for names,' says I. 'I know all about the +dizzy fall from wealth and greatness. We've got a count washing +dishes in the kitchen; and the third bartender used to be a +Pullman conductor. And they <i>work</i>, Sir Percival,' says I, +sarcastic.</p> + +<p>"'Eighteen,' says he, 'as a friendly devil in a cabbage-scented +hell, would you mind cutting up this piece of steak for me? I +don't say that it's got more muscle than I have, but—' And +then he shows me the insides of his hands. They was blistered +and cut and corned and swelled up till they looked like a +couple of flank steaks criss-crossed with a knife—the kind the +butchers hide and take home, knowing what is the best.</p> + +<p>"'Shoveling coal,' says he, 'and piling bricks and loading +drays. But they gave out, and I had to resign. I was born for a +halberdier, and I've been educated for twenty-four years to +fill the position. Now, quit knocking my profession, and pass +along a lot more of that ham. I'm holding the closing +exercises,' says he, 'of a forty-eight-hour fast.'</p> + +<p>"The second night he was on the job he walks down from his +corner to the cigar-case and calls for cigarettes. The +customers at the tables all snicker out loud to show their +acquaintance with history. The boss is on.</p> + +<p>"'An'—let's see—oh, yes—'An anachronism,' says the boss. +'Cigarettes was not made at the time when halberdiers was +invented.'</p> + +<p>"'The ones you sell was,' says Sir Percival. 'Caporal wins from +chronology by the length of a cork tip.' So he gets 'em and +lights one, and puts the box in his brass helmet, and goes back +to patrolling the Rindslosh.</p> + +<p>"He made a big hit, 'specially with the ladies. Some of 'em +would poke him with their fingers to see if he was real or only +a kind of a stuffed figure like they burn in elegy. And when +he'd move they'd squeak, and make eyes at him as they went up +to the slosh. He looked fine in his halberdashery. He slept at +$2 a week in a hall-room on Third Avenue. He invited me up +there one night. He had a little book on the washstand that he +read instead of shopping in the saloons after hours. 'I'm on to +that,' says I, 'from reading about it in novels. All the heroes +on the bum carry the little book. It's either Tantalus or Liver +or Horace, and its printed in Latin, and you're a college man. +And I wouldn't be surprised,' says I, 'if you wasn't educated, +too.' But it was only the batting averages of the League for +the last ten years.</p> + +<p>"One night, about half past eleven, there comes in a party of +these high-rollers that are always hunting up new places to eat +in and poke fun at. There was a swell girl in a 40 H.-P. auto +tan coat and veil, and a fat old man with white side-whiskers, +and a young chap that couldn't keep his feet off the tail of +the girl's coat, and an oldish lady that looked upon life as +immoral and unnecessary. 'How perfectly delightful,' they says, +'to sup in a slosh.' Up the stairs they go; and in half a +minute back down comes the girl, her skirts swishing like the +waves on the beach. She stops on the landing and looks our +halberdier in the eye.</p> + +<p>"'You!' she says, with a smile that reminded me of lemon +sherbet. I was waiting up-stairs in the slosh, then, and I was +right down here by the door, putting some vinegar and cayenne +into an empty bottle of tabasco, and I heard all they said.</p> + +<p>"'It,' says Sir Percival, without moving. 'I'm only local +colour. Are my hauberk, helmet, and halberd on straight?'</p> + +<p>"'Is there an explanation to this?' says she. 'Is it a +practical joke such as men play in those Griddle-cake and Lamb +Clubs? I'm afraid I don't see the point. I heard, vaguely, that +you were away. For three months I—we have not seen you or +heard from you.'</p> + +<p>"'I'm halberdiering for my living,' says the stature. 'I'm +working,' says he. 'I don't suppose you know what work means.'</p> + +<p>"'Have you—have you lost your money?' she asks.</p> + +<p>"Sir Percival studies a minute.</p> + +<p>"'I am poorer,' says he, 'than the poorest sandwich man on the +streets—if I don't earn my living.'</p> + +<p>"'You call this work?' says she. 'I thought a man worked with +his hands or his head instead of becoming a mountebank.'</p> + +<p>"'The calling of a halberdier,' says he, 'is an ancient and +honourable one. Sometimes,' says he, 'the man-at-arms at the +door has saved the castle while the plumed knights were +cake-walking in the banquet-halls above.'</p> + +<p>"'I see you're not ashamed,' says she, 'of your peculiar +tastes. I wonder, though, that the manhood I used to think I +saw in you didn't prompt you to draw water or hew wood instead +of publicly flaunting your ignominy in this disgraceful +masquerade.'</p> + +<p>"Sir Percival kind of rattles his armour and says: 'Helen, will +you suspend sentence in this matter for just a little while? +You don't understand,' says he. 'I've got to hold this job down +a little longer.'</p> + +<p>"'You like being a harlequin—or halberdier, as you call it?' +says she.</p> + +<p>"'I wouldn't get thrown out of the job just now,' says he, with +a grin, 'to be appointed Minister to the Court of St. James's.'</p> + +<p>"And then the 40-H.P. girl's eyes sparkled as hard as diamonds.</p> + +<p>"'Very well,' says she. 'You shall have full run of your +serving-man's tastes this night.' And she swims over to the +boss's desk and gives him a smile that knocks the specks off +his nose.</p> + +<p>"'I think your Rindslosh,' says she, 'is as beautiful as a +dream. It is a little slice of the Old World set down in New +York. We shall have a nice supper up there; but if you will +grant us one favour the illusion will be perfect—give us your +halberdier to wait on our table.'</p> + +<p>"That hits the boss's antiology hobby just right. 'Sure,' says +he, 'dot vill be fine. Und der orchestra shall blay "Die Wacht +am Rhein" all der time.' And he goes over and tells the +halberdier to go upstairs and hustle the grub at the swells' +table.</p> + +<p>"'I'm on the job,' says Sir Percival, taking off his helmet and +hanging it on his halberd and leaning 'em in the corner. The +girl goes up and takes her seat and I see her jaw squared tight +under her smile. 'We're going to be waited on by a real +halberdier,' says she, 'one who is proud of his profession. +Isn't it sweet?'</p> + +<p>"'Ripping,' says the swell young man. 'Much prefer a waiter,' +says the fat old gent. 'I hope he doesn't come from a cheap +museum,' says the old lady; 'he might have microbes in his +costume.'</p> + +<p>"Before he goes to the table, Sir Percival takes me by the arm. +'Eighteen,' he says, 'I've got to pull off this job without a +blunder. You coach me straight or I'll take that halberd and +make hash out of you.' And then he goes up to the table with +his coat of mail on and a napkin over his arm and waits for the +order.</p> + +<p>"'Why, it's Deering!' says the young swell. 'Hello, old man. +What the—'</p> + +<p>"'Beg pardon, sir,' interrupts the halberdier, 'I'm waiting on +the table.'</p> + +<p>"The old man looks at him grim, like a Boston bull. 'So, +Deering,' he says, 'you're at work yet.'