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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/23993.txt b/23993.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d8b8c5 --- /dev/null +++ b/23993.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10509 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Those Who Smiled, by Perceval Gibbon + + +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 www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Those Who Smiled + And Eleven Other Stories + + +Author: Perceval Gibbon + + + +Release Date: December 26, 2007 [eBook #23993] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THOSE WHO SMILED*** + + +E-text prepared by Charles Klingman + + + +THOSE WHO SMILED + +PERCEVAL GIBBON + + + * * * * * + + +By the Same Author + + VERSE: African Items + + SHORT STORIES: + + Vrouw Grobelaar's Leading Cases, The Adventures of Miss Gregory, + The Second-class Passenger + + NOVELS: Souls in Bondage, Salvator, Margaret Harding + + + * * * * * + + +THOSE WHO SMILED + +And Eleven Other Stories + +by + +PERCEVAL GIBBON + + + + + + + +Gassell and Company, LTD London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne + +First Published 1920 + + + + +To + +MY SISTER, MURIEL GIBBON + + + + + +CONTENTS + + 1. THOSE WHO SMILED + + 2. THE DAGO + + 3. WOOD-LADIES + + 4. A MAN BEFORE THE MAST + + 5. THE GIRL + + 6. THE BREADWINNER + + 7. "PLAIN GERMAN" + + 8. ALMS AND THE MAN + + 9. THE DARKENED PATH + + 10. MISS PILGRIM'S PROGRESS + + 11. THE CONNOISSEUR + + 12. THE DAY OF OMENS + + + + +I + +THOSE WHO SMILED + +From the great villa, marble-white amid its yews and cedars, in which +the invaders had set up their headquarters, the two officers the +stout, formidable German captain and the young Austrian lieutenant +went together through the mulberry orchards, where the parched grass +underfoot was tiger-striped with alternate sun and shadow. The hush +of the afternoon and the benign tyranny of the North Italian sun +subdued them; they scarcely spoke as they came through the ranks of +fruit-laden trees to the low embankment where the last houses of the +village tailed out beside the road. + +"So ist's gut!" said Captain Hahn then. "We are on time nicely on +time!" He climbed the grassy bank to the road and paused, his tall +young companion beside him. "Halt here," he directed; "we shall see +everything from here." + +He suspired exhaustively in the still, strong heat, and took +possession of the scene with commanding, intolerant eyes. He was a +man in the earliest years of middle life, short, naturally +full-bodied, and already plethoric with undisciplined passions and +appetites. His large sanguine face had anger and impatience for an +habitual expression; he carried a thick bamboo cane, with which he +lashed the air about him in vehement gesticulation as he spoke; all +his appearance and manner were an incarnate ejaculation. Beside him, +and by contrast with the violence of his effect, his companion was +eclipsed and insignificant, no more than a shape of a silent young +man, slender in his close-fitting grey uniform, with a swart, +immobile face intent upon what passed. + +It was the hour that should crown recent police activities of Captain +Hahn with the arrest of an absconding forced-laborer, who, having +escaped from his slave-gang behind the firing-line on the Piave, had +been traced to his father's house in the village. An Italian +renegade, a discovery of Captain Hahn's, had served in the affair; a +whole machinery of espionage and secret treachery had been put in +motion; and now Lieutenant Jovannic, of the Austrian Army, was to be +shown how the German method ensured the German success. Even as they +arrived upon the road they saw the carefully careless group of +lounging soldiers, like characters on a stage "discovered" at the +rise of the curtain, break into movement and slouch with elaborate +purposelessness to surround the cottage. Their corporal remained +where he was, leaning against a wall in the shade, eating an onion +and ready to give the signal with his whistle; he did not glance +towards the two watching officers. To Lieutenant Jovannic, the +falsity and unreality of it all were as strident as a brass band; yet +in the long vista of the village street, brimful of sun and silence, +the few people who moved upon their business went indifferently as +shadows upon a wall. An old man trudged in the wake of a laden +donkey; a girl bore water-buckets slung from a yoke; a child was +sweeping up dung. None turned a head. + +"Sieh' 'mal!" chuckled Captain Harm joyously. "Here comes my Judas!" + +From the door of the cottage opposite them, whose opening showed dead +black against the golden glare without, came the renegade, pausing +upon the threshold to speak a last cheery word to those within. Poor +Jovannic, it was at this moment that, to the fantastic and absurd +character of the whole event, as arranged by Captain Hahn, there was +now added a quality of sheer horror. The man upon the threshold was +not like a man; vastly pot-bellied, so that the dingy white of his +shirt was only narrowly framed by the black of his jacket, swollen in +body to the comic point, collarless, with a staircase of unshaven +chins crushed under his great, jovial, black-mustached face, the +creature yet moved on little feet like a spinning-top on its point, +buoyantly, with the gait of a tethered balloon. He had the gestures, +the attitude upon the threshold, of a jolly companion; when he +turned, his huge, fatuous face was amiable, and creased yet with the +dregs of smiles. From the breast of his jacket he exhumed a white +handkerchief. "Arrivederci!" he called for the last time to the +interior of the house; someone within answered pleasantly; then +deliberately, with a suggestion of ceremonial and significance in the +gesture, he buried the obscenity of his countenance in the +handkerchief and blew his nose as one blows upon a trumpet. + +"Tadellos!" applauded Captain Hahn enthusiastically. "He invented +that signal himself; he's the only man in the village who carries a +handkerchief. Und jetzt geht's los!" + +And forthwith it went 'los'; the farce quickened to drama. A couple +of idle soldiers, rifle-less and armed only with the bayonets at +their belts, had edged near the door; others had disappeared behind +the house; Judas, mincing on his feet like a soubrette, moved briskly +away; and the corporal, tossing the wreck of his onion from him, blew +a single note on his whistle. The thin squeal of it was barely +audible thirty yards away, yet it seemed to Jovannic as though the +brief jet of sound had screamed the afternoon stillness to rags. The +two slack-bodied soldiers were suddenly swift and violent; drawn +bayonet in hand, they plunged together into the black of the door and +vanished within. Down the long street the old man let the donkey +wander on and turned, bludgeon in hand, to stare; the child and girl +with the buckets were running, and every door and window showed +startled heads. From within the cottage came uproar screams, +stamping, and the crash of furniture overset. + +"You see?" There was for an instant a school-masterly touch in +Captain Hahn. "You see? They've got him; not a hitch anywhere. +Organization, method, foresight; I tell you." + +From the dark door there spouted forth a tangle of folk to the hot +dust of the road that rose like smoke under their shifting feet. The +soldiers had the fighting, plunging prisoner; between their bodies, +and past those of the men and women who had run out with them, his +young, black-avised face surged and raged in an agony of resistance, +lifting itself in a maniac effort to be free, then dragged and beaten +down. An old woman tottered on the fringes of the struggle, crying +feebly; others, young and old, wept or screamed; a soldier, bitten in +the hand, cried an oath and gave way. The prisoner tore himself all +but loose. + +"Verfluchter Schweinhund!" roared Captain Halm suddenly. He had stood +till then intent, steeped in the interest of the thing, but aloof as +an engineer might watch the action of his machine till the moment at +which it fails. Suddenly, a dangerous compact figure of energy, he +dashed across the road, shouting. "You'd resist arrest, would you?" +he was vociferating. His bamboo cane, thick as a stout thumb, rose +and fell twice smashingly; Jovannic saw the second blow go home upon +the hair above the prisoner's forehead. The man was down in an +instant, and the soldiers were over him and upon him. Captain Hahn, +cane in hand, stood like a victorious duelist. + +The old woman the prisoner's mother, possibly, had staggered back at +the thrash of the stick, and now, one hand against the wall of the +house and one to her bosom, she uttered a thin, moaning wail. At that +voice of pain Jovannic started; it was then that he realized that the +other voices, those that had screamed and those that had cursed, had +ceased; even the prisoner, dragged to his feet and held, made no +sound. For an instant the disorder of his mind made it appear that +the sun-drowned silence had never really been broken, that all that +had happened had been no more than a flash of nightmare. Then he +perceived. + +Captain Hahn, legs astraddle, a-bulge with the sense of achievement, +was giving orders. + +"Tie the dog's hands," he commanded. "Tie them behind his back! Cord? +Get a cord somewhere, you fool! Teach the hound to resist, I will! +Hurry now!" + +The prisoner's face was clear to see, no longer writhen and crazy. +For all the great bruise that darkened his brow, it was composed to a +calm as strange as the calm of death. He looked directly at Captain +Hahn, seeming to listen and understand; and when that man of wrath +ceased to speak, his rather sullen young face, heavy-browed, +thick-mouthed, relaxed from its quiet. He smiled! + +Beyond him, against the yellow front of the cottage, an old man, +bareheaded, with a fleshless skull's face, had passed his arm under +that of the old woman and was supporting her. The lieutenant saw that +bony mask, too, break into a smile. He looked at the others, the +barefoot girls and the women; whatever the understanding was, they +shared it; each oval, sun-tinged face, under its crown of jet hair, +had the same faint light of laughter of tragic, inscrutable mirth, at +once contemptuous and pitiful. Along the street, folk had come forth +from their doors and stood watching in silence. + +"That's right, Corporal; tie him up," came Captain Harm's thickish +voice, rich and fruity with the assurance of power. "He won't desert +again when I've done with him and he won't resist either." + +It was not for him to see, in those smiles, that the helpless man, +bound for the flogging-posts of the "Dolina of Weeping," where so +many martyrs to that goddess which is Italy had expiated in torment +their crimes of loyalty and courage, had already found a refuge +beyond the reach of his spies and torturers that he opposed even now +to bonds and blows a resistance that no armed force could overcome. +If he saw the smiles at all, he took them for a tribute to his brisk, +decisive action with the cane. + +"And now, take him along," he commanded, when the prisoner's wrists +were tied behind him to his satisfaction. "And stand no nonsense! If +he won't walk make him!" + +The corporal saluted. "Zu Befehl, Herr Hauptmann," he deferred, and +the prisoner was thrust down the bank. The old mother, her head +averted, moaned softly. The old man, upholding her, smiled yet his +death's-head smile. + +The tiger-yellow of the grass between the trees was paler, the black +was blacker, as the two officers returned across the fields; to the +hush of afternoon had succeeded the briskness of evening. Birds were +awake and a breeze rustled in the branches; and Captain Hahn was +strongly moved to speech. + +"System," he said explosively. "All war all life comes down to +system. You get your civil labor by system; you keep it by system. +Now, that little arrest." + +It was as maddening as the noise of a mouse in a wainscot. Jovannic +wanted not so much to think as to dwell in the presence of his +impressions. Those strange, quiet smiles! + +"Did you see them laughing?" he interrupted. "Smiling, I should say. +After you had cut the fellow down they stopped crying out and they +smiled." + +"Ha! Enough to make 'em," said Captain Hahn. "I laughed myself. All +that play-acting before his people, and then, with two smacks kaput! +Fellow looked like a fool! It's part of the system, you see." + +"That was it, you think?" The explanation explained nothing to +Jovannic, least of all his own sensations when the sudden surrender +and the sad, pitying mirth had succeeded to the struggle and the +violence. He let Captain Hahn preach his German gospel of system on +earth and organization to man, and walked beside him in silence, with +pensive eyes fixed ahead, where the prisoner and his escort moved in +a plodding black group. + +He had not that gift of seeing life and its agents in the barren +white light of his own purposes which so simplified things for +Captain Hahn. He was a son of that mesalliance of nations which was +Austria-Hungary Slavs, their slipping grasp clutching at eternity, +Transylvanians, with pervert Latin ardors troubling their blood, had +blended themselves in him; and he was young. Life for him was a depth +not a surface, as for Captain Hahn; facts were but the skeleton of +truth; glamour clad them and made them vital. He had been transferred +to the Italian front from Russia, where his unripe battalion had lain +in reserve throughout his service; his experiences of the rush over +the Isonzo, of the Italian debacle and the occupation of the province +of Friuli, lay undigested on his mental stomach. It was as though by +a single violent gesture he had translated himself from the quiet +life in his regiment, which had become normal and familiar, to the +hush and mystery of the vast Italian plain, where the crops grew +lavishly as weeds and the trees shut out the distances. + +The great villa, whither they were bound, had a juncture of antique +wall, pierced with grilles of beaten iron; its gate, a delicacy of +filigree, let them through to the ordered beauty of the lawns, over +which the mansion presided, a pale, fine presence of a house. Hedges +of yew, like walls of ebony, bounded the principal walks. The +prisoner and the retinue of soldiers that dignified him went ahead; +the two officers, acknowledging the crash of arms of the sentry's +salute at the gate, followed. The improvised prison was in the long +wing of the building that housed the stables. They took the crackling +pebble path that led to it. + +"Nu!" Captain Hahn slacked his military gait at one of the formal +openings in the wall of yews that shut them from the lawns before the +great housed serene white front. "The women see?" + +But Jovannic had already seen the pair, arms joined, who paced upon +the side-lawn near at hand and had now stopped to look towards them. +It was the old Contessa, who owned the house and still occupied a +part of it, and the Contessina, her daughter. He knew the former as a +disconcerting and never disconcerted specter of an aged lady, with +lips that trembled and eyes that never faltered, and the latter as a +serious, silent, tall girl with the black hair and oval Madonna face +of her country and he knew her, too, as a vague and aching +disturbance in his mind, a presence that troubled his leisure. + +"You make your war here as sadly as a funeral," said Captain Hahn. "A +fresh and joyous war--that's what it ought to be! Now, in Flanders, +we'd have had that girl in with us at the mess." He laughed his rich, +throaty laugh that seemed to lay a smear of himself over the subject +of his mirth. "That at the very least!" he added. + +Jovannic could only babble protestingly. "She she" he began in a +flustered indignation. Captain Hahn laughed again. He had the +advantage of the single mind over the mind divided against itself. + +At the stables the sergeant of the guard received the prisoner. The +redness of the sunset that dyed the world was over and about the +scene. The sergeant, turning out upon the summons of the sentry, +showed himself as an old Hungarian of the regular army, hairy as a +Skye terrier, with the jovial blackguard air of his kind. He turned +slow, estimating eyes on the bound prisoner. + +"What is it?" he inquired. + +"Deserter that's what it is," replied Captain Hahn sharply; he found +the Austrian soldiers insufficiently respectful. "Lock him up safely, +you understand. He'll go before the military tribunal to-morrow. +Jovannic, just see to signing the papers and all that, will you?" + +"At your orders, Herr Hauptmann," deferred Jovannic formally. + +"Right," said Captain Hahn. "See you later, then." He swung off +towards the front of the great mansion. Jovannic turned to his +business of consigning the prisoner to safe keeping. + +"You can untie his hands now," he said to the men of the escort as +the sergeant moved away to fetch the committal book. The sergeant +turned at his words. + +"Plenty of time for that," he said in his hoarse and too familiar +tones. "It's me that's responsible for him, isn't it? Well, then, let +them stay tied up till I've had a look at him. I know these fellows I +do." + +"He can't get away from here," began Jovannic impatiently; but the +old sergeant lifted a vast gnarled hand and wagged it at him with a +kind of elderly rebuke. + +"They're getting away in dozens every day," he rumbled. He put his +hands on the silent man and turned him where he stood to face the +light. "Yes," he said; "you've been knocking him about, too!" + +The man had spoken no word; he showed now to the flush of the evening +a face young and strongly molded, from which all passion, all force, +seemed to have been drawn in and absorbed. It was calm as the face of +a sleeper is calm; only the mark of Captain Hahn's blow, the great +swollen bruise on the brow, touched it with a memory of violence. His +eyes traveled beyond Jovannic and paused, looking. Upon the pebble +path beside the screen of yews a foot sounded; Jovannic turned. + +It was the Contessina; she came hurrying towards them. Jovannic +saluted. Only two or three times had he stood as close to her as +then; and never before had he seen her swift in movement, or anything +but grave and measured in gait, gesture and speech. He stared in +surprise at her tall slenderness as it stood in relief against the +rose and bronze of the west. + +"It is" she was a little breathless. "It is yes! young Luigi!" The +prisoner, silent till then, stirred and made some little noise of +acquiescence. Behind him, still holding to the cord that bound his +wrists, his two stolid guards stared uncomprehendingly; the old +sergeant, his face one wrinkled mass of bland knowingness, stood with +his thumbs in his belt and his short, fat legs astraddle. She leaned +forward she seemed to sway like a wind-blown stalk and stared at the +prisoner's quiet face. Jovannic saw her lips part in a movement of +pain. Then her face came round to him. + +"You, oh!" she gasped at him. "You haven't, you didn't strike him?" + +Jovannic stared at her. He understood nothing. Granted that she knew +the man, as no doubt she knew every peasant of the village, he still +didn't understand the touch of agony in her manner and her voice. + +"No, signorina," he answered stiffly. "I have not touched him. In +fact, I was ordering him to be unbound." + +But Her eyes traveled again to the prisoner's bruised and defaced +brow; she was breathing quickly, like a runner. "Who, then? Who has?" + +The old sergeant wagged his disreputable head. "German handwriting, +that is, my young lady," he croaked. "That's how our German lords and +masters curse them! write their Gott mit uns! The noble Captain Hahn +I knew as soon as I saw it!" + +"Shut up, you!" ordered Jovannic, with the parade-snarl in his voice. +"And now, untie that man!" + +He flung out a peremptory hand; in the girl's presence he meant to +have an end of the sergeant's easy manners. But now it was she who +astonished him by intervening. + +"No!" she cried. "No!" + +She moved a swift step nearer to the bound man, her arms half +outspread as though she would guard him from them; her face, with its +luminous, soft pallor, was suddenly desperate and strange. + +"No!" she cried again. "You mustn't, you mustn't untie him now! You, +you don't know. Oh, wait while I speak to him! Luigi!" She turned to +the prisoner and began to speak with a quick, low urgency; her face, +importunate and fearful, was close to the still mask of his. "Luigi, +promise me! If I let them, if they untie your hands, will you promise +not to, not to do it? Luigi will you?" + +Jovannic could only stare at them, bewildered. He heard her pleading +"Will you? Will you promise me, Luigi?" passionately, as though she +would woo him to compliance. The peasant answered nothing; his slow +eyes rested with a sort of heavy meditation on the eagerness of her +face. They seemed to be alone in the midst of the soldiers, like men +among statues. Then, beyond them, he caught sight of the old +sergeant, watching with a kind of critical sympathy; he, at any rate, +understood it all. + +But Jovannic began in uncertain protest. None heeded him. The +prisoner sighed and moved a shoulder in a half-shrug as of +deprecation. "No, signorina," he said at last. + +"Oh!" The sound was like a wail. The girl swayed back from him. + +The sergeant clapped the man on the shoulder. "Be a good lad now!" he +said. "Promise the young lady you'll behave and we'll have the cords +off as quick as we can cut them. Promise her, such a nice young lady +and all!" + +The prisoner shook his head wearily. The girl, watching him, +shivered. + +"All this" Jovannic roused himself. "I don't understand. What's going +on here? Sergeant, what's it all about?" + +The old man made a grimace. "She knows," he said, with a nod towards +the girl. "That proves it's spreading. It's got so now that if you +only clout one of 'em on the side of the head he'll go out and kill +himself. Won't let you so much as touch 'em!" + +"What!" Jovannic gaped at him. "Kill themselves? You mean if his +hands are untied, that man will?" + +"Him?" The sergeant snorted. "Tonight if he can; tomorrow if he +can't. He's dead, he is. I know 'em, Herr Leutnant. Dozens of 'em +already, for a flogging or even for a kick; they call it 'escaping by +the back door.' And now she knows. It's spreading, I tell you." + +"Good Lord!" said Jovannic slowly. But suddenly, in a blaze of +revelation, he understood what had lurked in his mind since the scene +in the village; the smiles that mirth of men who triumph by a +stratagem, who see their adversary vainglorious, strong and doomed. +He remembered Captain Hahn's choleric pomp, his own dignity and +aloofness; and it was with a heat of embarrassment that he now +perceived how he must appear to the prisoner. + +It did not occur to him to doubt the sergeant; for the truth sprang +at him. + +"You, you knew this, signorina?" + +The girl had moved half a dozen paces to where the shadow of the +great yews was deepening on the path. There she lingered, a slender +presence, the oval of her face shining pale in the shade. + +He heard her sigh. "Yes," she answered; "I knew." + +Jovannic hesitated; then, gathering himself, he turned to the +sergeant. "Now, I'm going to have that man's hands untied," he said. +The brisk speech relieved him like an oath in anger. "No!" as the +sergeant began to rumble "If you answer me when I give you an order +I'll put you in irons. He's to be untied and fed; and if anything +happens to him, if you don't deliver him alive in the morning, I'll +send you before the tribunal and I'll ask to have you shot. You +understand that?" + +The old sergeant dropped his hands; he saw that he had to deal with +an officer who, for the moment, meant what he said, and he was old in +wisdom. He dragged himself to a parody of "attention." + +"I understand, Herr Leutnant," he growled. But the habit of years was +too strong for him, and he slacked his posture. "It means watching +him all night; the men'll get no sleep." + +"You can watch yourself, for all I care," snapped Jovannic. "Now +bring me the book." + +The signing and so forth were completed; the prisoner, unbound, stood +between two watchful guards, who attitudinised as though ready to +pounce and grapple him upon the least movement. "Now," commanded +Jovannic, "take him in and feed him. And for the rest you have your +orders." + +"March him in," directed the sergeant to the men. The prisoner turned +obediently between them and passed towards the open door of the +guardhouse. He did not look round, and his passivity, his quiescence, +suggested to Jovannic, in a thrill of strange vision, that the world, +action, life had ceased for him at the moment when Captain Harm's +blow fell on his brow. + +He was passing in at the door, a guard at either elbow, when the girl +spoke in the shadow. + +"Arrivederci, Luigi," she called. "Till we meet again, Luigi." + +From the doorway came the prisoner's reply: "Addio, adieu, +signorina!" Then the guardhouse received him. + +Jovannic turned. The girl was walking away already, going slowly in +the direction of the wing of the great house that was left to her and +her mother. He joined her, and they came together from the night of +the yew-walk to where, upon the open lawn, the air was still aflood +with the last light of the dying sun. + +For a while he did not speak; her mood of tragedy enveloped them both +and hushed him. But never before had he had her thus alone; even to +share her silence was a sort of intimacy, and he groped for more. + +"It it is really true, signorina what the sergeant said?" he asked at +length. + +She raised her face but did not look towards him. Her profile was a +cameo upon the dusk. "It is true," she answered in a low voice. + +"I don't know what to do," said Jovannic. "But you know, signorina, +it was not I that struck him. I had nothing to do with it. I, I hope +you believe that." + +Still she gazed straight ahead of her. "I know who struck him," she +said in the same low, level voice. + +"Well, then isn't there anything one could do?" pressed Jovannic. "To +stop him from killing himself, I mean. You see, he can't be tied or +watched continually. You know these people. If you could suggest +something, signorina, I'd do what I could." + +She seemed to consider. Then "No," she answered; "nothing can be +done." She paused, and he was about to speak when she added: "I was +wrong to try to persuade him." + +"Wrong!" exclaimed Jovannic. "Why?" + +"It is your punishment," she said. "They have doomed you. You made +them slaves but they make you murderers!" She turned to him at last, +with dark eyes wide and a light as of exaltation in her face. Her +voice, the strong, restrained contralto of the south, broke once as +she went on, but steadied again. "You must not strike an Italian; it +is dangerous. It is more than death, it is damnation! A blow and they +will strike back at your soul and your salvation, and you cannot +escape! Oh, this people and I would have persuaded him to live!" + +She shrugged and turned to go on. They had reached the end of the +wing in which she lived. The path went round it, and beyond was the +little irrigation canal one of those small artificial water courses, +deep and full-volumed, which carry the snow water of the Cadore to +the farms of the plain. The dregs of the sunset yet faintly stained +its surface like the lees of wine in water. + +"Signorina," began Jovannic. He was not sure f what he wished to say +to her. She paused in her slow walk to hear him. "Signorina," he +began again, "after all, in war, a blow, you know, and I have never +struck one of them never! I don't want you to think of me as, as just +a brute." + +"No," she said. "And it is because you ordered Luigi to be untied +that I have warned you of your danger." + +"Oh!" Jovannic sighed. "I don't think I really understand yet; but +you have managed to make it all." He made a vague gesture towards the +village and the tree-thronged land. "Well, gruesome! Every man in the +place, apparently." + +"And every woman," she put in quickly. "Never forget, Signor Tenente, +it was the women who began it." + +"The women began it?" + +"Yes," she answered. "The women! You hadn't heard no, it was before +you came of the girl here, in this house of my mother's, who was +among the first? No? Listen, Signor Tenente." + +"Yes," he said. It was in his mind that he was about to hear the +stalest story of all, but it was strange that he should hear it from +her. + +"I am proud to tell it," she said, as though she answered his +thought. "Proud! A little Friulana of these parts, a housemaid, we +had masses for her till you took our priest away. One of your +officers used to, to persecute her. Oh!" she cried, "why am I afraid +even to name what she had to endure? He was always trying to get into +her bedroom; you understand? And one day he caught hold of her so +that she had to tear herself loose from him. She got free and stood +there and smiled at him. She knew what she had to do then." + +"I know, I know," half whispered Jovannic. "In the village today I +saw them smile." + +"He did not catch hold of her again; he misread that smile, and said +that he would come that night. 'What hour?' she asked, and he +answered that he would come at midnight. She put her hand to her +bosom and drew out the little crucifix they wear on a string. 'Swear +on this that you will come to me at midnight,' she said, and he took +it in his hand and swore. Then it was evening she came out here, to +where the canal runs under the road. And there she drowned herself." + +She paused. "Duilia, her name was," she added quietly. + +"Eh?" said Jovannic. + +"Duilia, the same as mine." + +"But--the officer?" asked Jovannic. "Was he--did he?" + +"No," she said. "He did not keep the oath which he swore upon the +crucifix." + +From the terrace before the house came the blare of the bugle +sounding the officers' mess call. She turned to go to her door. + +"But, signorina!" Jovannic moved towards her. The sense of her, of +the promise and power of her beauty and womanhood, burned in him. And +to the allurement of her youth and her slender grace were added a +glamour of strangeness and the quality of the moment. She paused and +faced him once more. + +"It is good night, Signor Tenente," she said. + +He watched her pass round the end of the building, unhurried, sad and +unafraid. He stood for some seconds yet after she had disappeared; +then, drawing a deep breath, like one relaxing from a strain, he +turned and walked back to the front of the house. + +The burden of the evening lay upon him through the night at mess, +where the grey-clad German and Austrian officers ate and drank below +the mild faces of Pordenone's frescoed saints, and afterwards in his +room, where he dozed and woke and dozed again through the hot, +airless hours. The memory of the girl, the impression of her +attitude, of her pale, unsmiling face, of her low, strong voice, +tormented him; he felt himself alone with her in a hag-ridden land +where all men were murderers or murdered; and she would have none of +him. He arose sour and unrefreshed. + +In the great dining-room the splendor of the morning was tainted with +the staleness of last night's cigars, and, for a further flavor, +sitting alone at the table, with his cap on his head and his cane on +the tablecloth beside him, was Captain Hahn. The mess waiter, lurking +near the door, looked scared and worried. He had slept but little. + +"Good morning, Herr Hauptmann," said Jovannic, clicking his heels. + +Captain Hahn gave him a furious glance and grunted inarticulately. He +made the effect as he sat of emitting fumes, vapors of an overcharged +personality; his naturally violent face was clenched like a fist. + +"Here, you dog!" he exploded. The mess waiter all but leaped into the +air. "Get me another glass of brandy." The man dived through the +door. "And now you, Jovannic!" + +"At your orders, Herr Hauptmann?" Jovannic looked up in astonishment. +The other's face was blazing at him across the table. + +"Who," Captain Hahn seemed to have a difficulty in compressing his +feelings into words, "who ordered you to untie that prisoner?" + +"No one," replied Jovannic. His gaze at the convulsed face opposite +him narrowed. He put a hand on the table as though to spring up from +his seat. "Is he dead, then?" he demanded. + +"Damn it; so you knew he'd do it!" roared the captain. "Don't deny +it; you've admitted it. You knew he'd hang himself, and yet." + +"But he couldn't," cried Jovannic, as Captain Hahn choked +and sputtered. "I ordered him to be watched. I told the +sergeant"--Captain Hahn broke in with something like a howl. "I +wasn't going to have soldiers kept out of their beds for stuff like +that rotten, sentimental Austrian nonsense! I sent 'em off to get +their sleep; but you, you knew, you." + +"Ah!" said Jovannic. "Then the Herr Hauptmann cancelled my +arrangements for the prisoner's safety and substituted his own! I am +glad I am not responsible. So he hanged himself?" + +Captain Hahn opened his mouth and bit at the air. His hand was on his +heavy cane. The creeping mess waiter, tray in hand, came quivering to +his elbow; never in his service time or his life was he more welcome +to a German officer. The captain grabbed the glass and drank. Then +with a sweep of his right arm he slashed the man with his cane. + +"You slow-footed hound!" he bellowed. + +Jovannic looked at him curiously. He had not doubted that what the +girl had told him was true; but many things can be true in the +stillness and tangled shadows of the evening that are false in the +light of the morning. This, then, was a murderer, whom a whole +population, a whole country, believed no, knew to be damned to all +eternity this incontinent, stagnant-souled, kept creature of the +army! Not even eternal damnation could dignify him or make him seem +aught but the absurd and noxious thing that he was; a soul like his +would make itself at home in hell like the old sergeant in the +conquered province. + +Later in the forenoon he saw the body; and that, too, he felt, failed +to rise to the quality of its fate. Beyond the orchard of old +derelict fruit trees behind the stable two men dug a grave in the +sun, while from the shade the old sergeant smoked and watched them; +and a little apart lay a stretcher, a tattered and stained blanket +outlining the shape upon it. Jovannic was aware of the old man's +shrewd eye measuring him and his temper as he stopped by the +stretcher. + +China-bowled pipe in hand, the sergeant lumbered towards him. "You +see, he did it," he said. "Did it at once and got it over. Just +hitched his belt to the window-bars and swung himself off. You can't +stop 'em nowadays." + +"Take the blanket off," ordered Jovannic. + +The manner of the man's death had distorted the face that lay in the +trough of the stretcher, but it was pitiful and ugly rather than +terrible or horrifying. The body, its inertness, the still sprawl of +the limbs, were puppet-like, with none of death's pomp and menace. +Jovannic stood gazing; the sergeant, with the blanket over his arm, +stood by smoking. + +"Hey!" cried the sergeant suddenly, and flapped loose the blanket, +letting it fall to cover the body again. "See, Herr Leutnant the +young lady!" + +"Eh?" Jovannic started and turned to look. She was yet a hundred +yards off, coming through the wind-wrenched old trees of the orchard +towards them. In her hand and lying along the curve of her arm she +bore what seemed to be the green bough of a tree. The grass was to +her knees, so that she appeared to float towards them rather than to +walk, and, for the lieutenant, her approach seemed suddenly to lift +all that in the affair was mean or little to the very altitude of +tragedy. + +He stood away from the body and raised his hand to his cap peak in +silence. Very slowly she lowered her head in acknowledgment. At the +foot of the stretcher she paused, with bowed head, and stood awhile +so; if she prayed, it was with lips that did not move. In the grave +the diggers ceased to work, and stood, sunk to their waists, to +watch. The great open space was of a sudden reverend and solemn. Then +she knelt, and, taking in both hands the bough of laurel which she +carried, she bent above the covered shape and laid it upon the +blanket. + +She rose. It seemed to Jovannic that for an instant she looked him in +the face with eyes that questioned; but she did not speak. Turning, +she went from them by the way she had come, receding through the +fantastic trees between whose leaves the sunlight fell on her in +drops like rain. + +There was much for Jovannic to do in the days that followed, for +Captain Harm's dragnet was out over the villages and every day had +its tale of arrests. Jovannic, as one of his assistants, was out +early and late, on horseback or motoring, till the daily scenes of +violence and pain palled on him like a routine. Once, in the village +near headquarters, he saw the Contessina; she was entering the house +whence the prisoner had been dragged forth, but though he loitered in +the neighborhood for an hour she did not come forth. And twice he saw +her walking by the canal with the old Contessa; always he marked in +her that same supple poise of body, that steady, level carriage of +the head. But it was not for a couple of weeks that chance served to +give him any speech with her. + +And then, as before, it was evening. He had been out on the affairs +of Captain Hahn, and was returning on foot along a path through the +maize fields. The ripe crops made a wall to either hand, bronze red +and man-high, gleaming like burnished metal in the shine of the +sunset; and here, at a turning in the way, he met her face to face. + +"Good evening, signorina," he said, stopping. + +"Good evening, Signor Tenente," she answered, and would have passed +on but that he barred the way as he stood. + +There was no fear, no doubt, in the quiet of her face as she stood +before him. Her eyes were great and dark, but untroubled, and upon +the lips, where he had never seen a smile, was no tremor. + +"Signorina!" he burst forth. "I, I have wanted to speak to you ever +since that evening. I cannot bear that you should think of me as you +do." + +"I do not think of you," she answered, with the resonance of +bell-music thrilling through the low tones of her voice. + +He took a step nearer to her; she did not shrink nor fall back. + +"But," he said, "I think of you always!" Her face did not change; its +even quiet was a challenge and an exasperation. "Signorina, what can +I do? This accursed war if it were not for that you would let me +speak and at least you would listen. But now." + +He broke off with a gesture of helpless anger. She did not alter the +grave character of her regard. + +"What is it that you wish to say to me?" she asked. "You see that I +am listening." + +Her very calm, the slender erectness of her body, her fearless and +serious gaze, were a goad to him. + +"Listening!" he cried. He choked down an impulse to be noisy. "Well +then, listen! Signorina signorina, I, I am not one of those. That man +who hanged himself, I would have prevented him and saved him. You +heard me give the orders that he was to be watched and fed; fed, +signorina! It was another who took the guards away and left him to +himself." + +"That," she said, "I knew." + +"Ah!" He came yet closer. "You knew. Then." + +He tried to take her hand. The impulse to touch her was irresistible; +it was a famine in his being. Without stepping back, without, a +movement of retreat or a change of countenance, she put her hands +behind her back. + +"Signorina!" He was close to her now; the heat of his face beat upon +the ice of hers. "Oh! This I can't! Give me at least your hand. +Signorina." + +Her voice was as level, as calm, as quiet, and yet as loud with +allurement as ever. + +"Signor Tenente, no!" + +His was the pervert blood, the virtues and the sins born of the +promiscuity of races. Hers rigid, empty of invitation were the ripe +Italian lips, pure, with the fastidious purity of her high birth and +the childlike sweetness of her youth. + +"Signorina!" He had meant to plead, but the force of her presence +overwhelmed him. He felt himself sucked down in a whirlpool of +impulse; doom was ahead; but the current of desire was too strong. A +movement and his arms were about her! + +"Love!" he gasped. His lips were upon hers, Kissing, kissing! He +slaked himself on that dead and unresponsive mouth violently; he felt +her frail and slender in the crush of his arms. All her virginal and +girlish loveliness was his for a mad moment; then--. He released her. +They stood apart. He passed a hand over his brow to clear the fog +from his eyes. + +"I, I" he stammered. He could see her now. She stood opposite him +still, her back to the tall wall of maize that bounded the path. Her +Hand was to her bosom; she breathed hard, and presently, while he +stared, words misshaping themselves upon his abashed lips she smiled! +Her sad, ripe mouth relaxed; all her grave face softened; pity the +profound pity of a martyr who prays for "those who know not what they +do" was alight in her face; the terrible mild mirth of those who are +assured of victory these showed themselves like an ensign. She +smiled! + +He saw that smile, and at first vision he did not know it. +"Signorina," he began again hopefully; then he stopped short. He saw +again what he had seen in the village when Captain Hahn had struck +his memorable, self-revealing blow. The smile the smile of those who +choose death for the better part. + +"Signorina!" His hands before his eyes hid her and her smile from +him. "Please I beg--." There was no answer. He lowered his hands, and +lifted timidly, repentantly, his face to seek pardon. But upon the +path was no one. She had parted the stout stalks of maize and +disappeared. + +"God!" said Jovannic. + +An energy possessed him. He charged along the narrow path between the +high palisades of the metal-hued maize. Upon the next corner he +encountered Captain Hahn, swollen and pompous and perfect. + +"Well?" said Captain Hahn, exhaling his words as a pricked bladder +exhales air. "Well, you searched those villages, did you?" + +Jovannic saluted mechanically. Life his own life clogged his feet; to +act was like wading in treacle. He had an impulse of utter wild +rebellion, of ferocious self-assertion. Then: + +"Zu Befehl, Herr Hauptmann!" he said, and saluted. + + + +II + +THE DAGO + +Eight bells had sounded, and in the little triangular fo'c'sle of the +Anna Maria the men of the port watch were waiting for their dinner. +The daylight which entered by the open hatch overhead spread a carpet +of light at the foot of the ladder, which slid upon the deck to the +heave and fall of the old barque's blunt bows, and left in shadow the +double row of bunks and the chests on which the men sat. From his +seat nearest the ladder, Bill, the ship's inevitable Cockney, raised +his flat voice in complaint. + +"That bloomin' Dago takes 'is time over fetchin' the hash," he said. +"'E wants wakin' up a bit that's wot 'e wants." + +Sprawling on the edge of his bunk forward, Dan, the oldest man in the +ship, took his pipe from his lips in the deliberate way in which he +did everything. Short in stature and huge in frame, the mass of him, +even in that half-darkness of the fo'c'sle, showed somehow majestic +and powerful. + +"The mate came after 'im about somethin' or other," he said in his +deep, slow tones. + +"That's right," said another seaman. "It was about spillin' some tar +on the deck, an' now the Dago's got to stop up this arternoon an' +holystone it clean in his watch below." + +"Bloomin' fool," growled the Cockney. But it was the wrong word, and +the others were silent. + +A man in trouble with an officer, though he be no seaman and a Dago, +may always count on the sympathy of the fo'c'sle. + +"'E ain't fit to paddle a bumboat," the Cockney went on. "Can't go +aloft, can't stand 'is wheel, can't even fetch the hash to time." + +"Yes!" Dan shifted slowly, and the younger man stopped short. "You +better slip along to the galley, Bill, an' see about that grub." + +The Cockney swore, but rose from his seat. Dan was not to be +disobeyed in the fo'c'sle. But at that moment the hatch above was +darkened. + +"'Ere's the Dago," cried Bill. "Where you bin, you bloomin' fool?" + +A bare foot came over the combing, feeling vaguely for the steps of +the ladder. Dan sat up and laid by his pipe; two seamen went to +assist in the safe delivery of their dinner. + +"Carn't yer never learn to bring the grub down the ladder backwards?" +Bill was demanding of the new-comer. "Want to capsize it all again, +like yer done before?" + +"Ah, no!" + +The Dago stood in the light of the hatch and answered the Cockney +with a shrug and a timid, conciliatory smile. He was a little swarthy +man, lean and anxious, with quick, apprehensive eyes which flitted +now nervously from one to the other of the big sailors whose comrade +and servant he was. There was upon him none of that character of the +sea which shaped their every gesture and attitude. As the Cockney +snarled at him he moved his hands in deprecating gesticulation; a +touch of the florid appeared in him, of that easy vivacity which is +native to races ripened in the sun. + +"Keepin' men waitin' like this," mouthed Bill. "Bloomin' flat-footed, +greasy 'anded." + +Dan's deliberate voice struck in strongly. "Ain't you goin' to have +no dinner, Dago?" he demanded. "Come on an' sit down to it, man!" + +The Dago made one final shrug at Bill. + +"De mate," he said, smiling with raised eyebrows, as though in +pitying reference to that officer's infirmities of temper, "'e call +me. So I cannot go to de galley for fetch de dinner more quick. +Please escuse." + +Bill snarled. "Come on with ye," called Dan again. + +"Ah, yais!" And now his smile and his start to obey apologized to Dan +for not having come at the first summons. + +Dan pushed the "kid" of food towards him. "Dig in," he bade him. +"You've had better grub than this in yer time, but it's all there is. +So go at it." + +"Better dan dis!" The Dago paused to answer in the act of helping +himself. "Ah, mooch, mooch better, yais. I tell you." He began to +gesticulate as he talked, trying to make these callous, careless men +see with him the images that his words called up. + +"Joost before de hot of de day I sit-a down in a balcao, where it is +shade, yais, an' look at-a de water an' de trees, an' hear de bells, +all slow an' gentle, in de church. An' when it is time dey bring me +de leetle fish like-a de gold, all fresh, an' de leetle bread-cakes, +yais, an' de wine." + +"That's the style," approved a seaman. Though they did not cease to +eat, they were all listening. + +Tales of food and drink are always sure of a hearing in the fo'c'sle. + +"On a table of de black wood, shining, an' a leetle cloth like snow," +the Dago went on; "an' de black woman dat brings it smiles wiz big +white teeth." + +He paused, seeing it all the tropic languor and sweetness of the life +he had conjured up, so remote, so utterly different from the +rough-hewn realities that surrounded him. + +"Shove that beef-kid down this way, will yer?" called Bill. + +"You wait," answered Dan. He jogged the Dago with his elbow. "Now, +lad," he said, "that's talk enough. Get yer grub." + +The Dago, recalled from his