</p> + +<p>"'Yes, sir,' says Sir Percival, quiet and gentlemanly as I +could have been myself, 'for almost three months, now.' 'You +haven't been discharged during the time?' asks the old man. +'Not once, sir,' says he, 'though I've had to change my work +several times.'</p> + +<p>"'Waiter,' orders the girl, short and sharp, 'another napkin.' +He brings her one, respectful.</p> + +<p>"I never saw more devil, if I may say it, stirred up in a lady. +There was two bright red spots on her cheeks, and her eyes +looked exactly like a wildcat's I'd seen in the zoo. Her foot +kept slapping the floor all the time.</p> + +<p>"'Waiter,' she orders, 'bring me filtered water without ice. +Bring me a footstool. Take away this empty salt-cellar.' She +kept him on the jump. She was sure giving the halberdier his.</p> + +<p>"There wasn't but a few customers up in the slosh at that time, +so I hung out near the door so I could help Sir Percival serve.</p> + +<p>"He got along fine with the olives and celery and the +bluepoints. They was easy. And then the consommé came up +the dumb-waiter all in one big silver tureen. Instead of serving +it from the side-table he picks it up between his hands and starts +to the dining-table with it. When nearly there he drops the +tureen smash on the floor, and the soup soaks all the lower +part of that girl's swell silk dress.</p> + +<p>"'Stupid—incompetent,' says she, giving him a look. 'Standing +in a corner with a halberd seems to be your mission in life.'</p> + +<p>"'Pardon me, lady,' says he. 'It was just a little bit hotter +than blazes. I couldn't help it.'</p> + +<p>"The old man pulls out a memorandum book and hunts in it. 'The +25th of April, Deering,' says he. 'I know it,' says Sir +Percival. 'And ten minutes to twelve o'clock,' says the old +man. 'By Jupiter! you haven't won yet.' And he pounds the table +with his fist and yells to me: 'Waiter, call the manager at +once—tell him to hurry here as fast as he can.' I go after the +boss, and old Brockmann hikes up to the slosh on the jump.</p> + +<p>"'I want this man discharged at once,' roars the old guy. 'Look +what he's done. Ruined my daughter's dress. It cost at least +$600. Discharge this awkward lout at once or I'll sue you for +the price of it.'</p> + +<p>"'Dis is bad pizness,' says the boss. 'Six hundred dollars is +much. I reckon I vill haf to—'</p> + +<p>"'Wait a minute, Herr Brockmann,' says Sir Percival, easy and +smiling. But he was worked up under his tin suitings; I could +see that. And then he made the finest, neatest little speech I +ever listened to. I can't give you the words, of course. He +give the millionaires a lovely roast in a sarcastic way, +describing their automobiles and opera-boxes and diamonds; and +then he got around to the working-classes and the kind of grub +they eat and the long hours they work—and all that sort of +stuff—bunkum, of course. 'The restless rich,' says he, 'never +content with their luxuries, always prowling among the haunts +of the poor and humble, amusing themselves with the +imperfections and misfortunes of their fellow men and women. +And even here, Herr Brockmann,' he says, 'in this beautiful +Rindslosh, a grand and enlightening reproduction of Old World +history and architecture, they come to disturb its symmetry and +picturesqueness by demanding in their arrogance that the +halberdier of the castle wait upon their table! I have +faithfuly and conscientiously,' says he, 'performed my duties +as a halberdier. I know nothing of a waiter's duties. It was +the insolent whim of these transient, pampered aristocrats that +I should be detailed to serve them food. Must I be blamed—must +I be deprived of the means of a livelihood,' he goes on, 'on +account of an accident that was the result of their own +presumption and haughtiness? But what hurts me more than all,' +says Sir Percival, 'is the desecration that has been done to +this splendid Rindslosh—the confiscation of its halberdier to +serve menially at the banquet board.'</p> + +<p>"Even I could see that this stuff was piffle; but it caught the +boss.</p> + +<p>"'Mein Gott,' says he, 'you vas right. Ein halberdier have not +got der right to dish up soup. Him I vill not discharge. Have +anoder waiter if you like, und let mein halberdier go back und +stand mit his halberd. But, gentlemen,' he says, pointing to +the old man, 'you go ahead and sue mit der dress. Sue me for +$600 or $6,000. I stand der suit.' And the boss puffs off +down-stairs. Old Brockmann was an all-right Dutchman.</p> + +<p>"Just then the clock strikes twelve, and the old guy laughs +loud. 'You win, Deering,' says he. 'And let me explain to all,' +he goes on. 'Some time ago Mr. Deering asked me for something +that I did not want to give him.' (I looks at the girl, and she +turns as red as a pickled beet.) 'I told him,' says the old +guy, 'if he would earn his own living for three months without +being discharged for incompetence, I would give him what he +wanted. It seems that the time was up at twelve o'clock +to-night. I came near fetching you, though, Deering, on that +soup question,' says the old boy, standing up and grabbing Sir +Percival's hand.</p> + +<p>"The halberdier lets out a yell and jumps three feet high.</p> + +<p>"'Look out for those hands,' says he, and he holds 'em up. You +never saw such hands except on a labourer in a limestone +quarry.</p> + +<p>"'Heavens, boy!' says old side-whiskers, 'what have you been +doing to 'em?'</p> + +<p>"'Oh,' says Sir Percival, 'little chores like hauling coal and +excavating rock till they went back on me. And when I couldn't +hold a pick or a whip I took up halberdiering to give 'em a +rest. Tureens full of hot soup don't seem to be a particularly +soothing treatment.'</p> + +<p>"I would have bet on that girl. That high-tempered kind always +go as far the other way, according to my experience. She +whizzes round the table like a cyclone and catches both his +hands in hers. 'Poor hands—dear hands,' she sings out, and +sheds tears on 'em and holds 'em close to her bosom. Well, sir, +with all that Rindslosh scenery it was just like a play. And +the halberdier sits down at the table at the girl's side, and I +served the rest of the supper. And that was about all, except +that when they left he shed his hardware store and went with +'em."</p> + +<p>I dislike to be side-tracked from an original proposition.</p> + +<p>"But you haven't told me, Eighteen," said I, "how the +cigar-case came to be broken."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that was last night," said Eighteen. "Sir Percival and the +girl drove up in a cream-coloured motor-car, and had dinner in +the Rindslosh. 'The same table, Billy,' I heard her say as they +went up. I waited on 'em. We've got a new halberdier now, a +bow-legged guy with a face like a sheep. As they came +down-stairs Sir Percival passes him a ten-case note. The new +halberdier drops his halberd, and it falls on the cigar-case. +That's how that happened."</p> + + +<p><a name="21"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>XXI</h3> +<h3>TWO RENEGADES<br /> </h3> + + +<p>In the Gate City of the South the Confederate Veterans were +reuniting; and I stood to see them march, beneath the tangled +flags of the great conflict, to the hall of their oratory and +commemoration.