visions, smiled and sighed and leaned +forward to take his food. From his seat by the ladder, Bill the +Cockney watched with mean, angry eyes to measure the size of his +helping. + +It was at Sourabaya, in Java, that he had been shipped to fill, as +far as he could, the place of a man lost overboard. The port had been +bare of seamen; the choice was between the Dago and nobody; and so +one evening he had come alongside in a sampan and joined the crew of +the Anna Maria. He brought with him as his kit a bundle of broken +clothes and a flat paper parcel containing a single suit of clean +white duck, which he cherished under the straw mattress of his bunk +and never wore. He made no pretence of being a seaman. He could +neither steer nor go aloft, and there fell to him, naturally, all the +work of the ship that was ignominious or unpleasant or merely menial. +It was the Dago, with his shrug and his feeble, complaisant smile, +who scraped the boards of the pigsty and hoisted coal for the cook, +and swept out the fo'c'sle while the other men lay and smoked. + +"What made ye ship, anyway?" men would ask him angrily, when some +instance of his incompetence had added to the work of the others. To +this, if they would hear him, he had always an answer. He was a +Portuguese, it seemed, of some little town on the coast of East +Africa, where a land-locked bay drowsed below the windows of the +houses under the day-long sun. When he spoke of it, if no one cut him +short, his voice would sink to a hushed tone and he would seem to be +describing a scene he saw. His jerking, graphic hands would fall +still as he talked of the little streets where no one made a noise, +and the sailors stared curiously at his face with the glamour of +dreams on it. + +From a life tuned to that murmur of basking waters a mishap had +dragged him forth. It took the shape of a cruise in a fishing boat, +in which he and three companions "t'ree senhores, t'ree gentilmen" +had run into weather and been blown out to sea, there to be rescued, +after four days of hunger and terror, by a steamship which had +carried them to Aden and put them ashore there penniless. It was here +that his tale grew vague. For something like three years he had +wandered, working on ships and ashore, always hoping that sooner or +later a chance would serve him to return to his home. Twice already +he had got to Mozambique, but that was still nearly a thousand miles +from his goal, and on each occasion his ship had carried him +inexorably back. The Anna Maria was bound for Mozambique, and he had +offered himself, with new hopes for his third attempt. + +"D'ye reckon you'll do it this passage?" the seamen used to ask him +over their pipes. + +He would shrug and spread his hands. "Ah, who can tell? But some +time, yais." + +"An' what did ye say the name o' that place o' yours was?" + +He would tell them, speaking, its syllables with soft pleasure in +their mere sound. + +"Never heard of it," they always said. "Ships don't go there, Dago." + +"Ah, but yais." The Dago had known ships call. "Not often, but +sometimes. There is leetle trade, an' ships come. On de tide, +floating up to anchor, so close you hear de men talkin' on de +fo'c'sle head, and dey hear de people ashore girl singin', perhaps +and smell de trees." + +"Do they, though?" + +"Yais. Dat night I go out to fish in de boat ah, dat night! a girl +was singin', and her voice it float on de bay all round me. An' I +stand in de boat an' take off my hat" he rose to show them the +gesture "and sing back to her, an' she is quiet to listen in de +darkness." + +When dinner was over it fell to the Dago to take the "kids" back to +the galley and sweep down the deck. So he had barely time to smoke +the cigarette he made of shredded ship's tobacco rolled in a strip of +newspaper before he had to go on deck again to holystone the spilled +tar from the planks. Dan gave him advice about using a hard stone and +plenty of sand, to which he listened, smiling, and then he went up +the ladder again, with his rags shivering upon him, to the toil of +the afternoon. + +The seamen were already in their bunks, each smoking ruminatively the +pipe that prefaces slumber. + +"Queer yarn that feller tells," remarked one of them idly. "How much +of it d'you reckon's true, Dan?" + +In the for'ard lower bunk Dan opened drowsy eyes. He was lying on his +back with his hands under his head, and the sleeves of his shirt +rolled back left bare his mighty forearms with their faded +tattooings. His big, beardless face was red, like rusty iron, with +over thirty years of seafaring; it was simple and strong, a +transparent mask of the man's upright and steadfast spirit. + +"Eh?" he said, and the other repeated his question. Dan sucked at his +pipe and breathed the smoke forth in a thin blue mist. + +"It might be true enough," he answered at length, in his deliberate +bass. "Things like that does happen; you c'n read 'em in newspapers. +Anyhow, true or not, the Dago believes it all." + +"Meanin' he's mad?" inquired the other. "Blowed if I didn't think it +once or twice myself." + +"He's mad right enough," agreed another seaman comfortably, while +from Bill's bunk came the usual snarl of "bloomin' fool." + +Dan turned over on his side and put his pipe away. + +"He don't do any harm, anyhow," he said, pulling up his blanket. +"There's worse than him." + +"Plenty, poor devil," agreed the first speaker, as he too prepared +for the afternoon's sleep. + +On his knees upon the deck aft, shoving his holystone to and fro +laboriously and unhandily along the planks where the accident with +the tar-pot had left its stain, the Dago still broke into little +meaningless smiles. For him, at any rate, the narrow scope between +the stem and stern of the Anna Maria was not the world. He had but to +lift up the eyes of his mind to behold, beyond it and dwarfing it to +triviality, the glamours of a life in which it had no part. Those who +saw him at his dreary penance had their excuse for thinking him mad, +for there were moments when his face glowed like a lover's, his lips +moved in soundless speech, and he had the aspect of a man illuminated +by some sudden and tender joy. + +"Now, then, you Dago there," the officer of the watch shouted at him. +"Keep that stone movin', an' none of yer shenanikin'!" + +"Yais, sir," answered the Dago, and bowed himself obediently. + +It needed the ingenuity of Bill to trouble his tranquility of mind. +The old Anna Maria was far on her passage, and already there were +birds about her, the far-flying scouts of the land, and the color of +the water had changed to a softer and more radiant blue. It was as +though sad Africa made herself comely to invite them to her shores. +Bill had a piece of gear to serve with spun-yarn, and was at work +abreast of the foremast, with the Dago to help him. The rope on which +they worked was stretched between the rail and the mast. Bill had the +serving-mallet, and as he worked it round the rope the Dago passed +the ball of spun-yarn in time with him. The mate was aft, +superintending some work upon the mizzen, and Bill took his job +easily. The Dago, with his little smile to which his lips shaped +themselves unconsciously, passed the ball in silence. The Cockney +eyed him unpleasantly. + +"Say, Dago," he said presently, "wot was the name o' that there place +you said you come from?" + +"Eh?" The Dago roused from his smiling reverie. "De name? Ah, yais." +He pronounced the name slowly, making its syllables render their +music. + +"Yus," said Bill, "I thought that was it." + +He went on working, steadily, nonchalantly. The Dago stared at him, +perplexed. + +"Why you want to know dat name?" he asked at length. + +"Well," said Bill, "you bin talkin' abaht it a lot, and so, d'yer +see, I reckoned I'd find out. An' yesterday I 'ad to go into the +cabin to get at the lazareet 'atch, an' the chart was spread out on +the table." + +"De chart?" The Dago was slow to understand. "Ah, yais. Mapa chart. +An' you look at-a 'im, yais?" + +"Yus," answered Bill, who, like most men before the mast, had never +seen a chart in his life. "I looked at ev'ry name on it, ev'ry +bloomin' one. A chart o' Africa it was, givin' the whole lot of 'em. +But your place." + +"Yais?" cried the Dago. "You see 'im? An' de leetle bay under de +hills? You find it?" + +"No," said Bill, "I didn't find it. It wasn't there." + +"Wasn't there?" The Dago's smile was gone now; his forehead was +puckered like a child's in bewilderment, and a darker doubt at the +back of his thoughts loomed up in his troubled eyes. + +"No," said the Cockney, watching him zestfully. "You got it wrong, +Dago, an' there ain't no such place. You dreamt it. Savvy? All wot +you bin tell in' us about the town an' the bay an' the way you used +to take it easy there all that's just a bloomin' lie. See?" + +The Dago's face was white and his lips trembled. He tried to smile. + +"Not there," he repeated. "It is de joke, not? You fool me, Bill, +yais?" + +Bill shook his head. "I wouldn't fool yer abaht a thing like that," +he declared sturdily. "There ain't no such place, Dago. It's just one +o' yer fancies, yer know." + +In those three years of wandering there had been dark hours turbulent +with pain, hours when his vision, his hope, his memory had not +availed to uplift him, and he had known the terror of a doubt lest +the whole of it should, after all, be but a creation of his +yearnings, a mirage of his desires. Everywhere men had believed him +mad. He had accepted that as he accepted toil, hunger and exile, as +things to be redeemed by their end. But if it should be true! If this +grossness and harshness should, after all, be his real life! Bill saw +the agony that broke loose within his victim, and bent his head above +his work to hide a smile. + +"Ah!" The quiet exclamation was all that issued from the Dago's lips; +the surge of emotion within him sought no vent in words. But Bill was +satisfied; he had the instincts of a connoisseur in torment, and the +Dago's face was now a mask that looked as if it had never smiled. + +It was Dan that spoiled and undid the afternoon's work. During the +second dog-watch, when the Dago kept the look out, he carried his +pipe to the forecastle head and joined him there. Right ahead of the +ship the evening sky was still stained with the afterglow of the +sunset; the jib-boom swung gently athwart a heaven in whose +darkening arch there was still a ghost of color. Between the anchors, +where they lay lashed on their chocks, the Dago stood and gazed west +to where, beyond the horizon, the shores of Africa had turned barren +and meaningless. + +"Well, lad," rumbled Dan, "gettin' near it, eh? Gettin' on towards +the little town by the bay, ain't we?" + +The Dago swung round towards him. "Dere is no town," he said calmly. +"No town, no bay, no anyt'ing. I was mad, but now I know." + +He spoke evenly enough, and in the lessening light his face was +indistinct. But old Dan, for all his thirty and odd years of hard +living, had an ear tuned delicately to the trouble of his voice. + +"What's all' this?" he demanded shortly. "Who's been tellin' you +there ain't no town or anything? Out with it! Who was it?" + +"It don't matter," said the Dago. "It was Bill." And briefly, in the +same even tones, like those of a man who talks in his sleep, he told +the tale of Bill's afternoon's sport. + +"Ah, so it was Bill!" said Dan slowly, when the recital was at an +end. "Bill, was it? Ye-es. Well, o' course you know that Bill's the +biggest liar ever shipped out o' London, where liars is as common as +weevils in bread. So you don't want to take no notice of anything +Bill says." + +The Dago shook his head. "It is not that," he said. "It is not de +first time I 'ave been called mad; and sometimes I have think it +myself." + +"Oh, go on with ye," urged Dan. "You ain't mad." + +"T'ree years," went on the Dago in his mournful, subdued voice. +"T'ree years I go about an' work, always poor, dirty work, an' got no +name, only 'Dago.' I t'ink all de time 'bout my leetle beautiful +town; but sometimes I t'ink, too, when I am tired an' people is hard +to me: 'It is a dream. De world has no place so good as dat.' What +you t'ink, Dan?" + +"Oh, I dunno," grunted Dan awkwardly. "Anyhow, there ain't no harm in +it. It don't follow a man's mad because he's got fancies." + +"Fancies!" repeated the Dago. "Fancies!" He seemed to laugh a little +to himself, laughter with no mirth in it. + +Night was sinking on the great solitude of waters. Above them the +sails of the foremast stood pale and lofty, and there was the +rhythmic jar of a block against a backstay. The Anna Maria lifted her +weather bow easily to the even sea, and the two men on the fo'c'sle +head swung on their feet unconsciously to the movement of the barque. + +"Eef it was only a fancy," said the Dago suddenly, "eef it was only a +town in my mind, I don' want it no more." He made a motion with his +hand as though he cast something from him. "I t'ink all dis time it +is true, dat some day I find it again. It help me; it keep me glad; +it save me from misery. But now it is all finish." + +"But don't you know," cried Dan, "don't you know for sure whether +it's true or not?" + +The Dago shook his head. "I am no more sure," he said. "For t'ree +years I have had bad times, hard times. So now I am not sure. Dat is +why I t'ink I am a little mad, like Bill said." + +"Never mind Bill," said Dan. "I'll settle with Bill." + +He put his heavy hand on the other's arm. + +"Lad," he said, "I'm sorry for your trouble. I ain't settin' up to +know much about fellers' minds, but it seems to me as if you was +better off without them fancies, if they ain't true. An' that town o' +yours! It sounded fine, as good a place as ever I heard of; but it +was mighty like them ports worn-out sailormen is always figurin' to +themselves, where they'll go ashore and take it easy for the rest o' +their lives. It was too good, mate, too good to be true." + +There was a pause. "Yes," said the Dago at last. "It was too good, +Dan." + +Dan gave his arm a grip, and left him to his look out over a sea +whose shores were now as desolate as itself, a man henceforth to be +counted sane, since he knew life as bare of beauty, sordid and +difficult. + +Dan put his pipe in his pocket and walked aft to the main hatch, +where the men were gathered for the leisure of the dog-watch. He went +at his usual deliberate gait, a notable figure of seamanlike +respectability and efficiency. Upon his big, shaven face a rather +stolid tranquility reigned. Bill, leaning against a corner of the +galley, looked up at him carelessly. + +"'Ullo, Dan," he greeted him. + +"Hullo, Bill," responded Dan. "I bin talkin' to the Dago." + +"Oh, 'ave yer?" said Bill. + +"Yes," said Dan, in the same conversational tone. "I have. An' now +I'm goin' to have a word with you. Stand clear of that deckhouse!" + +"Eh?" cried Bill. "Say, Dan--" + +That was all. Dan's fist, the right one, of the hue and hardness of +teak, with Dan's arm behind it, arrived just under his eye, and the +rest of the conversation was yelps. No one attempted to interrupt; +even the captain and mate, who watched from the poop, made no motion +to interfere; Dan's reputation for uprightness stood him in good +stead. + +"There, now," he said, when it was over, and he allowed the gasping, +bleeding Cockney to fall back on the hatch. "See what comes of not +takin' hints?" + +They made Mozambique upon the morning of a day when the sun poured +from the heavens and the light wind came warm off the land. The old +Anna Maria, furling sail by sail, floated up to her anchorage and let +go her anchors just as a shore-boat, manned by big nearly naked +negroes, with a white man sitting in the stern, raced up alongside. +In less than an hour the hands were lifting the anchors again and +getting ready to go to sea once more. The cook, who had served the +captain and his visitor with breakfast, was able to explain the +mystery. He stood at his galley door, with his cloth cap cocked +sportively over one eye, and gave the facts to the inquisitive +sailors. + +"That feller in the boat was th' agent," he said. "A Porchuguee, he +was. Wanted wine f'r 'is breakfus'. An' the orders is, we're to go +down the coast to a place called le'me see, now. What was it called? +Some Dago name that I can't call to mind." + +Dan was among his hearers, and by some freak of memory the name of +the town of which the Dago had been used to speak, the town which was +now a dream to be forgotten, came to his lips. He spoke it aloud. + +"It wasn't that, I s'pose?" he suggested. + +"You've got it," cried the cook. "That was it, Dan; the very place. +Fancy you knowin' it. Well, we got to go down there and get in across +a sort of bar what's there an' discharge into lighters. Seems it's a +bit out o' the way o' shippin'. The skipper said that the charterers +seemed to think the old boat ran on wheels." + +"Queer!" said Dan. To himself he said: "He must ha' heard the name +somewhere and hitched his dream to it." + +The name, as it chanced, was one of many syllables, and the sailors +managed them badly. Men who speak of the islands of Diego Ramirez as +the "Daggarammarines" are not likely to deal faithfully with a narrie +that rings delicately like guitar strings, and Dan observed that +their mention of the barque's destination had no effect upon the +Dago. For him all ports had become indifferent; one was not nearer +than another to any place of his desire. He spoke no more of his +town; when the men, trying to draw him, spoke about food, or women, +or other roads to luxury, he answered without smiling. + +"I t'ink no more 'bout dat," he said. "T'ree year work an' have bad +times. Before, I don' remember o more." + +"He was better when he was crazy," agreed the seamen. It was as +though the gaiety, the spring of gladness, within the little man had +been dried up; there was left only the incompetent and despised Dago. +He faced the routine of his toil now with no smile of preoccupation +for a sweeter vision; he shuffled about decks, futile as ever, with +the dreariness of a man in prison. + +Only to Dan he spoke more freely. It was while the watch was washing +down decks in the morning. The two were side by side, plying their +brooms along the wet planks, while about them the dawn broadened +towards the tropic day. + +"I am no more mad," said the Dago. "Now I know I am not mad. Dat name +of de place where we go de men don' know how to speak it, but it is +de name of my town, de town I t'ink about once so much. Yais I know! +At last, after all dis time, I come dere, but I am not glad. I am +never glad no more 'bout not'ing." + +Dan worked on. He could think of no answer to make. + +"Only 'bout one t'ing I am glad," went on the Dago. "'Bout a friend I +make on dis ship; 'bout you, Dan." + +"Oh, hell!" grunted Dan awkwardly. + +"But 'bout de town, I am no more glad. I know now it is more better +to be sad an' poor an' weak dan to be mad an' glad about fancies. +Yais I know now!" + +"You'll be all right," said Dan. "Cheer up, lad. There's fellers +worse off than you!" An inspiration lit up his honest and downright +brain for a moment. "Why," he said, "it's better to be you than be a +feller like Bill that never had a fancy in his life. You've lost a +lot, maybe; but you can't lose a thing you never had." + +The Dago half-smiled. "Yais," he said. "You are mos' wise, Dan. But, +Dan! Dan!" + +"Yes. What?" + +"If it had been true, Dan dat beautiful town an' all my dream! If it +had been true!" + +"Shove along wi' that broom," advised Dan. "The mate's lookin'." + +They came abreast of their port about midday, and Dan, at the wheel, +heard the captain swear as they stood in through a maze of broken +water, where coral reefs sprouted like weeds in a neglected garden, +towards the hills that stood low above the horizon. He had been +furnished, it seemed, with a chart concerning whose trustworthiness +he entertained the bitterest doubts. There was some discussion with +the mate about anchoring and sending in a boat to bring off a pilot, +but presently they picked up a line of poles sticking up above the +water like a ruined fence, and these seemed to comfort the captain. +Bits of trees swam alongside; a flight of small birds, with flashes +of green and red in their plumage, swung about them; the water, as +they went, changed color. Little by little the hills lifted from the +level of the water and took on color and variety, till from the deck +one could make out the swell of their contours and distinguish the +hues of the wild vegetation that clothed them. The yellow of a beach +and a snowy gleam of surf showed at their feet, and then, dead ahead +and still far away, they opened, and in the gap there was visible the +still shining blue of water that ran inland and lay quiet under their +shelter. + +"Stand by your to'gallant halyards!" came the order. "Lower away +there!" + +It was evening already when the old Anna Maria, floating slowly under +a couple of jibs and a foretopsail, rounded the point and opened the +town. The bay, with its fringe of palms, lay clear before her; beyond +its farthest edge, the sun had just set, leaving his glories to burn +out behind him, and astern of them in the east the swift tropic night +was racing up the sky. The little town a church-tower and a cluster +of painted, flat-roofed houses, lay behind the point at the water's +edge. There was a music of bells in the still air; all the scene +breathed that joyous languor, that easy beauty which only the sun can +ripen, which the windy north never knows. With the night at her +heels, the old Anna Maria moved almost imperceptibly towards the +town. + +"Stand by to anchor!" came the order from aft, and the mate, calling +three men with him, went up the ladder to the fo'c'sle head. + +Dan was one of the three. He was at the rail, looking at the little +town as it unfolded itself, house after house, with the narrow +streets between, when he first noticed the white figure at his side. +He turned in surprise; it was the Dago, in the cherished suit of duck +which he had guarded for so long under his mattress. Heretofore, Dan +had known him only in his rags of working-clothes, a mildly pathetic +and ridiculous figure; now he was seemly, unfamiliar, a little +surprising. + +"What's all this?" demanded Dan. + +The Dago was looking with all his eyes at the town, already growing +dim. + +"Dis?" he repeated. "Dese clo'se, I keep dem for my town, Dan. To +come back wis yais! For not be like a mendigo a beggar. Now, no need +to keep dem no more; and dis place oh, Dan, it is so like, so like! I +dream it all yais de church, de praca all of it!" + +"Steady!" growled Dan. "Don't get dreamin' it again." + +"No," said the Dago; "I never dream no more. Never no more!" + +He did not take his eyes from it; he stood at the rail gazing, +intent, absorbed. He did not hear the mate's brief order that +summoned him and the others across the deck. + +"When I go out on de fishin' boat," he said aloud, thinking Dan was +still at his side, "a girl was singin' an'--" + +"Here, you!" cried the mate. "What's the matter with you? Why don't +you?" + +He stopped in amazement, for the Dago turned and spat a brief word at +him, making a gesture with his hand as though to command silence. + +In the moment that followed they all heard it a voice that sang, a +strong and sweet contralto that strewed its tones forth like a scent, +to add itself to the other scents of earth and leaves that traveled +across the waters and reached them on their deck. They heard it lift +itself as on wings to a high exaltation of melody and fail thence, +hushing and drooping deliciously, down diminishing slopes of song. + +"What the-" began the mate, and moved to cross the deck. + +His surprises were not yet at an end, for Dan Dan, the ideal seaman, +the precise in his duty, the dependable, the prosaically perfect Dan +caught him by the arm with a grip in which there was no deference for +the authority of a chief officer. + +"Leave him be, sir," urged Dan. "I, I know what's the matter with +him. Leave him be!" + +The voice ashore soared again, sure and buoyant; the mate dragged his +arm free from Dan's hold and turned to swear; on the main deck the +horse-laugh of Bill answered the singer. The Dago heard nothing. +Bending forward over the rail, he stretched both arms forth, and in a +voice that none recognized, broken and passionate, he took up the +song. It was but for a minute, while the mate recovered his outraged +senses, but it was enough. The voice ashore had ceased. + +"What the blank blank!" roared the mate, as he dragged the Dago +across the deck. "What d'ye mean by it, eh? Get hold o' that rope, or +I'll--." + +"Yais, sir." + +A moment later he turned to Dan, and in the already deepening gloom +his smile gleamed white in his face. + +"Ah, my frien'!" he said. "Dere was no dream. T'ree years, all bad, +all hard, all sad dat was de dream. Now I wake up. Only one t'ing +true in all de t'ree years de friend I make yais." + +"Hark!" said Dan. "Hear it? There's boats comin' off to us." + +"Yais!" The smile gleamed again. "For me. It is no dream. Dey hear my +voice when I sing. By'm by you hear dem callin', 'Felipe!' Dat's my +name." + +"Listen, then," said Dan in a whisper. + +The water trickled alongside; they were coming up to their berth. The +bells from the church ashore were still. Across the bay there came +the clack of oars in rowlocks, pulled briskly, and voices. + +"Felipe!" they called. "Felipe!" + +The Dago's hand found Dan's. + + + +III + +WOOD-LADIES + +The pine trees of the wood joined their branches into a dome of +intricate groinings over the floor of ferns where the children sat +sunk to the neck in a foam of tender green. The sunbeams that slanted +in made shivering patches of gold about them. Joyce, the elder of the +pair, was trying to explain why she had wished to come here from the +glooms of the lesser wood beyond. + +"I wasn't 'zactly frightened," she said. "I knew there wasn't any +lions or robbers, or anything like that. But--" + +"Tramps?" suggested Joan. + +"No! You know I don't mind tramps, Joan. But as we was going along +under all those dark bushes where it was so quiet, I kept feeling as +if there was something behind me. I looked round and there wasn't +anything, but well, it felt as if there was." + +Joyce's small face was knit and intent with the effort to convey her +meaning. She was a slim, erect child, as near seven years of age as +made no matter, with eyes that were going to be grey but had not yet +ceased to be blue. Joan, who was a bare five, a mere huge baby, was +trying to root up a fern that grew between her feet. + +"I know," she said, tugging mightily. The fern gave suddenly, and +Joan fell over on her back, with her stout legs sticking up stiffly. +In this posture she continued the conversation undisturbed. "I know, +Joy. It was wood-ladies!" + +"Wood-ladies!" Joyce frowned in faint perplexity as Joan rolled right +side up again. Wood-ladies were dim inhabitants of the woods, beings +of the order of fairies and angels and even vaguer, for there was +nothing about them in the story-books. Joyce, who felt that she was +getting on in years, was willing to be skeptical about them, but +could not always manage it. In the nursery, with the hard, clean +linoleum underfoot and the barred window looking out on the lawn and +the road, it was easy; she occasionally shocked Joan, and sometimes +herself, by the license of her speech on such matters; but it was a +different affair when one came to the gate at the end of the garden, +and passed as through a dream portal from the sunshine and frank sky +to the cathedral shadows and great whispering aisles of the wood. +There, the dimness was like the shadow of a presence; as babies they +had been aware of it, and answered their own questions by inventing +wood-ladies to float among the trunks and people the still, green +chambers. Now, neither of them could remember how they had first +learned of wood-ladies. + +"Wood-ladies," repeated Joyce, and turned with a little shiver to +look across the ferns to where the pines ended and the lesser wood, +dense with undergrowth, broke at their edge like a wave on a steep +beach. It was there, in a tunnel of a path that writhed beneath +over-arching bushes, that she had been troubled with the sense of +unseen companions. Joan, her fat hands struggling with another fern, +followed her glance. + +"That's where they are," she said casually. "They like being in the +dark." + +"Joan!" Joyce spoke earnestly. "Say truly truly, mind! do you think +there is wood-ladies at all?" + +"'Course there is," replied Joan, cheerfully. "Fairies in fields and +angels in heaven and dragons in caves and wood-ladies in woods." + +"But," objected Joyce, "nobody ever sees them." + +Joan lifted her round baby face, plump, serene, bright with +innocence, and gazed across at the tangled trees beyond the ferns. +She wore the countenance with which she was wont to win games, and +Joyce thrilled nervously at her certainty. Her eyes, which were +brown, seemed to seek expertly; then she nodded. + +"There's one now," she said, and fell to work with her fern again. + +Joyce, crouching among the broad green leaves, looked tensely, dread +and curiosity the child's avid curiosity for the supernatural alight +in her face. In the wood a breath of wind stirred the leaves; the +shadows and the fretted lights shifted and swung; all was vague +movement and change. Was it a bough that bent and sprang back or a +flicker of draperies, dim and green, shrouding a tenuous form that +passed like a smoke-wreath? She stared with wide eyes, and it seemed +to her that for an instant she saw the figure turn and the pallor of +a face, with a mist of hair about it, sway towards her. There was an +impression of eyes, large and tender, of an infinite grace and +fragility, of a coloring that merged into the greens and browns of +the wood; and as she drew her breath, it was all no more. The trees, +the lights and shades, the stir of branches were as before, but +something was gone from them. + +"Joan!" she cried, hesitating. + +"Yes," said Joan, without looking up. "What?" + +The sound of words had broken a spell. Joyce was no longer sure that +she had seen anything. + +"I thought, just now, I could see something," she said. "But I s'pose +I didn't." + +"I did," remarked Joan. + +Joyce crawled through the crisp ferns till she was close to Joan, +sitting solid and untroubled and busy upon the ground, with broken +stems and leaves all round her. + +"Joan," she begged. "Be nice. You're trying to frighten me, aren't +you?" + +"I'm not," protested Joan. "I did see a wood-lady. Wood-ladies +doesn't hurt you; wood-ladies are nice. You're a coward, Joyce." + +"I can't help it," said Joyce, sighing. "But I won't go into the dark +spots of the wood any more." + +"Coward," repeated Joan absently, but with a certain relish. + +"You wouldn't like to go there by yourself!" cried Joyce. "If I +wasn't with you, you'd be a coward, too. You know you would." + +She stopped, for Joan had swept her lap free of debris and was rising +to her feet. Joan, for all her plumpness and infantile softness, had +a certain deliberate dignity when she was put upon her mettle. She +eyed her sister with a calm and very galling superiority. + +"I'm going there now," she answered; "all by mineself." + +"Go, then!" retorted Joyce, angrily. + +Without a further word Joan turned her back and began to plough her +way across the ferns towards the dark wood. Joyce, watching her, saw +her go at first with wrath, for she had been stung, and then with +compunction. The plump baby was so small in the brooding solemnity of +the pines, thrusting indefatigably along, buried to the waist in +ferns. Her sleek, brown head had a devoted look; the whole of her +seemed to go with so sturdy an innocence towards those peopled and +uncanny glooms. Joyce rose to her knees to call her back. + +"Joan!" she cried. The baby turned. "Joan! Come back; come back an' +be friends!" + +Joan, maintaining her offing, replied with a gesture. It was a +gesture they had learned from the boot-and-knife boy, and they had +once been spanked for practicing it on the piano-tuner. The +boot-and-knife boy called it "cocking a snook," and it consisted in +raising a thumb to one's nose and spreading the fingers out. It was +defiance and insult in tabloid form. Then she turned and plodded on. +The opaque wall of the wood was before her and over her, but she knew +its breach. She ducked her head under a droop of branches, squirmed +through, was visible still for some seconds as a gleam of blue frock, +and then the ghostly shadows received her and she was gone. The wood +closed behind her like a lid. + +Joyce, squatting in her place, blinked a little breathlessly to shift +from her senses an oppression of alarm, and settled down to wait for +her. At least it was true that nothing ever happened to Joan; even +when she fell into a water-butt she suffered no damage; and the wood +was a place to which they came every day. + +"Besides," she considered, enumerating her resources of comfort; +"besides, there can't be such things as wood-ladies, really." + +But Joan was a long time gone. The dome of pines took on an uncanny +stillness; the moving patches of sun seemed furtive and unnatural; +the ferns swayed without noise. In the midst of it, patient and +nervous, sat Joyce, watching always that spot in the bushes where a +blue overall and a brown head had disappeared. The under-note of +alarm which stirred her senses died down; a child finds it hard to +spin out a mood; she simply sat, half-dreaming in the peace of the +morning, half-watching the wood. Time slipped by her, and presently +there came Mother, smiling and seeking through the trees for her +babies. + +"Isn't there a clock inside you that tells you when it's lunch time?" +asked Mother. "You're ever so late. Where's Joan?" + +Joyce rose among the ferns, delicate and elfin, with a shy perplexity +on her face. It was difficult to speak even to Mother about +wood-ladies without a pretence of skepticism. + +"I forgot about lunch," she said, taking the slim, cool hand which +Mother held out to her. "Joan's in there." She nodded at the bushes. + +"Is she?" said Mother, and called aloud in her singing voice that was +so clear to hear in the spaces of the wood. "Joan! Joan!" + +A cheeky bird answered with a whistle, and Mother called again. + +"She said," explained Joyce; "she said she saw a wood-lady, and then +she went in there to show me she wasn't afraid." + +"What's a wood-lady, chick?" asked Mother. "The rascal!" she said, +smiling, when Joyce had explained as best she could. "We'll have to +go and look for her." + +They went hand in hand, and Mother showed herself clever in parting a +path among the bushes. She managed so that no bough sprang back to +strike Joyce, and without tearing or soiling her own soft, white +dress; one could guess that when she had been a little girl she, too, +had had a wood to play in. They cut down by the Secret Pond, where +the old rhododendrons were, and out to the edge of the fields; and +when they paused Mother would lift her head and call again, and her +voice rang in the wood like a bell. By the pond, which was a black +water with steep banks, she paused and showed a serious face; but +there were no marks of shoes on its clay slopes, and she shook her +head and went on. But to all the calling there was no answer, no +distant cheery bellow to guide them to Joan. + +"I wish she wouldn't play these tricks," said Mother. "I don't like +them a bit." + +"I expect she's hiding," said Joyce. "There aren't wood-ladies +really, are there, Mother?" + +"There's nothing worse in these woods than a rather naughty baby," +Mother replied. "We'll go back by the path and call her again." + +Joyce knew that the hand which held hers tightened as they went, and +there was still no answer to Mother's calling. She could not have +told what it was that made her suddenly breathless; the wood about +her turned desolate; an oppression of distress and bewilderment +burdened them both. "Joan! Joan!" called Mother in her strong +beautiful contralto, swelling the word forth in powerful music, and +when she ceased the silence was like a taunt. It was not as if Joan +were there and failed to answer; it was as if there were no longer +any Joan anywhere. They came at last to the space of sparse trees +which bordered their garden. + +"We mustn't be silly about this," said Mother, speaking as much to +herself as to Joyce. "Nothing can have happened to her. And you must +have lunch, chick." + +"Without waiting for Joan?" asked Joyce. + +"Yes. The gardener and the boot-boy must look for Joan," said Mother, +opening the gate. + +The dining-room looked very secure and homelike, with its big window +and its cheerful table spread for lunch. Joyce's place faced the +window, so that she could see the lawn and the hedge bounding the +kitchen garden; and when Mother had served her with food, she was +left alone to eat it. Presently the gardener and the boot-boy passed +the window, each carrying a hedge-stake and looking war-like. There +reached her a murmur of voices; the gardener was mumbling something +about tramps. + +"Oh, I don't think so," replied Mother's voice. + +Mother came in presently and sat down, but did not eat anything. +Joyce asked her why. + +"Oh, I shall have some lunch when Joan comes," answered Mother. "I +shan't be hungry till then. Will you have some more, my pet?" + +When Joyce had finished, they went out again to the wood to meet Joan +when she was brought back in custody. Mother walked quite slowly, +looking all the time as if she would like to run. Joyce held her hand +and sometimes glanced up at her face, so full of wonder and a sort of +resentful doubt, as though circumstances were playing an unmannerly +trick on her. At the gate they came across the boot-boy. + +"I bin all acrost that way," said the boot-boy, pointing with his +stumpy black forefinger, "and then acrost that way, an' Mister Jenks" +Jenks was the gardener "'e've gone about in rings, 'e 'ave. And there +ain't no sign nor token, mum, not a sign there ain't." + +From behind him sounded the voice of the gardener, thrashing among +the trees. "Miss Joan!" he roared. "Hi! Miss Jo-an! You're +a-frightin' your Ma proper. Where are ye, then?" + +"She must be hiding," said Mother. "You must go on looking, Walter. +You must go on looking till you find her." + +"Yes'm," said Walter. "If's she's in there us'll find her, soon or +late." + +He ran off, and presently his voice was joined to Jenks's, calling +Joan calling, calling, and getting no answer. + +Mother took Joyce's hand again. + +"Come," she said. "We'll walk round by the path, and you must tell me +again how it all happened. Did you really see something when Joan +told you to look?" + +"I expect I didn't," replied Joyce, dolefully. "But Joan's always +saying there's a fairy or something in the shadows, and I always +think I see them for a moment." + +"It couldn't have been a live woman or a man that you saw?" + +"Oh, no!" Joyce was positive of that. Mother's hand tightened on hers +understandingly, and they went on in silence till they met Jenks. + +Jenks was an oldish man with bushy grey whiskers, who never wore a +coat, and now he was wet to the loins with mud and water. + +"That there ol' pond," he explained. "I've been an' took a look at +her. Tromped through her proper, I did, an' I'll go bail there ain't +so much as a dead cat in all the mud of her. Thish yer's a mistry, +mum, an' no mistake." + +Mother stared at him. "I can't bear this," she said suddenly. "You +must go on searching, Jenks, and Walter must go on his bicycle to the +police station at once. Call him, please!" + +"Walter!" roared Jenks obediently. + +"Comin'!" answered the boot-boy, and burst forth from the bushes. In +swift, clear words, which no stupidity could mistake or forget, +Mother gave him his orders, spoken in a tone that meant urgency. +Walter went flying to execute them. + +"Oh, Mother, where do you think Joan can be?" begged Joyce when Jenks +had gone off to resume his search: + +"I don't know," said Mother. "It's all so absurd." + +"If there was wood-ladies, they wouldn't hurt a baby like Joan," +suggested Joyce. + +"Oh, who could hurt her!" cried Mother, and fell to calling again. +Her voice, of which each accent was music, alternated with the harsh +roars of Jenks. + +Walter on his bicycle must have hurried, in spite of his permanently +punctured front tire, for it was a very short time before bells rang +in the steep lane from the road and Superintendent Farrow himself +wheeled his machine in at the gate, massive and self-possessed, a +blue-clad minister of comfort. He heard Mother's tale, which embodied +that of Joyce, with a half-smile lurking in his moustache and his big +chin creased back against his collar. Then he nodded, exactly as if +he saw through the whole business and could find Joan in a minute or +two, and propped his bicycle against the fence. + +"I understand, then," he said, "that the little girl's been missing +for rather more than an hour. In that case, she can't have got far. I +sent a couple o' constables round the roads be'ind the wood before I +started, an' now I'll just 'ave a look through the wood myself." + +"Thank you," said Mother. "I don't know why I'm so nervous, but--." + +"Very natural, ma'am," said the big superintendent, comfortingly, and +went with them to the wood. + +It was rather thrilling to go with him and watch him. Joyce and +Mother had to show him the place from which Joan had started and the +spot at which she had disappeared. He looked at them hard, frowning a +little and nodding to himself, and went stalking mightily among the +ferns. "It was 'ere she went?" he inquired, as he reached the dark +path, and being assured that it was, he thrust in and commenced his +search. The pond seemed to give him ideas, which old Jenks disposed +of, and he marched on till he came out to the edge of the fields, +where the hay was yet uncut. Joan could not have crossed them without +leaving a track in the tall grass as clear as a cart-rut. + +"We 'ave to consider the possibilities of the matter," said the +superintendent. "Assumin' that the wood 'as been thoroughly searched, +where did she get out of it?" + +"Searched!" growled old Jenks. "There ain't a inch as I 'aven't +searched an' seen, not a inch." + +"The kidnappin' the'ry," went on the superintendent, ignoring him and +turning to Mother, "I don't incline to. 