</p> + +<p>While the irregular and halting line was passing I made +onslaught upon it and dragged from the ranks my friend Barnard +O'Keefe, who had no right to be there. For he was a Northerner +born and bred; and what should he be doing hallooing for the +Stars and Bars among those gray and moribund veterans? And why +should he be trudging, with his shining, martial, humorous, +broad face, among those warriors of a previous and alien +generation?</p> + +<p>I say I dragged him forth, and held him till the last hickory +leg and waving goatee had stumbled past. And then I hustled him +out of the crowd into a cool interior; for the Gate City was +stirred that day, and the hand-organs wisely eliminated +"Marching Through Georgia" from their repertories.</p> + +<p>"Now, what deviltry are you up to?" I asked of O'Keefe when +there were a table and things in glasses between us.</p> + +<p>O'Keefe wiped his heated face and instigated a commotion among +the floating ice in his glass before he chose to answer.</p> + +<p>"I am assisting at the wake," said he, "of the only nation on +earth that ever did me a good turn. As one gentleman to +another, I am ratifying and celebrating the foreign policy of +the late Jefferson Davis, as fine a statesman as ever settled +the financial question of a country. Equal ratio—that was his +platform—a barrel of money for a barrel of flour—a pair of +$20 bills for a pair of boots—a hatful of currency for a new +hat—say, ain't that simple compared with W. J. B.'s little old +oxidized plank?"</p> + +<p>"What talk is this?" I asked. "Your financial digression is +merely a subterfuge. Why were you marching in the ranks of the +Confederate Veterans?"</p> + +<p>"Because, my lad," answered O'Keefe, "the Confederate +Government in its might and power interposed to protect and +defend Barnard O'Keefe against immediate and dangerous +assassination at the hands of a blood-thirsty foreign country +after the Unites States of America had overruled his appeal for +protection, and had instructed Private Secretary Cortelyou to +reduce his estimate of the Republican majority for 1905 by one +vote."</p> + +<p>"Come, Barney," said I, "the Confederate States of America has +been out of existence nearly forty years. You do not look older +yourself. When was it that the deceased government exerted its +foreign policy in your behalf?"</p> + +<p>"Four months ago," said O'Keefe, promptly. "The infamous +foreign power I alluded to is still staggering from the +official blow dealt it by Mr. Davis's contraband aggregation of +states. That's why you see me cake-walking with the ex-rebs to +the illegitimate tune about 'simmon-seeds and cotton. I vote +for the Great Father in Washington, but I am not going back on +Mars' Jeff. You say the Confederacy has been dead forty years? +Well, if it hadn't been for it, I'd have been breathing to-day +with soul so dead I couldn't have whispered a single cuss-word +about my native land. The O'Keefes are not overburdened with +ingratitude."</p> + +<p>I must have looked bewildered. "The war was over," I said +vacantly, "in—"</p> + +<p>O'Keefe laughed loudly, scattering my thoughts.</p> + +<p>"Ask old Doc Millikin if the war is over!" he shouted, hugely +diverted. "Oh, no! Doc hasn't surrendered yet. And the +Confederate States! Well, I just told you they bucked +officially and solidly and nationally against a foreign +government four months ago and kept me from being shot. Old +Jeff's country stepped in and brought me off under its wing +while Roosevelt was having a gunboat painted and waiting for +the National Campaign Committee to look up whether I had ever +scratched the ticket."</p> + +<p>"Isn't there a story in this, Barney?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"No," said O'Keefe; "but I'll give you the facts. You know I +went down to Panama when this irritation about a canal began. I +thought I'd get in on the ground floor. I did, and had to sleep +on it, and drink water with little zoos in it; so, of course, I +got the Chagres fever. That was in a little town called San +Juan on the coast.</p> + +<p>"After I got the fever hard enough to kill a Port-au-Prince +nigger, I had a relapse in the shape of Doc Millikin.</p> + +<p>"There was a doctor to attend a sick man! If Doc Millikin had +your case, he made the terrors of death seem like an invitation +to a donkey-party. He had the bedside manners of a Piute +medicine-man and the soothing presence of a dray loaded with +iron bridge-girders. When he laid his hand on your fevered brow +you felt like Cap John Smith just before Pocahontas went his +bail.</p> + +<p>"Well, this old medical outrage floated down to my shack when I +sent for him. He was build like a shad, and his eyebrows was +black, and his white whiskers trickled down from his chin like +milk coming out of a sprinkling-pot. He had a nigger boy along +carrying an old tomato-can full of calomel, and a saw.</p> + +<p>"Doc felt my pulse, and then he began to mess up some calomel +with an agricultural implement that belonged to the trowel +class.</p> + +<p>"'I don't want any death-mask made yet, Doc,' I says, 'nor my +liver put in a plaster-of-Paris cast. I'm sick; and it's +medicine I need, not frescoing.'</p> + +<p>"'You're a blame Yankee, ain't you?' asked Doc, going on mixing +up his Portland cement.</p> + +<p>"'I'm from the North,' says I, 'but I'm a plain man, and don't +care for mural decorations. When you get the Isthmus all +asphalted over with that boll-weevil prescription, would you +mind giving me a dose of pain-killer, or a little strychnine on +toast to ease up this feeling of unhealthiness that I have +got?"</p> + +<p>"'They was all sassy, just like you,' says old Doc, 'but we +lowered their temperature considerable. Yes, sir, I reckon we +sent a good many of ye over to old <i>mortuis nisi bonum</i>. Look +at Antietam and Bull Run and Seven Pines and around Nashville! +There never was a battle where we didn't lick ye unless you was +ten to our one. I knew you were a blame Yankee the minute I +laid eyes on you.'</p> + +<p>"'Don't reopen the chasm, Doc,' I begs him. 'Any Yankeeness I +may have is geographical; and, as far as I am concerned, a +Southerner is as good as a Filipino any day. I'm feeling to bad +too argue. Let's have secession without misrepresentation, if +you say so; but what I need is more laudanum and less Lundy's +Lane. If you're mixing that compound gefloxide of gefloxicum +for me, please fill my ears with it before you get around to +the battle of Gettysburg, for there is a subject full of talk.'</p> + +<p>"By this time Doc Millikin had thrown up a line of +fortifications on square pieces of paper; and he says to me: +'Yank, take one of these powders every two hours. They won't +kill you. I'll be around again about sundown to see if you're +alive.'</p> + +<p>"Old Doc's powders knocked the chagres. I stayed in San Juan, +and got to knowing him better. He was from Mississippi, and the +red-hottest Southerner that ever smelled mint. He made +Stonewall Jackson and R. E. Lee look like Abolitionists. He had +a family somewhere down near Yazoo City; but he stayed away +from the States on account of an uncontrollable liking he had +for the absence of a Yankee government. Him and me got as thick +personally as the Emperor of Russia and the dove of peace, but +sectionally we didn't amalgamate.</p> + +<p>"'Twas a beautiful system of medical practice introduced by old +Doc into that isthmus of land. He'd take that bracket-saw and +the mild chloride and his hypodermic, and treat anything from +yellow fever to a personal friend.</p> + +<p>"Besides his other liabilities Doc could play a flute for a +minute or two. He was guilty of two tunes—'Dixie' and another +one that was mighty close to the 'Suwanee River'—you might say +one of its tributaries. He used to come down and sit with me +while I was getting well, and aggrieve his flute and say +unreconstructed things about the North. You'd have thought that +the smoke from the first gun at Fort Sumter was still floating +around in the air.</p> + +<p>"You know that was about the time they staged them property +revolutions down there, that wound up in the fifth act with the +thrilling canal scene where Uncle Sam has nine curtain-calls +holding Miss Panama by the hand, while the bloodhounds keep +Senator Morgan treed up in a cocoanut-palm.</p> + +<p>"That's the way it wound up; but at first it seemed as if +Colombia was going to make Panama look like one of the $3.98 +kind, with dents made in it in the factory, like they wear at +North Beach fish fries. For mine, I played the straw-hat crowd +to win; and they gave me a colonel's commission over a brigade +of twenty-seven men in the left wing and second joint of the +insurgent army.</p> + +<p>"The Colombian troops were awfully rude to us. One day when I +had my brigade in a sandy spot, with its shoes off doing a +battalion drill by squads, the Government army rushed from +behind a bush at us, acting as noisy and disagreeable as they +could.</p> + +<p>"My troops enfiladed, left-faced, and left the spot. After +enticing the enemy for three miles or so we struck a +brier-patch and had to sit down. When we were ordered to throw +up our toes and surrender we obeyed. Five of my best +staff-officers fell, suffering extremely with stone-bruised +heels.</p> + +<p>"Then and there those Colombians took your friend Barney, sir, +stripped him of the insignia of his rank, consisting of a pair +of brass knuckles and a canteen of rum, and dragged him before +a military court. The presiding general went through the usual +legal formalities that sometimes cause a case to hang on the +calendar of a South American military court as long as ten +minutes. He asked me my age, and then sentenced me to be shot.</p> + +<p>"They woke up the court interpreter, an American named Jenks, +who was in the rum business and vice versa, and told him to +translate the verdict.</p> + +<p>"Jenks stretched himself and took a morphine tablet.</p> + +<p>"'You've got to back up against th' 'dobe, old man,' says he to +me. 'Three weeks, I believe, you get. Haven't got a chew of +fine-cut on you, have you?'</p> + +<p>"'Translate that again, with foot-notes and a glossary,' says +I. 'I don't know whether I'm discharged, condemned, or handed +over to the Gerry Society.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh,' says Jenks, 'don't you understand? You're to be stood up +against a 'dobe wall and shot in two or three weeks—three, I +think, they said.'</p> + +<p>"'Would you mind asking 'em which?' says I. 'A week don't +amount to much after you're dead, but it seems a real nice long +spell while you are alive.'</p> + +<p>"'It's two weeks,' says the interpreter, after inquiring in +Spanish of the court. 'Shall I ask 'em again?'</p> + +<p>"'Let be,' says I. 'Let's have a stationary verdict. If I keep +on appealing this way they'll have me shot about ten days +before I was captured. No, I haven't got any fine-cut.'</p> + +<p>"They sends me over to the <i>calaboza</i> with a detachment of +coloured postal-telegraph boys carrying Enfield rifles, and I +am locked up in a kind of brick bakery. The temperature in +there was just about the kind mentioned in the cooking recipes +that call for a quick oven.</p> + +<p>"Then I gives a silver dollar to one of the guards to send for +the United States consul. He comes around in pajamas, with a +pair of glasses on his nose and a dozen or two inside of him.</p> + +<p>"'I'm to be shot in two weeks,' says I. 'And although I've made +a memorandum of it, I don't seem to get it off my mind. You +want to call up Uncle Sam on the cable as quick as you can and +get him all worked up about it. Have 'em send the <i>Kentucky</i> +and the <i>Kearsarge</i> and the <i>Oregon</i> down right away. That'll be +about enough battleships; but it wouldn't hurt to have a couple +of cruisers and a torpedo-boat destroyer, too. And—say, if +Dewey isn't busy, better have him come along on the fastest one +of the fleet.'</p> + +<p>"'Now, see here, O'Keefe,' says the consul, getting the best of +a hiccup, 'what do you want to bother the State Department +about this matter for?'</p> + +<p>"'Didn't you hear me?' says I; 'I'm to be shot in two weeks. +Did you think I said I was going to a lawn-party? And it +wouldn't hurt of Roosevelt could get the Japs to send down the +<i>Yellowyamtiskookum</i> or the <i>Ogotosingsing</i> or some other +first-class cruisers to help. It would make me feel safer.'</p> + +<p>"'Now, what you want,' says the consul, 'is not to get excited. +I'll send you over some chewing tobacco and some banana +fritters when I go back. The United States can't interfere in +this. You know you were caught insurging against the +government, and you're subject to the laws of this country. To +tell the truth, I've had an intimation from the State +Department—unofficially, of course—that whenever a soldier of +fortune demands a fleet of gunboats in a case of revolutionary +<i>katzenjammer</i>, I should cut the cable, give him all the +tobacco he wants, and after he's shot take his clothes, if they +fit me, for part payment of my salary.'</p> + +<p>"'Consul,' says I to him, 'this is a serious question. You are +representing Uncle Sam. This ain't any little international +tomfoolery, like a universal peace congress or the christening +of the <i>Shamrock IV</i>. I'm an American citizen and I demand +protection. I demand the Mosquito fleet, and Schley, and the +Atlantic squadron, and Bob Evans, and General E. Byrd Grubb, +and two or three protocols. What are you going to do about it?'</p> + +<p>"'Nothing doing,' says the consul.</p> + +<p>"'Be off with you, then,' says I, out of patience with him, +'and send me Doc Millikin. Ask Doc to come and see me.'</p> + +<p>"Doc comes and looks through the bars at me, surrounded by +dirty soldiers, with even my shoes and canteen confiscated, and +he looks mightily pleased.</p> + +<p>"'Hello, Yank,' says he, 'getting a little taste of Johnson's +Island, now, ain't ye?'</p> + +<p>"'Doc,' says I, 'I've just had an interview with the U.S. +consul. I gather from his remarks that I might just as well +have been caught selling suspenders in Kishineff under the name +of Rosenstein as to be in my present condition. It seems that +the only maritime aid I am to receive from the United States is +some navy-plug to chew. Doc,' says I, 'can't you suspend +hostility on the slavery question long enough to do something +for me?'