'Owever, we must go to work +in order, an' I'll 'ave my men up 'ere and make sure of the wood. All +gypsies an' tramps will be stopped and interrogated. I don't think +there's no cause for you to feel anxious, ma'am. I 'ope to 'ave some +news for you in the course of the afternoon." + +They watched him free-wheel down the lane and shoot round the corner. + +"Oh, dear," said Mother, then: "Why doesn't the baby come? I wish +Daddy weren't away." + +Now that the police had entered the affair Joyce felt that there +remained nothing to be done. Uniformed authority was in charge of +events; it could not fail to find Joan. She had a vision of the +police at work, stopping straggling families of tramps on distant +by-roads, looking into the contents of their dreadful bundles, +flashing the official bull's eye lantern into the mysterious interior +of gypsy caravans, and making ragged men and slatternly women give an +account of their wanderings. No limits to which they would not go; +how could they fail? She wished their success seemed as inevitable to +her mother as it did to her. + +"They're sure to bring her back, Mother," she repeated. + +"Oh, chick," said Mother, "I keep telling myself so. But I wish I +wish." + +"What, Mother?" + +"I wish," said Mother in a sudden burst of speech, as if she were +confessing something that troubled her; "I wish you hadn't seen that +wood-lady." + +The tall young constables and the plump fatherly sergeant annoyed old +Jenks by searching the wood as though he had done nothing. It was a +real search this time. Each of them took a part of the ground and +went over it as though he were looking for a needle which had been +lost, and no fewer than three of them trod every inch of the bottom +of the Secret Pond. They took shovels and opened up an old fox's +earth; and a sad-looking man in shabby plain clothes arrived and +walked about smoking a pipe a detective! Up from the village, too, +came the big young curate and the squire's two sons, civil and +sympathetic and eager to be helpful; they all thought it natural that +Mother should be anxious, but refused to credit for an instant that +anything could have happened to Joyce. + +"That baby!" urged the curate. "Why, my dear lady, Joan is better +known hereabouts than King George himself. No one could take her a +mile without having to answer questions. I don't know what's keeping +her, but you may be sure she's all right." + +"Course she is," chorused the others, swinging their sticks +lightheartedly. "'Course she's all right." + +"Get her for me, then," said Mother. "I don't want to be silly, and +you're awfully good. But I must have her; I must have her. I, I want +her." + +The squire's sons turned as if on an order and went towards the wood. +The curate lingered a moment. He was a huge youth, an athlete and a +gentleman, and his hard clean-shaven face could be kind and serious. + +"We're sure to get her," he said in lower tones. "And you must help +us with your faith and courage. Can you?" + +Mother's hand tightened on that of Joyce. + +"We are doing our best," she said, and smiled she smiled. The curate +nodded and went his way to the wood. + +A little later in the afternoon came Colonel Warden, the lord and +master of all the police in the county, a gay trim soldier whom the +children knew and liked. With him, in his big automobile, were more +policemen and a pair of queer liver-colored dogs, all baggy skin and +bleary eyes bloodhounds! Joyce felt that this really must settle it. +Actual living bloodhounds would be more than a match for Joan. +Colonel Warden was sure of it too. + +"Saves time," he was telling Mother in his high snappy voice. "Shows +us which way she's gone, you know. Best hounds in the country, these +two; never known 'em fail yet." + +The dogs were limp and quiet as he led them through the wood, strange +ungainly mechanisms which a whiff of a scent could set in motion. A +pinafore, which Joan had worn at breakfast, was served to them for an +indication of the work they had to do; they snuffed at it languidly +for some seconds. Then the colonel unleashed them. + +They smelled round and about like any other dogs for a while, till +one of them lifted his great head and uttered a long moaning cry. +Then, noses down, the men running behind them, they set off across +the ferns. Mother, still holding Joyce's hand, followed. The hounds +made a straight line for the wood at the point at which Joan had +entered it, slid in like frogs into water, while the men dodged and +crashed after them. Joyce and Mother came up with them at a place +where the bushes stood back, enclosing a little quiet space of turf +that lay open to the sky. The hounds were here, one lying down and +scratching himself, the other nosing casually and clearly without +interest about him. + +"Dash it all," the colonel was saying; "she can't she simply can't +have been kidnapped in a balloon." + +They tried the hounds again and again, always with the same result. +They ran their line to the same spot unhesitatingly, and then gave up +as though the scent went no farther. Nothing could induce them to +hunt beyond it. + +"I can't understand this," said Colonel Warden, dragging at his +moustache. "This is queer." He stood glancing, around him as though +the shrubs and trees had suddenly become enemies. + +The search was still going on when the time came for Joyce to go to +bed. It had spread from the wood across the fields, reinforced by +scores of sturdy volunteers, and automobiles had puffed away to +thread the mesh of little lanes that covered the countryside. Joyce +found it all terribly exciting. Fear for Joan she felt not at all. + +"I know inside myself," she told Mother, "right down deep in the +middle of me, that Joan's all right." + +"Bless you, my chick," said poor Mother. "I wish I could feel like +that. Go to bed now, like a good girl." + +There was discomfort in the sight of Joan's railed cot standing empty +in the night nursery, but Joyce was tired and had scarcely begun to +be touched by it before she was asleep. She had a notion that during +the night Mother came in more than once, and she had a vague dream, +too, all about Joan and wood-ladies, of which she could not remember +much when she woke up. Joan was always dressed first in the morning, +being the younger of the pair, but now there was no Joan, and Nurse +was very gentle with Joyce and looked tired and as if she had been +crying. + +Mother was not to be seen that morning; she had been up all night, +"till she broke down, poor thing," said Nurse, and Joyce was bidden +to amuse herself quietly in the nursery. But Mother was about again +at lunch time when Joyce went down to the dining room. She was very +pale and her eyes looked black and deep, and somehow t she seemed +suddenly smaller and younger, more nearly Joyce's age, than ever +before. They kissed each other, and the child would have tried to +comfort. + +"No," said Mother, shaking her head. "No dear. Don't let's be sorry +for each other yet. It would be like giving up hope. And we haven't +done that, have we?" + +"I haven't," said Joyce. "I know it's all right." + +After lunch again Mother said she wouldn't be hungry till Joan came +home they went out together. There were no searchers now in the wood +and the garden was empty; the police had left no inch unscanned and +they were away, combing the countryside and spreading terror among +the tramps. The sun was strong upon the lawn, and the smell of the +roses was heavy on the air; across the hedge, the land rolled away to +clear perspectives of peace and beauty. + +"Let's walk up and down," suggested Mother. "Anything's better than +sitting still. And don't talk, chick not just now." + +They paced the length of the lawn, from the cedar to the gate which +led to the wood, perhaps a dozen times, hand in hand and in silence. +It was while their backs were turned to the wood that they heard the +gate click, and faced about to see who was coming. A blue-sleeved arm +thrust the gate open, and there advanced into the sunlight, coming +forth from the shadow as from a doorway Joan! Her round baby face, +with the sleek brown hair over it, the massive infantile body, the +sturdy bare legs, confronted them serenely. Mother uttered a deep +sigh it sounded like that and in a moment she was kneeling on the +ground with her arms round the baby. + +"Joan, Joan," she said over and over again. "My little, little baby!" + +Joan struggled in her embrace till she got an arm free, and then +rubbed her eyes drowsily. + +"Hallo!" she said. + +"But where have you been?" cried Mother. "Baby-girl, where have you +been all this time?" + +Joan made a motion of her head and her free arm towards the wood, the +wood which had been searched a dozen times over like a pocket. "In +there," she answered carelessly. "Wiv the wood-ladies. I'm hungry!" + +"My darling!" said Mother, and picked her up and carried her into the +house. + +In the dining-room, with Mother at her side and Joyce opposite to +her, Joan fell to her food in her customary workmanlike fashion, and +between helpings answered questions in a fashion which only served to +darken the mystery of her absence. + +"But there aren't any wood-ladies really, darling," remonstrated +Mother. + +"There is," said Joan. "There's lots. They wanted to keep me but I +wouldn't stay. So I comed home, 'cause I was hungry." + +"But," began Mother. "Where did they take you to?" she asked. + +"I don't know," said Joan. "The one what I went to speak to gave me +her hand and tooked me to where there was more of them. It was a +place in the wood wiv grass to sit on and bushes all round, and they +gave me dead flowers to play wiv. Howwid old dead flowers!" + +"Yes," said Mother. "What else?" + +"There was anuvver little girl there," went on Joan. "Not a wood-lady +but a girl like me, what they'd tooked from somewhere. She was +wearing a greeny sort of dress like they was, and they wanted me to +put one on too. But I wouldn't." + +"Why wouldn't you?" asked Joyce. + +"'Cause I didn't want to be a wood-lady," replied Joan. + +"Listen to me, darling," said Mother. "Didn't these people whom you +call wood-ladies take you away out of the wood? We searched the whole +wood, you know, and you weren't there at all." + +"I was," said Joan. "I was there all the time, an' I heard Walter an' +Jenks calling. I cocked a snook at them an' the wood-ladies laughed +like leaves rustling." + +"But where did you sleep last night?" + +"I didn't sleep," said Joan, grasping her spoon anew. "I'se very +sleepy now." + +She was asleep as soon as they laid her in bed, and Mother and Joyce +looked at each other across her cot, above her rosy and unconscious +face. + +"God help us," said Mother in a whisper. "What is the truth of this?" + +There was never any answer, any hint of a solution, save Joan's. And +she, as soon as she discovered that her experiences amounted to an +adventure, began to embroider them, and now she does not even know +herself. She has reached the age of seven, and it is long since she +has believed in anything so childish as wood-ladies. + + + +IV + +A MAN BEFORE THE MAST + +In Tom Mowbray's boarding-house, the sailors who sat upon the narrow +benches round the big room ceased their talk as the door opened and +Tom Mowbray himself entered from the street. The men in the room, for +all the dreary stiffness of their shore-clothes, carried upon their +faces, in their hands shaped to the rasp of ropes, in every attitude +of their bodies, the ineradicable hall-mark of the sea which was the +arena of their lives; they salted the barren place with its vigor and +pungency. Pausing within the door, Tom Mowbray sent his pale +inexpressive glance flickering along the faces they turned towards +him. + +"Well, boys," he said; "takin' it easy fer a spell?" + +There was a murmur of reply from the men; they watched him warily, +knowing that he was not genial for nothing. He was a man of fifty or +more, bloated in body, with an immobile grey face and a gay white +moustache that masked his gross and ruthless mouth. He was dressed +like any other successful merchant, bulging waistcoat, showy linen +and all; the commodity in which he dealt was the flesh and blood of +seamen, and his house was eminent among those which helped the +water-front of San Francisco "the Barbary Coast," as sailors call it +to its unholy fame. He stood among the sunburnt, steady-eyed seamen +like a fungus in fresh grass. + +"An' now, who's for a good ship?" he inquired. There was a sort of +mirth in his voice as he spoke. "Good wages, good grub, an' a soft +job. Don't all of ye speak at once." + +The sailors eyed him warily. From the end of the room a white-haired +American looked up wryly. + +"What's her name?" he asked. + +"Name?" Tom Mowbray kept his countenance, though the name was the +cream of the joke. He paused, watching the faces of those who had +been ashore a week and were due to ship again when he should give the +word. "Oh, you don't want to be scared of her name; her name's all +right. She's the Etna." + +Somebody laughed, and Tom Mowbray gave him an approving glance; the +others interchanged looks. The Etna had a reputation familiar to +seamen and a nickname too; they called her the "Hell-packet." Of all +the tall and beautiful ships which maintained their smartness and +their beauty upon the agony of wronged and driven seamen, the Etna +was the most terrible, a blue-water penitentiary, a floating place of +torment. To enhance the strange terror of her, the bitter devil who +was her captain carried his wife on board; the daily brutalities that +made her infamous went on under the eyes and within the hearing of a +woman; it added a touch of the grotesque to what was otherwise +fearful enough. + +Tom Mowbray stood enjoying the dumb consternation of his victims. + +"Well, who's for it?" he inquired. "Ain't there none of you that +wants a good ship like that Noo York an' back here, an' eighteen +dollars a month? Well, I s'pose I'll have to take my pick of yer." + +They knew he had proposed the matter to them only in mockery of their +helplessness; they were at his mercy, and those he selected would +have to go. He would secure an advance of three months of their wages +as payment for their week or so of board; and they would desert +penniless in New York to escape the return voyage. There was no +remedy; it was almost a commonplace risk of their weary lives so +commonplace a risk that of all those men, accustomed to peril and +violence, there was none to rise and drive a fist into his sleek +face. But, from the back of the room, one, nursing a crossed knee, +with his pipe in his mouth, spoke with assurance. + +"I'm not goin' aboard of her," he said. + +Tom Mowbray's heavy brows lowered a little; he surveyed the speaker. +It was a young man, sitting remote from the windows, whose face, in +the shadows of the big, bare room, showed yet a briskness of +coloring. His name Tom remembered it with an effort was Goodwin, +Daniel Goodwin; he had been paid off from a "limejuicer" little more +than a week before. + +"Oh, you're not goin' aboard of her?" he queried slowly. + +"No," answered the young man calmly. "I'm not." + +It was defiance, it was insult; but Tom Mowbray could stand that. He +smoothed out his countenance, watching while the young man's neighbor +on the bench nudged him warningly. + +"Well, I gotta find a crowd for her," he said in tones of +resignation. "I dunno how I'm goin' to do it, though." + +He sighed, the burlesque sigh of a fat man pitying himself, and +passed through the room to the door at the far end. Not till it had +closed behind him did talk resume. A man who had been three weeks +ashore leant back against the wall and let his breath escape in a +sigh, which was not burlesque. For him there was no hope; he was as +much doomed as if a judge had pronounced sentence on him. + +"Oh, hell!" he said. "Wonder if he'll let me have a dollar to get a +drink 'fore I go aboard of her?" + +The others turned their eyes on him curiously; whatever happened to +them, he was a man who would sail in the Etna; already he was +isolated and tragic. + +The neighbor who had nudged young Goodwin nudged him again. + +"Come out," he breathed into the ear that the young man bent towards +him. "Come out; I want to speak t' ye." + +In the street, the mean cobbled street of the Barbary Coast, the man +who nudged took Goodwin by the arm and spoke urgently. + +"Say, ain't ye got no sense?" he demanded. "Talkin' like that to Tom +Mowbray! Don't ye know that's the way to fix him to ship ye aboard +the 'Hell-packet?'" + +"He can't ship me aboard any 'Hell-packet,'" answered Goodwin +serenely. "When I ship, I ship myself, an' I pay my board in cash. +There ain't any advance note to be got out o' me." + +The other halted and drew Goodwin to halt, facing him at the edge of +the sidewalk, where a beetle-browed saloon projected its awning above +them. Like Goodwin, he was young and brown; but unlike Goodwin there +was a touch of sophistication, of daunting experience, in the +seriousness of his face. The two had met and chummed after the +fashion of sailors, who make and lose their friends as the hazard of +the hour directs. + +"You don't know Tom Mowbray," he said in a kind of affectionate +contempt. "He's, he's a swine an' he's cute! Didn't you hear about +him shippin' a corpse aboard o' the Susquehanna, an' drawin' three +months' advance for it? Why, you ain't got a show with him if he's +got a down on ye." + +Goodwin smiled. "Maybe I don't know Tom Mowbray," he said; "but it's +a sure thing Tom Mowbray don't know me. Come on an' have a drink, +Jim. This thing of the Etna it's settled. Come on!" + +He led the way into the saloon beside them; Jim, growling warningly, +followed him. + +At twenty-six, it was Goodwin's age, one should be very much a man. +One's moustache is confirmed in its place; one has the stature and +muscle of a man, a man's tenacity and resistance, while the heart of +boyishness still pulses in one's body. It is the age at which +capacity is the ally of impulse, when heart and hand go paired in a +perfect fraternity. One is as sure of oneself as a woman of thirty, +and with as much and as little reason. Goodwin, when he announced +that he, at any rate, would not be one of the crew of the Etna, spoke +out of a serene confidence in himself. He knew himself for a fine +seaman and a reasonably fine human being; he had not squandered his +wages, and he did not mean to be robbed of his earnings when he +shipped himself again. It was his first visit to San Francisco; the +ports he knew were not dangerous to a man who took care of himself, +who was not a drunkard, and would fight at need. He showed as +something under six feet tall, long in the limb and moving handily, +with eyes of an angry blue in a face tanned russet by wind and sun. + +In the saloon he laughed down Jim's instances of Tom Mowbray's +treachery and cunning, lounging with an elbow on the bar, careless +and confident under the skeptical eyes of the white-jacketed barman. + +"I reckon Tom Mowbray knows when he's safe," he said. "Why, if he was +to do any o' them things to me I'd get him if I had to dig for him. +Yes, sir!" + +From thence the course of events ran as anyone familiar with the +Barbary Coast might have prophesied. They returned to the +boarding-house for supper and joined their fellows at the long table +in the back room, and were waited on by Tom Mowbray's "runners." +Mowbray himself, with his scared, lean wife and his wife's crippled +brother, had a table apart from the men; as he ate he entertained +himself by baiting the unhappy cripple, till the broken man stammered +tearfully across the table at him, shaking and grimacing in a nervous +frenzy, which Tom Mowbray always found comical. The woman between +them sat with her eyes downcast and her face bitter and still; they +made a picture of domesticity at which the sailors stared in a +fascination of perplexity, while the hard-faced "runners" in their +shirt-sleeves carried the plates to and from the kitchen, and the +ritual of the evening meal proceeded to its finish. + +If there was in Goodwin a quality more salient than his youthful +force and his trust in his own capacity, it was the manner he had of +seeing absorbedly the men and things that presented themselves to his +eyes, so that even in dull and trivial matters he gathered strong +impressions and vivid memories. The three people at the little table +made a group from which, while he ate, he could not withdraw his +eyes. The suffering passivity of the woman, the sly, sinister humor +in Tom Mowbray's heavy, grey face, the livid and impotent hate that +frothed in the crippled man, and his strange jerky gestures, the +atmosphere of nightmare cruelty and suffering that enveloped them +like a miasma these bit themselves into his imagination and left it +sore. He saw and tasted nothing of what he ate and drank; he was lost +in watching the three at the other table; the man who refilled his +cup with coffee winked across his head to one of the others as though +in mirth at his abstraction. + +In the ordinary way he would have gone for a walk up-town with his +friend after supper; but he was not in a mood for company that +evening and found himself sleepy besides. He went upstairs to the +bedroom he shared with two other men to get some tobacco he had +there, and discovered in himself so strong an inclination to slumber +that he decided to go to bed forthwith. He lit his pipe and sat down +on his bed to take his boots off. He had one boot unlaced but still +on his foot when his pipe dropped from his lips. Across his drugged +and failing brain there flickered for an instant the blurred shape of +a suspicion. + +"What's the matter with me?" he half cried; and tried to rise to his +feet. + +He knew he had failed to stand up and had fallen back on the bed. +With his last faculties he resisted the tides of darkness that rushed +in upon him; then his grasp upon consciousness loosened and his face, +which had been knitted in effort, relaxed. When half an hour later +Tom Mowbray and two of his "runners" came to find him, he lay, +scarcely breathing, in the appearance of a profound and natural +sleep. + +It was thirty-six hours later when a vague consciousness of pain, +growing upon his poisoned nerves, sharpened to a climax, and he +opened his eyes, lying where he found himself without moving. It took +him some minutes before he brought his mind into co-ordination with +his senses to realize what he saw. Then it was plain to him that he +was lying upon the bare slats of a bunk in the narrow forecastle of a +ship. Its door, hooked open, made visible a slice of sunlit deck and +a wooden rail beyond it, from which the gear of the foremast slanted +up. Within the forecastle only three of the bunks contained +mattresses and blankets, and there was no heave and sway under him to +betoken a ship under sail in a seaway. + +Slowly the sailor within him asserted itself. "This hooker's at +anchor!" + +By degrees he began to account for himself. Recollection returned: he +had waked in a bare and bedless bunk, but it was at Tom Mowbray's he +had fallen asleep. He remembered going up to his room and the +sleepiness that had pressed itself upon him there. And there was a +thought, a doubt, that had been with him at the last. It eluded him +for a moment; then he remembered and sat up, in an access of vigor +and anger as he recalled it. + +"Knock-out drops," he said. "Yes, by God! Tom Mowbray's shanghaied +me!" + +His head ached, his skin and his mouth were parched as if by a fever. +Stiffly he swung himself over the edge of his bunk and went on feet +that were numb and uncertain through the door to the deck. He was +sore all over from lying on the bare slats of the bunk, and the dregs +of the drug still clogged his mind and muscles; but like the flame in +a foul lantern there burned in him the fires of anger. + +"Shanghaied!" he repeated as he reeled to the rail and caught at a +backstay to steady himself. "Well, the man that did it wants to hide +when I get ashore again." + +He cast his eyes aft over the ship on which he found himself, summing +her up with an automatic expertness. An American ship, it was plain, +and a three-skysail-yarder at that, with a magnificent stature and +spread of spars. Abeam of her San Francisco basked along its shore; +she was at an anchor well out in the bay. What ship was it that he +had viewed from a dock-head lying just there? The answer was on his +lips even before his eyes discovered the boat she carried on top of +the fo'c'sle, with her name lettered upon it. Tom Mowbray had proved +his power by shanghaiing him aboard the Etna! + +He said nothing: the situation was beyond mere oaths, but wrath +surged in him like a flood. + +Around the for'ard house, walking with measured steps, came Mr. Fant, +the mate of the Etna, and accosted him. + +"Sobered up, have ye?" said Mr. Fant. + +"Yes, sir," said Goodwin. + +"That's right," said Mr. Fant, smiling, surveying him with an +appearance of gentle interest. "Knock-out drops?" he inquired. + +"Yes, sir," answered Goodwin again, watching him. + +"Ah!" Mr. Fant shook his head. "Well, you're all right now," he said. +"Stick yer head in a bucket an' ye'll be ready to turn to." + +Mr. Fant had his share in the fame of the Etna; he was a part of her +character. Goodwin, though his mind still moved slowly, eyed him +intently, gauging the man's strange and masked quality, probing the +mildness of his address for the thing it veiled. He saw the mate of +the Etna as a spare man of middle-age, who would have been tall but +for the stoop of his shoulders. His shaven face was constricted +primly; he had the mouth of an old maid, and stood slack-bodied with +his hands sunk in the pockets of his jacket. Only the tightness of +his clothes across his chest and something sure and restrained in his +gait as he walked hinted of the iron thews that governed his lean +body; and, while he spoke in the accents of an easy civility, his +stony eyes looked on Goodwin with an unblinking and remorseless +aloofness. It was not hard to imagine him, when the Etna, with her +crew seduced or drugged to man her, should be clear of soundings and +the business of the voyage put in shape, when every watch on deck +would be a quaking ordeal of fear and pain, and every watch below an +interval for mere despair. + +The vision of it made Goodwin desperate. + +"I haven't signed on, sir," he protested. "I've been shanghaied here. +This ain't." + +He paused under the daunting compulsion of Mr. Fant's eye. + +"You've signed on all right," said Mr. Fant. "Your name's John Smith +an' you signed on yesterday. You don't want to make any mistake about +that, Smith." + +He spoke as mildly as ever and yet was menacing and terrible. But +Goodwin was insistent. + +"My name's Goodwin," he persisted. "Tom Mowbray drugged me and shoved +me on board. I want to go ashore." + +Mr. Fant turned to go aft. "You get yer head into a bucket," he +counselled. "Hurry up, now. There's work waitin' to be done." + +"I won't!" shouted Goodwin. + +"Eh!" Mr. Fant's voice was still mild as he uttered the exclamation, +but before Goodwin could repeat himself he had moved. As if some +spring in him had been released from tension, the mild and prim Mr. +Fant whirled on his heel, and a fist took Goodwin on the edge of the +jaw and sent him gasping and clucking on to his back; while, with the +precision of a movement rehearsed and practiced, Mr. Fant's booted +foot swung forward and kicked him into the scuppers. He lay there on +his back, looking up in an extremity of terror and astonishment at +the unmoved face of the mate. + +"Get up, Smith," commanded Mr. Fant. Goodwin obeyed, scarcely +conscious of the pain in his face and flank in the urgency of the +moment. "Now you get the bucket, same as I told you, and when you've +freshened yourself come aft an' I'll start you on a job. See?" + +"Aye, aye, sir," responded Goodwin mechanically, and started for-ard. +The Etna had absorbed him into her system; he was initiated already +to his role of a driven beast; but tenacious as an altar fire there +glowed yet within him the warmth of his anger against Tom Mowbray. It +was secret, beyond the reach of Mr. Fant's fist; the fist was only +another item in Tom Mowbray's debt. + +From his place on the crossjack-yard, to which Mr. Fant sent him, +Goodwin had presently a view of the captain's wife. She came to the +poop from the cabin companion-way and leaned for a while on the +taffrail, seeming to gaze at the town undulating over the hills, +dwarfed by the distance. It was when she turned to go down again that +Goodwin had a full view of her face, bleak and rigid, with greying +hair drawn tightly back from the temples, as formal and blank as the +face of a clock. It was told of her that she would sit knitting in +her chair by the mizzen fife-rail while at the break of the poop a +miserable man was being trodden and beaten out of the likeness of +humanity and never lift her head nor shift her attitude for all his +cries and struggles. It was her presence aboard that touched the +man-slaughtering Etna with her quality of the macabre. + +"But she won't see me broken up," swore Goodwin to himself as her +head vanished in the hood of the companion. "No not if I've got to +set the damn ship alight!" + +He made the acquaintance, when work was over for the day, of his +fellows in ill-fortune, the owners of the three occupied bunks in the +forecastle. As if the Etna had laid herself out to starve him of +every means of comfort, they proved to be "Dutchmen" that is to say, +Teutons of one nationality or another and therefore, by sea-canons, +his inferiors, incapable of sharing his feelings and not to be +trusted with his purpose. One question, however, they were able to +answer satisfactorily. It had occurred to him that since even Tom +Mowbray could only get men for the Etna by drugging them, her +officers would probably take special precautions to guard against +desertion. + +"Do they lock us in here at night?" he asked of the three of them +when they sat at supper in the port fo'c'sle. + +They stared at him uncomprehendingly. For them, helots of the sea, +the Etna's terrors were nothing out of the way; all ships used them +harshly; life itself was harsh enough. Their bland blond faces were +stupid and amiable. + +"Log us in!" answered one of them. "No! For what shall they log us +in?" + +"That's all right, then," said Goodwin and let them continue to stare +at him, ruminating his reasons for the question. + +There was a fourth "Dutchman" who slumbered through the day in the +starboard fo'c'sle and sat all night in the galley, in the exercise +of his functions as night-watchman. His lamp shed a path of light +from the galley door to the rail when, his fellows in the fo'c'sle +being, audibly asleep, Goodwin rose from his bunk and came forth to +the deck. Far away, across the level waters of the great bay, the +lights of the city made an illumination against the background of the +night; overhead there was a sky bold with stars; the Etna floated +mute in a rustle of moving waters. There were no ships near her; only +now and again a towboat racing up from the Golden Gates went by with +the noise of a breaking wave on a steep shore. In the break of the +poop there showed the light of Mr. Fant's window, where he lay in his +bunk, relaxing his grisly official personality with a book and a +cigar. + +In deft haste Goodwin stepped to the fore side of the fo'c'sle, where +he would be hidden should the watchman take a fancy to look out of +his galley. In him a single emotion was constant: he had a need to +find Tom Mowbray. It was more than an idea or a passion: it was like +the craving of a drug maniac for his poison. The shore that blinked +at him across the black waters was not inaccessible under the impulse +of that lust of anger; he was at all times a strong swimmer. Under +shelter of the deckhouse he stripped his clothes and made of them it +was only his shirt and trousers a bundle which the belt that carried +his sheath-knife fastened upon his head, descending under his chin +like a helmet-strap. With infinite precaution to be unheard he went +in this trim across the deck to the rail. + +The Etna's chain-plates were broad as a frigate's; he had but to let +himself down carefully and he was in the water without a splash. A +dozen strokes took him clear of her, and presently he paused, +up-ending and treading water, to look back at her. She stood up over +her anchors like a piece of architecture, poising like a tower; the +sailor in him paid tribute to the builders who had conceived her +beauty. They had devised a ship: it needed Mr. Fant and his +colleagues to degrade her into a sea-going prophet and give aptness +to her by-name of "Hell-packet." He was clear of her now; he might +fail to reach the shore and drown, but at least the grey woman aft +would never see his humiliation and defeat. He turned over, setting +his face to the waterside lights of the city, and struck out. + +It was a long swim, and it was fortunate for him that he took the +water on the turn of the tide, so that where the tail of the ebb set +him down the first of the flood bore him back. The stimulus of the +chill and the labor of swimming cleared the poison from his body and +brain; he swam steadily, with eyes fixed on the lights beading the +waterside and mind clenched on the single purpose to find Tom +Mowbray, to deal with him, to satisfy the anger which ached in him +like a starved appetite. How he would handle him, what he would do +with him, when he found him, did not occupy his thoughts; it was a +purpose and not a plan which was taking him ashore. He had the man's +pursy large face for ever in his consciousness; the vision of it was +a spur, an exasperation; he found himself swimming furiously, wasting +strength, in the thought of encountering it. + +Good luck and not calculation brought him ashore on the broadside of +the Barbary Coast, in a small dock where a Norwegian barque lay +slumbering alongside the wharf. Her watchman, if she had one, was not +in sight; it was upon her deck that he dressed himself, fumbling +hurriedly into the shirt and trousers which he had failed, after all, +to keep dry. He jerked his belt tight about him and felt the +sheath-knife which it carried pressing against his back. He reached +back and slid it round to his right side, where his hand would drop +on it easily; it might chance that before the night was over he would +need a weapon. + +He had no notion of the hour nor of the length of time he had been in +the water. As he passed bare-footed from the wharf he was surprised +to find the shabby street empty under its sparse lamps. It lay +between its mean houses vacant and unfamiliar in its quietude; it +seemed to him as though the city waited in a conscious hush till he +should have done what he had come to do. His bare feet on the +sidewalk slapped and shuffled, and he hurried along close to the +walls; the noise he made, for all his caution, appeared to him +monstrous, enough to wake the sleepers in the houses and draw them to +their windows to see the man who was going to find Tom Mowbray. + +An alley between gapped and decrepit board fences brought him to the +back of the house he sought; he swung himself into the unsavory back +yard of it without delaying to seek for the gate. The house was over +him, blank and lightless, its roof a black heap against the night +sky. He paused to look up at it. He was still without any plan; not +even now did he feel the need of one. To go in to break in, if that +were the quickest way to stamp his stormy way up the room where Tom +Mowbray was sleeping, to wrench him from his bed and then let loose +the maniac fury that burned within him all that was plain to do. He +cast a glance at the nearest window, and then it was that the door of +the house opened. + +He was standing to one side, a dozen paces from it; a single, +noiseless step took him to the wall, against which he backed, +screened by the darkness, and waited to see who would come forth. A +figure appeared and lingered in the doorway, and he caught the +sibilance of a whisper, and immediately upon it a dull noise of +tapping, as though someone beat gently and slowly against the door +with a clenched hand. It was a noise he had heard before; his +faculties strained themselves to identify it. Then a second figure +appeared, smaller than the first, moving with a strange gait, and he +knew. It was the cripple, Mowbray's brother-in-law, and it was his +leather-shod crutch which had tapped on the floor of the passage. The +two figures moved down the yard together, and presently, as they +passed from the shadow of the house and came within the feeble light +of a lamp that burned at the mouth of the alley, he saw that the +taller of the two was Tom Mowbray's wife. They found the gate in the +fence and opened it, manifestly hesitating at the strident creaking +it made, and passed through. At no moment were they clear to see, but +to Goodwin's eyes their very gait was in some way expressive of a +tragic solemnity that clad them. + +He remained silent in his place as they went along the alley towards +the street, passing him at arm's length on the other side of the +fence. Their footsteps were muffled on the unpaved ground of the +alley, but there was another noise which he heard the noise of the +woman weeping weeping brokenly and openly. Then the cripple's harsh, +hopeless voice spoke. + +"Anyway, we're alone together again for a bit, Sally," he croaked. + +The woman checked her sobs to answer. "Yes, honey," she replied. + +Goodwin waited till the tapping of the crutch had receded. "So +they've quit him at last," he reflected. "And" he stepped forth from +his hiding place briskly "they've left the door open. Now for Tom +Mowbray!" + +Once within the door he was no longer careful to be silent. The house +was dark, and he had to grope his way to the stairs, or he would have +run at and up them at the top of his speed. The place seemed full of +doors closed upon sleeping people; someone on an upper floor was. +snoring with the noise of a man strangling. He moved among them +awkwardly, but he knew which was the room that harbored his man. The +door of it was before him at last. He fumbled and found the handle. + +"Now!" he said aloud, and thrust it open. + +His vision of vengeance had shown him the room that was to be its +arena, but this room was dark and he could not see it. He had not +allowed for that. He swore as the door swung to behind him. + +"Mowbray!" he called. "Mowbray, you blasted robber! Wake up an' get +what's comin' to you!" + +There was no answering stir to tell him the direction in which to +spring with hands splayed for the grapple. The room had a strange +stillness; in spite of himself he held his breath to listen for Tom +Mowbray's breathing. His right arm brushed the hilt of his +sheath-knife as he stood, tense and listening. There was no sound of +breathing, but there was something. + +It was like the slow tick of a very quiet clock, measured and +persistent. He could not make it out. + +"Mowbray!" he called once more, and the only answer was that +pat-a-pat that became audible again when he ceased to call. + +"I bet I'll wake you," he said, and stepped forward feeling before +him with his hands. They found the surface of a table, struck and +knocked over a glass that stood upon it, and found a box of matches. +"Ah!" grunted Goodwin triumphantly. + +The match-flame languished ere it stood steady and let the room be +seen. Goodwin had passed the bed and was standing with his back to +it. With the match in his fingers and his eyes dazzled by its light, +he turned and approached it. The face of Mowbray showed wide-open +eyes at him from the pillow. The bedclothes lay across his chest; one +arm hung over the edge of the bed with the hand loose and limp. And +above his neck his night-clothes and the linen of the bed were sodden +and dreadful with blood that had flowed from a frightful wound in the +throat. What had sounded like the ticking of a clock was now the +noise of its dripping. "Drip!" it went; "drip-drip!" + +The match-flame stung his fingers and went out. + +"Hell!" cried Goodwin, and out of the darkness panic swooped on him. + +There was a moment when he tried to find the door and could not, +alone in the blackness of the room with the murdered man. He caught +at himself desperately to save himself from screaming, and found the +matchbox was in his hand. He failed to light two matches, standing +off the lunatic terror that threatened him. + +Somewhere out of sight he knew that Tom Mowbray's eyes were open. The +third match fired and he had the door by the handle. It restored him +like a grip of a friendly hand. + +He was able to pause in the door while the match burned and his mind +raced. There leaped to the eye of his imagination the two stricken +figures he had seen slinking from the house, the weeping of the +woman, the muffled tap of the man's crutch. There followed, in an +inevitable sequence, the memory of them in their torment as they sat +at meat with Tom Mowbray. + +"I wonder which o' them done it?" he thought, and shuddered. Where he +stood he could see the still face of the dead man, with its shape of +power and pride overcast now by the dreadful meekness of the dead. He +could not pursue the thought, for another came up to drive it from +his mind. + +"Supposin' somebody woke and come out and saw me here!" + +To think of it was enough. Drawing the door to behind him he went +down the stairs. He had been careless of noise in ascending; now each +creak of the warped boards was an agony. The snorer had turned over +in bed; the awful house had a graveyard stillness. He held his breath +till he was clear of it and again in the hushed and empty street. + +"The Etna for mine, if I can make it," he breathed to himself as he +went at a run in the shadow of the silent houses. "God! If anyone was +to see me!" + +And thus it was that the first pallor of dawn beheld the incredible +and unprecedented sight of an able seaman, with his clothes strapped +upon his head, swimming at peril of his life in San Francisco bay, to +get aboard of the "Hell-packet." + + + +V + +THE GIRL + +The little mission hall showed to the shabby waterside street of +Jersey City its humble face of brick and the modest invitation of its +open door, from which at intervals there overflowed the sudden music +of a harmonium within. Goodwin, ashore for the evening, with the +empty hours of his leisure weighing on him like a burden, heard that +music rise about him, as he moved along the saloon-dotted sidewalk, +with something of the mild surprise of a swimmer who passes out of a +cold into a warm current. For lack of anything better to do, he had +been upon the point of returning to his ship, where she lay in her +dock. He had not spoken to a soul since he had come ashore at +sundown, and the simple music was like a friendly prompting. He +hesitated a moment for he was not a frequenter of missions then +turned in at the entrance of the hall. + +The music of the harmonium and of the voices that sang with it seemed +to swell at him as he pushed open the swing door and tiptoed in +toward a back seat, careful to be noiseless. But there were heads +that turned, none the less heads of tame sailors from the ships, for +whose service the mission struggled to exist, and a few sleek faces +of shore folk; and, on the low platform at the upper end of the hall, +the black-coated, whiskered missioner who presided over the gathering +craned his neck to look at the new-comer, without ceasing to sing +with vigor. It was, in short, such a meeting as an idle sailor might +drop in upon in any one of a hundred ports. Goodwin recognized the +very atmosphere of it its pervading spirit of a mild and very honest +geniality, the peculiar nasal tone of its harmonium, and the timidity +of the singing. Standing in his place in the back row of seats, he +was going on to identify it at further points, when he felt a touch +on his arm. + +"Eh?" he demanded under his breath, turning. + +A tall girl was offering him a little red, paper-covered hymn-book, +open at the hymn that was then being sung, her ungloved finger +pointing him the very verse and line. He did not at once take it. She +had come upon him surprisingly, and now, while he stared at her, he +was finding her surprising in herself. Under the brim of her hat her +face showed gentle and soft, with something of a special kindliness; +and, because others were watching her, she had a little involuntary +smile of embarrassment. + +She glanced up at him shyly, and let her eyes fall before his. The +finger with which she pointed him the place on the page seemed to +Goodwin, whose hands were like hoofs for callousness and size, +exquisite and pathetic in its pink slenderness. It was not merely +that she was beautiful and feminine in that moment Goodwin could not +have been positive that she was beautiful but a dim allurement, a +charm made up of the grace of her bowed head, her timid gesture of +proffering him the book, her nearness, and her fragile delicacy of +texture, enhanced and heightened the surprise of her. + +"Gosh!" breathed Goodwin, unthinking; then, "Thank you, miss," as he +took the hymn-book from her. + +She smiled once more, and went back to her place at the farther end +of the row of seats in front of Goodwin's, where he could still see +her. He found himself staring at her in a sort of perplexity; she had +revealed herself to him with a suddenness that gave her a little the +quality of an apparition. The bend of her head above her book brought +to view, between the collar of her coat and her soft brown hair, a +gleam of white nape that fascinated him; she was remote, ethereal, +wondrously delicate and mysterious. He sprawled in his place, when +the hymn was over, with an arm over the back of his seat, intent +merely to see her and slake the appetite of his eyes. + +"She's she's a looker, all right!" He had a need to make some comment +upon this uplifting experience of his, and this was the best he could +do. + +He had come in late sailors' missions are used to late-comers and +early-goers and it was not long before the simple service came to a +close and the meeting began to break up. Goodwin took his cap and +rose, watching the tall girl as she went forward to join a couple of +older women. The black-coated man came down from the platform and +made his way toward Goodwin, amiable intentions visibly alight in his +whiskered face. + +"Haven't seen you here before," he said at Goodwin's elbow. "What +ship d'you belong to?" + +Goodwin, recalled to himself, looked down into the kindly, narrow +face of the missioner. He himself was tall, a long-limbed young man, +with a serious, darkly tanned face in which the blue of the eyes +showed up strongly; and in his bearing and the fashion of his address +there was a touch of that arrogance which men acquire who earn their +bread at the hourly hazard of their lives. + +"Oh, I just dropped in," he said awkwardly. "I belong to th' Etna, +lyin' in the dock down yonder." + +The missioner smiled and nodded. + +"Etna, eh? Ah, yes. Somebody was tellin' me about the Etna. A hard +ship that's what you call her, eh?" + +Goodwin nodded, and considered the face upturned toward his own +innocent, benevolent, middle-aged, worn, too, with hopes and +disappointments, yet unscarred by such bitter knowledge as men gained +early aboard the Etna. + +"We call her the 'Hell-packet,'" he answered seriously. + +The missioner nodded, and his smile, though it flickered, survived. + +"It's an ugly name," he said; "but maybe she deserves it. An' so you +saw our door open and just stepped in? It's always open in the +evenin's and on Sundays, an' we'll always be glad to see you. Now, +I'd like to make you acquainted with one of our young ladies, so's +you won't feel you're a stranger, eh? An' then maybe you'll come +again." + +"Oh, I dunno" began Goodwin, fidgeting. + +But the missioner was already beckoning with a black-sleeved arm. +His pale elderly face seemed to shine. + +Goodwin turned, looked to see whom he summoned, and forthwith dropped +his cap, so that he was bent double to pick it up when the young +lady, the tall girl who had offered him the hymn-book, arrived. He +came upright again face to face with her, abandoned by his faculties, +a mere sop of embarrassment before the softness of her eyes and the +smile of her lips. + +The missioner's official voice brayed between them benevolently. +Goodwin had a momentary sense that there was a sort of indecency in +thus trumpeting forth the introduction; it should have been done +solemnly, gracefully, like a ceremony. + +"Miss James," said the missioner noisily, "here's a friend that's +visitin' us for the first time. Now, I want you to persuade him to +come again, an' tell him he'll be welcome just as often as he likes +to come an' see us. His name's, er." + +"Goodwin," replied the sailor awkwardly. + +The missioner shook his hand warmly, putting eloquence into the +shake. He cut it short to intercept a brace of seamen who were making +for the door. Goodwin saw him bustle up and detain them with his +greeting: "Haven't seen you here before. What ship d'you belong to?" +Then he turned back to the girl. + +"Do you belong to a ship?" she asked. + +"Yes," he answered. "The Etna." + +He had been eager to hear her speak. She had a voice with shadows in +it, a violin voice. Goodwin, relishing it like an apt gift, could +only tell himself that it fitted and completed that strange effect +she had of remoteness and unreality. + +"What was your last port?" she asked. + +He told her, and she went on with her conventional string of +questions to make talk, to carry out the missioner's purpose in +summoning her. The danger of seafaring, the strangeness of life in +ships, the charm of travel she went through the whole list, getting +answers as conventional as her queries. He was watching her, taking +pleasure in her quality and aspect; and at last he saw, with a small +thrill, that she was watching him likewise. + +If he had been a vainer man, he might have been aware that he, in his +way, was as well worth looking at as she in hers. He was big and +limber, in the full ripeness of his youth, sunburned and level-eyed. +His life in ships had marked him as plainly as a branding-iron. There +was present in him that air which men have, secret yet visible, who +know familiarly the unchanging horizons, the strange dawns, the +tempest-pregnant skies of the sea. For the girl he was as +unaccountable as she for him. + +"Say, Miss James," he asked suddenly, breaking in on her twentieth +polite question, "d'you come to this joint, I mean, to this meetin' +house every night?" + +Her face seemed to shape itself naturally to a smile; she smiled now. + +"I can't come every night," she answered; "but I come pretty often. +I, I hope you'll come sometimes, now." + +Goodwin discounted that; it was no more than the missioner had bidden +her to say. + +"Are you goin' to be here tomorrow?" he demanded. + +Her mild, pretty face flushed faintly; the meaning of his question +was palpable. + +"Ye-es," she hesitated; "I expect I'll be coming to-morrow." + +"That's all right, then," said Goodwin cheerfully. "An' I'll be +along, too." + +The elderly woman whom she had left at the missioner's summons was +hovering patiently. Goodwin held out his hand. + +"Good night, Miss James," he said. + +She gave him her hand, and he took it within his own, enveloping its +pale slenderness in his rope-roughened palm. He held it just long +enough to make her raise her eyes and meet his; then he released her, +and, avoiding the anti-climax of a further talk with the missioner, +passed out of the hall to the dark and sparsely peopled street. + +At a small saloon whose lights spilled themselves across his path, he +got himself a glass of beer; he was feeling just such a thirst as a +man knows after nervous and exacting labor. The blond, white-jacketed +barman glanced at him curiously, marking perhaps something distraught +and rapt in his demeanor. Goodwin, ignoring him, took his beer and +leaned an elbow on the bar, looking round the place. + +A couple of Germans were playing a game at a table near the door. A +man in the dumb-solemn stage of drunkenness stood regarding his empty +glass with owlish fixity. It was all consistent with a certain manner +and degree of life; it was commonplace, established in the order of +things. In the same order were the dreary street without, and the +Etna, loading at her wharf for the return voyage to San Francisco. +Their boundaries were the limits of lives; one had but to cross them, +to adventure beyond them, and all the world was different. A dozen +steps had taken him from the sidewalk into the mission hall and the +soft-glowing wonder of the girl; another dozen steps had replaced him +on the sidewalk. It almost seemed as if a man might choose what world +he would live in. + +"Feelin' bad?" queried the barman softly; he could no longer contain +his curiosity. + +"Me!" exclaimed Goodwin. "No!" + +"Well," said the barman apologetically Goodwin was a big and +dangerous-looking young man "you're lookin' mighty queer, anyway." +And he proceeded to wipe the bar industriously. + +The Etna had left San Francisco with a crew of fourteen men before +the mast, of whom twelve had been "Dutchmen." On her arrival in New +York, these twelve had deserted forthwith, forfeiting the pay due to +them rather than face the return voyage under the Etna's officers. +There remained in her forecastle now only Goodwin and one other, an +old seaman named Noble, a veteran who had followed the sea and shared +the uncertain fate of ships since the days of single topsails. + +Noble was seated on his battered chest when Goodwin unhooked the +fo'c'sle door and entered. A globe-lamp that hung above him shed its +light upon his silver head as he bent over his work of patching a +pair of dungaree overalls, and he looked up in mild welcome of the +other's return. His placidity, his venerable and friendly aspect, +gave somehow to the bare forecastle, with its vacant bunks like empty +coffin-shelves in a vault, an air of domesticity, the comfortable +quality of a home. Save for brief intervals between voyages, in +sailors' boarding-houses, such places had been "home" to Noble for +fifty years. + +Goodwin rehooked the door, and stood outside the globe-lamp's circle +of dull light while he took off his coat. Old Noble, sail needle +between his fingers, looked up from his work amiably. + +"Well?" he queried. "Been havin' a hell of a good time uptown, eh?" + +"That's so," retorted Goodwin shortly. "A hell of a time an' all." + +The old man nodded and began to sew again, sailor fashion, thrusting +the big needle with the leather "palm" which seamen use instead of a +thimble. Goodwin, standing by his bunk, began to cut himself a fill +for his pipe. + +"Ain't been robbed, have ye?" inquired old Noble. + +In his view, and according to his experience, a sailor with money on +him ran peculiar risks when he went ashore. When Goodwin had been +"shanghaied" in San Francisco drugged and carried on board +unconscious while another man "signed on" for him and drew three +months of his wages in advance those who shipped him had omitted to +search him, and his money-belt was intact. + +"Robbed? No!" answered Goodwin impatiently. + +He lit his pipe, drawing strongly at the pungent ship's tobacco, and +seated himself on the edge of the lower bunk, facing old Noble. The +old man continued to sew, his hand moving rhythmically to and fro +with the needle, his work spread conveniently in his lap. But for the +rusty red of his tanned skin, he looked like a handsome and wise old +woman. + +"Jim," said Goodwin at last. + +"Yes?" The old man did not look up. + +"There wasn't nothin' doin' ashore there," said Goodwin. "I just went +for a walk along the street, and then I well, there wasn't nothin' +doin', ye see, so I went into a sort o' mission that there was." + +"Eh?" Old Noble raised his head sharply and peered at him. "Ye ain't +been an' got religion, Dan?" + +"No, I haven't," answered Goodwin. "But say, Jim, I went into the +place, and there was a girl there. She come over to loan me a +hymn-book first of all, an' afterwards what ye laughin' at, blast +ye?" + +Old Noble had uttered no sound, but he had bent his head over his +sewing and his broad shoulders were shaking. He lifted a face of +elderly, cynical mirth. + +"It ain't nothin', Dan," he protested. "It's just me thinkin' first +ye'd bin robbed and then ye'd got religion; an' all the time it's +just a girl ye've seen. Go on, Dan; how much did she get out of ye?" + +"Stow that!" warned Goodwin. "She wasn't that kind. This one was say, +Jim, if you was to see her just once, you'd know things ashore ain't +all as bad as you fancy. Sort of soft, she was all tender and gentle +and shining! Gosh, there ain't no words to put her in. I didn't know +there was any girls like that." + +"Nor me," put in old Noble dryly. He inspected Goodwin with a shrewd +and suspicious eye. For him, a citizen of the womanless seas, beauty, +grace, femininity were no more than a merchandise. "Then, to put it +straight, she didn't get yer money from ye?" he demanded. + +"No, she didn't," retorted Goodwin. "Not a cent, is that plain +enough? Ain't you ever known no women but the rotten ones, man?" + +Noble shook his head. + +"Then you don't know what you're talkin' about," said Goodwin. "This +one it ain't no use tellin' you, Jim. I seen her, that's all; an' I'm +goin' to quit. This sailorizin' game ain't the only game there is, +an' I'm done with it." + +"Ah!" The old man sat with both gnarled and labor-stained hands lying +upon the unfinished work in his lap. The cynical, half-humorous +expression faded from his thin, strong face. He frowned at the +younger man consideringly, seriously. + +"Then she did get something out o' ye," he said harshly. "You're +talkin' like a fool, Dan. This old ship ain't no soft berth, I know; +but then, you ain't no quitter, either. This girl's got ye goin'; ye +want to watch out." + +"Quitter!" Goodwin took him up hotly. They faced each other across +the narrow fo'c'sle vehemently; their shadows sprawled on deck and +bulkhead as they bent forward and drew back in the stress of talk. +"When a man's shanghaied aboard a blasted hooker like this, with +three months of his wages stolen before he gets the knockout drops +out o' his head, is he a quitter when he takes his chance to leave +her an' look for a white man's job?" + +"Yes, he is," answered Noble. "You're a sailor, ain't you? Then stick +by your ship." + +"Oh, it ain't no use talkin' to you!" Goodwin rose to his feet. "You'd +make out that a man 'u'd go to heaven for stickin' to his ship, even +if he done forty murders. I'm goin' to quit, an' that's all there is +to it." + +Old Noble looked up at him where he stood. The old face, that had +been mild and indulgent, was hardened to an angry contempt. He was +old and strong, dexterous in all seamanlike arts, a being shaped for +good and evil both by half a century of seafaring, of wrong and +hardship, or danger and toil, of scant food and poor pay. Never in +his life had he held back from a task because it was dangerous or +difficult, nor sided with an officer against a man before the mast, +nor deserted a ship. His code was simple and brief, but it was of +iron. + +"Well, quit, then," he said. "Quit like the Dutchmen! There's no one +will stop ye." + +"They better not," menaced Goodwin angrily. + +He had been shanghaied, of course, without chest or bag, without even +bedding, so that he had worked his way around the Horn in shoddy +clothes and flimsy oilskins obtained from the ship's slop-chest. +There was little that he had a mind to take ashore with him; it went +quickly into a small enough bundle. While he turned out his bunk, old +Noble sat watching him without moving, with judgment in his face, and +sorrow. He was looking on at the death of a good seaman. + +"Say, Jim!" Goodwin was ready; he stood with his bundle in his hand, +his cap on his head. "You don't want to be a fool, now. I reckon we +can shake hands, anyhow." + +He felt himself loath to leave the old man in anger; he had for him +both liking and respect. But Noble did not answer only continued for +some moments to look him in the face, unsoftened, stern and grieved, +then bent again above his sewing. + +Goodwin withdrew the hand he had held out. + +"Have it your own way," he said, and went forth from the forecastle, +leaving the old man, with the lamplight silvering his sparse hair, at +work upon the patched overalls. And, in that moment, not even the +vision of the girl and his hope of the future could save him from a +pang of sadness. It was as if he had, by his going, darkened a home. + +Outside upon the deck he stayed to cast a glance about him. The big +ship, beautiful as a work of art in her lines and proportions, showed +vacant of life. A light glimmered from the galley door, where the +decrepit watchman slumbered at his ease. There was nothing to detain +him. The great yards, upon which he had fought down the sodden and +frozen canvas in gales off the Horn, spread over him. She was fine, +she was potent, with a claim upon a man's heart; and she was +notorious for a floating, hell upon the seas. It was her character; +she was famous for brutality to seamen, so that they deserted at the +first opportunity and forfeited their wages. And Noble would have him +loyal to her! + +He swore at her shortly, and forced himself to cross the deck and +climb over the rail to the wharf. The conduct of Noble was sore in +his mind. But, as the earth of the shore gritted under his boots, +that trouble departed from him. The world, after all, was wider than +the decks of the Etna; and in it, an item in its wonder and +complexity, there lived and smiled the girl. + +Miss James, who smiled so indescribably and asked so many questions +about seafaring in the way of civil conversation, would probably have +shown small interest in the adventures of a seaman in search of a +lodging ashore. She would have smiled, of course, with her own little +lift and fall of shy eyes, and been as intangible and desirable as +ever; but one could never tell her of carrying a small bundle of +underclothes from one obdurate door to another, unable to show money +in any convincing amount because one's capital was in a belt under +one's shirt. Othello told Desdemona of "antres vast and deserts +idle," not of skeptical landladies. Goodwin felt all this intensely +when, in the evening of the following day, having finally established +himself in a room, he beheld her again in the mission. He beheld her +first, indeed, as she entered the hall, he watching from the opposite +side of the street. He had no intention of going in if she were not +present. As it was, a swoop across the street and a little brisk +maneuvering secured him a place next to her. + +He had been a little at a loss all day; it was years since he had +lived altogether apart from sailors and he had found himself lonely +and depressed; but the sight of her sufficed to restore him. She gave +him the welcome of a look, and a slow flush mounted on her face. The +missioner was already preparing to open the service, and conversation +was impossible. Nevertheless, as she turned over the pages of her +hymn-book, Goodwin bent toward her. + +"Didn't I say I'd be along?" he whispered, and saw her cheek move +with her smile. + +To be close to her, knowing her to be conscious of him, was in itself +a gladness; but Goodwin was impatient for the end of the service. It +was not his way to stand off and on before a thing he meant to do, +and he wanted more talk with her, to get within her guard, to touch +the girl who was screened behind the smile and dim sweetness and the +polite questions of Miss James. He sat frowning through the latter +part of the service, till the missioner, standing upright with +tight-shut eyes, gave the closing benediction. Then, compellingly, he +turned upon the girl. + +"Say," he said, "let's get out o' this. I'd like to walk along with +you and talk. Come on!" + +Miss James looked at him with startled eyes. He was insistent. + +"Aw, come on," he pressed. "That preacher'll be here in a minute if +you don't, and we've had enough of him for one time. I tell you, I +want to talk to you." + +He rose, and by sheer force of urgency made her rise likewise. He got +her as far as the door. "But" she began, hesitating there. + +"Steady as ye go," bade Goodwin, and took her down the shallow steps +to the sidewalk. "Now, which way is it to be?" he demanded suddenly. + +She did not reply for a couple of moments. The light that issued from +the hall showed her face as she stood and considered him doubtfully, +a little uncertain of what was happening. Even in that half-obscurity +of the long street, where she was seen as an attitude, a shape, she +made her effect of a quiet, tender beauty. Then, at last, she smiled +and turned and began to walk. Goodwin fell into step beside her, and +the confusion of voices within the hall died down behind them. + +"I had to make you come," said Goodwin presently. "I just had to. An' +you don't want to be scared." + +She glanced sideways at him, but said nothing. + +"You ain't scared, are ye?" he asked. + +"No," she replied. + +The answer even the brevity of it fulfilled his understanding of her. +He nodded to himself. + +"I said I wanted to talk to ye," he went on; "an' I do. I want to +talk to you a whole lot. But there ain't much I got to say. 'Ceptin', +maybe, one thing. I'd like to know what your first name is. Oh, I +ain't goin' to get fresh an' call you by it I reckon you know that. +But thinkin' of you all day an' half the night, like I do, 'Miss +James' don't come handy, ye see." + +"Oh!" murmured the girl. It was plain that he had startled her a +little. + +"My first name is Mary," she answered. + +"Ah!" said Goodwin, and repeated it again and again under his breath. +"I might 'most ha' guessed it," he said. "It's well, it's a name that +fits ye like a coat o' paint, Miss James, A clean, straight name, +that is. Mary b'gosh, it was my mother's name." + +"I'm glad you like it," said the girl, in her deep-toned, pleasant +voice. "You know, Mr. Goodwin, it was a bit queer the way you made me +come away from the hall." + +"Ah, but that's not troublin' you," replied Goodwin quickly. "I +reckon you know what's wrong wi' me, Miss James. I'm not askin' you +for much yet; only to let me see you, when you go to that +mission-joint, and talk to ye sometimes." + +They were at an intersection of streets, where a few shops yet shone +and surface-cars went by like blazing ships. There was a movement of +folk about them; yet, by reason of what had passed between them, it +seemed that they stood in a solitude of queer, strained feeling. The +girl halted in the light of a shop-window. + +"I get my car here," she said. + +Goodwin stopped, facing her. She looked up at the tense seriousness +of his young, set face, hard and strong, with the wind-tan coloring +it. She was kindly, eager to handle him tactfully, and possibly a +little warmed by his sincerity and admiration. To him she seemed the +sum of all that was desirable, pathetic, and stirring in womanhood. + +"No," she said; "that's not much to ask. I'll be glad to meet you at +the mission, Mr. Goodwin, and maybe we can talk, too, sometimes. And +when you go away again, when your ship sails." + +"Eh?" Goodwin's exclamation interrupted her. "Goin' away? Why, Miss +James, I ain't goin' away. That was all fixed up last night. I've +quit goin' to sea." + +She stared at him, with parted lips. + +"You don't understand," said Goodwin gently. "I knew, just as soon as +I seen you, that I wasn't going away no more. I went down an' fetched +my dunnage ashore right off." + +She continued to stare. "Not going away?" she repeated. + +Goodwin shook his head, smiling. He did not in the least understand +the embarrassment of a young woman who finds herself unexpectedly the +object of a romantic and undesired sacrifice. + +A street-car jarred to a halt beside them. The girl made a queer +little gesture, as if in fear. + +"My car!" she flustered indistinctly, and, turning suddenly, ran from +him towards it, taking refuge in its ordinariness against Goodwin and +all the strangeness with which he seemed to assail her. + +He, smiling fatuously on the curb, saw it carry her off, swaying and +grinding. "Mary," he repeated. "Mary!" + +Following his purpose, within the next few days he found himself +employment as one of a gang of riggers at work on a great German +four-masted barque which had been dismasted in a squall off Fire +Island. In the daytime he dealt with spars and gear, such stuff as he +knew familiarly, in the company of men like himself. Each evening +found him, washed and appareled, at the mission, furnishing a +decorous bass undertone to the hymns, looked on with approval by the +missioner and his helpers. Commonly he got himself a seat next to +Miss James; but he could not again contrive a walk with her along the +still street to the lighted corner where she ran to catch her car. +There seemed always to be a pair of voluminous elderly matrons in +attendance upon her, to daunt and chill him. She herself was +unchanged; her soft, beneficent radiance, her elusive, coy charm, all +her maddening quality of delicacy and shrinking beauty, uplifted him +still. + +"Say," he always whispered, as he let himself down beside her, "are +we goin' to have a talk tonight?" + +And she would shake her averted head hurriedly, and afterwards the +iron-clad matrons would close in on her and make her inaccessible. +And, in the end, he would go off to get a drink in a saloon before +going back to his room, baffled and discontented. + +There were three evenings running on which she did not come to the +mission at all. On the fourth Goodwin was there before her. He looked +at her steadily as she came to her place. + +"I want to talk to you to-night," he said, varying his formula, as +she sat down. + +She gave him a swift, uncertain glance. + +"Got to," he added gravely. "It's a case, an' I just got to." + +"What about?" she asked, with a touch of resentment that was new in +her. + +"I guess you know," he answered quietly, and hitched nearer to her +along the bench to make room for a new-comer who was thrusting in +beside him. He turned perfunctorily to see who it might be. It was +old Noble. + +"Friends!" grated the voice of the missioner. "Let us begin by +singing hymn number seventy-nine: 'Pull for the shore, sailor; pull +for the shore!'" + +The noise of the harmonium drowned the rustling of hymn-book pages. +Noble's elbow drove against Goodwin's. + +"Found ye!" rumbled the old man. "Say, come on out where I can talk +to ye. We're sailin' in the mornin'." + +"Hush!" whispered Goodwin. "I can't come out. What d'you want?" + +The little congregation rose to its feet for the singing of the hymn. +Old Noble, rising with them, leaned forward and peered past Goodwin +at the girl. His keen old face inspected her inscrutably for a while. + +"That's her, I reckon," he said to Goodwin in a windy whisper. "Well, +I'm not sayin' nothin'. Come on out." + +"I can't, I tell ye," breathed Goodwin. "Don't you go startin' +anything here, now! Say what ye got to say, an' be done with it." + +Old Noble scowled. About him the simple hymn rose and fell in its +measured cadences. Among the honest folk who sang it there was none +more venerable and seemly than he. His head was white with the sober +snow of years; by contrast with his elderly gravity, the young +vividness and force of Goodwin seemed violent and crude. + +"I won't start nothin'," whispered Noble harshly. "Don't be afeared. +I bin lookin' for ye, Dan; I want ye to have a chanst. We're sailin' +in the mornin', an', Dan, we're short-handed three hands short, we +are!" + +His words came and went under cover of the hymn. + +"Men won't ship aboard of her; she's got a bad name," the whisper +continued. "She's full o' Dutchmen an' Dagoes again. It's goin' to be +the hell of a passage an' the Horn in August, too. Come on an' stand +yer share of it, Dan." + +Goodwin glared down indignantly at the old rusty-red face beside him. + +"You're crazy," he said shortly. + +"Ye ain't comin'?" + +For answer Goodwin only shrugged. It sufficed. With no further word +Noble turned away and walked forth on heavy feet from the hall. There +followed him to the street, as if in derision, the refrain of that +landsman's hymn: "Leave the poor old stranded wreck, and pull for the +shore!" + +"Now!" said Goodwin, when at last the missioner had closed the +service with his blessing. + +The girl was nervous; plainly, she would have been glad to refuse. +But Goodwin was in earnest, and, unwillingly enough, she surrendered +to the compulsion of his will and went out with him. Outside upon the +sidewalk she spoke angrily. + +"I don't like the way you act," she said, and her voice had tears in +it. "You think a person's got." + +Goodwin interrupted. "I don't think nothin'," he said. "I got to find +out. An' I can't find out while we're hustlin' to the corner. Come +down towards the docks. You're all right with me; an' I got to find +out." + +He did not even touch her arm, but she went with him. + +"Find out what?" she asked uncertainly, as they crossed the street. + +"Come on," he answered. "We'll talk by an' by." + +He took her down a dark side way which led them to the water-front. +Wharves where work was going on roared and shone. The masts and spars +of ships rose stark against the sky. Beyond, the river was dotted +with lights against the luminous horizon of Manhattan. He slackened +his pace. At his side the silent girl trembled and sulked. + +"Kid," said Goodwin, "there's one of us two that hasn't made good. +Which is it?" + +A jib-boom slanted across a wall over their heads. They were alone +among sleeping ships. + +"I don't know what you mean," answered the girl. "You say you've got +to talk to me, and you act--." She stopped. + +"You don't know what I mean?" repeated Goodwin. "I'll have to tell +you, then." + +They had come to a pause under the jib-boom of the silent ship. She +waited for him to go on, servile to the still mastery of his mien. + +"That night the night I come to the mission for the first time," went +on Goodwin, "when you loaned me the book, I quit my ship to keep +close to you. That ain't nothin'; the ship was a terror, anyway. But +I seen you, and, girl, I couldn't get you out o' my head. You was all +right the next night, when I went along with you to your car; it +wasn't just because the missionary feller set you at me, neither. +What's gone wrong with me since?" + +He asked the question mildly, with a tone of gentle and reasonable +inquiry. + +"I haven't said anything was wrong with you," Answered the girl +sullenly. "I don't have to answer your questions, anyway." + +"I reckon you do these questions," said Goodwin. "What is it, now? Am +I different to what you reckoned I was, or what? I never set up to be +anythin' but just plain man. Tell me what I'm shy of. Are you scared +you'll have to to marry me?" + +"Oh!" The girl shrank away from him. + +"That's it, is it? Well, you don't need to be." His voice was bitter. +"I'd never ha' dared to ask you before, an' now I wouldn't, anyway. +See? But I know, all the same, if I wasn't just a blasted sailor if I +was a storekeeper or a rich man I c'd have ye. Why, damme, I c'd have +ye anyway!" + +She had backed before him; and now she was against the wall, uttering +a small moan of protest. + +"I could," he repeated. "You know it. I'd only to go chasin' you, an' +in the end you'd give in. You're pretty; you got a shine on you that +fools a man. But you're a quitter a quitter! See? An' now you can +come away from that wall an' I'll see you back on the street." + +He was very lofty and erect in the meager light, rather a superb +figure, if the girl had had eyes for it. But she, to all seeming, was +dazed. He went in silence at her side till they reached the street +and saw that the open door of the mission still showed lights. + +"There ye are," said Goodwin, halting. + +The girl hesitated, looking back and forth. It was wonderful how her +suggestion of soft beauty persisted. She was abashed, stricken, +humiliated upon the dark street; and still she was lovely. She moved +away and paused. + +"Good night!" said her faintly ringing voice, and she passed towards +the mission. + +"Yes, it's me!" said Goodwin, answering the dumb surprise of old +Noble as he entered the fo'c'sle of the Etna. "An' you want to shut +your head. See?" + + + +VI + +THE BREADWINNER + +The noonday bivouac was in a shady place nigh-hand the road, where a +group of solemn trees made a shadow on the dusty grass. It was a day +of robust heat; the sky arched cloudless over Sussex, and the road +was soft with white dust that rose like smoke under the feet. Trotter +no sooner saw the place than he called a halt and dropped his bundle. +The Signor smiled lividly and followed suit; Bill, the dog, lay down +forthwith and panted. + +"Look at 'im!" said Trotter. "Just look at 'im, will yer! 'E ain't +carried no bundle; 'e ain't got to unpack no grub. And there 'e lies, +for us to wait on 'im." + +"Where ees da beer?" demanded the Signor, who had the immediate mind. + +The word drew Trotter from his wrongs, and together the men untied +the shabby bundles and set forth their food. + +They made a queer picture in that quiet place of English green. +Trotter still wore tights, with hobnailed boots to walk in and a +rusty billycock hat for shelter to his head. He somewhat clung to +this garb, though his tumbling days were over. One had only to look +at his bloated, pouchy face to see how drink and sloth had fouled his +joints and slacked his muscles. Never again could he spread the +drugget in a rustic village street and strut about it on his hands +for the edification of a rustic audience. But the uniform he still +wore; he seemed to think it gave him some claim to indulgent notice. +The Signor, in his own way, was not less in contrast with his +background. His lean, predatory face and capacious smile went fitly +with the shabby frock coat and slouched hat he affected. He carried a +fiddle under his arm, but the most he could do was strum on it with +his thumb. Together, they made a couple that anyone would look twice +at, and no one care to meet in a lonely place. + +Bill, the dog, shared none of their picturesque quality. An uglier +dog never went footsore. A dozen breeds cropped out here and there on +his hardy body; his coat was distantly suggestive of a collie; his +tail of a terrier. But something of width between the patient eyes +and bluntness in the scarred muzzle spoke to a tough and hardy +ancestor in his discreditable pedigree, as though a lady of his house +had once gone away with a bulldog. His part in the company was to do +tricks outside beerhouses. When the Signor's strumming had gathered a +little crowd, Trotter would introduce Bill. + +"Lydies and gents all," he would say, "with yore kind permission, I +will now introduce to yer the world-famous wolf 'ound Boris, late of +the Barnum menagerie in New York. 'E will commence 'is exhibition of +animal intelligence by waltzin' to the strines of Yankee Doodle on +the vi'lin." + +Then the Signor would strum on two strings of the fiddle, smiling the +while a smile that no woman should see, and Bill would waltz +laboriously on his hind legs. After that he would walk on his front +legs, throw somersaults, find a hidden handkerchief, and so on. And +between each piece of clowning, he would go round with Trotter's hat +to collect coppers. Bill was an honest dog, and a fairly big one as +well, and when a man tried to ignore the hat, he had a way of drawing +back his lips from his splendid teeth which by itself was frequently +worth as much to the treasury as all his other tricks put together. +But the truth of it was, it was a feeble show, a scanty, pitiful +show; and only the gross truculence of Trotter and the venomous +litheness of the Signor withheld the average yokel from saying so +flatly. + +But it gave them enough to live on and drink on. At any rate, Trotter +grew fat and the Signor grew thinner. Bill depended on what they had +left when they were satisfied; it was little enough. He begged at +cottages on his own account, sometimes; sitting up in the attitude of +mendicancy till something was thrown to him. Occasionally, too, he +stole fowls or raided a butcher's shop. Then Trotter and the Signor +would disown him vociferously to the bereaved one, and hasten on to +come up with him before he had eaten it all. He preferred being +beaten to going hungry, so they never caught him till he had fed +full. But what troubled him most was the tramping, the long dusty +stages afoot in country where the unsociable villages lay remote from +each other, and the roads were hot and long. A man can outwalk any +other animal. After thirty miles, a horse is nowhere and the man is +still going, but even fifteen miles leaves the ordinary dog limp and +sorry. And then, when every bone in him was aching, a wretched +village might poke up at an elbow of the way, and there would be +dancing to do and his whole fatuous repertoire to accomplish, while +his legs were soft under him with weariness. + +Trotter took his heavy boots off; he threw one at Bill. + +It was a pleasant spot. Where they sat, in a bay of shade, they could +see a far reach of rich land, bright in the sunshine and dotted with +wood, stretching back to where the high shoulder of the downs shut +out the sea. + +The two men ate in much contentment, passing the bottle to and fro. + +Bill waited for them to have done and fling him his share. In common +with all Bohemians, he liked regular meals. + +"That dog's goin' silly," said Trotter, looking at him where he lay. + +"Oh, him!" said the Signor. + +"He's bin loafin' a furlong be'ind all the mornin'," said Trotter. +"Yer know if he was to get lazy, it 'ud be a poor lookout for us. +He's bin spoilt, that dog 'as spoilt with indulgence. Soon as we stop +for a spell oh, he plops down on 'is belly and 'angs on for us to +chuck 'im a bit of grub. Might be a man by the ways of 'im, 'stead of +a dog. Now I don't 'old with spoilin' dogs." + +"Pass da beer," requested the Signor. + +Bill looked up with concern, for Trotter was filling his pipe; the +meal was at an end. + +"Yus, yer can look," snarled Trotter. "You'll wait, you will." + +He began to pack up the bread and meat again in the towel where it +belonged. + +"Think you've got yer rights, don't yer?" he growled, as he swept the +fragments together. "No dog comes them games on me. Hey, get out, ye +brute!" + +Bill had walked over and was now helping himself to the food that lay +between Trotter's very hands. + +Trotter clenched a bulging red fist and hauled off to knock him away. +But Bill had some remainder of the skill, as well as the ferocity, of +the fighting dog in him. He snapped sideways in a purposeful silence, +met the swinging fist adroitly, and sank his fine teeth cruelly in +the fat wrist. + +"Hey! Signor, Signor!" howled Trotter. "Kick 'im orf, can't yer! Ow, +o-o-ow!" + +Bill let him go as the Signor approached, but the kick that was meant +for him spent itself in the air. Again he snapped, with that sideways +striking action of the big bony head, and the Signor shrieked like a +woman and sprang away. + +Bill watched the pair of them for half a minute, as they took refuge +among the trees, and both saw the glint of his strong teeth as he +stared after them. Then he finished the food at his ease, while they +cursed and whimpered from a distance. + +"'E's mad," moaned Trotter. "'Es 'ad a stroke. An' we'll get +hydrophobia from 'im as like as not." + +He nursed his bitten wrist tenderly. + +"Look at my laig!" babbled the Signor. "It is a sacred bite, an' +all-a da trouser tore. What da hell you fool wid da dog for, you big +fool?" + +"'E was pinchin' the grub," growled Trotter. "E's mad. Look at 'im, +lyin' down on my coat. 'Ere, Bill! Goo' dog, then. Good ole feller!" + +Bill took no notice of the blandishments of Trotter, but presently he +rose and strolled off to where a little pond stood in the corner of a +field. + +"'E's drinkin'," reported Trotter, who had stolen from cover to make +observations. "So 'e can't be mad. Mad dogs won't look at water. Go +into fits if they sees it. 'Ere, Signor, let's make a grab for those +bundles before 'e gets back." + +Bill rejoined them while they were yet stuffing their shabby +possessions together. + +The Signor moved behind Trotter and Trotter picked up a boot. But +Bill was calm and peaceful again. He lay down in the grass and wagged +his tail cheerfully. + +"Bill, ole feller," said Trotter, in tones of conciliation, and Bill +wagged again. + +"'Ell, I can't make nothing of it," confessed Trotter blankly. "Must +have gone sort o' temp'ry insane, like the sooicides. But well, we'll +be even with 'im before all's over." + +And the lean Signor's sidelong look at the dog was full of menace. + +They reached another village before dark, a village with a good +prosperous alehouse, and here Bill showed quite his old form. He +waltzed, he threw somersaults, he found handkerchiefs, he carried the +hat; his docility was all that Trotter and the Signor could have +asked. They cleared one and sevenpence out of his tricks, and would +have stayed to drink it; but Bill walked calmly on up the road and +barely gave them time enough to buy food. + +They cursed him lavishly; the Signor raved in a hot frenzy; but they +dared not lose him. The dog led them at an easy pace and they labored +after him furiously, while a great pale moon mounted in the sky and +the soft night deepened over the fields. + +He let them down at last at an end of grass where a few of last +year's straw ricks afforded lodging for the night. Both the men were +tired enough to be glad of the respite and they sank down in the +shadow of a rick with little talk. + +"It gets me," Trotter said. "The dog's a danger. 'E ought to be +drownded." + +The Signor snarled. "An' us?" he demanded. "We go to work, eh? You +pick da grass-a to make-a da hay and me I drive-a da cart, eh? Oh, +Trottair, you fool!" + +"'Ere, let's 'ave some grub and stow the jaw for a bit," said +Trotter. + +He had bread and meat, bought in a hurry at the tail of the village +while Bill receded down the road. + +As soon as he laid it bare, Bill growled. + +"T'row heem some, queeck," cried the Signor. + +Bill caught the loaf and settled down to it with an appetite. Trotter +stared at him with a gape. + +"Well, blow me!" he said. "'Ave we come to feedin' the bloomin' dog +before we feeds ourselves? 'As the beggar struck for that? I s'pose +'e'll be wantin' wages next." + +"Oh, shutta da gab!" snapped the Signor. + +"That's all very well," retorted Trotter. "But I'm an Englishman, I +am. You're only a furriner; you're used to bein' put upon. But +I'm--." + +Bill growled again and rose to his feet. Trotter tossed him a piece +of meat. + +All that was long ago. Now if you stray through the South of England +during the months between May and October, you may yet meet Bill and +his companions. Trotter still wears tights, but he is thinner and +much more wholesome to see; but the Signor has added a kind of shiny +servility to his courtly Italian manner. + +Bill is sleek and fat. + +And now, when they come to rest at noonday, you will see, if you +watch them, that before Trotter takes his boots off he feeds the dog. +And the Signor fetches him water. + + + +VII + +"PLAIN GERMAN" + +Beyond the arcaded side-walks, whose square-pillared arches stand +before the house-fronts like cloisters, the streets of Thun were +channels 'of standing sunlight, radiating heat from every +cobblestone. Herr Haase, black-coated and white-waistcoated as for a +festival, his large blond face damp and distressful, came panting +into the hotel with the manner of an exhausted swimmer climbing +ashore. In one tightly-gloved hand he bore a large and bulging linen +envelope. + +"Pfui!" He puffed, and tucked the envelope under one arm in order to +take off his green felt hat and mop himself. "Aber what a heat, what +a heat!" + +The brass-buttoned hotel porter, a-sprawl in a wicker chair in the +hall, lowered his newspaper and looked up over his silver spectacles. +He was comfortably unbuttoned here and there, and had omitted to +shave that morning, for this was July, 1916, and since the war had +turned Switzerland's tourists into Europe's cannon-fodder, he had run +somewhat to seed. + +"Yes, it is warm," he agreed, without interest, and yawned. "You have +come to see" he jerked his head towards the white staircase and its +strip of red carpet "to see him not? He is up there. But what do you +think of the news this morning?" + +Herr Haase was running, his handkerchief round the inside of his +collar. "To see him! I have come to see the Herr Baron von +Steinlach," he retorted, crossly. "And what news are you talking +about now?" He continued to pant and wipe while the porter read from +his copy of the Bund, the German official communique of the previous +day's fighting on the Somme. + +"I don't like it," said the porter, when he had finished. "It looks +as if we were losing ground. Those English." + +Herr Haase pocketed his handkerchief and took the large envelope in +his hand again. He was a bulky, middle-aged man, one of whose +professional qualifications it was that he looked and sounded +commonplace, the type of citizen who is the patron of beer-gardens, +wars of aggression, and the easily remembered catchwords which are +the whole political creed of his kind. His appearance was the bushel +under which his secret light burned profitably; it had indicated him +for his employment as a naturalized citizen of Switzerland and the +tenant of the pretty villa on the hill above Thun, whence he drove +his discreet and complicated traffic in those intangible wares whose +market is the Foreign Office in Berlin. + +He interrupted curtly. "Don't talk to me about the English!" he +puffed. "Gott strafe England!" He stopped. The porter was paid by the +same hand as himself. The hall was empty save for themselves, and +there was no need to waste good acting on a mere stage-hand in the +piece. + +"The English," he said, "are going to have a surprise." + +"Eh?" The slovenly man in the chair gaped up at him stupidly. Herr +Haase added to his words the emphasis of a nod and walked on to the +stairs. + +In the corridor above, a row of white-painted bedroom doors had each +its number. Beside one of them a tall young man was sunk spinelessly +in a chair, relaxed to the still warmth of the day. He made to rise +as Herr Haase approached, swelling for an instant to a drilled and +soldierly stature, but, recognizing him, sank back again. + +"He's in there," he said languidly. "Knock for yourself." + +"Schlapschwanz!" remarked Herr Haase indignantly, and rapped upon the +door. A voice within answered indistinctly. Herr Haase, removing his +hat, opened the door and entered. + +The room was a large one, an hotel bedroom converted into a +sitting-room, with tall French windows opening to a little veranda, +and a view across the lime-trees of the garden to the blinding silver +of the lake of Thun and the eternal snow-fields of the Bernese +Oberland. Beside the window and before a little spindle-legged +writing-table a man sat. He turned his head as Herr Haase entered. + +"Ach, der gute Haase," he exclaimed. + +Herr Haase brought his patent leather heels together with a click and +bowed like a T-square. + +"Excellenz!" he said, in a strange, loud voice, rather like a man in +a trance. "Your Excellency's papers, received by the train arriving +from Bern at eleven-thirty-five." + +The other smiled, raising to him a pink and elderly face, with a +clipped white moustache and heavy tufted brows under which the faint +blue eyes were steady and ironic. He was a large man, great in the +frame and massive; his movements had a sure, unhurried deliberation; +and authority, the custom and habit of power, clad him like a +garment. Years and the moving forces of life had polished him as +running water polishes a stone. The Baron von Steinlach showed to +Herr Haase a countenance supple as a hand and formidable as a fist. + +"Thank you, my good Haase," he said, in his strong deliberate German. +"You look hot. This sun, eh? Poor fellow!" + +But he did not bid him sit down. Instead, he turned to the linen +envelope, opened it, and shook out upon the table its freight of +lesser envelopes, typed papers, and newspaper-clippings. +Deliberately, but yet with a certain discrimination and efficiency, +he began to read them. Herr Haase, whose new patent leather boots +felt red-hot to his feet, whose shirt was sticking to his back, +whose collar was melting, watched him expressionlessly. + +"There is a cloud of dust coming along the lake road," said the Baron +presently, glancing through the window. "That should be Captain von +Wetten in his automobile. We will see what he has to tell us, Haase." + +"At your orders, Excellency," deferred Herr Haase. + +"Because" he touched one of the papers before him "this news, Haase, +is not good. It is not good. And this discovery here, if it be all +that is claimed for it, should work miracles." + +He glanced up at Herr Haase and smiled again. "Not that I think +miracles can ever be worked by machinery," he added. + +It was ten minutes after this that the column of dust on the lake +road delivered its core and cause in the shape of a tall man, who +knocked once at the door and strode in without waiting for an answer. + +"Ah, my dear Von Wetten," said the Baron pleasantly. "It is hot, eh?" + +"An oven," replied Von Wetten curtly. "This place is an oven. And the +dust, ach!" + +The elder man made a gesture of sympathy. "Poor fellow!" he said. +"Sit down; sit down. Haase, that chair!" + +And Herr Haase, who controlled a hundred and twelve subordinates, who +was a Swiss citizen and a trusted secret agent, brought the chair and +placed it civilly, neither expecting nor receiving thanks. + +The new-comer was perhaps twenty-eight years of age, tall, large in +the chest and little in the loins, with a narrow, neatly-chiseled +face which fell naturally to a chill and glassy composure. "Officer" +was written on him as clear as a brand; his very quiet clothes sat on +his drilled and ingrained formality of posture and bearing as +noticeably as a mask and domino; he needed a uniform to make him +inconspicuous. He picked up his dangling monocle, screwed it into his +eye, and sat back. + +"And now?" inquired the Baron agreeably, "and now, my dear Von +Wetten, what have you to tell us?" + +"Well, Excellenz" Captain von Wetten hesitated. "As a matter of fact, +I've arranged for you to see the thing yourself this afternoon." + +The Baron said nothing merely waited, large and still against the +light of the window which shone on the faces of the other two. + +Captain von Wetten shifted in his chair awkwardly. "At five, +Excellenz," he added; "it'll be cooler then. You see, Herr Baron, +it's not the matter of the machine I've seen that all right; it's the +man." + +"So!" The explanation, which explained nothing to Herr Haase, seemed +to satisfy the Baron. "The man, eh? But you say you have seen the +machine. It works?" + +"It worked all right this morning," replied Von Wetten. "I took my +own explosives with me, as you know some French and English +rifle-cartridges and an assortment of samples from gun charges and +marine mines. I planted some in the garden; the place was all pitted +already with little craters from his experiments; and some, +especially the mine stuff, I threw into the lake. The garden's on the +edge of the lake, you know. Well, he got out his machine thing like a +photographic camera, rather, on a tripod turned it this way and that +until it pointed to my explosives, and pop! off they went like a lot +of fireworks. Pretty neat, I thought." + +"Ah!" The Baron's elbow was on his desk and his head rested in his +hand. "Then it is what that Italian fellow said he had discovered in +1914. 