</p> + +<p>"'It ain't been my habit,' Doc Millikin answers, 'to do any +painless dentistry when I find a Yank cutting an eye-tooth. So +the Stars and Stripes ain't lending any marines to shell the +huts of the Colombian cannibals, hey? Oh, say, can you see by +the dawn's early light the star-spangled banner has fluked in +the fight? What's the matter with the War Department, hey? It's +a great thing to be a citizen of a gold-standard nation, ain't +it?'</p> + +<p>"'Rub it in, Doc, all you want,' says I. 'I guess we're weak on +foreign policy.'</p> + +<p>"'For a Yank,' says Doc, putting on his specs and talking more +mild, 'you ain't so bad. If you had come from below the line I +reckon I would have liked you right smart. Now since your +country has gone back on you, you have to come to the old +doctor whose cotton you burned and whose mules who stole and +whose niggers you freed to help you. Ain't that so, Yank?'</p> + +<p>"'It is,' says I heartily, 'and let's have a diagnosis of the +case right away, for in two weeks' time all you can do is to +hold an autopsy and I don't want to be amputated if I can help +it.'</p> + +<p>"'Now,' says Doc, business-like, 'it's easy enough for you to +get out of this scrape. Money'll do it. You've got to pay a +long string of 'em from General Pomposo down to this anthropoid +ape guarding your door. About $10,000 will do the trick. Have +you got the money?'</p> + +<p>"'Me?' says I. 'I've got one Chili dollar, two <i>real</i> pieces, +and a <i>medio</i>.'</p> + +<p>"'Then if you've any last words, utter 'em,' says that old reb. +'The roster of your financial budget sounds quite much to me +like the noise of a requiem.'</p> + +<p>"'Change the treatment,' says I. 'I admit that I'm short. Call +a consultation or use radium or smuggle me in some saws or +something.'</p> + +<p>"'Yank,' says Doc Millikin, 'I've a good notion to help you. +There's only one government in the world that can get you out +of this difficulty; and that's the Confederate States of +America, the grandest nation that ever existed.'</p> + +<p>"Just as you said to me I says to Doc; 'Why, the Confederacy +ain't a nation. It's been absolved forty years ago.'</p> + +<p>"'That's a campaign lie,' says Doc. 'She's running along as +solid as the Roman Empire. She's the only hope you've got. Now, +you, being a Yank, have got to go through with some preliminary +obsequies before you can get official aid. You've got to take +the oath of allegiance to the Confederate Government. Then I'll +guarantee she does all she can for you. What do you say, +Yank?—it's your last chance.'</p> + +<p>"'If you're fooling with me, Doc,' I answers, 'you're no better +than the United States. But as you say it's the last chance, +hurry up and swear me. I always did like corn whisky and +'possum anyhow. I believe I'm half Southerner by nature. I'm +willing to try the Klu-klux in place of the khaki. Get brisk.'</p> + +<p>"Doc Millikin thinks awhile, and then he offers me this oath of +allegiance to take without any kind of a chaser:</p> + +<p>"'I, Barnard O'Keefe, Yank, being of sound body but a +Republican mind, hereby swear to transfer my fealty, respect, +and allegiance to the Confederate States of America, and the +government thereof in consideration of said government, through +its official acts and powers, obtaining my freedom and release +from confinement and sentence of death brought about by the +exuberance of my Irish proclivities and my general pizenness as +a Yank.'</p> + +<p>"I repeated these words after Doc, but they seemed to me a kind +of hocus-pocus; and I don't believe any life-insurance company +in the world would have issued me a policy on the strength of +'em.</p> + +<p>"Doc went away saying he would communicate with his government +immediately.</p> + +<p>"Say—you can imagine how I felt—me to be shot in two weeks +and my only hope for help being in a government that's been +dead so long that it isn't even remembered except on Decoration +Day and when Joe Wheeler signs the voucher for his pay-check. +But it was all there was in sight; and somehow I thought Doc +Millikin had something up his old alpaca sleeve that wasn't all +foolishness.</p> + +<p>"Around to the jail comes old Doc again in about a week. I was +flea-bitten, a mite sarcastic, and fundamentally hungry.</p> + +<p>"'Any Confederate ironclads in the offing?' I asks. 'Do you +notice any sounds resembling the approach of Jeb Stewart's +cavalry overland or Stonewall Jackson sneaking up in the rear? +If you do, I wish you'd say so.'</p> + +<p>"'It's too soon yet for help to come,' says Doc.</p> + +<p>"'The sooner the better,' says I. 'I don't care if it gets in +fully fifteen minutes before I am shot; and if you happen to +lay eyes on Beauregard or Albert Sidney Johnston or any of the +relief corps, wig-wag 'em to hike along.'</p> + +<p>"'There's been no answer received yet,' says Doc.</p> + +<p>"'Don't forget,' says I, 'that there's only four days more. I +don't know how you propose to work this thing, Doc,' I says to +him; 'but it seems to me I'd sleep better if you had got a +government that was alive and on the map—like Afghanistan or +Great Britain, or old man Kruger's kingdom, to take this matter +up. I don't mean any disrespect to your Confederate States, but +I can't help feeling that my chances of being pulled out of +this scrape was decidedly weakened when General Lee +surrendered.'</p> + +<p>"'It's your only chance,' said Doc; 'don't quarrel with it. +What did your own country do for you?'</p> + +<p>"It was only two days before the morning I was to be shot, when +Doc Millikin came around again.</p> + +<p>"'All right, Yank,' says he. 'Help's come. The Confederate +States of America is going to apply for your release. The +representatives of the government arrived on a fruit-steamer +last night.'</p> + +<p>"'Bully!' says I—'bully for you, Doc! I suppose it's marines +with a Gatling. I'm going to love your country all I can for +this.'</p> + +<p>"'Negotiations,' says old Doc, 'will be opened between the two +governments at once. You will know later to-day if they are +successful.'</p> + +<p>"About four in the afternoon a soldier in red trousers brings a +paper round to the jail, and they unlocks the door and I walks +out. The guard at the door bows and I bows, and I steps into +the grass and wades around to Doc Millikin's shack.</p> + +<p>"Doc was sitting in his hammock playing 'Dixie,' soft and low +and out of tune, on his flute. I interrupted him at 'Look away! +look away!' and shook his hand for five minutes.</p> + +<p>"'I never thought,' says Doc, taking a chew fretfully, 'that +I'd ever try to save any blame Yank's life. But, Mr. O'Keefe, I +don't see but what you are entitled to be considered part +human, anyhow. I never thought Yanks had any of the rudiments +of decorum and laudability about them. I reckon I might have +been too aggregative in my tabulation. But it ain't me you want +to thank—it's the Confederate States of America.'</p> + +<p>"'And I'm much obliged to 'em,' says I. 'It's a poor man that +wouldn't be patriotic with a country that's saved his life. +I'll drink to the Stars and Bars whenever there's a flagstaff +and a glass convenient. But where,' says I, 'are the rescuing +troops? If there was a gun fired or a shell burst, I didn't +hear it.'</p> + +<p>"Doc Millikin raises up and points out the window with his +flute at the banana-steamer loading with fruit.</p> + +<p>"'Yank,' says he, 'there's a steamer that's going to sail in +the morning. If I was you, I'd sail on it. The Confederate +Government's done all it can for you. There wasn't a gun fired. +The negotiations were carried on secretly between the two +nations by the purser of that steamer. I got him to do it +because I didn't want to appear in it. Twelve thousand dollars +was paid to the officials in bribes to let you go.'</p> + +<p>"'Man!' says I, sitting down hard—'twelve thousand—how will I +ever—who could have—where did the money come from?'</p> + +<p>"'Yazoo City,' says Doc Millikin: 'I've got a little saved up +there. Two barrels full. It looks good to these Colombians. +'Twas Confederate money, every dollar of it. Now do you see why +you'd better leave before they try to pass some of it on an +expert?'</p> + +<p>"'I do,' says I.</p> + +<p>"'Now let's hear you give the password,' says Doc Millikin.</p> + +<p>"'Hurrah for Jeff Davis!' says I.</p> + +<p>"'Correct,' says Doc. 'And let me tell you something: The next +tune I learn on my flute is going to be "Yankee Doodle." I +reckon there's some Yanks that are not so pizen. Or, if you was +me, would you try "The Red, White, and Blue"?'"</p> + + +<p><a name="22"></a> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>XXII</h3> +<h3>THE LONESOME ROAD<br /> </h3> + + +<p>Brown as a coffee-berry, rugged, pistoled, spurred, wary, +indefeasible, I saw my old friend, Deputy-Marshal Buck +Caperton, stumble, with jingling rowels, into a chair in the +marshal's outer office.</p> + +<p>And because the court-house was almost deserted at that hour, +and because Buck would sometimes relate to me things that were +out of print, I followed him in and tricked him into talk +through knowledge of a weakness he had. For, cigarettes rolled +with sweet corn husk were as honey to Buck's palate; and though +he could finger the trigger of a forty-five with skill and +suddenness, he never could learn to roll a cigarette.</p> + +<p>It was through no fault of mine (for I rolled the cigarettes +tight and smooth), but the upshot of some whim of his own, that +instead of to an Odyssey of the chaparral, I listened to—a +dissertation upon matrimony! This from Buck Caperton! But I +maintain that the cigarettes were impeccable, and crave +absolution for myself.</p> + +<p>"We just brought in Jim and Bud Granberry," said Buck. "Train +robbing, you know. Held up the Aransas Pass last month. We +caught 'em in the Twenty-Mile pear flat, south of the Nueces."</p> + +<p>"Have much trouble corralling them?" I asked, for here was the +meat that my hunger for epics craved.</p> + +<p>"Some," said Buck; and then, during a little pause, his +thoughts stampeded off the trail. "It's kind of queer about +women," he went on, "and the place they're supposed to occupy +in botany. If I was asked to classify them I'd say they was a +human loco weed. Ever see a bronc that had been chewing loco? +Ride him up to a puddle of water two feet wide, and he'll give +a snort and fall back on you. It looks as big as the +Mississippi River to him. Next trip he'd walk into a cañon +a thousand feet deep thinking it was a prairie-dog hole. Same way +with a married man.</p> + +<p>"I was thinking of Perry Rountree, that used to be my +sidekicker before he committed matrimony. In them days me and +Perry hated indisturbances of any kind. We roamed around +considerable, stirring up the echoes and making 'em attend to +business. Why, when me and Perry wanted to have some fun in a +town it was a picnic for the census takers. They just counted +the marshal's posse that it took to subdue us, and there was +your population. But then there came along this Mariana +Goodnight girl and looked at Perry sideways, and he was all +bridle-wise and saddle-broke before you could skin a yearling.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't even asked to the wedding. I reckon the bride had my +pedigree and the front elevation of my habits all mapped out, +and she decided that Perry would trot better in double harness +without any unconverted mustang like Buck Caperton whickering +around on the matrimonial range. So it was six months before I +saw Perry again.</p> + +<p>"One day I was passing on the edge of town, and I see something +like a man in a little yard by a little house with a +sprinkling-pot squirting water on a rose-bush. Seemed to me, +I'd seen something like it before, and I stopped at the gate, +trying to figure out its brands. 'Twas not Perry Rountree, but +'twas the kind of a curdled jellyfish matrimony had made out of +him.</p> + +<p>"Homicide was what that Mariana had perpetrated. He was looking +well enough, but he had on a white collar and shoes, and you +could tell in a minute that he'd speak polite and pay taxes and +stick his little finger out while drinking, just like a sheep +man or a citizen. Great skyrockets! but I hated to see Perry +all corrupted and Willie-ized like that.</p> + +<p>"He came out to the gate, and shook hands; and I says, with +scorn, and speaking like a paroquet with the pip: 'Beg +pardon—Mr. Rountree, I believe. Seems to me I sagatiated in +your associations once, if I am not mistaken.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, go to the devil, Buck,' says Perry, polite, as I was +afraid he'd be.</p> + +<p>"'Well, then,' says I, 'you poor, contaminated adjunct of a +sprinkling-pot and degraded household pet, what did you go and +do it for? Look at you, all decent and unriotous, and only fit +to sit on juries and mend the wood-house door. You was a man +once. I have hostility for all such acts. Why don't you go in +the house and count the tidies or set the clock, and not stand +out here in the atmosphere? A jack-rabbit might come along and +bite you.'</p> + +<p>"'Now, Buck,' says Perry, speaking mild, and some sorrowful, +'you don't understand. A married man has got to be different. +He feels different from a tough old cloudburst like you. It's +sinful to waste time pulling up towns just to look at their +roots, and playing faro and looking upon red liquor, and such +restless policies as them.'</p> + +<p>"'There was a time,' I says, and I expect I sighed when I +mentioned it, 'when a certain domesticated little Mary's lamb I +could name was some instructed himself in the line of +pernicious sprightliness. I never expected, Perry, to see you +reduced down from a full-grown pestilence to such a frivolous +fraction of a man. Why,' says I, 'you've got a necktie on; and +you speak a senseless kind of indoor drivel that reminds me of +a storekeeper or a lady. You look to me like you might tote an +umbrella and wear suspenders, and go home of nights.'</p> + +<p>"'The little woman,' says Perry, 'has made some improvements, I +believe. You can't understand, Buck. I haven't been away from +the house at night since we was married.'