'Ultra-red rays,' he called them. What was his name, now?" + +"Never heard of him," said Von Wetten. + +From the background where Herr Haase stood among the other furniture +came a cough. "Oliver," suggested Herr Haase mildly. + +The Baron jerked a look at him. "No, not Oliver," he said. "Ulivi +that was it; Ulivi! I remember at the time we were interested, +because, if the fellow could do what he claimed." He broke off. "Tell +me," he demanded of Von Wetten. "You are a soldier; I am only a +diplomat. What would this machine mean in war in this war, for +instance? Supposing you were in command upon a sector of the front; +that in the trenches opposite you were the English; and you had this +machine? What would be the result?" + +"Well!" Von Wetten deliberated. "Pretty bad for the English, I should +think," he decided. + +"But how, man how?" persisted the Baron. "In what way would it be bad +for them?" + +Von Wetten made an effort; he was not employed for his imagination. +"Why," he hesitated, "because I suppose the cartridges would blow up +in the men's pouches and in the machine-gun belts; and then the +trench-mortar ammunition and the hand grenades; well, everything +explosive would simply explode! And then we'd go over to what was +left of them, and it would be finished." + +He stopped abruptly as the vision grew clearer. "Aber," he began +excitedly. + +The old Baron lifted a hand and quelled him. + +"The machine you saw this morning, which you tested, will do all +this?" he insisted. + +Von Wetten was staring at the Baron. Upon the question he let his +monocle fall and seemed to consider. "I, I don't see why not," he +replied. + +The Baron nodded thrice, very slowly. Then he glanced up at Herr +Haase. "Then miracles are worked by machinery, after all," he said. +Then he turned again to Von Wetten. + +"Well?" he said. "And the man? We are forgetting the man; I think we +generally do, we Germans. What is the difficulty about the man?" + +Von Wetten shrugged. "The difficulty is that he won't name his +price," he answered. "Don't understand him! Queer, shambling sort of +fellow, all hair and eyes, with the scar of an old cut, or something, +across one side of his face. Keeps looking at you as if he hated you! +Showed me the machine readily enough; consented to every test even +offered to let me take my stuff to the other side of the lake, three +miles away, and explode it at that distance. But when it came to +terms, all he'd do was to look the other way and mumble." + +"What did you offer him?" demanded the Baron. + +"My orders, Your Excellency," answered Captain von Wetten formally, +"were to agree to his price, but not to attempt negotiations in the +event of difficulty over the terms. That was reserved for Your +Excellency." + +"H'm!" The Baron nodded. "Quite right," he approved. "Quite right; +there is something in this. Men have their price, but sometimes they +have to be paid in a curious currency. By the way, how much money +have we?" + +Herr Haase, a mere living ache inhabiting the background, replied. + +"I am instructed, Excellency, that my cheque will be honored at sight +here for a million marks," he answered, in the loud hypnotized voice +of the drill-ground. "But there is, of course, no limit." + +The Baron gave him an approving nod. "No limit," he said. "That is +the only way to do things no limit, in money or anything else! Well, +Haase can bring the car round at what time, Von Wetten?" + +"Twenty minutes to five!" Von Wetten threw the words over his +shoulder. + +"And I shall lunch up here; it's cooler. You'd better lunch with me, +and we can talk. Send up a waiter as you go, my good Haase." + +Herr Haase bowed, but clicked only faintly. "Zu Befehl, Excellenz," +he replied, and withdrew. + +In the hall below he sank into a chair, groaned and fumbled at the +buttons of his boots. He was wearing them for the first time, and +they fitted him as though they had been shrunk on to him. The porter, +his waistcoat gaping, came shambling over to him. + +"You were saying," began the porter, "that the English." + +Herr Haase boiled over. "Zum Teufel mit den Englandern und mit Dir, +Schafskopf!" he roared, tearing at the buttons. "Send up a waiter to +the Herr Baron and call me a cab to go home in!" + +It was in a sunlight tempered as by a foreboding of sunset, when the +surface of the lake was ribbed like sea sand with the first +breathings of the evening breeze, that Herr Haase, riding proudly in +the back seat of honor, brought the motor-car to the hotel. He had +changed his garb of ceremony and servitude; he wore grey now, one of +those stomach-exposing, large-tailed coats which lend even to the +straightest man the appearance of being bandy-legged; and upon his +feet were a pair of tried and proven cloth boots. + +The porter, his waistcoat buttoned for the occasion, carried out a +leather suit-case and placed it in the car, then stood aside, holding +open the door, as the Baron and Von Wetten appeared from the hall. +Von Wetten, true to his manner, saw neither Herr Haase's bow nor the +porter's lifted cap; to him, salutations and civilities came like the +air he breathed, and were as little acknowledged. The Baron gave to +Herr Haase the compliment of a glance that took in the grey coat and +the cloth boots, and the ghost of an ironic, not unkindly smile. + +"Der gute Haase," he murmured, and then, as though in absence of +mind, "Poor fellow, poor fellow!" + +His foot was upon the step of the car when he saw the leather +suit-case within. He paused in the act of entering. + +"What is this baggage?" he inquired. + +Von Wetten craned forward to look. "Oh, that! I wanted you to see the +machine at work, Excellenz, so I'm bringing a few cartridges and +things." + +His Excellency withdrew his foot and stepped back. "Explosives, eh?" +He made a half-humorous grimace of distaste. "Haase, lift that bag +out carefully, man! and carry it in front with you. And tell the +chauffeur to drive cautiously!" + +Their destination was to the eastward of the little town, where the +gardens of the villas trail their willow-fringes in the water. Among +them, a varnished yellow chalet lifted its tiers of glassed-in +galleries among the heavy green of fir-trees; its door, close beside +the road, was guarded by a gate of iron bars. The big car slid to a +standstill beside it with a scrape of tires in the dust. + +"A moment," said the old baron, as Herr Haase lifted his hand to the +iron bell-pull that hung beside the gate. "Who are we? What names +have you given, Von Wetten? Schmidt and Meyer or something more +fanciful?" + +"Much more fanciful, Excellenz." Von Wetten allowed himself a smile. +"I am Herr Wetten; Your Excellency is Herr Steinlach. It could not be +simpler." + +The Baron laughed quietly. "Very good, indeed," he agreed. "And +Haase? You did not think of him? Well, the good Haase, for the time +being, shall be the Herr von Haase. Eh, Haase?" + +"Zu Befehl, Excellenz," deferred Herr Haase. + +The iron bell-pull squealed in its dry guides; somewhere within the +recesses of the house a sleeping bell woke and jangled. Silence +followed. The three of them waited upon the road in the slant of the +sunshine, aware of the odor of hot dust, trees, and water. Herr Haase +stood, in the contented torpor of service and obedience, holding the +heavy suit-case to one side of the gate; to the other, the Baron and +Von Wetten stood together. Von Wetten, with something of rigidity +even in his ease and insouciance, stared idly at the windows through +which, as through stagnant eyes, the silent house seemed to be +inspecting them; the Baron, with his hands joined behind him, was +gazing through the gate at the unresponsive yellow door. His pink, +strong face had fallen vague and mild; he seemed to dream in the +sunlight upon the threshold of his enterprise. All of him that was +formidable and potent was withdrawn from the surface, sucked in, and +concentrated in the inner centers of his mind and spirit. + +There sounded within the door the noise of footsteps; a bolt clashed, +and there came out to the gate a young woman with a key in her hand. +The Baron lifted his head and looked at her, and she stopped, as +though brought up short by the impact of his gaze. She was a small +creature, not more than twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, as +fresh and pretty as apple-blossom. But it was more than shyness that +narrowed her German-blue eyes as she stood behind the bars, looking +at the three men. + +Von Wetten, tall, comely, stepped forward. + +"Good afternoon, gnadige Frau. We have an appointment with your +husband for this hour. Let me present Herr Steinlach Herr von Haase." + +The two bowed at her; she inspected each in turn, still with that +narrow-eyed reserve. + +"Yes," she said then, in a small tinkle of a voice. "My husband is +expecting you." + +She unlocked the gate; the key resisted her, and she had to take both +hands to it, flushing with the effort of wrenching it over. They +followed her into the house, along an echoing corridor, to a front +room whose windows framed a dazzling great panorama of wide water, +steep blue mountain, and shining snow-slopes. Herr Haase, coming last +with the suitcase, saw around the Baron's large shoulders how she +flitted across and called into the balcony: "Egon, the Herren are +here!" Then, without glancing at them again, she passed them and +disappeared. + +Herr Haase's wrist was aching with his burden. Gently, and with +precaution against noise, he stooped, and let the suit-case down upon +the floor. So that he did not see the entry at that moment of the man +who came from the balcony, walking noiselessly upon rubber-soled +tennis-shoes. He heard Von Wetten's "Good afternoon, Herr +Bettermann," and straightened up quickly to be introduced. + +He found himself taking the hand it lay in his an instant as +lifelessly as a glove of a young man whose eyes, over-large in a +tragically thin face and under a chrysanthemum shock of hair, were at +once timid and angry. He was coatless, as though he had come fresh +from some work, and under his blue shirt his shoulders showed +angular. But what was most noticeable about him, when he lifted his +face to the light, was the scar of which Von Wetten had spoken a red +and jagged trace of some ugly wound, running from the inner corner of +the right eye to the edge of the jaw. He murmured some inaudible +acknowledgment of Herr Haase's scrupulously correct greeting. + +Then, as actually as though an arm of flesh and blood had thrust him +back. Herr Haase was brushed aside. It was as if the Baron von +Steinlach, choosing his moment, released his power of personality +upon the scene as a man lets go his held breath. "A wonderful view +you have here, Herr Bettermann," was all he said. The young man +turned to him to reply; it was as though their opposite purposes and +wills crossed and clashed like engaged swords. Herr Haase, and even +the salient and insistent presence of Von Wetten, thinned and became +vague ghostly, ineffectual natives of the background in the stark +light of the reality of that encounter. + +There were some sentences, mere feigning, upon that radiant +perspective which the wide windows framed. + +Then: "My friend and associate, Herr Wetten here, has asked me to +look into this matter," said the Baron. His voice was silk, the silk +"that holds fast where a steel chain snaps." + +"First, to confirm his impressions of the the apparatus; second" the +subtle faint-blue eyes of the old man and the dark suspicious eyes of +the young man met and held each other "and second, the question, the +minor question, of the price. However" his lips, under the clipped, +white moustache, widened in a smile without mirth "that need not take +us long, since the price, you see, is not really a question at all." + +The haggard young man heard him with no change in that painful +intensity of his. + +"Isn't it?" he said shortly. "We'll see! But first, I suppose, you +want to see the thing at work. I have here cordite, gelignite, +trinitrotoluol," but his hare's eyes fell on the suit-case, "perhaps +you have brought your own stuff?" + +"Yes," said the Baron; "I have brought my own stuff." + +The garden of the villa was a plot of land reaching down to a parapet +lapped by the still stone-blue waters of the lake. Wooden steps led +down to it from the balcony; Herr Haase, descending them last with +the suit-case, paused an instant to shift his burden from one hand to +the other, and had time to survey the place the ruins of a lawn, +pitted like the face of a small-pox patient with small holes, where +the raw clay showed through the unkempt grass the "craters" of which +Captain von Wetten had spoken. Tall fir-trees, the weed of +Switzerland, bounded the garden on either hand, shutting it in as +effectually as a wall. Out upon the blue-and-silver floor of the lake +a male human being rowed a female of his species in a skiff; and near +the parapet something was hooded under a black cloth, such as +photographers use, beneath whose skirts there showed the feet of a +tripod. + +Herr Bettermann, the young man with the scar, walked across to it. At +first glimpse, it had drawn all their eyes; each felt that here, +properly and decently screened, was the core of the affair. It was +right that it should be covered up and revealed only at the due +moment; yet Bettermann went to it and jerked the black cloth off, +raping the mystery of the thing as crudely as a Prussian in Belgium. + +"Here it is," he said curtly. "Put your stuff where you like." + +The cloth removed disclosed a contrivance like two roughly cubical +boxes, fitted one above the other, the upper projecting a little +beyond the lower, and mounted on the apex of the tripod. A third box, +evidently, by the terminals which projected from its cover, the +container of a storage battery, lay between the feet of the tripod, +and wires linked it with the apparatus above. Beside the tripod lay a +small black bag such as doctors are wont to carry. + +Von Wetten took a key from his pocket and threw it on the ground. +"Unlock that bag," he said to Herr Haase, and turned towards the +Baron and his host. + +Herr Haase picked up the key, unlocked the suitcase, and stood ready +for further orders. The Baron was standing with Bettermann by the +tripod; the latter was talking and detaching some piece of mechanism +within the apparatus. His voice came clearly across to Herr Haase. + +"Two blades," he was saying, "and one varies their angle with this. +The sharper the angle, the greater the range of the ray and the +shorter the effective arc. But, of course, this machine is only a +model." + +"Quite so," acquiesced the Baron. + +"These" his hand emerged from the upper box "are the blades." + +He withdrew from the apparatus a contrivance like a pair of brief +tongs, of which the shanks were stout wires and the spatulates were +oblongs of thin, whitish metal like aluminum, some three inches long +by two wide. + +"The essence of the whole thing," he said. "You see, they are hinged; +one sets them wider or closer according to the range and the arc one +requires. These plates they are removable. I paint the compound on +them, and switch the current on through this battery." + +"Ah, yes," agreed the Baron dreamily. "The compound that has to be +painted on." + +The thin face of the inventor turned upon him; the great eyes +smoldered. "Yes," was the answer; "yes. I, I paint it on enough for +three or four demonstrations, and then I throw the rest into the +lake. So my secret is safe, you see." + +The Baron met his eyes with the profound ironic calm of his own. +"Safe, I am sure," he replied. "The safer the better. And now, where +would you prefer us to arrange our explosives?" + +The other shrugged his shoulders. "Where you like," he said, bending +to the little black hand-bag. "Lay them on the ground or bury them, +or throw them into the lake, if they're waterproof. Only don't put +them too near the house. I don't want any more of my windows broken." + +There was a tone of aggression in his voice, and his eyes seemed to +affront them, then strayed in a moment's glance towards the house. +Herr Haase, following his look, had a glimpse of the little wife upon +the upper balcony looking down upon the scene. The young man with the +scar it glowed at whiles, red and angry seemed to make her some sign, +for she drew back out of sight at once. + +Herr Haase would have liked to watch the further intercourse of the +Baron and the lean young man; but Von Wetten, indicating to him a +small iron spade, such as children dig with on the sea-beach, and a +pointed iron rod, set him to work at making graves for the little +paper-wrapped packages which he took from the suit-case. The captain +stood over him while he did it, directing him with orders curt as +oaths and wounding as blows, looking down upon his sweating, +unremonstrant obedience as from a very mountain-top of superiority. +The clay was dry as flour, and puffed into dust under the spade; +the slanting sun had yet a vigor of heat; and Herr Haase, in his +tail-coat and his cloth boots, floundered among the little craters +and earth-heaps, and dug and perspired submissively. + +As he completed each hole to Von Wetten's satisfaction, that demigod +dropped one or more of his small packages into it, and arranged them +snugly with the iron rod. While he did so, Herr Haase eased himself +upright, wiped the sweat from his brow, and gazed across at the other +two. He saw the young man dipping a brush in a bottle, which he had +taken from the black bag, and painting with it upon the metal plates, +intent and careful; while beside him the old baron, with his hands +clasped behind his back, watched him with just that air of blended +patronage and admiration with which a connoisseur, visiting a studio, +watches an artist at work. + +Von Wetten spoke at his elbow. "Fill this in!" he said, in those +tones of his that would have roused rebellion in a beast of burden. +"And tread the earth down on it firmly!" + +"Zu Befehl, Herr Hauptmann," answered Herr Haase hastily. But he was +slow enough in obeying to see the young man, his painting finished, +take the bottle in his hand, and toss it over the parapet into the +lake and turn, the great jagged scar suddenly red and vivid on the +pallor of his thin face, to challenge the Baron with his angry eyes. + +The Baron met them with his small indomitable smile. "The machine is +ready now?" he inquired smoothly. + +"Ready when you are," snapped the other. + +Herr Haase had to return to his labors then and lose the rest of that +battle of purposes, of offence offered and refused, which went on +over the head of the waiting machine. Von Wetten left him for a while +and was busy throwing things that looked like glass jars into the +lake. When at last the fifth and final hole was filled and trodden +down under the sore heels in the cloth boots, the others were +standing around the apparatus. They looked up at him as he cast down +the spade and clapped a hand to the main stiffness in the small of +his back. + +"All finished?" called the Baron. "Then come over here, my good +friend, or you will be blown up. Eh, Herr Bettermann?" + +Herr Bettermann shrugged those sharp shoulders of his; he was +shifting the tripod legs of his machine. "Blow him up if you like," +he said. "He's your man." + +Von Wetten and the Baron laughed at that, the Baron civilly and +perfunctorily, as one laughs at the minor jests of one's host, and +Von Wetten as though the joke were a good one. Herr Haase smiled +deferentially, and eased himself into the background by the parapet. + +"And now," said the Baron, "to our fireworks!" + +Herr Bettermann answered with the scowl-like contraction of the brows +which he used in place of a nod. + +"All right," he said. "Stand away from the front of the thing, will +you? You know yourselves the kind of stuff you've buried yes? Also, +los!" + +The old baron had stepped back to Herr Haase's side; as the young man +put his hands to the apparatus, he crisped himself with a sharp +intake of breath for the explosion. A switch clicked under the young +man's thumb, and he began to move the machine upon its pivot +mounting, traversing it like a telescope on a stand. It came round +towards the fresh yellow mounds of earth which marked Herr Haase's +excavations; they had an instant in which to note, faint as the +whirring of a fly upon a pane, the buzz of some small mechanism +within the thing. Then, not louder than a heavy stroke upon a drum, +came the detonation of the buried cartridges in the first hole, and +the earth above them suddenly ballooned and burst like an +over-inflated paper-bag and let through a spit of brief fire and a +jet of smoke. + +"Ach, du lieber" began the Baron, and had the words chopped off short +by the second explosion. A stone the size of a tennis-ball soared +slowly over them and plopped into the water a score of yards away. +The Baron raised an arm as if to guard his face, and kept it raised; +Von Wetten let his eyeglass fall, lifted it in his hand and held it +there; only Herr Haase, preserving his formal attitude of obedient +waiting, his large bland face inert, stood unmoved, passively +watching this incident of his trade. + +The rest of the holes blew up nobly; the last was applauded by a +crash of glass as one of the upper windows of the house broke and +came raining down in splinters. The lean young man swore tersely. +"Another window!" he snarled. The Baron lowered his arm and let his +breath go in a sigh of relief. "That is all, is it not?" he demanded. +"Gott sei Dank I hate things that explode. But I am glad that I saw +it, now that it is over, very glad indeed!" + +There was a touch of added color in the even pink of his face, and +something of restlessness, a shine of excitement, in his eyes. Even +his voice had a new tone of unfamiliar urgency. He glanced to and fro +from Herr Wetten to Herr Haase as though seeking someone to share his +emotion. + +Bettermann's thin voice broke in curtly. "It isn't over," he said. +"There's the stuff he" with a glance like a stab at Von Wetten "threw +into the lake. Ready?" + +"Ach!" The Baron stepped hastily aside. "Yes; I had forgotten that. +Quite ready, my dear sir quite ready. Haase, my good friend, I think +I'll stand behind you this time." + +"Zu Befehl, Excellenz," acquiesced Herr Haase, and made of his +solidity and stolidity a screen and a shield for the master-mind in +its master-body. Herr Bettermann, bending behind his machine, took in +the grouping with an eye that sneered and exulted, jerked his angular +blue-clad shoulders contemptuously, and turned again to his business. + +The eye of the machine roamed over the face of the water, seeming to +peer searchingly into the depths of shining blue; the small interior +whir started again upon the click of the switch, and forthwith three +explosions, following upon each other rapidly, tore that tranquil +water-mirror, spouting three geyser-jets into the sun-soaked evening +air. The waves they raised slapped loudly at the wall below the +parapet, and there were suddenly dead fish floating pale-bellied on +the surface. + +"Mines!" It was a whisper behind Herr Haase's large shoulder. +"English mines!" + +Herr Bettermann straightened himself upright behind the tripod. +"There's a fine for killing fish like that," he remarked bitterly. +"And the window besides, curse it!" + +The Baron looked round at him absently. "Too bad!" he agreed. "Too +bad!" He moved Herr Haase out of his way with a touch of his hand and +walked to the parapet. He stood there, seeming for some moments to be +absorbed in watching the dead fish as they rocked in the diminishing +eddies. Herr Bettermann picked up the black cloth and draped it again +over his apparatus. There was a space of silence. + +Presently, with a shrug as though he withdrew himself unwillingly +from some train of thought, the Baron turned. "Yes," he said, slowly, +half to himself. "Y-es!" He lifted his eyes to the inventor. + +"Well, we have only three things to do," he said. "They should not +take us long. But it is pleasant here in your garden, Herr +Bettermann, and we might sit down while we do them." + +He sat as he spoke, letting himself down upon the low parapet with an +elderly deliberation; at his gesture Von Wetten sat likewise, a few +yards away; Herr Haase moved a pace, hesitated, and remained +standing. + +"I'll stand," said Bettermann shortly. "And what are the three things +that you have got to do?" + +"Why," replied the Baron, evenly, "the obvious three, surely to pay +for your broken window nicht wahr? to pay the fine for killing the +fish, and to pay your price for the machine. There is nothing else to +pay for, is there?" + +"Oh!" The young man stared at him. + +"So, if you will tell us the figure that will content you, we can +dispatch the matter," continued the Baron. "That is your part to name +a figure. Supposing always" his voice slowed; the words dropped one +by one "supposing always that there is a figure!" + +The other continued to stare, gaunt as a naked tree in the evening +flush, his face white under his tumbled hair, the jagged scar +showing, upon it like a new wound. + +"You don't suppose you'll get the thing for nothing, do you?" he +broke out suddenly. + +The Baron shook his head. "No," he said, "I don't think that. But it +has struck me I may not need my cheque-book. You see, for all I can +tell, Herr Bettermann, the window may be insured; and the police may +not hear of the fish; and as for the machine well, the machine may be +for sale; but you have less the manner of a salesman, Herr +Bettermann, than any man I have ever seen." + +The gaunt youth glowered uncertainly. "I'm not a salesman," he +retorted resentfully. + +The Baron nodded. "I was sure of it," he said. "Well, if you will let +me, I'll be your salesman for you; I have sold things in my time, and +for great prices too. Now, I can see that you are in a difficulty. +You are a patriotic Swiss citizen and you have scruples about letting +your invention go out of your own country; is that it? Because, if +so, it can be arranged." + +He stopped; the lean youth had uttered a spurt of laughter, bitter +and contemptuous. + +"Swiss!" he cried. "No more Swiss than yourself, Herr Baron!" + +"Eh?" To Herr Haase, watching through his mask of respectful +aloofness, it was as though the Baron's mind and countenance together +snapped almost audibly into a narrowed and intensified alertness. The +deep, white-fringed brows gathered over the shrewd pale eyes. "Not a +Swiss?" he queried. "What are you, then?" + +"Huh!" the other jeered, openly. "I knew you the moment I saw you. +Old Herr Steinlach, eh? Why, man, I've been expecting you and getting +ready for you ever since your blundering, swaggering spy there" with +a jerk of a rigid thumb towards Von Wetten "and this fat slave" Herr +Haase was indicated here "first came sniffing round my premises. I +knew they'd be sending you along, with your blank cheques and your +tongue; and here you are!" + +He mouthed his words in an extravagance of offence and ridicule; his +gaunt body and his thin arms jerked in a violence of gesticulation, +and the jagged scar that striped his face pulsed from red to white. +The old baron, solid and unmoving on his seat, watched him with still +attention. + +"Not a Swiss?" he persisted, when the young man had ceased to shout +and shrug. + +For answer, suddenly as an attacker, the young man strode across to +him and bent, thrusting his feverish and passion-eaten face close to +the other man's. His forefinger, long, large-knuckled, jerked up; he +traced with it upon his face the course of the great disfiguring scar +that flamed diagonally from the inner corner of the right eye to the +rim of the sharp jaw. + +"Did you ever see a Swiss that carried a mark like that?" he cried, +his voice breaking to a screech. "Or an Englishman, or a Frenchman? +Or anybody but but" he choked breathlessly on his words "or anybody +but a German? Man, it's my passport!" + +He remained yet an instant, bent forward, rigid finger to face, then +rose and stepped back, breathing hard. The three of them stuck, +staring at him. + +Von Wetten broke the silence. "German?" he said, in that infuriating +tone of peremptory incredulity which his kind in all countries +commands. "You, a German?" + +The lean youth turned on him with a movement like a swoop. "Yes me!" +he spat. "And a deserter from my military service, too! Make the best +of that, you Prussian Schweinhund!" + +"Was!" Von Wetten started as though under a blow; his monocle fell; +he made a curious gesture, bringing his right hand across to his left +hip as though in search of something; and gathered himself as though +about to spring to his feet. The Baron lifted a quiet hand and +subdued him. + +"Yes," he said, in his even, compelling tones. "Make the best of +that, Von Wetten." + +Von Wetten stared, arrested in the very act of rising. "Zu Befehl, +Herr Baron," he said, in a strained voice, and continued staring. The +Baron watched him frowningly an instant, to make sure of his +submission, and turned again to Herr Bettermann where he stood, lean +and glowering, before them. + +"Now," he said, "I am beginning to see my way dimly, dimly. A +deserter a German and that scar is your passport! Ye-es! Well, will +you tell me, Herr Bettermann, in plain German, how you came by that +scar?" + +"Yes," said Bettermann, fiercely, "I will!" + +Behind him, where the house windows shone rosy in the sunset, Herr +Haase could see upon the lower balcony the shimmer of a white frock +and a face that peeped and drew back. The little wife was listening. + +"It was the captain of my company," said Bettermann, with a glare at +Von Wetten. "Another Prussian swine-dog like this brute here." He +waited. Von Wetten regarded him with stony calm and did not move. +Bettermann flushed. "He sent me for his whip, and when I brought it, +he called me to attention and cut me over the face with it." + +"Eh?" The old baron sat up. "Aber-" + +"Just one cut across the face, me with my heels glued together and my +hands nailed to my sides," went on Bettermann. "Then 'Dismiss!' he +ordered, and I saluted and turned about and marched away with my +smashed face. And then you ask me if I am a Swiss!" He laughed again. + +"But," demanded the Baron, "what had you done? Why did he do that to +you?" + +"Didn't I tell you he was a Prussian swine?" cried Bettermann. "Isn't +that reason enough? But, if you will know, he'd seen me speak to a +lady in the street. Afterwards me standing to attention, of course! +he made a foul comment on her, and asked me for her name and +address." + +"And you wouldn't tell him?" + +"Tell him!" cried Bettermann. "No!" + +Herr Haase saw the girl on the balcony lean forward as though to hear +the word, its pride and its bitterness, and draw back again as though +to hear it had been all that she desired. + +"Von Wetten!" The Baron spoke briskly. "You hear what Herr Bettermann +tells me? Such things happen in the army do they?" + +Von Wetten shrugged. "They are strictly illegal, sir," he replied, +formally. "There are severe penalties prescribed for such actions. +But, in the army, in the daily give-and-take of the life of a +regiment, of course, they do happen. Herr Bettermann," very stiffly, +"was unfortunate." + +Betterman was staring at him, but said nothing. The Baron glanced +from Von Wetten to the lean young man and shook his head. + +"I am beginning I think I am beginning to see," he said. "And it +seems to me that I shall not need that cheque-book. Herr Bettermann, +I am very sure you have not forgotten the name of that officer." + +"Forgotten!" said the other. "No, I've not forgotten. And, so that +you shan't forget, I've got it written down for you!" + +He fished a card from the breast-pocket of his blue shirt. The Baron +received it, and held it up to the light. + +"Captain Graf von Specht, the Kaiserjaeger," he read aloud. "Ever +hear of him, Von Wetten?" + +Von Wetten nodded. "Neighbor of mine in the country, Excellenz," he +replied. "We were at the cadet-school together. Colonel now; promoted +during the war. He would regret, I am sure." + +"He will regret, I am sure," interrupted the Baron, pocketing the +card. "And he will have good cause. Well, Herr Bettermann, I think I +know your terms now. You want to see the Graf von Specht again here? +I am right, am I not?" + +Bettermann's eyes narrowed at him. "Yes," he said. "You're right. +Only this time it is he that must bring the whip!" + +Herr Haase's intelligence, following like a shorthand-writer's +pencil, ten words behind the speaker, gave a leap at this. Till now, +the matter had been for him a play without a plot; suddenly +understanding, he cast a startled glance at Von Wetten. + +The captain sat up alert. + +"Certainly!" The old baron was replying to young Bettermann. "And +stand to attention! And salute! I told you that I would agree to your +terms, and I agree accordingly. Captain that is, Colonel von Specht +shall be here, with the whip, as soon as the telegraph and the train +can bring him. And then, I assume, the machine." + +"Pardon!" Captain von Wetten had risen. "I have not understood." He +came forward between the two, very erect and military, and rather +splendid with his high-held head and drilled comeliness of body. +"There has been much elegance of talk and I am stupid, no doubt; but, +in plain German, what is it that Colonel von Specht is to do?" + +Bettermann swooped at him again, choking with words; the captain +stood like a monument callous to his white and stammering rage, the +personification and symbol of his caste and its privilege. + +It was the Baron who answered from his seat on the parapet, not +varying his tone and measured delivery. + +"Colonel von Specht," he said, "is to bring a whip here and stand to +attention while Herr Bettermann cuts him over the face with it. That +is all. Now sit down and be silent." + +Captain von Wetten did not move. "This is impossible," he said. +"There are limits. As a German officer, I resent the mere suggestion +of this insult to the corps of officers. Your Excellency." + +The Baron lifted that quiet hand of his. "I order you to sit down and +be silent," he said. + +Captain von Wetten hesitated. It seemed to Herr Haase, for a +flattering instant, that the captain's eyes sought his own, as though +in recognition of a familiar and favorable spirit. He tried to look +respectfully sympathetic. + +"Very good, your Excellency," said Von Wetten, at length. "The +Emperor, of course, will be informed." + +He turned and stalked away to his former place. The Baron, watching +him, smiled briefly. + +"Well, Herr Bettermann," said the Baron, rising stiffly, "it will not +help us to have this arrangement of ours in writing. I think we'll +have to trust one another. Our chemists, then, can come to you for +the formula as soon as you have finished with Colonel von Specht? +That is agreed yes? Good! And you see, I was right from the +beginning; I did not need my cheque-book after all." + +He began to move towards the house, beckoning Captain von Wetten and +Herr Haase to follow him. Herr Haase picked up the empty suit-case, +stood aside to let Von Wetten pass, and brought up the rear of the +procession. + +At the foot of the wooden steps that led up to the veranda, the Baron +halted and turned to Bettermann. + +"One thing makes me curious," he said. "Suppose we had not accepted +your terms, what would you have done? Sold your machine to our +enemies?" + +Bettermann was upon the second step, gauntly silhouetted against the +yellow wood of the house. He looked down into the elder man's strong +and subtle face. + +"No," he answered. "I meant to at first, but I haven't purged the +German out of me yet and I couldn't. But I'd let your army of slaves +and slave-drivers be beaten by its own slavery as it would be and you +know it. I wouldn't take a hand in it; only, if anything happened to +me; if, for instance, I disappeared some night, well, you'd find the +machine and the formula in the hands of the English, that's all!" + +He turned and led the way up the wooden steps. It seemed to tired +Herr Haase, lugging the suit-case, that Captain von Wetten was +swearing under his breath. + +He was not imaginative, our Herr Haase; facts were his livelihood and +the nurture of his mind. But in the starved wastes of his fancy +something had struck a root, and as he rode Thun-wards in the front +seat of the car, with the suit-case in his lap and the setting sun in +his eyes, he brooded upon it. It was the glimpse of the little wife +in the balcony the girl who had lived with the scar upon her +husband's face and in his soul, and had leaned forward to eavesdrop +upon his cruel triumph. Behind him, the two demi-gods talked +together; snatches of their conversation tempted him to listen; but +Herr Haase was engrossed with another matter. When the Prussian +colonel, one living agony of crucified pride, stood for the blow, and +the whip whistled through the air to thud on the flesh of his +upturned face would she be watching then? + +He was still thinking of it when the car drew up at the hotel door. + +"Upstairs at once," directed the Baron, as he stepped hastily to the +sidewalk. "You too, my good Haase; we shall want you." + +In the Baron's upper room, where that morning he had suffered the +torture of the boot, Herr Haase was given a seat at the little +writing-table. The Baron himself cleared it for him, wiping its piles +of papers to the floor with a single sweep of his hand. + +"Get ready to write the telegrams which we shall dictate," he +commanded. "But first will you be able to get them through in code?" + +"Code is forbidden, your Excellency," replied Herr Haase, in his +parade voice. "But we have also a phrase-code, a short phrase for +every word of the message which passes. It makes the telegram very +long." + +"Also gut!" approved the Baron. "Now, Von Wetten, first we will wire +the Staff. You know how to talk to them; so dictate a clear message +to Haase here." + +Von Wetten was standing by the door, hat and cane in hand. His face, +with its vacant comeliness, wore a formality that was almost austere. + +"Zu Befehl, Excellenz," he replied. "But has your Excellency +considered that, after all, there may be other means? I beg your +Excellency's pardon, but it occurs to me that we have not tried +alternative offers. For instance, we are not limited as to money." + +The Baron made a little gesture of impatience, indulgent and +paternal. He leaned a hand on the table and looked over Herr Haase's +head to the tall young officer. + +"We are not limited as to colonels, either," he answered. "We must +think ourselves lucky, I suppose, that he went no higher than a +colonel. There was a moment when I thought he was going very much +higher to the very top, Von Wetten. For, make no mistake, that young +man knows his value." + +Von Wetten frowned undecidedly. "The top," he repeated. "There is +only one top. You can't mean?" + +The Baron took the word from his mouth. "Yes," he said, "the Emperor. +I thought for a while he was going to demand that. And do you know +what I should have answered?" + +Von Wetten threw up his head and his face cleared. "Of course I +know," he said. "You'd have cut the dirty traitor down where he +stood!" + +The Baron did not move. "No," he said. "I should have accepted those +terms also, Von Wetten." + +The Baron's hand rested on the edge of the table in front of Herr +Haase; he sat, staring at it, a piece of human furniture on the stage +of a tragedy. The other two confronted each other above his patient +and useful head. He would have liked to look from one to the other, +to watch their faces, but he was too deeply drilled for that. He +heard Von Wetten's voice with a quaver in it. + +"Then things are going as badly as all that?" + +"Yes," answered the Baron. "Badly! It is not just this battle that is +going on now in France; it strikes deeper than that. The plan that +was to give us victory has failed us; we find ourselves, with a +strength which must diminish, fighting an enemy whose strength +increases. We must not stop at anything now; what is at stake is too +tremendous." + +"But--." + +The Baron hushed him. "Listen, Von Wetten," he said. "I will be +patient with you. I do not speak to you of of the Idea of which +Germany and Prussia are the body and the weapon. No; but have you +ever realized that you, yes, you! belong to the most ridiculed, most +despised nation on earth? That your countrywomen furnish about eighty +per cent. of the world's prostitutes; that a German almost anywhere +is a waiter, or a sausage-manufacturer, or a beer-seller, the butt of +comic papers in a score of languages? All that has not occurred to +you, eh? + +"Well, think of it, and think, too, of what this machine may do for +us. Think of a Germany armed in a weaponless world, and, if empire +and mastery convey nothing to you, think of oh! American women +walking the streets in Berlin, comic English waiters in German +cafe's, slavish French laborers in German sweat-shops. And all this +boxed into a machine on a tripod by a monomaniac whose price we can +pay!" + +He paused and walked towards the window. "Dictate the telegram to the +Staff, Von Wetten," he said, over his shoulder. + +Von Wetten laid his hat and cane on a chair and crossed the room. "I +feel as if I were stabbing a fellow-officer in the back," he said, +drearily. Then, to Herr Haase: "Take this, you!" + +"Zu Befehl, Herr Hauptmann," said Herr Haase, and picked up his pen. + +There were twelve long telegrams in all, of which many had to be +amended, pruned, sub-edited, and rewritten; each was directed to a +plain private address in Berlin, and each was to be answered to the +address of Herr Haase. One, which gave more trouble than any of the +others, was to Siegfried Meyer, Number One, Unter den Linden; it was +long before the Baron and Von Wetten could smooth its phrases to a +suavity and deference which satisfied them. Coffee was brought them +to lubricate their labors, but none to Herr Haase; his part was to +write down, scratch out, rewrite, while beyond the windows the night +marched up from the east and the lake grew bleak and vague. + +"Now, my good Haase," said the Baron, when the last word-fabric was +decided upon and confirmed, "you will take those home with you, put +them into code, and dispatch them. You should have the last of them +off by midnight. And to-morrow, when the answers begin to come, you +will report here as quickly as possible." + +"Zu befehl, Excellenz," said Herr Haase, his hands full of papers. + +"Then good night, my good Haase," said the Baron. + +"Good night to your Excellency," returned Herr Haase, from the +doorway. "Good night, Herr Hauptmann!" to Von Wetten's back. + +"Shut the door," replied Von Wetten. + +There was a moon at midnight, a great dull disc of soft light +touching the antique gables and cloistered streets of the little city +to glamour, blackening the shadows under the arches, and streaking +the many channels of the swift river with long reflections. Herr +Haase, returning from the telegraph office, walked noiseless as a +ghost through those ancient streets, for he had soft bedroom slippers +on his feet. His work was done for the day; he had put off business +as one lays aside a garment. From his lips ascended the mild incense +of one of those moist yellow cigars they make at Vevey. He paused +upon the first bridge to gaze down upon the smooth, hurrying water, +and his soul that soul which served the general purpose of a +monkey-wrench in adjusting the machine of history spoke aloud. + +"A rum-punch," it confided to the night and the moon. "Yes, two +glasses; and a belegtes Brodchen; and a warm foot-bath. And then, +bed!" + +Not for him, at any rate, were the doubts and hopes that tangled in +the Baron von Steinlach's massive head. A man with sore feet is prone +to feel that the ground he stands on is at least solid. In his +pleasant veranda next morning, with his coffee fragrant before him on +the chequered tablecloth, he read in the Bund: the British communique +of the battle of the Somme, new villages taken, fortified woods +stormed, prisoners multiplying, the whole monstrous structure of the +German war-machine cracking and failing. While he read he ate and +drank tranquilly; no thoughts of yesterday's business intruded upon +his breakfast peace. He finished the communique. + +Then: "Liars!" he commented, comfortably, reaching for his cup. +"Those English are always liars!" + +It was a good and easy day that thus opened. The answers to his +telegrams did not begin to arrive till noon, and then they were only +formulae acknowledging receipt, which he did not need his code-book +to decipher. With his black umbrella opened against the drive of the +sun, he carried them at his leisure to the Baron, where he sat alone +in his cool upper chamber working deliberately among his papers, +received the customary ghost of a smile and the murmur, "Der gute +Haase," and got away. The slovenly porter, always with his look of +having slept in his clothes, tried to engage him in talk upon the +day's news. "You," said Herr Haase, stepping round him, "are one of +those who believe anything; schamen Sie sich!" And so back to the +comfortable villa on the hillside with its flaming geraniums and its +atmosphere of that comfort and enduring respectability which stood to +Herr Haase for the very inwardness of Germany. Yes, a good day! + +It lasted as long as the daylight; the end of it found Herr Haase, +his lamp alight, his back turned to the Alpine-glow on the mountains, +largely at ease in his chair, awaiting the arrival of his +Dienstmadchen with the culminating coffee of the day. His yellow +cigar was alight; he was fed and torpid; digestion and civilization +were doing their best for him. As from an ambush there arrived the +fat, yellow telegraph envelope. + +"Ach, was!" protested Herr Haase. "And I thought it was the coffee +you were bringing." + +"'S Kaffee kommt gleich," the stout, tow-haired girl assured him; but +already he had torn open the envelope and was surveying its +half-dozen sheets of code. Two hours of work with the key, at least; +he groaned, and hoisted himself from his chair. + +"Bring the coffee to the office," he bade, and went to telephone a +warning to the Baron. + +The code was a cumbersome one; its single good quality was that it +passed unsuspected at a time when nervous telegraph departments were +refusing all ciphers. It consisted of brief phrases and single words +alternately; the single words the codebook offered a selection of a +couple of hundred of them were meaningless, and employed solely to +separate the phrases; and for half an hour Herr Haase's task was to +separate this ballast from the cargo of the message and jettison it. +There lay before him then a string of honest-looking mercantile +phrases "market unsettled," "collections difficult," and the like +which each signified a particular word. He sat back in his chair and +took a preliminary glance at the thing. + +It was a code he used frequently himself, and there were phrases in +the message, two or three, which he knew by heart. As he scanned it +it struck him that all of these were of the same character; they were +words of deprecation or demur. "Existing rate of exchange" meant +"regret"; "active selling" meant "impossible"; and "usual discount" +was the code-form of "unfortunate." Herr Haase frowned and reached +for his key. + +Midnight was close at hand when he reached the Baron's room, with the +telegram and his neatly-written interpretation in an envelope. He had +changed his coat and shoes for the visit; it was the usual Herr +Haase, softish of substance, solemn of attire, official of demeanor, +who clicked and bowed to the Baron and Von Wetten in turn. + +"Our good Haase," said the Baron. "At last!" + +He wore a brown cloth dressing-gown with a cord about the middle; and +somehow the garment, with its long skirts and its tied-in waist, +looked like a woman's frock? With the white hair and the contained +benevolence and power of his face it gave him the aspect of a +distorted femininity, a womanhood unnatural and dire. Even Herr Haase +perceived it, for he stared a moment open-mouthed before he recovered +himself. Von Wetten, smoking, in an easy chair, was in evening dress. + +Herr Haase, with customary clockwork-like military motions, produced +his envelope and held it forth. + +"The code-telegram of which I telephoned your Excellency and a +transcription of it," he announced. + +Von Wetten took his cigar from his lips and held it between his +fingers. The Baron waved the proffered envelope from him. + +"Read it to us, my good Haase," he said. + +"Zu befehl, Excellenz!" Herr Haase produced from the envelope the +crackling sheet of thin paper, held it up to the light, standing the +while with heels together and chest outthrust, and read in the high +barrack-square voice: + +"Herr Sigismund Haase, Friedrichsruhe, Thunam-See, Switzerland. From +Secret Service Administration, Berlin. July 21st, 1916. In reply to +your code-message previously acknowledged, regret to report that +officer you require was recently severely wounded. Hospital +authorities report that it is impossible to move him. Trust this +unfortunate event does not stultify your arrangements. Your further +instructions awaited." + +Herr Haase refolded the paper and returned it to the envelope and +stood waiting. + +It was Von Wetten who spoke first. "Thank God!" he said loudly. + +The old baron, standing near him, hands joined behind his back, had +listened to the reading with eyes on the floor. He shook his head +now, gently, dissenting rather than contradicting. + +"Oh, no," he said slowly. "Don't be in a hurry to do that, Von +Wetten." + +"But, Excellency," Von Wetten protested, "I meant, of course." + +"I know," said the Baron. "I know what you thanked God for; and I +tell you don't be in too great a hurry." + +He began to walk to and fro in the room. He let his hands fall to his +sides; he was more than ever distortedly womanlike, almost visibly +possessed and driven by his single purpose. Von Wetten, the extinct +cigar still poised in his hand, watched him frowningly. + +"Sometimes" the Baron seemed to speak as often a man deep in thought +will hum a tune "sometimes I have felt before what I feel now a +current in the universe that sets against me, against us. Something +pulls the other way. It has all but daunted me once or twice." + +He continued to pace to and fro, staring at the varnished floor. + +"But, Excellency," urged Von Wetten, "there are still ways and means. +If we can decoy this inventor-fellow across the frontier and then, +there is his wife! Pressure could be brought to bear through the +woman. If we got hold of her, now!" + +The Baron paused in his walk to hear him. + +"And find an English army blasting its way through Belgium with that +machine to come to her rescue? No," he said; and then, starting from +his moody quiet to a sudden loudness: "No! We know his price to lash +this Von Specht across the face with a whip and we have agreed to it. +Let him lash him as he lies on a stretcher, if he likes! I know that +type of scorched brain, simmering on the brink of madness. He'll do +it, and he'll keep faith; and it'll be cheap at the price. Haase!" + +He wheeled on Herr Haase suddenly. + +"Zu befehl, Excellenz," replied Herr Haase. + +The Baron stared at him for some moments, at the solid, capable, +biddable creature he was, stable and passive in the jar of the +overturned world. He pointed to the table. + +"Sit there, my good Haase," he ordered. "I will dictate you a +telegram. Not code this time, plain German!" + +He resumed his to-and-fro walk while Herr Haase established himself. + +"Direct it to our private address in the Wilhelmstrasse," he ordered. +"Then write: 'You are to carry out orders previously communicated. +Send Von Specht forthwith, avoiding all delay. Telegraph hour of his +departure and keep me informed of his progress. No objections to this +order are to be entertained.'" + +"'Entertained,'" murmured Herr Haase, as he wrote the last word. + +"Sign it as before," directed the Baron. "You see, Von Wetten, it was +too soon!" + +Von Wetten had not moved; he sat staring at the Baron. His hand +twitched and the dead cigar fell to the floor. + +"I don't care," he burst out, "it's wrong; it's not worth it nothing +could be. I'd be willing to go a long way, but a Prussian officer! +It's, it's sacrilege. And a wounded man at that!" + +The Baron did not smile but mirth was in his face. "That was an +afterthought, Von Wetten," he said "the wounded man part of it." He +turned to Herr Haase impatiently. + +"Off with you!" he commanded. "Away, man, and get that message sent! +Let me have the replies as they arrive. No, don't wait to bow and say +good night; run, will you!" + +His long arm, in the wide sleeve of the gown, leaped up, pointing to +the door. Herr Haase ran. + +Obediently as a machine, trotting flat-footed over the cobbles of the +midnight streets, he ran, pulling up at moments to take his breath, +then running on again. Panting, sweating, he lumbered up the steps of +the telegraph office and thrust the message through the grille to the +sleepy clerk. + +"What is Von Specht?" grumbled the clerk. "Is this a cipher-message?" + +"No," gasped Herr Haase. "Can't you read? This is plain German!" + +Herr Haase, one has gathered, was not afflicted with that weakness of +the sense which is called imagination. Not his to dream dreams and +see visions; nor, while he tenderly undressed himself and put himself +into his bed, to dwell in profitless fancy over the message he had +sent, bursting like a shell among the departments and administrations +which are the body of Germany's official soul. Nor later either, when +the spate of replies kept him busy decoding and carrying them down to +the Baron, did he read into them more than the bare import of their +wording. "Von Specht transferred to hospital coach attached special +train, accompanied military doctor and orderlies in civil clothes. +Left Base Hospital No. 64 at 3:22 P.M. Condition weak, feverish," +said the first of them. It did not suggest to him the hush of the +white ward broken by the tread of the stalwart stretcher-bearers, the +feeble groaning as they shifted the swathed and bandaged form from +the bed to the stretcher, the face thin and haggard with yet remains +of sunburn on its bloodlessness, the progress to the railway, the +grunt and heave of the men as they hoisted their burden to the +waiting hospital-carriage. None of all that for Herr Haase. + +Later came another message: "Patient very feverish. Continually +inquires whither going and why. Please telegraph some answer to meet +train at Bengen with which may quiet him." To that Herr Haase was +ordered to reply: "Tell Colonel von Specht that he is serving his +Fatherland," and that elicited another message from the train at +Colmar: "Gave patient your message, to which he replied, 'That is +good enough for me.' Is now less feverish, but very weak." + +And finally, from Basle, came the news that the train and its +passengers had crossed the frontier; Colonel von Specht was in +Switzerland. + +"You, my good Haase, will meet the train," said the Baron von +Steinlach. "The Embassy has arranged to have it shunted to a siding +outside the station. You will, of course, tell them nothing of what +is in contemplation. Just inform whoever is in charge that I will +come later. And, Von Wetten, I think we will send the car with a note +to bring Herr Bettermann here at the same time." + +"Here, Excellency?" + +"Yes," said the Baron. "After all, we want to keep the thing as quiet +as possible, and that fellow is capable of asking a party of friends +to witness the ceremony." There was malicious amusement in the eye he +turned on Von Wetten. "And we don't want that, do we?" he suggested. + +Von Wetten shuddered. + +The siding at which the special train finally came to rest was +"outside the station" in the sense that it was a couple of miles +short of it, to be reached by a track-side path complicated by piles +of sleepers and cinder-heaps. Herr Haase, for the purpose of his +mission, had attired himself sympathetically rather than +conveniently; he was going to visit a colonel and, in addition to +other splendors, he had even risked again the patent leather boots. +He was nearly an hour behind time when he reached at length the two +wagons-lits carriages standing by themselves in a wilderness of +tracks. + +Limping, perspiring, purple in the face, he came alongside of them, +peering up at their windows. A face showed at one of them, spectacled +and bearded, gazing motionlessly through the panes with the effect of +a sea-creature in an aquarium. It vanished and reappeared at the end +door of the car. + +"Hi! You, what do you want here?" called the owner of the face to +Herr Haase. + +Herr Haase came shuffling towards the steps. + +"Ich stelle Mich vor; I introduce myself," he said ceremoniously. +"Haase sent by his Excellency, the Herr Baron von Steinlach." + +The other gazed down on him, a youngish man, golden-blond as to beard +and hair, with wide, friendly eyes magnified by his glasses. He was +coatless in the heat, and smoked a china-bowled German pipe like a +man whose work is done and whose ease is earned; yet in his face and +manner there was a trace of perturbation, an irritation of +nervousness. + +"Oh!" he said, and spoke his own name. "Civil-doctor Fallwitz. I've +been expecting somebody. You'd better come inside, hadn't you?" + +Outside was light and heat; inside was shadow and heat. Dr. Fallwitz +led the way along the corridor of the car, with its gold-outlined +scrollwork and many brass-gadgeted doors, to his own tiny +compartment, smelling of hot upholstery and tobacco. Herr Haase +removed his hat and sank puffing upon the green velvet cushions. + +"You are hot, nicht wahr?" inquired Dr. Fallwitz politely. + +"Yes," said Herr Haase. "But, Herr Doktor, since you are so good it +is not only that. If it is gross of me to ask it but if I might take +off my boots for some moments. You see, they are new." + +"Aber ich bitte," cried the doctor. + +The doctor stood watching him while he struggled with the buttons, +and while he watched he frowned and gnawed at the amber mouthpiece of +his pipe. + +He waited till Herr Haase, with a loud, luxurious grunt, had drawn +off the second boot. + +"There will be a row, of course," he remarked then. "These +Excellencies and people are only good for making rows. But I told +them he couldn't be moved." + +Herr Haase shifted his toes inside his socks. "You mean Colonel von +Specht? But isn't he here, then?" + +The young doctor shook his head. "We obeyed orders," he said. "We had +to. Those people think that life and death are subject to orders. I +kept him going till we got here, but about an hour ago he had a +hemorrhage." + +He put his pipe back into his mouth, inhaled and exhaled a cloud of +smoke, and spoke again. + +"Died before we could do anything," he said. "You see, after all he +had been through, he hadn't much blood to spare. What did they want +him here for, do you know?" + +"No," said Herr Haase. "But I know the Herr Baron was needing him +particularly. Was fur eine Geschichte!" + +"Want to see him?" asked the young doctor. + +It had happened to Herr Haase never to see a dead man before. +Therefore, among the incidents of his career, he will not fail to +remember that the progress in his socks from the one car to the +other, the atmosphere of the second car where the presence of death +was heavy on the stagnant air, and the manner in which the thin white +sheet outlined the shape beneath. A big young orderly in shabby +civilian clothes was on guard; at the doctor's order he drew down the +sheet and the dead man's face was bare. He who had slashed a helpless +conscript across the face with a whip, for whom yet any service of +his Fatherland was "good enough," showed to the shrinking Herr Haase +only a thin, still countenance from whose features the eager passion +and purpose had been wiped, leaving it resolute in peace alone. + +"I I didn't know they looked like that," whispered Herr Haase. + +The two homeward miles of cindery path were difficult; the sun was +tyrannical; his boots were a torment; yet Herr Haase went as in a +dream. He had seen reality; the veil of his daily preoccupations had +been rent for him; and it needed the impertinence of the +ticket-collector at the door of the station, who was unwilling to let +him out without a ticket, to restore him. That battle won, he found +himself a cab, and rattled over the stones of Thun to the hotel door. +He prepared no phrases in which to clothe his news; facts are facts +and are to be stated as facts. What he murmured to himself as he +jolted over the cobbles was quite another matter. + +"Ticket, indeed!" he breathed rancorously. "And I tipped him two +marks only last Christmas!" + +The Baron's car was waiting at the hotel door; the cab drew up behind +it. The cabman, of course, wanted more than his due, and didn't get +it; but the debate helped to take Herr Haase's mind still further off +his feet. He entered the cool hall of the hotel triumphantly and made +for the staircase. + +"O, mein Herr!" + +He turned; he had not seen the lady in the deep basket-chair just +within the door, but now, as she rose and came towards him, he +recognized her. It was the wife of Bettermann, the inventor, the +shape upon the balcony of the chalet who had overlooked their +experiments and overheard the bargain they had made. + +Herr Haase bowed. "Gnadige Frau?" + +He remembered her as little and pleasantly pretty; her presence above +them on the balcony had touched his German sentimentalism. She was +pretty now, with her softness and blossom-like fragility, but with it +was a tensity, a sort of frightened desperation. + +She hesitated for words, facing him with lips that trembled, and +large, painful eyes of nervousness. "He he is here," she said, at +last. "My husband they sent a car to fetch him to them. He is up +there now, with them!" + +Herr Haase did not understand. "But yes, gracious lady," he answered. +"Why not? The Herr Baron wished to speak to him." + +She put out a small gloved hand uncertainly and touched his sleeve. + +"No," she said. "Tell me! I, I am so afraid. That other, the officer +who cut Egon's face my husband's I mean, he has arrived? Tell me, +mein Herr! Oh, I thought you would tell me; I saw you the other day, +and those others never spoke to you, and you were the only one who +looked kind and honest." She gulped and recovered. "He has arrived?" + +"Well, now," began Herr Haase paternally. In all his official life he +had never "told" anything. Her small face, German to its very +coloring, pretty and pleading, tore at him. + +"Yes, he has arrived," he said shortly. "I have I have just seen +him." + +"Oh!" It was almost a cry. "Then then they will do it? Mein Herr, +mein Herr, help me! Egon, he has been thinking only of this for +years; and now, if he does it, he will think of nothing else all his +life. And he mustn't he mustn't! It's it will be madness. I know him. +Mein Herr, there is nobody else I can ask; help me!" + +The small gloved hand was holding him now, holding by the sleeve of +his superlative black coat of ceremony, plucking at it, striving to +stir him to sympathy and understanding; the face, hopeful and afraid, +strained up at him. + +Gently he detached the gloved hand on his sleeve, holding it a second +in his own before letting it go. + +"Listen," he said. "That bargain is cancelled. Colonel von Specht +died to-day." + +He turned forthwith and walked to the stairs. He did not look back at +her. + +"Herein!" called somebody from within the white-painted door of the +Baron's room, when he knocked. + +Herr Haase, removing his hat, composing his face to a nullity of +official expression, entered. + +After the shadow of the hall and the staircase, the window blazed at +him. The Baron was at his little table, seated sideways in his chair, +toying with an ivory paper-knife, large against the light. Von Wetten +stood beside him, tall and very stiff, withdrawn into himself behind +his mask of Prussian officer and aristocrat; and in a low chair, back +to the door and facing the other two, Bettermann sat. + +He screwed round awkwardly to see who entered, showing his thin face +and its scar, then turned again to the Baron, large and calm and +sufficient before him. + +"I tell you," he said, resuming some talk that had been going on +before Herr Haase's arrival: "I tell you, the letter of the bargain +or nothing!" + +The Baron had given to Herr Haase his usual welcome of a half smile, +satiric and not unkindly. He turned now to Bettermann. + +"But certainly," he answered. He slapped the ivory paper-knife +against his palm. "I was not withdrawing from the bargain. I was +merely endeavoring to point out to you at the instance of my friend +here" a jerk of the elbow towards Von Wetten "the advantages of a +million marks, or several million marks, plus the cashiering of +Colonel von Specht from the army, over the personal satisfaction +which you have demanded for yourself. But since you insist." + +Bettermann, doubled up in his low chair, broke in abruptly: "Yes, I +insist!" + +The Baron smiled his elderly, temperate smile. "So be it," he said. +"Well, my good Haase, what have you to tell us?" + +Herr Haase brought his heels together, dropped his thumbs to the +seams of his best trousers, threw up his chin, and barked: + +"Your Excellency, I have seen the Herr Colonel Graf von Specht. He +died at ten minutes past eleven this morning." + +His parade voice rang in the room; when it ceased the silence, for a +space of moments, was absolute. What broke it was the voice of Von +Wetten. + +"Thank God!" it said, loudly and triumphantly. + +The Baron swung round to him, but before he could speak Bettermann +gathered up the slack of his long limbs and rose from his chair. He +stood a moment, gaunt in his loose and worn clothes, impending over +the seated baron. + +"So that was it! Well" He paused, surveying the pair of them, the old +man, the initiate and communicant of the inmost heart of the machine +through which his soul had gone like grain through a mill, and the +tall Prussian officer, at once the motor and millstone of that +machine. And he smiled. "Well," he repeated, "there's the end of +that!" + +The door closed behind him; his retreating footsteps echoed in the +corridor. The Baron spoke at last. He stared up at Von Wetten, his +strong old face seamed with new lines. + +"You thank God for that, do you?" he said. + +Von Wetten returned his gaze. "Yes, Excellency," he replied. + +He had screwed his monocle into his eye; it gave to his unconscious +arrogance the barb of impertinence. + +"You!" The Baron cried out at him. "You thank God, do you? and +neither your thanks nor your God is worth the bones of a single +Pomeranian grenadier! Do you know what has happened, fool?" + +Captain von Wetten bent towards him, smiling slightly. + +"You are speaking to Haase, of course, Excellency?" + +The Baron caught himself. His face went a trifle pinker, but his +mouth was hard under the clipped white moustache and the heavy brows +were level. + +"I will tell you what has happened," he said deliberately. "I will +try to make it intelligible to you." + +He held up the ivory paper-knife, its slender yellow blade strained +in his two hands. + +"That is Germany to-day," he said, "bending." His strong hands +tightened; the paper-knife broke with a snap. "And that is Germany +to-morrow broken. We have failed." + +He threw the two pieces from him to the floor and stared under the +pent of his brows at Von Wetten. + +Their eyes engaged. But one of the pieces slid across the floor to +Herr Haase's feet. Orderly and serviceable always, Herr Haase bent +and picked up the broken pieces and put them back upon the table. + + + +VIII + +ALMS AND THE MAN + +While she was yet dressing, she had heard the soft pad of slippers on +the narrow landing outside her room and the shuffle of papers; then, +heralded by a single knock, the scrape and crackle of a paper being +pushed under her door. It was in this fashion that the Maison Mardel +presented its weekly bills to its guests. + +"Merci!" she called aloud, leaving her dressing to go and pick up the +paper. A pant from without answered her and the slippers thudded +away. + +Standing by the door, with arms and shoulders bare, she unfolded the +document, a long sheet with a printed column of items and large inky +figures in francs and centimes written against them, and down in the +right hand corner the dramatic climax of the total. It was the total +that interested Annette Kelly. + +"H'm!" It was something between a gasp and a sigh. "They 're making +the most of me while I last," said Annette aloud. + +Her purse was under her pillow, an old and baggy affair of shagreen, +whose torn lining had to be explored with a forefinger for the coins +it swallowed. She emptied it now upon the bed. The light of a Paris +summer morning, golden and serene, flowed in at the window, visiting +the poverty of the little room with its barren benediction and +shining upon the figure of Annette as she bent above her money and +counted it She was a slender girl of some three-and-twenty years, +with hair and eyes of a somber brown; six weeks of searching for +employment in Paris and economizing in food, of spurring herself each +morning to the tone of hope and resolution, of returning each evening +footsore and dispirited, had a little blanched and touched with +tenseness a face in which there yet lingered some of the soft +contours of childhood. + +She sat down beside the money on the bed, her ankles crossed below +her petticoat; her accounts were made up. After paying the bill and +bestowing one franc in the unavoidable tip, there would remain to her +exactly eight francs for her whole resources. It was the edge of the +precipice at last. It was that precipice, overhanging depths unseen +and terrible, which she was contemplating as she sat, feet swinging +gently in the rhythm of meditation, her face serious and quiet. For +six weeks she had seen it afar off; now it was at hand and immediate. + +"Well," said Annette slowly; she had already the habit of talking +aloud to herself which comes to lonely people. She paused. "It just +means that today I've got to get some work. I've got to." + +She rose, forcing herself to be brisk and energetic. The Journal, +with its advertisements of work to be had for the asking, had come to +her door with the glass of milk and the roll which formed her +breakfast, and she had already made a selection of its more humble +possibilities. She ran them over in her mind as she finished +dressing. Two offices required typists; she would go to both. A +cashier in a shop and an English governess were wanted. "Why +shouldn't I be a governess?" said Annette. And finally, somebody in +the Rue St. Honore required a young lady of good figure and pleasant +manner for "reception." There were others, too, but it was upon these +five that Annette decided to concentrate. + +She put on her hat, took her money and her Journal, and turned to the +door. A curious impulse checked her there and she came back to the +mirror that hung above her dressing-table. + +"Let's have a look at you!" said Annette to the reflection that +confronted her. + +She stood, examining it seriously. It was, she thought, quite +presentable, a trim, quiet figure of a girl who might reasonably ask +work and a wage; she could not find anything in it to account for +those six weeks of refusals. She perked her chin and forced her face +to look assured and spirited, watching the result in the mirror. + +"Ye-es," she said at last, and nodded to the reflection. "You'll have +to do; but I wish I wish you hadn't got that sort of doomed look. +Good-bye, old girl!" + +At the foot of the stairs, in the open door of that room which was +labeled "Bureau," where a bed and a birdcage and a smell of food kept +company with the roll-top desk, stood the patronne, Madame Mardel. +She moved a little forth into the passage as Annette approached. + +"Good morning, mademoiselle. Again a charming day!" + +She was a large woman, grossly fleshy, with clothes that strained to +creaking point about her body and gaped at the fastenings. Her vast +face, under her irreproachably neat hair the hair of a Parisienne was +swarthy and plethoric, with the jowl of a bulldog and eyes tiny and +bright. Annette knew her for an artist in "extras," a vampire that +had sucked her purse lean with deft overcharges, a creature without +mercy or morals. But the daily irony of her greeting had the grace, +the cordial inflexion, of a piece of distinguished politeness. + +"Charming," agreed Annette. She produced the bill. "I may as well pay +this now," she suggested. + +Madame's chill and lively eyes were watching her face, estimating her +solvency in the light of Madame's long experience of misfortune and +despair. She shrugged a huge shoulder deprecatingly. + +"There is no hurry," she said. She always said that. "Still, since +mademoiselle is here." + +Annette followed her into the bureau, that dimlighted sanctuary of +Madame's real life. Below the half-raised blind in the window the +canaries in their cage rustled and bickered; unwashed plates were +crowded on the table; the big unmade bed added a flavor of its own to +the atmosphere. Madame eased herself, panting, into the chair before +the desk, revealing the great rounded expanse of her back with its +row of straining buttons and lozenge-shaped revelations of +underwear. With the businesslike deliberation of a person who +transacts a serious affair with due seriousness, she spread the bill +before her, smoothing it out with a practiced wipe of the hand, took +her rubber stamp from the saucer in which' it lay, inked it on the +pad and waited. Annette had been watching her, fascinated by that +great methodical rhythm of movement, but at the pause she started, +fished the required coins from the old purse, and laid them at +Madame's elbow. "Merci, mademoiselle," said Madame, and then, and not +till then, the stamp descended upon the paper. A flick with a +scratchy pen completed the receipt, and Madame turned awkwardly in +the embrace of her chair to hand it to Annette with her weekly smile. +The ritual was accomplished. + +"Good morning, mademoiselle. Thank you; good luck." + +The mirthless smile discounted the words; the cold, avid eyes were +busy and suspicious. Annette let them stare their fill while she +folded the paper and tucked it into the purse; she had had six weeks +of training in the art of preserving a cheerful countenance. + +Then: "Good morning, madame," she smiled, with her gay little nod and +reached the door in good order. + +There was still Aristide, the lame man-of-all-work, who absorbed a +weekly franc and never concealed his contempt of the amount. He was +waiting on the steps, leaning on a broom, and turned his rat's face +on her, sourly and impatiently, without a word. She paused as she +came to him and dipped two fingers into the poor old purse; +Aristide's pale, red-edged eyes followed them, while his thin mouth +twisted into contempt. + +"This is for you, Aristide," she said, and held out the coin. + +He took it in his open palm and surveyed it with lifted eyebrows. +"This?" he inquired. + +"Yes." The insult never failed to hurt her; this morning, in +particular, she would have been glad to set forth upon the day's +forlorn hope without that preface of hate and cruel greed. But +Aristide still stood, with the coin in his open hand, staring from it +to her and she flinched from him. "Good morning," she said timidly, +and slipped past. + +It needed the gladness of the day, its calm and colorful warmth, to +take the taste of Aristide out of her mouth and uplift her again to +her mood of resolution. Her way lay downhill; the first of her +advertisements gave an address at the foot of the Rue Lafayette; and +soon the stimulus of the thronged streets, the mere neighborhood of +folk who moved briskly and with purpose, re-strung her slackened +nerves and she was again ready for the battle. And as she went her +lips moved. + +"Mind, now!" she was telling herself. "Today's the end the very end. +You've got to get work today!" + +The address in the Rue Lafayette turned out to be that of a firm of +house and estate agents; it was upon the first floor and showed to +the landing four ground-glass doors, of which three were lettered +"Private," while the fourth displayed an invitation to enter without +knocking. Upon the landing, in the presence of those inexpressive +doors, behind which salaries were earned and paid and life was all +that was orderly and desirable, Annette paused for a space of moments +to make sure of herself. + +"Now!" she said, with a deep breath, and pushed open the fourth door. + +Within was an office divided by a counter, and behind the counter +desks and the various apparatus of business. The desks were +unoccupied; the only person present was a thin pretty girl seated +before a typewriter. She looked up at Annette across the counter; her +face showed patches of too bright a red on the cheekbones. + +"Good morning," began Annette, with determined briskness. "I've +come." + +The girl smiled. "Typist?" she interrupted. + +"Yes," said Annette. "The advertisement"--she stopped; the girl was +still smiling, but in a manner of deprecating and infinitely gentle +regret. + +Annette stared at her, feeling within again that rising chill of +disappointment with which she was already so familiar. "You mean" she +stammered awkwardly "you mean you've got the place?" + +The thin girl spread her hands apart in a little French gesture of +conciliation. + +"Ten minutes ago," she answered. "There is no one here yet but the +manager, and I was waiting at the door when he arrived." + +"Thank you," said Annette faintly. The thin girl, still regarding her +with big shadowy eyes, suddenly put a hand to her bosom and coughed. +The neat big office beyond the bar of the polished counter was +unbearably pleasant to look at; one could have been so happily busy +at one's place between those tidy desks. A sharp bell rang from an +inner office; the thin girl rose. The hectic on her cheeks burned +brighter. + +"I must go," she said hurriedly. "He wants me. I hope you will have +good luck." + +The sunlight without had lost some of its quality when Annette came +forth to the street again; it no longer warmed her to optimism. She +stood for some moments in the doorway of the building, letting her +depression and discouragement have their way with her. + +"If only I might cry a bit," she reflected. "That would help a +little. But I mustn't even do that!" + +She had to prod herself into fresh briskness with the sense of her +need, that to-day was the end. She sighed, jerked her chin up, set +her small face into the shape of resolute cheerfulness and started +forth again in the direction of the second vacancy for a typist. + +Here, for a while, hope burned high. The office was that of a firm of +thriving wine exporters and the post had not yet been filled. The +partner into whose office she penetrated by virtue of her sheer +determination to see someone in authority, was a stout ruddy +Marseillais, speaking French in the full-throated Southern fashion; +he was kindly and cheery, with broad vermilion lips a-smile through +his beard. + +"Yes, we want a typist," he admitted; "but I'm afraid" his amiable +brown eyes scrutinized her with manifest doubt. "You have +references?" he inquired. + +Yes, Annette had references. She had only lost her last situation +when her employer went bankrupt; the testimonial she produced spoke +well of her in every sense. She gave it him to read. But what what +was it in her that had inspired that look of doubt, that look she had +seen so often before in the eyes of possible employers? + +"Yes, it is very good." He handed the paper back to her, still +surveying her and hesitating. "And you are accustomed to the machine? +H'm!" + +It was then that hope flared up strongly. He could not get out of it; +he must employ her now. Salary? She would take what the firm offered! +And still he continued to look at her with a hint of embarrassment in +his regard. She felt she was trembling. + +"I'm afraid" he began again, but stopped at her involuntary little +gasp and shifted uneasily in his chair. He was acutely uncomfortable. +An idea came to him and he brightened. "Well, you can leave your +address and we will write to you. Yes, we will write to you." + +And to-day was the end! Annette stared at him. "When?" she asked +shortly. + +The burly man reddened dully; she had seen through his pretext for +getting rid of her. "Oh, in a day or two," he answered uneasily. + +Annette rose. She had turned pale but she was quite calm and +self-possessed. + +"I I hoped to get work today," she said. "In fact, I must find it +today. But will you at least tell me why you won't give me the +place?" + +The big man's cheery face began to frown. He was being forced to fall +back on his right to employ or not to employ whom he pleased without +giving reasons. Annette watched him, and before he could speak she +went on again. + +"I'm not complaining," she said. Her voice was even and very low. +"But there's something wrong with me, isn't there? I saw how you +looked at me at first. Well, it wouldn't cost you anything, and it +would help me a lot, if you'd just tell me what it is that's wrong. +You see, nobody will have me, and it's getting rather rather +desperate. So if you'd just tell me, perhaps I could alter something, +and have a chance at last." + +Her serious eyes, the pallor of her face, and the level tones of her +voice held him like a hand on his throat. He was a man with the +cordial nature of his race, prone to an easy kindliness, who would +have suffered almost any ill rather than feel himself guilty of a +cruelty. But how could he speak to her of the true reason for +refusing her the son in the business, the avid young debauchee whose +victims were girls in the firm's employ? + +"If you'd just tell me what it is, I wouldn't bother you any more, +and it might make all the difference to me," Annette was saying. + +She saw him redden and shift sharply in his chair; an impulse of his +ardent blood was spurring him to give her the work she needed, and +then so to deal with his son that he would never dare lift his eyes +to her. But the instinct of caution developed in business came to +damp that dangerous warmth. + +"Mademoiselle!" He returned her look gravely and honestly. "Upon my +word, I can see nothing whatever wrong with you nothing whatever." + +"Then," began Annette, "why won't you?" + +He stopped her with an upraised hand. "I am going to tell you," he +said. "There is a rule in this office, and behind the rule are good +and sufficient reasons, that we do not take into our employ women who +are still young and pretty." + +She heard him with no change of her rigid countenance. She +understood, of course; she had known in her time what it was to be +persecuted. She would have liked to tell him that she was well able +to take care of herself, but she recalled her promise not to bother +him further. + +She sighed, buttoning her glove. "It's a pity," she said unhappily, +"because I really am a good typist." + +"I am sure of it," he agreed. "I infinitely regret, but sa y est!" + +She raised her head. "Well, thank you for telling me, at any rate," +she said. "Good morning, monsieur." + +"Good morning, mademoiselle," he replied, and held open the door for +her to pass out. + +Once more the street and the sunshine and the hurry of passing +strangers, each pressing by about his or her concerns. Again she +stood a little while in the doorway, regarding the thronged urgency +that surged in spate between the high, handsome buildings, every unit +of it wearing the air of being bound towards some place where it was +needed, while she alone was unwanted. + +"I think," considered Annette, "that I ought to have some coffee or +something, since it's the last day." + +She looked down along the street; not far away the awning of a cafe +showed red and white above the sidewalk, sheltering its row of little +tables, and she walked slowly towards it. How often in the last six +weeks, footsore and leaden-hearted, had she passed such places, +feeling the invitation of their ease and refreshment in every jarred +and crying nerve of her body, yet resisting it for the sake of the +centimes it would cost. + +She took a chair in the back row of seats, behind a small iron table, +slackening her muscles and leaning back, making the mere act of +sitting down yield her her money's worth. The shadow of the awning +turned the day to a benign coolness; there was a sense of privilege +in being thus at rest in the very street, at the elbow of its +passers-by. A crop-headed German waiter brought the cafe au lait +which she ordered, and set it on the table before her two metal jugs, +a cup and saucer, a little glass dish of sugar, and a folded napkin. +The cost was half a franc; she gave him a franc, bade him keep the +change, and was rewarded with half a smile, half a bow, and a "Merci +beaucoup, madame!" which in themselves were a balm to her spirit, +bruised by insult and failure. The coffee was hot; its fragrance +gushed up from her cup; since her last situation had failed her she +was tasting for the first time food that was appetizing and dainty. + +She lifted the cup. "A short life and a merry one," she murmured, +toasting herself before she drank. + +Six francs remained to her, and there were yet three employers to +visit. The lady in need of a governess and the shop which required a +cashier were at opposite ends of Paris; the establishment which +desired a young lady for "reception" was between the two. Annette, +surveying the field', decided to reserve the "reception" to the last. +She finished her coffee, flavoring to the last drop the warm +stimulation of it; then, having built up again her hopeful mood, she +set out anew. + +It was three hours later, towards two o'clock in the afternoon, that +she came on foot, slowly, along the Rue St. Honore, seeking the +establishment which had proclaimed in the Journal its desire to +employ, for purposes of "reception," a young lady of good figure and +pleasant manners. She had discovered, at the cost of one of her +remaining francs for omnibus fares, that a 50-franc a month governess +must possess certificates, that governessing is a skilled trade +overcrowded by women of the most various and remarkable talents. At +the shop that advertised for a cashier a floor-walker had glanced at +her over his shoulder for an instant, snapped out that the place was +filled, and walked away. + +The name she sought appeared across the way, lettered upon a row of +first-floor windows; it was a photographer's. + +"Now!" said Annette. "The end this is the end!" + +A thrill touched her as she went up the broad stairway of the +building; the crucial thing was at hand. The morning had been bad, +but at each failure there had still been a possibility ahead. Now, +there was only this and nothing beyond. + +A spacious landing, carpeted, and lit by the tall church-windows on +the staircase, great double doors with a brass plate, and a dim +indoor sense pervading all the place! Here, evidently, the sharp +corners of commerce were rounded off; its acolytes must be engaging +female figures with affable manners. + +Annette's ringer on the bronze bell-push evoked a manservant in +livery, with a waistcoat of horizontal yellow and black stripes like +a wasp and a smooth, subtle, still face. He pulled open one wing of +the door and stood aside to let her pass in, gazing at her with +demure eyes, in whose veiled suggestion there was something satiric. +Annette stepped past him at once. + +"There is an advertisement in the Journal for a young lady," she +said. "I have come to apply for the post." + +The smooth manservant lowered his head in a nod that was just not a +bow, and closed the tall door. + +"Yes," he said. "If mademoiselle will give herself the trouble to be +seated I will inform the master." + +The post was not filled, then. Annette sat down, let the wasp-hued +flunkey pass out of sight, and looked round at the room in which she +found herself. It was here, evidently, that the function of +"reception" was accomplished. The manservant admitted the client; one +rose from one's place at the little inlaid desk in the alcove and +rustled forward across the gleaming parquet, with pleased and +deferential alacrity to bid Monsieur or Madame welcome, to offer a +chair and the incense of one's interest and delight in service. One +added oneself to the quality of the big, still apartment, with its +antique furniture, its celebrities and notorieties pictured upon its +walls, its great chandelier, a-shiver with glass lusters hanging +overhead like an aerial iceberg. No noises entered from the street; +here, the business of being photographed was magnified to a +solemnity; one drugged one's victim with pomp before leading him to +the camera. + +"I could do it," thought Annette. "I'm sure I could do it. I could +fit into all this like a like a snail into a shell. I'd want shoes +that didn't slide on the parquet; and then oh, if only this comes +off!" + +A small noise behind her made her turn quickly. The door by which the +footman had departed was concealed by a portiere of heavy velvet; a +hand had moved it aside and a face was looking round the edge of it +at her. As she turned, the owner of it came forward into the room, +and she rose. + +"Be seated, be seated!" protested the newcomer in a high emasculate +voice, and she sat down again obediently upon the little +spindle-legged Empire settee from which she had risen. + +"And you have come in consequence of the advertisement?" said the man +with a little giggle. "Yes; yes! We will see, then!" + +He stood in front of her, half-way across the room, staring at her. +He was a man somewhere in the later thirties, wearing the velvet +jacket, the cascading necktie, the throat-revealing collar, and the +overlong hair which the conventions of the theatre have established +as the livery of the artist. The details of this grotesque foppery +presented themselves to Annette only vaguely; it was at the man +himself as he straddled in the middle of the polished floor, staring +at her, that she gazed with a startled attention a face like the +feeble and idiot countenance of an old sheep, with the same flattened +length of nose and the same weakly demoniac touch in the curve and +slack hang of the wide mouth. It was not that he was merely ugly or +queer to the view; it seemed to Annette that she was suddenly in the +presence of something monstrous and out of the course of Nature. His +eyes, narrow and seemingly colorless, regarded her with a fatuous +complacency. + +She flushed and moved in her seat under his long scrutiny. The +creature sighed. + +"Yes," he said, always in the same high, dead voice. "You satisfy the +eye, mademoiselle. For me, that is already much, since it is as an +artist that I consider you first. And your age?" + +She told him. He asked further questions, of her previous employment, +her nationality, and so forth, putting them perfunctorily as though +they were matters of no moment, and never removing his narrow eyes +from her face. Then, with short sliding steps, he came across the +parquet and sat down beside her on the Empire settee. + +Annette backed to the end of it and sat defensively on the edge, +facing the strange being. He, crossing his thin legs, leaned with an +arm extended along the back of the settee and his long, +large-knuckled hand hanging limp. His sheep's face lay over on his +shoulder towards her; in that proximity its quality of feeble +grotesqueness was enhanced. It was like sitting in talk with a sick +ape. + +"Curiouser and curiouser!" quoted Annette to herself. "I ought to +wake up next and find he really doesn't exist." + +"Mademoiselle!" The creature began to speak again. "You are the ninth +who has come hither today seeking the post I have advertised. Some I +rejected because they failed to conciliate my eye; I cannot, you will +understand, be tormented by a presence which jars my sense." + +He paused to hear her agree. + +"And the others?" inquired Annette. + +"A-ah!" The strange being sighed. "The others in each case, what a +disappointment! Girls beautiful, of a personality subdued and +harmonious, capable of taking their places in my environment without +doing violence to its completeness; but lacking the plastic and +responsive quality which the hand of the artist should find in his +material. Resistant they were resistant, mademoiselle, every one of +them." + +"Silly of them," said Annette briefly. She was meeting the secret +stare of his half-closed eyes quite calmly now; she was beginning to +understand the furtive satire in the regard of the smooth footman who +had admitted each of those eight others in turn and seen their later +departure. "What was it they wouldn't do?" she inquired. + +"Do!" The limp hand flapped despairingly; the thin voice ran shrill. +"I required nothing of them. One enters; I view her; I seat myself at +her side as I sit now with you; I seek in talk to explore her +resources of sentiment, of temperament, of sympathy. Perhaps I take +her hand" As though to illustrate the recital, his long hand dropped +suddenly and seized hers. He ceased to talk, surveying her with a +scared shrewdness. + +Annette smiled, letting her hand lie where it was. She was not in the +least afraid; she had forgotten for the moment the barrenness of the +streets that awaited her outside, and the fact that she had come to +the end of her hopes. + +"And they objected to that?" she inquired sweetly. + +"Ah, but you." He was making ready to hitch closer along the seat, +and she was prepared for him. + +"Oh, I'd let you hold them both if that were all," she replied. "But +it isn't all, is it?" + +She smiled again at the perplexity in his face; his hands slackened +and withdrew slowly. "You haven't told me what salary you are +offering," she reminded him. + +"Mademoiselle you, too?" + +She nodded. "I, too," she said, and rose. The man on the settee +groaned and heaved his shoulders theatrically; she stood, viewing in +quiet curiosity that countenance of impotent vileness. Other failures +had left her with a sense of defenselessness in a world so largely +populated by men who glanced up from their desks to refuse her plea +for work. But now she had resources of power over fate and +circumstance; the streets, the night, the river, whatever of fear and +destruction the future held, could neither daunt nor compel her. She +could go out to meet them, free and victorious. + +"Mademoiselle!" The man on the settee bleated at her. + +She shook her head at him. It was not worth while to speak. She went +to the door and opened it for herself; the smooth manservant was +deprived of the spectacle of her departure. + +She went slowly down the wide stairs. "Nine of us," she was thinking. +"Nine girls, and not one of us was what did he call it? plastic. I'm +not really alone in the world, after all." + +But it was very like being alone in the world to go slowly, with +tired feet, along the perspectives of the streets, to turn corners +aimlessly, to wander on with no destination or purpose. There was yet +money in the old purse a single broad five-franc piece; it would +linger out her troubles for her till to-morrow. + +She would need to eat, and her room at Madame Mardel's would come to +three francs; she did not mean to occupy it any longer than she could +pay for it. And then the morning would find her penniless in +actuality. + +Her last turning brought her out to the arches of the Rue de Rivoli; +across the way the trees of the Tuileries Gardens lifted their green +to the afternoon sunlight. She hesitated; then crossed the wide road +towards the gardens, her thoughts still hovering about the five-franc +piece. + +"It's a case for riotous living," she told herself, as she passed in +to the smooth paths beneath the trees. "Five francs' worth of real +dinner or something like that. Only I'm not feeling very riotous just +now." + +What she felt was that the situation had to be looked at, but that +looking at it could not improve it. Things had come to an end; food +to eat, a bed to sleep in, the mere bare essentials of life had +ceased, and she had not an idea of what came next; how one entered +upon the process of starving to death in the streets. Passers-by, +strolling under the trees, glanced at her as she passed them, +preoccupied and unseeing, a neat, comely little figure of a girl in +her quiet clothes with her still composed face. She went slowly; +there was a seat which she knew of farther on, overshadowed by a lime +tree, where she meant to rest and put her thoughts in order; but +already at the back of her mind there had risen, vague as night, +oppressive as pain, tainting her disquiet with its presence, the hint +of a consciousness that, after all, one does not starve to death pas +si bete! One takes a shorter way. + +A lean youth, with a black cotton cap pulled forward over one eye, +who had been lurking near, saw the jerk with which she lifted her +head as that black inspiration was clear to her, and the sudden +coldness and courage of her face, and moved away uneasily. + +"Ye-es," said Annette slowly. "Ye-es! And now Ghh!" + +A bend in the path had brought her suddenly to the seat under the +lime tree; she was within a couple of paces of it before she +perceived that it had already its occupant the long figure of a young +man who sprawled back with his face upturned to the day and slumbered +with all that disordered and unbeautiful abandon which goes with +daylight sleep. His head had fallen over on one shoulder; his mouth +was open; his hands, grimy and large, showed half shut in his lap. +There was a staring patch of black sticking plaster at the side of +his chin; his clothes, that were yet decent, showed stains here and +there; his face, young and slackened in sleep, was burned brick-red +by exposure. The whole figure of him, surrendered to weariness in +that unconscious and uncaring sprawl, seemed suddenly to answer her +question this was what happened next; this was the end unless one +found and took that shorter way. + +"They walk till they can't walk any longer; then they sleep on +benches. I could never do that!" + +She stood for some seconds longer, staring at the sleeping man. +Resolution, bitter as grief, mounted in her like a tide. "No, it +shan't come to that with me!" she cried inwardly. "Lounging with my +mouth open for anyone to stare at! No!" + +She turned, head up, body