</p> + +<p>"We talked on a while, me and Perry, and, as sure as I live, +that man interrupted me in the middle of my talk to tell me +about six tomato plants he had growing in his garden. Shoved +his agricultural degradation right up under my nose while I was +telling him about the fun we had tarring and feathering that +faro dealer at California Pete's layout! But by and by Perry +shows a flicker of sense.</p> + +<p>"'Buck,' says he, 'I'll have to admit that it is a little dull +at times. Not that I'm not perfectly happy with the little +woman, but a man seems to require some excitement now and then. +Now, I'll tell you: Mariana's gone visiting this afternoon, and +she won't be home till seven o'clock. That's the limit for both +of us—seven o'clock. Neither of us ever stays +out a minute after that time unless we are together. Now, I'm +glad you came along, Buck,' says Perry, 'for I'm feeling just +like having one more rip-roaring razoo with you for the sake of +old times. What you say to us putting in the afternoon having +fun—I'd like it fine,' says Perry.</p> + +<p>"I slapped that old captive range-rider half across his little +garden.</p> + +<p>"'Get your hat, you old dried-up alligator,' I shouts, 'you +ain't dead yet. You're part human, anyhow, if you did get all +bogged up in matrimony. We'll take this town to pieces and see +what makes it tick. We'll make all kinds of profligate demands +upon the science of cork pulling. You'll grow horns yet, old +muley cow,' says I, punching Perry in the ribs, 'if you trot +around on the trail of vice with your Uncle Buck.'</p> + +<p>"'I'll have to be home by seven, you know,' says Perry again.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, yes,' says I, winking to myself, for I knew the kind of +seven o'clocks Perry Rountree got back by after he once got to +passing repartee with the bartenders.</p> + +<p>"We goes down to the Gray Mule saloon—that old 'dobe building +by the depot.</p> + +<p>"'Give it a name,' says I, as soon as we got one hoof on the +foot-rest.</p> + +<p>"'Sarsaparilla,' says Perry.</p> + +<p>"You could have knocked me down with a lemon peeling.</p> + +<p>"'Insult me as much as you want to,' I says to Perry, 'but +don't startle the bartender. He may have heart-disease. Come +on, now; your tongue got twisted. The tall glasses,' I orders, +'and the bottle in the left-hand corner of the ice-chest.'</p> + +<p>"'Sarsaparilla,' repeats Perry, and then his eyes get animated, +and I see he's got some great scheme in his mind he wants to +emit.</p> + +<p>"'Buck,' says he, all interested, 'I'll tell you what! I want +to make this a red-letter day. I've been keeping close at home, +and I want to turn myself a-loose. We'll have the highest old +time you ever saw. We'll go in the back room here and play +checkers till half-past six.'</p> + +<p>"I leaned against the bar, and I says to Gotch-eared Mike, who +was on watch:</p> + +<p>"'For God's sake don't mention this. You know what Perry used +to be. He's had the fever, and the doctor says we must humour +him.'</p> + +<p>"'Give us the checker-board and the men, Mike,' says Perry. +'Come on, Buck, I'm just wild to have some excitement.'</p> + +<p>"I went in the back room with Perry. Before we closed the door, +I says to Mike:</p> + +<p>"'Don't ever let it straggle out from under your hat that you +seen Buck Caperton fraternal with sarsaparilla or <i>persona +grata</i> with a checker-board, or I'll make a swallow-fork in +your other ear.'</p> + +<p>"I locked the door and me and Perry played checkers. To see +that poor old humiliated piece of household bric-a-brac sitting +there and sniggering out loud whenever he jumped a man, and all +obnoxious with animation when he got into my king row, would +have made a sheep-dog sick with mortification. Him that was +once satisfied only when he was pegging six boards at keno or +giving the faro dealers nervous prostration—to see him pushing +them checkers about like Sally Louisa at a school-children's +party—why, I was all smothered up with mortification.</p> + +<p>"And I sits there playing the black men, all sweating for fear +somebody I knew would find it out. And I thinks to myself some +about this marrying business, and how it seems to be the same +kind of a game as that Mrs. Delilah played. She give her old +man a hair cut, and everybody knows what a man's head looks +like after a woman cuts his hair. And then when the Pharisees +came around to guy him he was so 'shamed that he went to work +and kicked the whole house down on top of the whole outfit. +'Them married men,' thinks I, 'lose all their spirit and +instinct for riot and foolishness. They won't drink, they won't +buck the tiger, they won't even fight. What do they want to go +and stay married for?' I asks myself.</p> + +<p>"But Perry seems to be having hilarity in considerable +quantities.</p> + +<p>"'Buck old hoss,' says he, 'isn't this just the hell-roaringest +time we ever had in our lives? I don't know when I've been +stirred up so. You see, I've been sticking pretty close to home +since I married, and I haven't been on a spree in a long time.'</p> + +<p>"'Spree!' Yes, that's what he called it. Playing checkers in +the back room of the Gray Mule! I suppose it did seem to him a +little immoral and nearer to a prolonged debauch than +standing over six tomato plants with a sprinkling-pot.</p> + +<p>"Every little bit Perry looks at his watch and says:</p> + +<p>"'I got to be home, you know, Buck, at seven.'</p> + +<p>"'All right,' I'd say. 'Romp along and move. This here +excitement's killing me. If I don't reform some, and loosen up +the strain of this checkered dissipation I won't have a nerve +left.'</p> + +<p>"It might have been half-past six when commotions began to go +on outside in the street. We heard a yelling and a +six-shootering, and a lot of galloping and manœuvres.</p> + +<p>"'What's that?' I wonders.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, some nonsense outside,' says Perry. 'It's your move. We +just got time to play this game.'</p> + +<p>"'I'll just take a peep through the window,' says I, 'and see. +You can't expect a mere mortal to stand the excitement of +having a king jumped and listen to an unidentified conflict +going on at the same time.'</p> + +<p>"The Gray Mule saloon was one of them old Spanish 'dobe +buildings, and the back room only had two little windows a foot +wide, with iron bars in 'em. I looked out one, and I see the +cause of the rucus.</p> + +<p>"There was the Trimble gang—ten of 'em—the worst outfit of +desperadoes and horse-thieves in Texas, coming up the street +shooting right and left. They was coming right straight for the +Gray Mule. Then they got past the range of my sight, but we +heard 'em ride up to the front door, and then they socked the +place full of lead. We heard the big looking-glass behind the +bar knocked all to pieces and the bottles crashing. We could +see Gotch-eared Mike in his apron running across the plaza like +a coyote, with the bullets puffing up dust all around him. Then +the gang went to work in the saloon, drinking what they wanted +and smashing what they didn't.</p> + +<p>"Me and Petty both knew that gang, and they knew us. The year +before Perry married, him and me was in the same ranger +company—and we fought that outfit down on the San Miguel, and +brought back Ben Trimble and two others for murder.