erect, face set strongly, and walked away. +Neither sheep-faced human grotesques in palatial offices nor all +Paris and its civilization should make her other than she wished to +be. She stepped out defiantly and stopped short. + +The old purse was in her hand; through its flabby sides she could +feel with her fingers the single five-franc piece which it yet +contained. Somehow, that had to be disposed of or provided for; five +francs was a serious matter to Annette. She looked round; the man in +the seat was still sleeping. + +Treading quietly, she went back to him, taking the coin from her +purse as she went. Upon his right side his coat pocket bulged open; +she could see that in it was a little wad of folded papers. "His +testimonials poor fellow!" she breathed. Carefully she leaned forward +and let the broad coin slip into the pocket among the papers. Then, +with an end of a smile twisted into the set of her lips, she turned +again and departed. Among the trees the lean youth in the black +cotton cap watched her go. + +A day that culminates in sleep upon a bench in a public place is +commonly a day that has begun badly and maintained its character. In +this case it may be said to have begun soon after nine A.M. when a +young man in worn tweed clothes and carrying a handkerchief pressed +to his jaw, stepped out from a taxi and into that drug-store which is +nearest to the Gare de Lyon. The bald, bland chemist who presides +there has a regular practice in the treatment of razor-cuts acquired +through shaving in the train; he looked up serenely across his +glass-topped counter. + +"Good morning, monsieur," he said. "A little cut yes?" + +Young Raleigh gazed at him across the handkerchief. + +"No! A thundering great gash," he answered with emphasis. "I want +something to patch it up with." + +"Certainly certainly!" The bald apothecary had the airs of a family +physician; he smiled soothingly. "We shall find something. Let me now +see the cut!" + +Raleigh protruded his face across the soaps and the bottles of +perfume, and the apothecary rose on tiptoe to scrutinize the wound. +The razor had got home on the edge of the jaw with a scraping cut +that bled handsomely. + +"Ah!" The bald man nodded, and sought a bottle. "A little of this" he +was damping a rag of lint with the contents of the bottle "as a +cleansing agent first. If monsieur will bend down a little so." + +Daintily, with precision and delicacy, he proceeded to apply the +cleansing agent to the cut; at the first dab the patient leapt back +with an exclamation. + +"Confound you!" he cried. "This stuff burns like fire." + +"It will pass in a moment," soothed the chemist. "And now, a little +patch, and all will be well." + +His idea of a suitable dressing was two inches of stiff and shiny +black plaster that gripped at the skin like a barnacle and looked +like a tragedy. Raleigh surveyed the effect of it in a show-case +mirror gloomily. + +"I wonder you didn't put it in a sling while you were about it," he +remarked ungratefully. "People'll think I've been trying to cut my +throat." + +"Monsieur should grow a beard," counseled the chemist as he handed +him his change. + +Raleigh grunted, disdaining, retort, and passed forth to his waiting +cab. The day had commenced inauspiciously. The night before, smoking +his final cigarette in his upper berth in the wagon-lit, he had +tempted Providence by laying out for himself a programme and a time +schedule; and it looked as if Providence had been unable to resist +the temptation. The business of the firm in which he was junior +partner had taken him to Zurich; he had given himself a week's +holiday in the mountains, and was now on his way back to London. The +train was due to land him in Paris at half-past eight in the morning, +and his plans were clear. First, a taxi to the Cafe de la Paix and +breakfast there under the awning while the day ripened towards the +hours of business; then a small cigar and a stroll along the +liveliness of the boulevard to the offices of the foundry company, +where a heart-to-heart talk with the manager would clear up several +little matters which were giving trouble. Afterwards, a taxi across +the river and a call upon the machine-tool people, get their report +upon the new gear-steels and return to the Gare du Nord in time to +catch the two o'clock train for Calais. + +He had settled the order of it to his satisfaction before he pulled +the shade over the lamp and turned over to sleep; and then, next +morning, he had gashed himself while shaving, and the train was forty +minutes late. + +"These clothes" there was a narrow slip of mirror between the front +windows of the taxi which reflected him, a section at a time "these +clothes 'ud pass," he considered gloomily, considering their worn and +unbusinesslike quality. "But with this" his fingers explored his chin +"folks'll think we only do business between sprees." + +The manager of the foundry company was a French engineer who had been +trained in Pittsburg, a Frenchman of the new style, whose silky +sweetness of manner was the mask of a steely tenacity of purpose. He +had a little devilish black moustache, waxed at the points, like an +earl of melodrama, and with it a narrow cheerless smile that jeered +into futility Raleigh's effort to handle the subject on a basis of +easy good fellowship. The heart-to-heart talk degenerated into a keen +business controversy, involving the consultation of letter-files; it +took more time than Raleigh had to spare; and in the end nothing was +settled. + +"You catch the airly train to London?" inquired the manager amiably, +when Raleigh was leaving. + +"Yes," replied Raleigh warmly. "I'm going to get out of this while +I've got my fare left." + +"Bon voyage," said the Frenchman smilingly. "You will present my +compliments to your father?" + +"Not me," retorted Raleigh. "I'm not going to let him know I saw +you." + +The machine-tool people, to whom his next visit was due, were +established south of the river, a long drive from the boulevards. +They were glad to receive him; there was a difficulty with some of +the new steels, and they took him into the shops that he might see +and appreciate the matter for himself. In the end it was necessary +for Raleigh to reset the big turret lathe and demonstrate the manner +of working, standing to the machine in his ancient tweed clothes +nobody offered him overalls while the swift belting slatted at his +elbow and fragments of shaved steel and a fine spray of oil welcomed +him back to his trade. The good odor of metal, the engine-room smell, +filled his nostrils; he was doing the thing which he could do best; +it was not till it was finished that he looked at his watch and +realized that the last item of his time-table had gone the way of the +first, and he had missed the two o'clock train. + +He paid off his return cab in the Place de la Concorde and stood +doubtfully on the curb, watching it skate away with the traffic. His +baggage had gone on by the two o'clock train; he was committed now to +an afternoon in those ancient clothes with the oily stigma of the +workshop upon them. His hands, too, were black from his work; he had +slept badly in the train and done without a bath. In the soft +sunlight that rained upon those brilliant streets he felt foul and +unsightly. + +He yawned, between a certain afternoon drowsiness and a languid +depression. + +"I'll wander up to the Meurice an' get a wash, anyhow," he decided, +and turned to stroll through the Tuileries Gardens towards the hotel. +He went slowly; it was pleasant among the trees, and when a seat in +the shadows offered itself he sank down into it. + +"I'll sleep all right in the train to-night," he thought, shoving +back his cap. + +There were children playing somewhere out of sight; their voices came +to him in an agreeable tinkle. He crossed one leg over the other and +settled himself more comfortably; he had plenty of time to spare now. +His eyes closed restfully. + +The touch that roused him was a very gentle one, scarcely more than a +ghost of a sensation, the mere brush of a dexterous hand that slid as +quietly as a shadow along the edge of his jacket pocket and groped +into it with long clever fingers, while its owner, sitting beside him +on the bench, gazed meditatively before him with an air of complete +detachment from that skilled felonious hand. Raleigh, waking without +moving, was able for a couple of seconds to survey his neighbor, a +slim white-faced youth with a black cotton cap slouched forward over +one eye. Then, swiftly, he caught the exploring hand by the wrist and +sat up. + +"Your mistake," he said crisply. "There's nothing but old letters in +that pocket." + +The youth at the first alarm tried to wrench loose, writhing in +startled effort like a pronged snake, with all his smooth, vicious +face clenched in violent fear. Raleigh gave a twisting jerk to the +skinny wrist and the struggle was over; the lad uttered a yelp and +collapsed back on the seat. + +"Be good," warned Raleigh in easy French; "be good, or I'll beat you, +d'you hear?" + +The youth sniffed, staring at him with eyes in which a mere foolish +fear was giving place to cunning. He was a creature flimsy as paper, +a mere lithe skinful of bones, in whom the wit of the thief supplied +the place of strength. He was making now his hasty estimate of the +man he had to deal with. + +"Well," demanded Raleigh, "what have you got to say for yourself?" + +"Monsieur!" the youth struck into an injured whine. "I meant no harm, +but I was desperate; I have not eaten today" his eyes noted the +amused contempt on Raleigh's face, and he poised an instant like a +man taking aim "and when I saw the lady slip the money into +monsieur's pocket while he slept, and reflected that he would never +even know that he had lost it." + +"Eh?" Raleigh sat up. The thief suppressed a smile. "What lady, +espece de fourneau? What are you talking about?" + +"It's not a minute ago," replied the youth, discarding the whine. +"See, she is perhaps not out of sight yet, if monsieur will look +along the path. No, there she goes that one!" + +His hand was free now; he was using it to point with; but he made no +attempt to escape. + +"She approached monsieur while he slept, walking cautiously, and +slipped the money it was a five-franc piece, I think into his pocket. +Yes, monsieur, that was the pocket." + +He smiled patronizingly as Raleigh plunged a hand into the pocket in +question, fumbled among the papers there, and drew out the coin and +stared at it. He had the situation in hand now; he could get rid of +this strong young man as soon as he pleased. + +"She is going out of the gate now, monsieur," he said. + +Raleigh turned. At the farther end of the path the woman who had been +pointed out to him was close to the exit; in a few seconds more she +would be gone. He could see of her nothing save her back that and a +certain quality of carriage, a gait measured and deliberate. + +He threw a word to the thief, who stood by with his hands in his +pockets and an air of relishing the situation. "All right; you can +go," he said, and started upon the chase of the secret bestower of +alms. + +"And me?" the outraged thief cried after him in tones of bitterness. +"And me? I get nothing, then?" + +The serge-clad back was disappearing through the gates into the +welter of sunlight without; Raleigh gathered up his feet and sprinted +along the tree shaded path. He was going to understand this business. +He picked up the view of the serge-clad back again, walking towards +the bridge, hastened after it and slowed down to its own pace when he +was still some ten yards behind. + +"Why, it's a girl!" + +Somehow, he had counted upon finding an elderly woman, some +charitable eccentric who acquired merit by secret gifts. He saw, +instead, a slim girl, neatly and quietly clad, whose profile, as she +glanced across the parapet of the bridge, showed pearl-pale in the +shadow of her hat, with a simple and almost childlike prettiness of +feature. There was something else, too, a quality of the whole which +Raleigh, who did not deal in fine shades, had no words to describe to +himself. But he saw it, nevertheless a gravity, a character of sad +and tragic composure, that look of defeat which is prouder than any +victory; it waked his imagination. + +"Something wrong!" he said to himself vaguely, and continued to +follow. + +At the southern end of the bridge she turned her back to the sun and +went east along the quay where the second-hand booksellers lounged +beside their wares. She neither hurried nor slackened that deliberate +pace of hers; Raleigh, keeping well behind, his wits at work acutely, +wondered what it reminded him of, that slow trudge over the +pavements. It was when the booksellers were left behind that an +incident enlightened him. + +She stopped for a minute and leaned upon the parapet; he crossed the +road to be out of sight in case she should look back. She had been +carrying in her hand a purse, and now he saw her open it and +apparently search its interior, but idly and without interest as +though she knew already what to expect of it. Then she closed it and +tossed it over the parapet into the river. + +"Ah!" Sudden comprehension rushed upon him; he knew now what that +slow, aimless gait suggested to him. He recalled evenings in London, +when he walked or drove through the lit streets and saw, here and +there, the figures of those homeless ones who walked walked always, +straying forward in a footsore progress till the night should be ripe +for them to sit down in some corner. And then, that shadow in her +face, that mouth, tight-held but still drooping; her way of looking +at the river! His hand, in his pocket, closed over the five-franc +piece which she had dropped there; he started across the road to +accost her forthwith, but at that moment she moved on again, and once +more he fell into step behind her. + +There is a point, near the Ile de la Cite, where the Seine projects +an elbow; the quay goes round in a curve under high houses; a tree or +two overhangs the water, and there is a momentary space of quiet, +almost a privacy at the skirts of bristling Paris. Here, commonly, +men of leisure sit through the warm hours, torpidly fishing the +smooth green depth of water below; but now there was none. The girl +followed the elbow round and stopped at the angle of it. She leaned +her arms on the coping and gazed down at the quiet still water below. + +She was looking at it with such a preoccupation that Raleigh was able +to come close to her before he spoke. He, too, put an arm on the +parapet at her side. + +"Looks peaceful, doesn't it?" he said quietly. + +The girl's head rose with a jerk, and she stared at him, startled. +The words had been deftly chosen to match her own thoughts; and for +the while she failed to recognize in this tall young man the +sprawling figure of the slumberer in the Tuileries Gardens. + +"I, I who are you?" she stammered. "What do you want?" + +He was able to see now that her pale composure was maintained only by +an effort, that the strain of it was making her tremble. He answered +in tones of careful conventionality. + +"I'm afraid I startled you," he said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have +ventured to speak to you at all if you hadn't--" He paused. "You don't +happen to remember me at all?" he asked. + +"No," said Annette. "If I hadn't, what?" + +He slipped a hand into his pocket and drew forth the five-franc +piece. The broad palm it lay on was still grimy from the workshop. + +"I happened to fall asleep in the Tuileries this afternoon," he said. +"Idiotic thing to do, but--." + +"Oh!" The color leapt to her face. "Was that you?" + +Raleigh nodded. "You had hardly moved away when a man who had been +watching you tried to pick my pocket and woke me in doing so. He told +me what he'd seen and pointed you out." + +Annette gazed at him in tired perplexity. When he was on his feet, +the condition of his clothes and hands and the absurd black patch on +his chin were noticeable only as incongruities; there was nothing now +to suggest the pauper or the outcast in this big youth with the +pleasant voice and the strongly tanned face. + +"I, I made a mistake," she said. "I saw you sleeping on the bench and +I thought a little help, coming from nowhere like that you'd be so +surprised and glad when you found it." She sighed. "However, I was +wrong. I'm sorry." + +"I'm not!" Raleigh put the money back in his pocket swiftly. "I think +it was a wonderful idea of yours; it's the most splendid thing that +ever happened to me. There was I, grumbling and making mistakes all +day, playing the fool and pitying myself, and all the time you were +moving somewhere within a mile or two, out of sight, but watching and +saying: 'Yes, you're no good to anybody; but if the worst comes to +the worst you shan't starve. I'll save you from that!' I'll never +part with that money." + +Annette shook her head; weariness inhabited her like a dull pain. "I +didn't say that" she answered; "you weren't starving, and you don't +understand. It doesn't matter, anyhow." + +"Please," said Raleigh. He saw that she wanted to get rid of him, and +he had no intention of letting her do so. "It matters to me, at any +rate. But there is one thing I didn't understand." + +She did not answer, gazing over her clasped hands at the water, +across whose level the spires and chimneys of the city bristled like +the skyline of a forest. + +"It was while I was following you here, wondering whether I might +speak to you," he continued. "I was watching you as you went, and it +seemed to me that you were well, unhappy; in trouble or something. +And then, back there on the quay, I saw you open your purse and throw +it into the river." + +He paused. "There was a hole in it," said Annette shortly, without +turning her head. + +"But" he spoke very quietly "you are in trouble? Yes, I know I'm +intruding upon you" she had moved her shoulders impatiently "but +haven't you given me just the shadow of a right? Your gift it might +have saved my life if I'd been what you thought; I might have fetched +up in the Morgue before morning. Men do, you know, every day women, +too!" Her fingers upon the parapet loosened and clasped again at +that. "You can't tie me hand and foot with such an obligation as that +and leave me plante la." + +"Oh!" Annette sighed. "It's nothing at all," she said. "But, as you +want so much to know I'm a typist; I'm out of work; I've been looking +for it all day, and I'm disappointed and very tired." + +"And that's really all?" demanded Raleigh. + +"All!" She turned to look at him at last, meeting his steady and +penetrating eyes quietly. She had an impulse to tell him what was +comprehended in that "all"; to speak deliberately plain words that +should crumple him into an understanding of her tragedy. But even +while she hesitated there came to her a sense that he knew more than +he told; that the grey eyes in the red-brown face had read more of +her than she was willing to show. She subsided. + +"Yes, that's all," she said. + +He nodded, a quick and business-like little jerk of the head. "I see. +I've been worrying you, I'm afraid; but I'm glad I made you tell, +because I can put that all right for you at once, as it happens." + +The girl, leaning on the wall, drew in a harsh breath and turned to +him. Young Raleigh, who had written a monograph on engineering +stresses, had still much to learn about the stresses that contort and +warp the souls of men and women. He learned some of it then, when he +saw the girl's face deaden to a blanker white and the flame of a +hungry hope leap into her eyes. He looked away quickly. + +"You mean you can?" + +He hushed her with his brisk and matter-of-fact little nod. + +"I mean I can find you a situation in a business office as a typist," +he said explicitly. "Wasn't that what you wanted?" + +"Yes, yes." She was trembling; he put one large, grimy hand upon her +sleeve to steady her. "Oh, please, where is the office? I'll go there +at once, before." + +"Hush!" he said. "It's all right. We'll get a taxi and I'll take you +there. It's the Machine-Tool and Gear-Cutting Company; I don't know +what they pay, but--." + +"Anything," moaned Annette. "I'll take anything." + +"Well, it's more than that," he smiled. "A typist with Raleigh and +Son at her back isn't to be had every day of the week." + +A taxicab drifted out of a turning on to the quay a hundred yards +away; Raleigh waved a long arm and it came towards them. + +"And after we've fixed this little matter," suggested Raleigh, "don't +you think we might go somewhere and feed? I can get a sketchy kind of +wash at the office while you're talking to the manager; and I'm +beginning to notice that I didn't have my lunch to-day." + +"I didn't either," said Annette, as the taxi slid to a standstill +beside them. "But, oh! you don't know you don't know all you're doing +for me. I'll never be able to thank you properly." + +Raleigh opened the door of the cab for her. "You can try," he said. +"I'm in Paris for three days every fortnight." + +The taxicabs of Paris include in their number the best and the worst +in the world. This was one of the latter; a moving musical-box of +grinding and creaking noises. But Annette sank back upon its worn and +knobly cushions luxuriously, gazing across the sun-gilt river to the +white, window-dotted cliffs of Paris with the green of trees foaming +about their base. + +"Oh, don't you love Paris?" she cried softly. + +"I do," agreed Raleigh, warmly, watching the soft glow that had come +to her face. "I can't keep away from it." + + + +IX + +THE DARKENED PATH + +The captain reached a hand forth and touched the mate's arm. + +"Sit down, James," he said quietly. + +The mate made a curious quick grimace and sat forthwith. "Shove off," +ordered the captain. + +Johnny Cos, the yellow, woolly-haired boatman, plying his oars, sat +perforce in face of his passengers and close to them. He would have +preferred it otherwise; there had been something in the mate's face +which daunted him. He glanced at it again furtively as he pulled away +from the square-sterned American schooner which had ridden over the +bar in the twilight of dawn and anchored, spectral and strange, in +Beira Harbor. The mate's face was strong and sunburnt, the face of a +man of lively passions and crude emotions; but as he sat gazing forth +at the little hectic town across the smooth harbor, it had a cast of +profound and desperate unhappiness. Johnny Cos had not words to tell +himself what he saw; he only knew, with awe and a certain amount of +fear, that he moved in the presence of something tragic. + +"James," began the captain again. + +The mate withdrew his miserable eyes from the scene. "What?" + +"There ain't any reason why" began the captain, and paused and Hooked +doubtfully upon the faithful Johnny Cos. "D'you speak English?" + +"Yes, sar," replied Johnny, ingratiatingly. "You want good 'otel, +Cap'n? Good, cheap 'otel? I geeve you da card; 'Otel Lisbon, sar. All +cap'n go there." + +"No," said the captain shortly. "We can talk better when we get +ashore, James," he added to the mate. + +"Ver' good 'otel, Cap'n; ver' cheap" coaxed Johnny Cos. "You want +fruit, Cap'n: mango, banan', coconut, orange, grenadeel, yes? I geeve +you da card, Cap'n ver' cheap!" + +"That'll do," said the captain. "I don't want anything. Get a move on +this boat o' yours, will you?" + +Johnny Cos sighed and resigned himself to row in silence, only +murmuring at intervals: "'Otel Lisbon; good, ver' good, an' cheap!" +When that murmur, taking courage to grow audible, drew the mate's eye +upon him, he stopped short in the middle of it and murmured no more. + +"You c'n wait to take me aboard again," said the captain, when the +wharf was reached; and the two men went slowly together into the +town, along the streets of ankle-deep sand, towards the office of the +consul. + +It was an hour later that the loafers on the veranda of the Savoy +Hotel observed their slow approach. They had done whatever business +they had with the consul. They were deep in talk; the captain's +grizzled head was bent toward his shorter companion, and something of +the mate's trouble reflected itself in his hard, strongly-graven +face. In the merciless deluge of sunlight, and upon the openness of +the street, they made a singular grouping; they seemed to be, by +virtue of some matter that engrossed and governed them, aloof and +remote, a target set up by Destiny. + +By the steps of the hotel the captain paused, wiping the shining +sweat from his face. The eavesdroppers in the long chairs cocked +their ears. + +"James," they heard him say; "it's bad, it's just as bad as it can +be. But it ain't no reason to go short of a drink with a saloon close +handy." + +He motioned with his head towards the shade of the long veranda, with +the bar opening from it and its bottles in view. The mate, frowning +heavily, nodded, and the pair of them entered and passed between the +wicker chairs with the manner of being unconscious of their +occupants. + +From within the bar their voices droned indistinctly forth to the +listeners. + +"Leavin' you here," they heard the captain say; "James, I'm sorry +right through; but you said yourself." + +"Sure;" the mate's voice answered hoarsely. "Here or Hell or +anywhere, what's the difference to me now?" + +After that they moved to the window, and what they said further was +indistinguishable. The loafers on the veranda exchanged puzzled +looks; they lacked a key to the talk they had heard. When at last the +two seamen departed they summoned forth the barman for further +information. But that white-jacketed diplomat, who looked on from the +sober side of the bar at so much that was salient to the life of +Beira was not able to help them. + +"I couldn't make out what was troublin' them," he said, playing with +the diamond ring on his middle finger. "They was talking round and +round it, but they never named it right out. But it seems the younger +one has been paid off. He looks bad, he does." + +"Well," said a man of experience from his chair; "he'll be drunk +tonight, and then we'll hear." + +"H'm!" The barman paused on his way back to his post. "When I see +that feller drunk, I'm goin' to climb a tree. I got no use for +trouble." + +But the mate's conduct continued to be as unusual as his words +overheard on the hotel veranda. He did not accompany the captain back +to the ship, and in the afternoon he was seen sitting on the parapet +of the sea-wall, his face propped in his hands, staring out across +the shining water of the harbor. The vehement sun beat down upon his +blue-coated back and the hard felt hat that covered his head; he +should have been in an agony of discomfort and no little danger, clad +as he was; but he sat without moving, facing the water and the craft +that lay at their anchors upon it. It was Father Bates, the tall +Scottish priest, who saw him and crossed the road to him. + +"My friend," the priest accosted him, with a light tap on the +shoulder. "You'll die the sooner if you take your hat off. But you'll +die anyhow if you go on sitting here." + +At his touch the mate looked round sharply. The tall white-clad +Father, under his green-lined sun umbrella, rested a steady look on +his face. + +"You're in trouble, I'm afraid," said the priest. "Is there anything +a man can do for you?" + +"No!" The word came hoarsely but curt from the mate's throat. "Leave +me alone!" + +The tall priest nodded. "Nothing a man can do, eh?" he said. "Well, +then you know who can help you, don't you?" + +The miserable rebellious eyes of the young man hardened. + +"Leave me alone," he growled. "Say, you're a kind of a missionary, +ain't you? Well, I don't want none of your blasted cant, see?" + +The Father smiled. "I know how you feel. My name is Father Bates, and +anyone will show you where I live. Bates don't forget! And I really +wouldn't sit much longer in that sun, if I were you." + +A sound like a snarl was his answer as he passed on. Looking back +before he turned the corner, he saw that the mate had returned to his +old posture, brooding in his strange and secret sorrow over the +irresponsive sea. + +He was still there at sunset when the schooner went out, holding +himself apart from the little group of Beira people who halted to +watch her departure. Upon her poop a couple of figures were plain to +sight, and one of these waved a hand towards the shore as though to +bid farewell to the man they left behind. The mate, however, made no +response. He watched unmoving while she approached the heads and +glided from view, her slender topmasts lingering in sight over the +dull green of the mangroves, with the sunset flush lighting them +delicately. Then she was gone, like a silent visitor who withdraws a +presence that has scarcely been felt. + +The mate crossed the road and addressed the man who stood nearest. + +"Where's the deepo?" he demanded, abruptly. "The railway station." + +The other gave directions which the mate heard, frowning. Then, +without thanking his guide, he turned to walk heavily through the +foot-clogging sand in the direction indicated. + +It was a hundred and fifty miles up the line that he next emerged to +notice, at Mendigos, that outpost set in the edge of the jungle, +where the weary telegraphists sweat through the sunny monotony of the +days and are shaken at night by the bitter agues that infest the +land. + +The mate dropped from the train here, still clad as at Beira in +thick, stifling sea-cloth and his hard hat, though his collar was now +but a limp frill. He came lurching, on uncertain feet, into the +establishment of Hop Sing, the only seller of strong drink at +Mendigos. The few languid, half-clad men who lounged within looked up +at him in astonishment. He pointed shakily towards a bottle on the +primitive bar. "Gimme some of that," he croaked, from a parched +throat. + +The smiling Chinaman, silk-clad and supple, poured a drink for him, +watched him consume it, and forthwith poured another. With the +replenished tumbler in his hand, the mate returned his look. + +"What you starin' at, you Chow?" he demanded. + +The subtle-eyed Chinaman ceased neither to smile nor to stare. + +"My t'ink you velly sick man. Two shillin' to pay, please." + +"Sick!" repeated the mate. "Sick! You you know, do ye?" + +The idle men who lounged behind were spectators to the drama, +absorbed but uncomprehending. They saw the fierce, absurdly-clad +sailor, swaying on his feet with the effects of long-endured heat and +thirst, confronting the suave composure of the Chinaman as though the +charge of being unwell were outrageous and shameful. + +"Say," he demanded hoarsely, "it, it don't show on me." + +The Chinaman made soothing gestures. "My see," he answered. "But dem +feller belong here, him not see nothing. All-a-light foh him. Two +shillin' to pay, please." + +The mate dragged a coin from his pocket and dropped it on the bar. He +turned at last to the others, as though he now first noticed them. + +"What's back of here?" he asked abruptly, motioning as he spoke to +the still palms which poised over the galvanized iron roofs. + +"How d'you mean?" A tall, willowy man in pajamas answered him +surprisedly. "There's nothing beyond here. It's just wild country." + +"No white men?" asked the mate. + +"Lord, no!" said the other. "White men die out there. It's just trees +and niggers and wild beasts and fevers." He looked at the mate with a +touch of amusement breaking through his curiosity. "You weren't +thinking of goin' there in that kit were you?" + +The mate finished his drink and set his glass down. + +"I am goin' there," he answered. + +"But look here!" The telegraphists broke into a clamor. "You've been +too long in the sun; that's what's the matter with you. You can't go +up there, man; you'd be dead before morning." + +The tall man, to whom the mate had spoken first, had a shrewd word to +add. "If it's any little thing like murder, dontcher know, why the +border's just a few hours up the line." + +"Murder!" exclaimed the mate, and uttered a bark of laughter. + +They were possibly a little afraid of him. He had the physique of a +fighter and the presence of a man accustomed to exercise a crude +authority. Their protests and warnings died down; and, after all, a +man's life and death are very much his own concern in those regions. + +"D'you think he's mad?" one of them was whispering when the mate +turned to Hop Sing again. + +"Set up the drinks for them," he commanded. "I'll not wait meself, +but here's the money." + +"You not dlink?" asked the Chinaman, as the mate laid the coins on +the counter. + +"No," was the reply. "No need to spoil another glass." + +He gave a half nod to the other men, but no word, pulled his hard hat +forward on his brow, and walked out to the aching sunlight, and +towards a path that led between two iron huts to the fringe of the +riotous bush. The telegraphists crowded to look after him, but he did +not turn his head. He paused beneath the great palms, where the +ground was clear; then the thigh-deep grass, which is the lip of the +bush, was about him, grey, dry as straw, rustling as he thrust +through it with the noise of paper being crumpled in the hands. A +green parrot, balancing clown-like on a twig, screamed raucously; he +glanced up at its dazzle of feathers. Then the wall of the bush +itself yielded to his thrusting, let him through, and closed behind +his blue-clad back. Africa had received him to her silence and her +mystery. + +"Well, I'm blowed!" The tall telegraphist stared at the place where +he had vanished. "I say, you chaps, we ought to go after him." + +No one moved. "I shouldn't care to come to my hands with him," said +another. "Did you did you see his face?" + +They had all seen it; the speaker was voicing the common feeling. + +"It's like drinkin' at a wake," observed the tall man, his glass in +his hand. "Well, here's to his memory!" + +"His memory," they chorused, and drank. + +But the end of the tale came later. It was told in the veranda of +Father Bates's house at Beira, by Dan Terry, as he lay on his cot and +drank in the air from the sea in life-restoring draughts. He had been +up in the region of lost and nameless rivers for three years of fever +and ague and toil, and now he was back, a made man ready to be done +with Africa, with square gin bottles full of coarse gold to sell to +the bank, and a curious story to tell of a thing he had seen in the +back country. + +It was evening when he told it, propped up on his pillows, with the +blankets drawn up under his chin, and his lean, leathery face, a +little softened by his fever, fronting the long, benevolent visage of +Father Bates. The Father had a deckchair, and sprawled in it at +length, listening over his deep Boer pipe. A faint, bitter ghost of +an odor tainted the still air from the mangroves beyond the town, and +there was heard, like an undertone in the talk, the distant +slumberous murmur of the tide on the beach. + +"But how did you first get to hear of him?" the Father was asking, +carrying on the talk. + +"Oh, that was queer!" said Dan. "You see, I was making a cut clean +across country to that river of mine, and, as far as I could tell, I +was in a stretch of land where there hasn't been one other white man +in twenty years. Bad traveling it was swamp, cane, and swamp again +for days; the mud stinking all day, the mist poisoning you all night, +the cane cutting and scratching and slashing you. It was as bad as +anything I've seen yet. And it was while we were splashing and +struggling through this that I saw, lying at the foot of an aloe of +all created things an old hat. I thought for a moment that the sun +had got to my brain. An old, hard, black bowler hat it was, caved in +a bit, and soaked, and all that, but a hat all the same. I couldn't +have been more surprised if it had been an iceberg. You see, except +my own hat, I hadn't seen a hat for over two years." + +Father Bates nodded and stoked the big bowl of his pipe with a +practiced thumb. + +"It might ha' meant anything," Dan went on; "a chap making for my +river, for instance. So the next Kaffir village I came to I went into +the matter. I sat down in the doorway of the biggest hut and had the +population up before me to answer questions." + +"They were willing?" asked the Father. + +"I had a gun across my knees," explained Dan; "but they were willing +enough without that. And a queer yarn they had to tell, too; I +couldn't quite make it out at first. It began with an account of a +village hit by smallpox close by. Their way of dealing with smallpox +is simple: they quarantine the infected village by posting armed men +round it until all the villagers are starved to death or killed by +the smallpox. Then they burn the village. It costs nothing, and it +keeps the disease under. This village, it seems, was particularly +easy to deal with, since it stood three hundred yards from the +nearest water, and the water was placed out of bounds. + +"It must have been about the third day after the quarantine was +declared that the, the incident occurred. A man and a girl, carrying +empty waterpots, had come out of the village towards the stream. The +armed outposts, with their big stabbing assegais ready in their +hands, ordered them back, but the poor creatures were crazed with +thirst and desperate. They were pleading and crying and still +creeping forward, the man first, the girl a few steps behind, mad for +just water. What happened first was in the regular order of things in +those parts. The fellows on guard simply waited, and when the man was +up to them one stepped forward and drove the thirty-inch blade of a +stabbing assegai clean through him. Then they stood ready to do the +same to the girl as soon as she arrived. + +"She had tumbled to her knees at the sight of the killing, and was +still crying and begging piteously for water. They said she held out +her arms to them, and bowed her head between. After a while, when +they did not answer, she got to her feet and stood looking at the +dead body stretched in the sun, the long blades of the spears, and +the shining of the water beyond. It was as though she was making up +her mind about them, for at last she picked up her waterpot and came +forward towards her sure and swift death. The assegai-men were so +intent on her that none of them seem to have heard a man who came out +of the bush close behind them. One of them, as I was told, had +actually flung back his arm for the thrust and the girl, she hadn't +even flinched! The thing was within an inch of being done; the +stabbing assegai goes like lightning, you know; she must have been +tasting the very bitterness of death. The man from the bush was not a +second too soon. The first they knew of him was a roar, and he had +the shaft of the assegai in his hand and had plucked it from its +owner. + +"He must have moved like a young earthquake, and bellowed like a +full-grown thunderstorm. All my informants laid stress on his voice; +he exploded in their midst with an uproar that overthrew their +senses, and whacked right and left with fist and foot and assegai. He +was a white man; it took them some seconds to see that through the +dirt on him; he was clad in rags of cloth, and his head was bare, and +he raged like a sackful of tiger-cats. He really must have been +something extraordinary in the way of a fighter, for he scattered a +clear dozen of them, and sent them flying for their lives. One man +said that when he was safe he looked back. The white man, with the +assegai on his shoulder, was stumping ahead into the infected +village, and the girl she was lying down at the edge of the water +drinking avidly. She hadn't even looked up at the fight." + +Father Bates nodded. "Poor creatures," he said. "Yes?" + +"Well, the cordon being broken, those of the villagers who weren't +too far gone to walk on their feet promptly scattered, naturally, and +no one tried to stop them. When at last the people from the +neighboring kraals plucked up courage to go and look at the place, +they found there only the bodies of the dead. The white man had gone, +too. They never saw him again, but from time to time there came +rumors from the north and east tales of a wanderer who injected +himself suddenly into men's affairs, withdrew again and went away, +and they remembered the white man who roared. He was already passing +into a myth. + +"I couldn't make head nor tail of the thing; but one point was clear. +Since this white man had neither Kaffirs nor gear he couldn't hurt my +river, and that was what chiefly mattered to me just then. I might +have forgotten him altogether, but that I came on his tracks again, +and then, to finish with, I saw the man himself." + +"Eh?" Father Bates looked up. + +"I'm telling you the whole thing, Padre. You keep quiet and you'll +hear." + +The sad evening light was falling, and the faint breeze from the sea +had a touch of chill in it. + +"Keep your blankets up, Dan," said the Father. + +"You bet," replied Dan. "Well, about this fellow I'm telling you of! +He must have been getting a reputation for uncanniness from every +village he touched at. By the time I came up with the scene of his +next really notable doings he was umtagati in full form supernatural, +you know, a thing to be dreaded and conciliated. And I don't wonder, +really. Here was a man without weapons, bareheaded in the sun, +speaking no word of any native language, alone and nearly naked, +plunging ahead through that wild unknown country and no harm coming +to him. You can't play tricks of that sort with Africa; the old girl +holds too many trumps; but this chap was doing it. It was against +Nature. + +"He'd made his way up to a place where I always expect trouble. There +is, or rather, there was then a brute of a chief there, a fellow +named N'Komo, who paid tribute to M'Kombi, and was sort of protected +and supported by him. He was always slopping over his borders with a +handful of fighting men and burning and slaughtering and raping among +the peaceful kraals. A devil he was, a real black devil for cruelty +and lust. He had just started on a campaign when this lonely white +man arrived in the neighborhood, passing through a bit of district +with N'Komo's mark on it in the form of burned huts and bodies of +people. A man N'Komo had killed was a sight to make Beelzebub sick. +Torture, you know; mutilation beastliness! The white man must have +seen a good many such bodies. + +"N'Komo and his swashbucklers had slept the night in a captured +kraal, and were still there in the morning when the white man +arrived. I know exactly the kind of scene it was. The carcasses of +the cattle slaughtered for meat would be lying all over the place +between the round huts, and bodies of men and women and children with +them. The place would be swarming with the tall, black spearmen, each +with a skin over his shoulder and about his loins; there would be a +fearful jabber, a clatter of voices and laughter and probably +screams, horrible screams, from some poor nigger whose death they'd +be dragging out, hour after hour, for their fun. Near the main gate +N'Komo was holding an indaba with his chief bucks. I've seen him many +times a great coal-black brute, six feet four in height, with the +flat, foolish, good-natured-looking face that fooled people into +thinking him a decent sort. I wish I'd shot him the first time I saw +him. + +"Well, the indaba, the council, you know was in full swing when up +comes this white man, running as if for his life, and wailing, +wailing! The Kaffir who told me had seen it from where he was lying, +tied hand and foot, waiting his turn for the firebrands and the +knives. He said: 'He wailed like one who mourns for the dead!' There +was a burnt kraal not a mile away, so one can guess what he had been +seeing and was wailing about. 