</p> + +<p>"'We can't get out,' says I. 'We'll have to stay in here till +they leave.'</p> + +<p>"Perry looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>"'Twenty-five to seven,' says he. 'We can finish that game. I +got two men on you. It's your move, Buck. I got to be home at +seven, you know.'</p> + +<p>"We sat down and went on playing. The Trimble gang had a +roughhouse for sure. They were getting good and drunk. They'd +drink a while and holler a while, and then they'd shoot up a +few bottles and glasses. Two or three times they came and tried +to open our door. Then there was some more shooting outside, +and I looked out the window again. Ham Gossett, the town +marshal, had a posse in the houses and stores across the +street, and was trying to bag a Trimble or two through the +windows.</p> + +<p>"I lost that game of checkers. I'm free in saying that I lost +three kings that I might have saved if I had been corralled in +a more peaceful pasture. But that drivelling married man sat +there and cackled when he won a man like an unintelligent hen +picking up a grain of corn.</p> + +<p>"When the game was over Perry gets up and looks at his watch.</p> + +<p>"'I've had a glorious time, Buck,' says he, 'but I'll have to +be going now. It's a quarter to seven, and I got to be home by +seven, you know.'</p> + +<p>"I thought he was joking.</p> + +<p>"'They'll clear out or be dead drunk in half an hour or an +hour,' says I. 'You ain't that tired of being married that you +want to commit any more sudden suicide, are you?' says I, +giving him the laugh.</p> + +<p>"'One time,' says Perry, 'I was half an hour late getting home. +I met Mariana on the street looking for me. If you could have +seen her, Buck—but you don't understand. She knows what a wild +kind of a snoozer I've been, and she's afraid something will +happen. I'll never be late getting home again. I'll say +good-bye to you now, Buck.'</p> + +<p>"I got between him and the door.</p> + +<p>"'Married man,' says I, 'I know you was christened a fool the +minute the preacher tangled you up, but don't you never +sometimes think one little think on a human basis? There's ten +of that gang in there, and they're pizen with whisky and desire +for murder. They'll drink you up like a bottle of booze before +you get half-way to the door. Be intelligent, now, and use at +least wild-hog sense. Sit down and wait till we have some +chance to get out without being carried in baskets.'</p> + +<p>"'I got to be home by seven, Buck,' repeats this hen-pecked +thing of little wisdom, like an unthinking poll parrot. +'Mariana,' says he, 'will be out looking for me.' And he +reaches down and pulls a leg out of the checker table. 'I'll go +through this Trimble outfit,' says he, 'like a cottontail +through a brush corral. I'm not pestered any more with a desire +to engage in rucuses, but I got to be home by seven. You lock +the door after me, Buck. And don't you forget—I won three out +of them five games. I'd play longer, but Mariana—'</p> + +<p>"'Hush up, you old locoed road runner,' I interrupts. 'Did you +ever notice your Uncle Buck locking doors against trouble? I'm +not married,' says I, 'but I'm as big a +d––––n fool as any +Mormon. One from four leaves three,' says I, and I gathers out +another leg of the table. 'We'll get home by seven,' says I, +'whether it's the heavenly one or the other. May I see you +home?' says I, 'you sarsaparilla-drinking, checker-playing +glutton for death and destruction.'</p> + +<p>"We opened the door easy, and then stampeded for the front. +Part of the gang was lined up at the bar; part of 'em was +passing over the drinks, and two or three was peeping out the +door and window and taking shots at the marshal's crowd. The +room was so full of smoke we got half-way to the front door +before they noticed us. Then I heard Berry Trimble's voice +somewhere yell out:</p> + +<p>"'How'd that Buck Caperton get in here?' and he skinned the +side of my neck with a bullet. I reckon he felt bad over that +miss, for Berry's the best shot south of the Southern Pacific +Railroad. But the smoke in the saloon was some too thick for +good shooting.</p> + +<p>"Me and Perry smashed over two of the gang with our table legs, +which didn't miss like the guns did, and as we run out the door +I grabbed a Winchester from a fellow who was watching the +outside, and I turned and regulated the account of Mr. Berry.</p> + +<p>"Me and Perry got out and around the corner all right. I never +much expected to get out, but I wasn't going to be intimidated +by that married man. According to Perry's idea, checkers was +the event of the day, but if I am any judge of gentle +recreations that little table-leg parade through the Gray Mule +saloon deserved the head-lines in the bill of particulars.</p> + +<p>"'Walk fast,' says Perry, 'it's two minutes to seven, and I got +to be home by—'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, shut up,' says I. 'I had an appointment as chief +performer at an inquest at seven, and I'm not kicking about not +keeping it.'</p> + +<p>"I had to pass by Perry's little house. His Mariana was +standing at the gate. We got there at five minutes past seven. +She had on a blue wrapper, and her hair was pulled back smooth +like little girls do when they want to look grown-folksy. She +didn't see us till we got close, for she was gazing up the +other way. Then she backed around, and saw Perry, and a kind of +a look scooted around over her face—danged if I can describe +it. I heard her breathe long, just like a cow when you turn her +calf in the lot, and she says: 'You're late, Perry.'</p> + +<p>"'Five minutes,' says Perry, cheerful. 'Me and old Buck was +having a game of checkers.'</p> + +<p>"Perry introduces me to Mariana, and they ask me to come in. +No, sir-ee. I'd had enough truck with married folks for that +day. I says I'll be going along, and that I've spent a very +pleasant afternoon with my old partner—'especially,' says I, +just to jostle Perry, 'during that game when the table legs +came all loose.' But I'd promised him not to let her know +anything.</p> + +<p>"I've been worrying over that business ever since it happened," +continued Buck. "There's one thing about it that's got me all +twisted up, and I can't figure it out."</p> + +<p>"What was that?" I asked, as I rolled and handed Buck the last +cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Why, I'll tell you: When I saw the look that little woman gave +Perry when she turned round and saw him coming back to the +ranch safe—why was it I got the idea all in a minute that that +look of hers was worth more than the whole caboodle of +us—sarsaparilla, checkers, and all, and that the +d––––n fool +in the game wasn't named Perry Rountree at all?"</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROADS OF DESTINY***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 1646-h.txt or 1646-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/4/1646">http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/4/1646</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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