'His face,' the nigger told me, 'was +like the face of one who has lived through the torment of N'Komo and +is thirsty for death; a face to hide one's eyes before. And it was +white and shining like ivory!' He came thus, pelting blindly at a +run, into the midst of N'Komo's war indaba. + +"He picked out N'Komo as the chief man there in a moment; that was +easy enough, and he broke into a torrent of words, gesticulating and +pointing back in the direction from which he had come. Telling him of +what he had seen, of course poor beggar! Can't you imagine him, with +those tall surprised black soldiers all round him and the great +dangerous bulk of negro king before him, trying to make them +understand, trembling with horror and fury, raging in homely useless +English against the everyday iniquity of Africa? Can't you imagine +it, Padre?" + +"Ssh! You'll get a temperature," warned Father Bates. "Yes; I can +imagine it. It makes me humble." + +"You see, I know what had maddened him. The first work of N'Komo's I +ever saw was a young mother and a baby dead and and finished with, +and it nearly sent me off my head. If I'd been half the man this poor +beggar was I'd have had N'Komo's skin salted and sun-dried before I +slept. He he didn't wait to mourn about things; he went straight +ahead to find the man who had done them and deal with him. + +"Probably they took him for a lunatic; at any rate, they soon began +to laugh at him, shaking and talking in their midst. He was a new +thing to have sport with, and N'Komo presently leaned forward, +grinning, touched him on the arm, and pointed. The white man's eyes +followed the black finger to where a poor devil lay on the ground, +impaled by a stake through his stomach. It was N'Komo's way of +telling him what to expect, and he understood. He stopped talking. + +"The nigger who saw it all and told me about it said that when he had +looked round on all the horrors he turned again towards N'Komo, and +at the sight of his eyes N'Komo ceased to grin. His big brute face +went all to bits, as a Kaffir's does when he is frightened. But the +white man made a little backward jerk with his hand that's what it +seemed like to the nigger who told me and suddenly, from nowhere in +particular, a big pistol materialized in his grip. He must have been +pretty clever at the draw. His hand came up, there was a smart little +crack, a spit of smoke, and N'Komo, the great war chief, was rolling +on the ground, making horrible noises like like bad plumbing, with +half his throat shot away, and the man who had done it was backing +towards the main gate with the big revolver swinging to right and +left across the group of warriors. + +"And he got away, too. That, really, is the most wonderful part of +the whole thing. I expect that as soon as N'Komo was settled, the +usual row and the usual murders began by various would-be successors. +By night they had all started north again, on a hot-foot race to +occupy and hold the head kraal, and the country was clear of them, +and the white man's credit as a magic worker stood higher than ever. +He could have had anything he liked in any of the kraals for the +asking; he could have been law-giver, king, and god. But he was off +in the bush again, alone and restless and mysterious, with his +ivory-white face and his eyes full of pain and anger." + +"Aye," said Father Bates. "Pain and anger that's what it was! And at +last you saw him yourself, didn't you?" + +"Yes," said Dan. "I saw him. I was at my river then, combing the gold +out of it, when a Kaffir trekking down told me of him. He was at a +kraal fifty miles away two days' journey, lying, up with a hurt foot. +The gold was coming out of that river by the bottleful; it wasn't a +thing to take one's eyes off for a moment; but a white man, the white +man who had killed N'Komo well, I couldn't keep away. I spun a yarn +to my men about lion spoor that I wanted to follow, and off I went by +myself and did that fifty miles of bush and six-foot grass and rocks +in thirty hours, which was pretty good, considerin'. It was afternoon +when I came through a patch of palms and saw the kraal lying just +beyond. + +"I hadn't much of an idea what kind of man I expected to see. I +rather fancy I expected to be disappointed to find him nothing out of +the way after all, and to learn that nine-tenths of the yarns about +him were just nigger lies. I was thinking all that as I stopped in +the palms' shade to mop the sweat out of my hat, and then I saw him! + +"He was passing between me and the huts, a strange lame figure, +leaning on a stick, with a few rags of clothing bound about him. His +head, with its matted thick hair, was bare to the thresh of the sun; +he was thick-set, shortish, slow-moving, a sorrowful and laborious +figure. I saw the shine of his bare skin, and even the droop and +sorrow of his heavy face. I stood and watched him for perhaps a +minute in the shadow under those great masts of palms; I saw him as +clearly as I see you; and suddenly a light came to me and I knew I +understood it all. His loneliness, his pain and anger, his wanderings +in that savage wilderness, the wild misery of his eyes and the +ivory-white of his stricken face I understood completely. He had run +away from the sight of men of his own color he would have no use for +me. So then and there I turned and went back through the palms and +started on the trek for my own camp. It was all I could do for him." + +"But," said Father Bates, "you've not said what it was that you saw." + +"Padre," said Dan; "that poor, poor fellow, who loomed to the Kaffirs +like a great and merciful god, he was a leper as white as snow!" + +"Holy saints defend us!" The Father made a startled motion of +crossing himself, staring at Dan's lean, somber face in a blankness +of consternation. "So that's what it was, then! A leper!" + +"That's what it was," said Dan. "I've seen it before in the East." + +"He said," continued the Father "he said he had no use for my blasted +cant. And he hadn't, he hadn't! He knew more than I." + + + +X + +MISS PILGRIM'S PROGRESS + +The double windows of the big office overlooked the quays of +Nikolaieff and the desk was beside them; so that the vice-consul had +only to turn his head to see from his chair the wide river and its +traffic, with the great grain-steamers, like foster-children +thronging at the breast of Russia, waiting their turn for the +elevators, and the gantries of the shipyards standing like an iron +filigree against the pallor of the sky. The room was a large one, +low-ceilinged, and lighted only upon the side of the street; so that +a visitor, entering from the staircase, looked as from the bottom of +a well of shadow across the tables where the month-old American +newspapers were set forth to the silhouette of the vice-consul at his +roll-top desk against his background of white daylight. + +Mr. Tim Waters, American citizen in difficulties, leaned upon the top +of the desk and pored absorbedly across the head of his country's +representative at the scene beyond the window. A tow-boat with a +flotilla of lighters was at work in midstream; there was a flash of +white foam at her forefoot, and her red-and-black funnel trailed a +level scarf of smoke across the distance. It was a sketch done +vigorously in strong color, and he broke off the halting narrative of +his troubles to watch if with profound unconscious interest. + +Selby, the vice-consul, shifted impatiently in his chair. He was a +small, dyspeptic, short-sighted man, and he was endeavoring under +difficulties to give the impression that he had no time to spare. + +"Well," he snapped; "go on. You were walking peaceably along the +street, you said. What comes next?" + +Tim Waters turned mild eyes upon him, withdrawing them from the +tow-boat with patient reluctance. + +"There was one o' them dvorniks" (doorkeepers), he resumed in a voice +of silky softness. "He was settin' outside his gate on one o' them +stools they have. And he was talkin' to one o' them istvostchiks." +(cabmen). + +His thin, sun-browned face, furrowed with whimsical lines, with its +faint-blue eyes that wandered from his hearer to the allurement of +the window and back again, overhung the desk as he spoke, drawling in +those curiously soft tones of his an unconvincing narrative of sore +provocation and the subsequent fight. He was a man in the later +twenties, lean and slack-limbed; the workman's blouse of coarse +linen, belted about him, and the long Russian boots which he wore, +gave him, by contrast with the humor and sophistication of his face +and the controlled ease of his attitude as he lounged, something of +the effect of a man in fancy dress. Actually he belonged to the class +familiar to missionaries and consuls of world-tramps, those songless +troubadours for whom no continent is large enough and no ocean too +wide. With his slightly parted lips of wonder and interest, a pair of +useful fists and a passport granted by the American Minister in +Spain, he had worked his way up the Mediterranean to the Levant, +drifted thence by way of the Black Sea to Nikolaieff, and remained +there ever since. Riveter in the shipyards, winch driver on the +wharves, odd-man generally along the waterside, he and his troubles +had come to Selby's notice before. + +The vice-consul sniffed and stared unsympathetically as the recital +wandered unhurried to its end. For him, the picaroon who leaned upon +his desk was scarcely more than a tramp; Selby had respectability for +a religion; and his beaky, irritable face, behind the glasses that +straddled across his nose, answered Tim Waters's mild conciliatory +gaze with stiff hostility. The dvornik and the istvostchik, it +seemed, had laughed loudly and significantly as Waters went by, and +he had turned to inquire into the joke. + +"Because, y'see, Mr. Selby, them Russians just don't laugh in a +general way, except they're wantin' to start something. An' I heard +'em say 'Amerikanetz' just as plain as I can see you settin' there. +So, a' course, I knowed it was me they was pickin' on." The fight had +followed; Tim Waters, while he told of it, raised the hand in which +he held his cap and looked thoughtfully at a row of swollen and +abraded knuckles; and lastly, the police had intervened. + +"It was that big sergeant with the medals," said the victim. "Come at +me with his sword, he did. Seems like it ain't safe to be an American +citizen in this town, Mr. Selby." + +"Does it?" Selby sat back sharply in his chair, his ragged moustache +bristling, his glasses malevolently askew on his nose. "You're a +mighty fine example of an American citizen, aren't you? Say, Waters, +you don't think you can put that over again, do you?" + +"Eh?" Tim Waters opened his pale blue eyes in the mildest surprise. +"Why, Mr. Selby?" he began, fumbling in his pocket. The vice-consul +interrupted him with a snarl. + +"Now you don't want to pull that everlasting passport of yours on me +again," he cried. "Every crook and hobo that's chased off a steamer +into this town has got papers as good as yours, red seal an' all. You +seem to think that bein' an American citizen's a kind of license to +play hell and then come here to be squared. Well, I'm going to prove +to you that it's not." + +Waters was watching him as he spoke with something of that still +interest which he had given to the scene beyond the window. Now he +smiled faintly. + +"But say, Mr. Selby," he protested gently. "It it ain't the sergeant +I'm worried about. I'll get him all right. But there's what they call +a protocol fer breakin' up that istvostchik, an' you bein' our consul +here." + +Selby rose, jerking his chair back on its castors. "Cut that out," he +shrilled. "Your consul, eh? Your kind hasn't got any consul, not if +you had forty passports see? You get out o' this office right now; +and if they hand you six months with that protocol." + +He was a ridiculous little man when he was angry; the shape of him as +he stood, pointing peremptorily across the room to the door, rose +grotesque and pitiable against the window. The wanderer, still +leaning on the desk, looked over at him with lips parted as though he +found a profit of interest even in his anger. + +"And you can tell your friends, if you got any," fulminated the +vice-consul, "that this place isn't." + +He broke off short in mid-word; the rigid and imperative arm with +which he still pointed to the door lost its stiffening; he made a +snatch at his sliding glasses, saved them, and stood scaring. Waters +turned his head to look likewise. + +"This is the American Consulate?" inquired a voice from the doorway. + +For the moment neither answered, and the newcomer came down between +the tables towards the light of the window. + +Of the two men, it was assuredly Waters, who had followed the lust of +the eye across the continents, who was best able to flavor and relish +that entry and approach. For him, stilly intent and watchful, it was +as though a voice, the voice which had spoken from the shadowy +doorway, had incarnated itself and become visible, putting on a form +to match its own quality, at once definite and delicate. The newcomer +moved down the room with a subdued rustling of skirts, resolving at +last into a neat and appealing feminine presence that smiled +confidently and yet conciliatorily and offered a hand towards Selby. + +"It is the American Consulate, isn't it?" she asked again. + +Selby, ruffled like an agitated hen, woke to spasmodic movement, and +took the hand. + +"Why, yes," he answered, pushing towards her the chair he had not +offered to Waters and erupting forthwith into uneasy volubility. +"This is it. Sit down, madam; sit right down and tell me what I can +do for you." + +The girl, still smiling, took the seat he gave her; across the +desk-top, Waters, unmoving, his battered hand grasping his peaked +Russian cap, gazed upon her absorbedly. + +"Just got in, have you?" inquired Selby fussily. + +"Yes," she answered. "I got in this morning by the boat from Odessa. +You see, I've come up from Bucharest, and as I don't know very much +about Russia, I thought." + +Selby, seated again in his chair of office, his fingers judicially +joined, nodded approvingly. "You just naturally came along to your +consul," he finished for her. "Quite right, Miss, er." + +"Pilgrim," supplied the girl. + +"Miss Pilgrim?" he hesitated. She nodded. "Well, Miss Pilgrim, if +there's any information I can give you, or assistance, or, or advice, +I'll be very happy to do what I can. You're, er, traveling alone?" + +"Yes," she replied, with her little confirming nod. + +He had forgotten for the while the mere existence of Waters, brooding +wordlessly over them, and Waters after his manner, had forgotten +everything in the world. The girl between them, sitting unconscious +and tranquil under their converging gaze, had snared their faculties. +She was perhaps twenty-four, and both Selby and Waters, when +afterwards they used to speak of her, always insisted on this, not +pretty. She was fair in a commonplace way, middle-sized and +inconspicuous, the fashion of young woman who goes to compose the +background of life. She raised to the light of the window a face of +creamy pallor, with large serious grey eyes, and lips of a gentle and +serene composure; but it was not these that redeemed her from being +merely negligible and made her the focus of the two men's eyes. It +was rather a quality implicit in the whole of her as she sat, +feminine and fragile by contrast with even the meager masculinity of +Selby, with a suggestion about her, an emanation, of steadfastness +and courage as piteous and endearing as the bravery of a lost child. +In Selby, staled and callous long since to all those infirmities of +the wits or the purse which are carried to a consul as to a +physician, there awoke at sight of her all that was genial and +protective in his sore and shriveled soul; in Waters, who shall say +what visions and interpretations? + +She looked from one to the other of them with her trustful eyes. On +Waters they seemed to dwell for a moment as though in question. + +"Yes," she repeated; "I came alone; there wasn't anybody to come with +me." Her voice, mild and pleasant, corresponded to the rest of her. +"I've been working down in Rumania for nearly a year, in the Balkan +Bank, and before that I was in Constantinople. But I've always wanted +to see Russia; I'd heard and read so much about it; so" with a little +explanatory shrug of her shoulders "I came." + +Waters's still eyes widened momentarily; he, at any rate, understood. +He knew, contentedly and well, that need to see, the unease of the +spirit that moves one on, that makes of the road a home and of every +destination a bivouac. His chin settled upon his crossed arms as he +continued to take stock of this compatriot of the highways. + +"Oh!" Selby was enlightened and a little disconcerted. This was not +turning out as he had expected. He had diagnosed a tourist, and now +discovered that he had been entertaining a job-seeker unawares. But +the girl's charm and appeal held good; she was looking at him +trustfully and expectantly, and he surrendered. He set his glasses +straight with a fumbling hand and resumed his countenance of friendly +and helpful interest. + +"Then, you propose to, er, seek employment here in Nikolaieff," he +inquired. + +"Yes," she answered serenely. "Typist and stenographer, or secretary +or translator in French and German and Rumanian" she was numbering +off the occupations on her fingers as she listed them "or even +governess, if there isn't anything else. But it seems to me, with the +English steamers coming here all the time and the shipbuilding works, +there ought to be some office I could get into." + +Selby pursed his lips doubtfully. + +"You don't know of anything?", she asked. "That's what I came in to +see you about if you happened to know of anything? Because our +consuls hear of pretty nearly everything that's going on, don't +they?" + +It wasn't flattery; her good faith was manifest in her face and +voice; and Selby suppled under it like a stroked cat. + +"I wouldn't say that, Miss Pilgrim," he demurred coyly. He paused. +Her mention of shipping offices disturbed him. He had much business +with shipping offices; and he was picturing to himself, involuntarily +and with distaste, that gentle courage bruising itself upon the rough +husks of managers and their like, peddling itself from one noisy +Russian office to another, wearing thin its panoply of innocence upon +evil speech and vile intention. There were the dregs of manhood in +him, for all his narrowness and feebleness, and the prospect offended +him like an indecency. + +"No, there's only one job I know of in Nikolaieff that you could +take," he said abruptly. "And that's right here in this office." + +He had said it upon a rare impulse of generosity; all men are subject +to such impulses; and he halted upon the word for his reward. She +rendered it handsomely. + +"Oh!" she cried, her grey eyes shining and all her pale and gentle +face alive with sudden enthusiasm. "Here in the Consulate?" She spoke +the word as a devotee might speak of a temple. "That, oh, that's +glorious!" + +It was utterly satisfactory; Selby swelled and bridled. + +"Er, secretary and stenographer," he said largely. "I had a young man +here a while since, but I let him go. He couldn't seem to be +respectful. And, er, as to terms, Miss Pilgrim." + +"Yes?" murmured Miss Pilgrim, as respectfully as he could wish. + +But the vice-consul did not continue. In his moment of splendor, it +may be that he became aware that only a part of his audience was +applauding, and his eyes had fallen on Waters. Till that moment he +had actually forgotten him; he seized now on an occasion to be still +more impressive. + +"Hey, you Waters!" he cried commandingly. "What you waitin' there +for? Didn't you hear me tell you to clear out of this? Go on, now; +an' don't let me see you in this office again!" + +She failed to come up to his expectations this time; she looked +puzzled and distressed and seemed to shrink. Waters, removing his +eyes from her face, stood deliberately upright. His vagueness and +dreaminess gathered themselves into gravity. His lips moved as though +on the brink of an answer, but he said nothing. + +"Go on!" yapped Selby again. + +"I'm goin'," replied Waters, turning from him. + +He sent the girl a look that was a claim upon her. "Pleased to meet +ye," he said clearly. "Me name's Waters; I'm an American too." + +Selby bounced in his chair behind him, squeaking and spluttering; the +girl, surprised and uncertain, stammered something. But her face, for +all her embarrassment, acknowledged his claim. He took his reply from +it, nodded slowly in satisfied comprehension and walked past her +towards the door. His worn blouse glimmered white in the shadows of +the entry; and he was gone. + +Behind him, the office was suddenly uncomfortable and cheerless. +Selby was no longer sure of himself and the figure he had cut; the +girl looked at him with eyes in which he read a doubt. + +"You don't want to take any notice of that fellow," he blustered. +"He'd no right to speak to you. He's just a tough in trouble with the +police and wanting me to fix it for him. He won't come here again in +a hurry." + +"But" she hesitated. "Isn't he an American?" she ventured. + +"Huh!" snorted Selby. "Americans like him are three for a nickel +round here." + +"Oh!" she murmured, and sat looking at him while he plunged into the +question of "terms." His glasses wobbled on his nose; his hands moved +jerkily as he talked, fidgeting with loose papers on his desk; but +his weak eyes did not return her gaze. + +Nikolaieff, which yet has a quality of its own, has this in common +with other abiding places of men that life there shapes itself as a +posture or a progress in the measure that one gives to it or receives +from it. Tim Waters, who fed upon life like a leech, returned to it +after a six weeks' enforced absence (the protocol had valued a +damaged istvostchik at that price) with a show of pallor under the +bronze on his skin and a Rip van Winkle feeling of having slumbered +through far-reaching changes. During his absence the lingering +southern autumn had sloped towards winter; the trees along the sad +boulevard were already leafless; the river had changed from luminous +blue to the blank hue of steel. The men in the streets went fortified +with sheepskins or furs; Waters, still in his linen blouse, with +hands sunk deep in his pockets and shoulders hunched against the acid +of the air, passed among them as conspicuous as a naked man, marking +as he moved the stares he drew across high, raised collars. + +He was making his way across the city to his old haunts by the +waterside; he crossed the Gogol Street through its brisk, disorderly +traffic of trams and droschkies and gained the farther sidewalk hard +by where a rank of little cabs stood along the gutter. A large sedate +officer, moving like a traction-engine, jostled him back into the +gutter; he swore silently, and heard a shout go up behind him, a +blatant roar of jeers and laughter. Startled, he turned; the +istvostchiks, the padded, long-skirted drivers of the little waiting +cabs, were gathered together in the roadway; their bearded and brutal +faces, discolored with the cold, were agape and hideous with their +laughter; and in the forefront of them, pointing with a great hand +gloved to the likeness of a paw, stood and roared hoarsely the +particular istvostchik on whose account he had suffered the protocol +and the prison. The discord of their mirth rilled the street; the big +men, padded out under their clothes to a grotesque obesity, their +long coats hanging to their heels giving them the aspect of figures +out of a Noah's Ark, drew all eyes. The beginnings of a crowd +gathered to watch and listen. + +"The Amerikanetz," the foremost istvostchik was roaring. "Look at +him! Look at his clothes! Just out of prison Look at him!" + +Everybody looked; the word "Amerikanetz" fled from lip to lip like a +witticism. Waters, stunned by the suddenness of it all, daunted and +overwhelmed, turned to move away, to get out of sound and hearing. +Forthwith a fresh howl went up. He caught at his self-possession and +turned back. + +The moment had epic possibilities; the istvostchiks were not fewer +than eight in number and the crowd was with them. Waters's face was +dark and calm and his movements had the deliberate quiet of purpose. +Another instant and Nikolaieff would have been gladdened and +scandalized by something much more spectacular than a pogrom. The +leading istvostchik, still pointing and bellowing, was inviting +disaster; when from behind him, ploughing through the onlookers', +came the overdue policeman, traffic baton in hand. + +"Circulate, circulate!" he cried to the loiterers, waving at them +with his stick. "It is not permitted to congregate. Circulate, +gentlemen!" + +He advanced into the clear space of roadway behind the rearmost cab, +between Waters and his tormentors. His darting official eye fell on +the former, standing in his conspicuous blouse, his thin face tense +and dire. + +"And this?" he demanded. "What is this?" + +A chorus of explanations from the istvostchiks answered him. +"Amerikanetz," they told him, "just out of prison!" They thronged +round him, bubbling over with the story, while he stood, trim and +armed, his hard, neat face arrogant under the sideways-tilted peak of +his cap, hearing them augustly. Then he smiled. + +"Tak!" he said briefly. "So!" He turned on Waters, coming round on +him with a movement like a slow swoop. Never was anything so galling +as the air he had of contemptuous and amused comprehension. + +"You march!" he ordered. "Get off this street!" He pointed with his +white-painted baton to the nearest turning. "Don't say anything, +now," he warned. "March!" + +Waters hesitated. The istvostchiks, still hopeful of sport, pressed +nearer. To disobey and resist meant being cut down and stamped to +death under their heavy boots. Across the policeman's pointing arm, +Waters saw the face of his enemy, expectant, avid, bestial with +hideous and cruel mirth. He regarded it for a moment thoughtfully. +Then, with a shrug, he turned and moved in the direction he had been +ordered to go. + +Again, behind him, there was that jeering outcry, as the policeman, +smiling indulgently and watching his departure, seemed to preside +over the chorus. + +He came at length, going slowly, to the water side. It was dark by +then; the sheds of the wharves shut out the river and made a barrier +against the sweep of the wind. From over their roofs came the glare +of the high arc-lamps at the wharf-edge and the masts and the rigging +of ships lifted into view. The stridency of day was over in the +shabby street; its high houses, standing like cliffs, showed tier +upon tier of windows, dimly lighted or dark, while from under the +feet of the buildings, from cellar-saloons to traktirs below the +street-level, there spouted up the ruddiness of lamplight and the +jangle of voices. There was a smell in the sharp air of ships and +streets blended, the aromatic freshness of tar, the sourness of +crowds and uncleanliness. + +Waters, halting upon the cobbles, sniffed with recognition and +unstiffened his mind as he gazed along the dreary street. He was +here, on his own ground; somewhere in the recesses of those gaunt +houses he would sleep that night, and next day he would wedge himself +back into his place in that uneasy waterside community and all would +be as before. He shivered under the lee of the sheds as he stood, +looking, scarcely thinking, merely realizing the scene in its evening +disguise. + +Down the street towards him, walking with strong and measured steps +that resounded upon the cobbles, vague under the shadow of the sheds, +came a man. Waters glanced casually in his direction as he came near, +aware of him merely as in shape that inhabited the darkness, a dim +thing that fitted in with the hour and the furtive street. Then the +man was close to him and visible. + +"By gosh!" exclaimed Waters aloud. + +It was, of all possible people, "the sergeant with the medals." He +stared at him helplessly. + +"Nu!" cried the sergeant heartily. He possessed all that patronizing +geniality which policemen can show to evil-doers, as to colleagues +in another department of the same industry. "You are back again yes? +And how did you find it up there?" + +Waters swallowed and hesitated. The sergeant was a vast man, blond as +a straw and bearded like an Assyrian bull, the right shape of man to +wear official buttons. His short sword hung snugly along his leg in +its black, brass-tipped scabbard; his medals, for war-service in the +army, for exemplary conduct, for being alive and in the police at the +time of the Tsar's coronation and so forth, made a bright bar on the +swell of his chest. A worthy and responsible figure; yet the sum of +him was to Waters an offence and a challenge. + +He found his tongue. "About the same as you left it, I guess," he +answered unpleasantly. + +The big man laughed, standing largely a-straddle with the thumbs of +his gloved hands hooked into his sword-belt. He was rosy as a pippin +and cheery as a host. + +"It has done you good," he declared. "For one thing, I can see that +you speak Russian better now oh, much better! It is a fine school. By +and by, we will send you up for six months, and after that nobody +will know you for an Amerikanetz. Ah, you will thank me some day!" + +Waters heard him stonily and nodded with meaning. + +"You bet I will," he replied. "And when I'm through with you, you'll +know just how grateful I am." The need for words with a taste to them +mastered him. He broke into his own tongue. "You'll get yours, you +big slob!" + +"Eh?" The sergeant cocked an ear alertly, "Beek slab? What is that in +Russian?" + +"It's your middle name," retorted Waters cryptically and made to move +on. + +"Do svidania!" called the sergeant mockingly, raising his voice to a +shout. "Till we meet again! Because I shall be watching you, Votters; +I shall be." + +"Here!" Waters wheeled on him, hands withdrawn from his pockets and +cleared for action. + +"You start bellerin' at me in the street that way an' I'll just +about." + +There was no cohort of hostile istvostchiks here, and anger ached in +him like a cancer. He stepped up to the sergeant with a couple of +long, cat-footed strides and the out-thrust jaw of war. But the +sergeant, instead of bristling and giving battle, held up one large, +leather-clad hand with the motion of hushing him. + +"St!" he clicked warningly. "Not now! Be orderly, Votters. See your +lady-consul!" + +"What?" Waters halted, taken by surprise, and turned his head. The +sergeant, rigid and formal upon the instant, was saluting. Upon the +high sidewalk, a dozen paces away, a girl was passing; she +acknowledged the sergeant's salute with a small bow. Her eyes seemed +to fall on Waters and she stopped. + +"Why, it's" she began, and hesitated as though at a loss for his +name. She stood, inspecting the grouping of the pair in the road, the +massive sergeant and his slighter, more vivid companion. "Is there is +there anything the matter?" + +Waters turned his back upon the sergeant and moved slowly towards +her, peering at her where she waited in the growing darkness. + +"Not with me," he answered. + +"Oh!" It was, of course, Miss Pilgrim, the girl whom he had watched +across the top of the vice consul's desk. She stood above him now at +the edge of the high sidewalk, whence the deep cobbled revetment of +the gutter sloped like a fortification. Gazing at her with all his +eyes, he identified again, like dear and long-remembered landmarks, +the poise of her head, the fragile slope of her shoulders, the softly +lustrous pallor of her face. Even her attitude, perched over him +there and leaning a little towards him, was a thing individual and +characteristic. + +"I wondered," she said. "I thought, perhaps." + +"We are just talking" Waters reassured her. "Him and me's old +friends." + +He endeavored to be convincing; but it happened that she had seen as +she approached the motion with which he had turned on the sergeant a +moment before, and she still waited. + +"Perhaps," she suggested then in her pleasant voice, "if you could +spare the time, you'd walk along a little way with me?" + +He smiled. It was protection she was offering him, the shield of her +company, dropping it from above like a gentle gift, like a flower let +fall from a balcony. She saw the white gleam of his smile in his +shadowed face and made a small, quick movement as though she shrank. +Waters made haste to accept. + +"With you, Miss Pilgrim? Why, sure I will," he replied warmly, and +strode across the gutter to her side. + +To the sergeant, watching dumbly this pairing and departure, he said +nothing; he did not even turn to enjoy his face. + +It was strange to pass along that familiar street with her, to glance +down at her and see her forward bent face in profile against the dark +doorways leading to interiors whose secrets he knew. The drinking +dens were noisy at their feet; the tall houses were dark and sinister +above them. He heard her breath as she walked at his elbow in the +vicious chill of the evening and out upon the water, visible between +the sheds as a low green and a high white light sliding, slowly +across the night, an outgoing steamer wailed like a hoarse banshee. +Once upon a time he had seen the Black Hundred come roaring and +staggering along that street under the eyes of the ships, and had +backed into one of the doorways past which they now walked to fight +for his life. The memory of it came curiously to him now, as the girl +at his side led him on, hurrying to bring him to safety. + +They turned a corner ere she spoke to him again, and advanced along a +street which showed a vista of receding darkness, beaded by the dull +house-lamps set over the courtyard gates. Not till then did she +slacken the hurry of her gait. She lifted her face towards him. + +"But there was something, wasn't there?" she asked. "Between you and +that policeman, I mean. You weren't really just chatting?" + +Waters shrugged the policeman into the void. + +"It's nothin' that you'd need to worry about, Miss Pilgrim," he +answered. "He don't amount to anything." + +She was still looking at him. She had on a big muffling coat and her +face lifted out of the high collar of it. + +"But" she paused. "I was watching, you for a minute; I saw you go +back to talk to him," she said. "That's why I stopped. You see, that +day in the office, I was ever so sorry." + +"Oh, that!" Waters was vaguely embarrassed; he was not used to +sympathy so openly expressed. "You mean Selby an' all that? That +didn't hurt me." + +But she would not be denied. "It hurt me," she answered. "To see you +go out like that, so quietly, after asking for help and nobody to say +a word for you! I've been hoping ever since that I'd see you so that +I'd be able to tell you. Of course," she added, in the tone of one +who makes reasonable allowances, "of course, Mr. Selby's in a +difficult position; he has to consider the authorities. Naturally, +being our consul, he'd like to do his best for all Americans; but he +has to be careful. You can understand that, can't you?" + +"Why, sure!" agreed Waters warmly. "It's mighty good of you to feel +like that about me, Miss Pilgrim; and I ain't blamin' Selby any. He +was born like that, I guess sort o' poor white trash and his folks +didn't find it out in time to smother him. But I wish I was consul +here for a time and he'd come to me to have me fix somethin' for him. +I'd cert'nly like to have him know how it feels." + +"Ah, but I know," she said earnestly. "I can guess like having no +home or friends or even a country of your own to belong to. Like +finding out suddenly that Uncle Sam wasn't your uncle after all! Tell +me, was it what they did to you, I mean was it very bad?" + +He smiled a little wryly, looking down into her serious face. + +"Well, it wasn't very good," he answered. "It wasn't meant to be. It +ain't often these people get a white man to practice on, an' they +sure made the most o' the chance. But it didn't kill me; and, anyway, +there ain't any reason why it should trouble you, Miss Pilgrim." + +He had a feeling that he preferred her to be immune from the +knowledge and understanding of such things, to be and remain a mere +eyeful of delicate and stimulating feminine effect. But upon his +words she half halted, turning to him; she drew a hand from her muff +and her fingers touched his sleeve. + +"No reason?" she repeated. "Ah, but there is! There is a reason. I +haven't got any official position or anything to lose at all. I don't +have to consider anybody. So next time if there is a next time I want +you to come straight away to me." + +He stared at her, not understanding her sudden excitement. "To you, +Miss Pilgrim? You mean come round to Selby's again?" + +"No, no!" She shook her head impatiently. "You know it's no use to go +there. But I live close by here; I'm taking you there now; and I want +you to come to me. Then I'll see the Chief of Police for you; I know +him quite well." + +"So do I," said Waters. "He's a crook. But say, Miss Pilgrim, I don't +just see." + +She interrupted him. "I'll explain what I mean and then you'll see +that it's all right. But now I want you to come home and have a glass +of tea and see where I live. It's Number Thirteen only two houses +more. You will come, won't you?" + +"I'll be glad to," answered he. + +The house to which she brought him had a cavernous courtyard arch +like a tunnel, outside whose gates the swaddled dvornik huddled upon +the sheltered side of the arch. Of all his body, only his eyes moved +as they approached, pivoting under his great hood to scan them and +follow them through the gate. Within, the small court was a pit of +gloom roofed by the windy sky; a glass-paneled door let them in to a +winding stone stair with an iron handrail that was greasy to the +touch. It was upon the second floor that Miss Pilgrim halted and put +a key into a door. + +There was a hall within, a narrow passage cumbered with big +furniture, wardrobes and the like, which had obviously overflowed +from the rooms. At the far end of it, a door was ajar, letting out a +slit of bright light and a smell of cabbage. Miss Pilgrim opened a +nearer door, reached for the switch and turned to summon Waters +where he waited in the entry, browsing with those eager eyes of his +upon this new pasture. + +"Here's where you'll come when you want me," she said. + +He entered the room, walked as far as the middle of it and looked +about him. To his sensitive apprehension, whetted to fineness in the +years of his wandering and gazing, it was as though a chill and dead +air filled the place, a suggestion as of funerals. Opposite the door, +two tall windows, like sepulchral portals, framed oblongs of the +outer darkness; and the white-tiled stove in the corner was like a +mausoleum. The cheap parquet of the floor had a clammy gleam; a tiny +icon, roosting high in a corner, showed a tawdry shine of gilding; +the whole room, square and lofty, with its sparse furniture grouped +stiffly about its emptiness, was gaunt and forbidding. Of a +personality that should be at home within it and leave the impress of +its life upon the place, there was not a sign; it was the corpse of a +room. Waters turned from his scrutiny of it towards Miss Pilgrim, +standing yet by the door and clear to see at last in the light. She +smiled at him with her pale, quiet face, and he marked how, when she +ceased to smile, her mouth drooped and her face returned to shadow. +"That's Selby," he told himself hotly. "Selby done that to her!" + +There was another door in the corner, near the white stove. It stood +a few inches open, revealing nothing. But as he glanced towards it, +it seemed to him that he detected in the lifeless air a nuance of +fragrance, something elusive as a shade that emanated from the +farther room, and had in its very slightness and delicacy a +suggestion of femininity. He knew that it must be her bedroom that +lay beyond the door, and he found himself wondering what that was +like. + +Presently he was seated by the little sham mahogany table, upon which +the big brass samovar steamed and whispered, listening to her and +watching her. She gave him his glass of the pale-yellow Russian tea +that neither cheers nor inebriates, but merely distends and +irrigates, and sat over against him, sipping at her glass and +returning his gaze with her steady eyes. + +"I've only had this room a little time," she remarked. "I've had just +a bedroom before. But I had to have somewhere for people to come the +people who can't go to Mr. Selby, I mean. You know what they call me +at the Police Bureau? Mr. Selby's the vice-consul and I'm the +vice-vice. So this," her gaze traveled round the barren room with +gentle complacency "this is my Vice-vice Consulate." + +"Oh!" Waters looked up at her over the rim of his glass with a +changed interest. "The vice-vice? That's a pretty good name. Then +you've been doin' this for fellers already?" + +He marked a faintness of pink that dawned for a moment in her face at +the question. She smiled involuntarily and a little ruefully. + +"Well," she hesitated; "I've tried, but I'm afraid I haven't actually +done anything for anybody. I haven't had a real chance yet. But, +anyhow, there's this room all ready and there's me; and any American +who can't go to Mr. Selby for help can come here." + +He nodded. + +"It was really from you I got the idea," she went on; "when you went +out of the Consulate like that and there was nowhere you could go. +And later on, there was a sailor from one of the ships, and +afterwards a man who said he was a Mormon missionary; and Mr. Selby +wouldn't couldn't see his way to do anything for them. The sailor was +brought in by two policemen, though he was only a boy! He couldn't +speak a word of Russian, of course, and it made me so sorry to think +of him all alone with those people, having things done to him and not +understanding anything. So, after hours, I went round to see the +Chief of Police." + +Waters moved a little on his chair. Her face had a mild glow of +enthusiasm which touched it with sober beauty. He shook his head. + +"He's no good," he said. "You hadn't oughter gone to him by +yourself." + +"But," Miss Pilgrim protested, "lots of people have said that, and +it's all wrong. It was he that nicknamed me the 'vice-vice,' and now +all the police in the streets salute me when they see me. Even that +first time, before I knew him or anything, he was just as nice as he +could be. He was in his office, writing at a table under a lamp, and +he just looked up at me, hard and well, taking stock of me, you know, +while I told him who I was and what I'd come for. And then he gave me +a chair and sat and listened to everything I'd got to say, leaning on +his elbow and watching me close. I suppose a Chief of Police gets +used to watching people like that." + +"I, I wouldn't wonder," answered Waters vaguely. He was seeing, in a +swift vision, that interview, with the black-browed man in uniform +under the lamp, listening and staring. + +"I told him how I felt about it," Miss Pilgrim continued, "and how, +since there wasn't anybody else to speak for the boy, I'd come along +to see if I could do anything. And when I'd finished he let me go on +till I hadn't another word to say that I could think of! he just +bowed and said he'd have been delighted to oblige me, but the +sailor's captain had been in and paid his fine and taken him away +three hours before. Then he sent for glasses of tea and we sat and +had a talk, and I got him to say I could always come again when I +wanted to. But, you see, if it hadn't been for the captain." + +"Sure," agreed Waters. "They'd have turned the kid loose for you. And +the Mormon? Seems to me I seen that Mormon, unless there's a couple +of them strayin' around. How did you fix it for him?" + +Again, at the query, that ghost of pink showed on her cheeks. + +"Oh, he--he wasn't very nice," she answered. "He was a big stout man, +with a curly black beard like fur growing close to his face all round +and shiny round knobs of cheek bulging out of it. I never did get to +hear just what the trouble was with him, because when he was telling +Mr. Selby, he looked round at me first and then bent over the desk +and whispered. Whatever it was, it made Mr. Selby very angry; he +simply bounced out of his chair and shouted the man right out of the +room. And the man, I couldn't help being sorry for him, just went +walking backwards, fending Mr. Selby off with his hands, with his +mouth open and his eyes staring, looking as helpless and aghast as +could be. And when he got to the door, he burst out crying like a +little child." + +Waters smacked his knee. "That's him," he cried. "That's the feller! +He was up the river same time as me, an' gettin' plenty to cry for, +too. But what in what made you try to do anything for one o' them?" + +"He said he was an American citizen," answered Miss Pilgrim; "and Mr. +Selby wouldn't help him; so he was qualified. What made it difficult +in his case was that somehow I never found out what he'd done; and +the Chief of Police was queer about him too. I remember once that he +told me that if he were to let the man go, he'd be afraid to sleep at +nights, for fear he'd hear children's voices weeping in the dark. I +couldn't get anything else out of him. And the next time I went, +they'd found out that the Mormon wasn't an American at all; he'd just +been in the States for a couple of years and then come back to +Russia. So there wasn't any more I could do." + +Waters put his empty glass upon the square iron tray by the samovar. +He reached under his chair for his cap. + +"That's so," he agreed. "You couldn't do nothin' for that feller. +Maybe you'll land with the next one." + +He smiled at her across the little table. He understood now why the +gaunt room reflected nothing of her. It was a city of refuge she had +built and the refugees had failed to come; it was a makeshift temple +of her patriotism and her pity. He caught her small answering smile, +noting with what a docility of response her lips shaped themselves to +it. No doubt she had smiled just as obediently at the "Mormon." + +"It's a great idea, too," he went on. "Maybe Selby's all right as far +as he goes, but he certainly don't go very far. This here" he +gathered the room into his gesture "starts off where he stops. It's +great!" + +It was good to see her brighten under the brief praise. + +"Then you see now what I meant when I told you to come here to me?" +she asked. "Because I'll do everything I can, and the Chief of Police +will always listen to me. And you will come, won't you, if you should +happen ever to need help or or anything?" + +"Why, you bet I will," he promised heartily. "I reckon I got a right +to. You're my vice-vice and we don't want to waste a room like this." + +Watching her while he spoke, he had to hold down a smile which +threatened to show. She needed somebody in trouble and she was +relying on him. + +She left open the door for him while he went down the winding +staircase, that he might have light to see his way. When he was at +the bottom, he looked up, to see her head across the handrail, +silhouetted above him and still oddly recognizable and suggestive of +her. Her voice came down to him, echoing in the well of the stairway. + +"Good night," it said. "You won't, you won't forget?" + +He was smiling as he went forth through the long hollow of the arch +to the dim street; the huddled dvornik with his swiveling eyes saw +him, his face lifted to the light of the numbered house-lamp, still +with the shape of a smile inhabiting his lips. The night wind, bitter +from the water, met him as he went, driving through the meagerness of +his clothes, and still he smiled, cherished his mood like a treasure. +And below his mirth, cordial as a testimony of friendship, there +endured the memory of the barren and lifeless room, waiting for its +fulfillment. + +In the lodging which he discovered for himself, he lay that night +upon his crackling mattress, hands under his head, smoking a final +cigarette and staring up at the map of stains upon the ceiling. It +had been a day tapestried with sensations; there was much for the +thoughtful mind of a connoisseur of life to dwell upon; but, as he +lay, in that hour of his leisure, the memory that persisted in him +was of the inner door in the dull room where he had drunk tea and +talked with the girl, and all the suggestion and enticement of it. He +wished that for a moment he could have looked beyond it and viewed +just once the delicate and fragrant privacy which it screened. The +outer room had a purpose as plain as a kitchen; the girl in it had +shown him of herself only that purpose; the rest of her was shut from +him. + +He pitched the end of his cigarette from him, turning his head to +watch it roll to safety in the middle of the bare floor. + +"I'll go after a job in the morning," he said half aloud to the +emptiness of the mean chamber, and turned to sleep upon the +resolution. + +It was nearing noon of the next day when, following the trail of that +redeeming job, he went towards the Mathieson yards. While he was yet +afar off he could see between the roofs the cathedral-like +scaffolding clustering around the shape of a ship in the building; +the rapid-fire of the hammers and riveting guns at work upon her, +plates was loud above the noises of the street. But he went slowly; +he had already been some hours upon his quest, and there was a touch +of worry and uncertainty in his face. It seemed that the world he had +known so well had changed its heart. The gatekeeper at the wharves +where he formerly had driven a winch had refused to admit him, and at +the Russian foundry he had been curtly ordered away. Policemen had +hailed him familiarly and publicly, and twice passing istvostchiks +had swerved their little clattering vehicles to the curb to jeer down +into his face as they rumbled by. The smudged impress of a +rubber-stamp upon his passport and three lines of sprawling Russian +handwriting recording his conviction and punishment had marked him +with the local equivalent of the brand of Cain; henceforward he was +set apart from other men. He pondered it as he went in an indignant +bewilderment; it was strange that others should find him so different +when he knew himself to be the same as ever. + +The Scottish foreman-shipwright in the yard office looked up from his +standing-desk, lifting, to the light of the open door a red +monkey-face comically fringed with coppery whiskers, and stared at +him ferociously with little stone-blue eyes. He listened in fierce +stillness while Waters put forward his request to be taken on. + +"It's you, is it?" he said then. "I know ye. When did they let ye +out?" + +"Yesterday," answered Waters wearily. "Say, boss, it was only for +beatin' up an istvostchik, and I got to have a job." + +The fiery monkey-face, pursed in sourest disapproval, did not relax a +line. "Yesterday an' now ye come here! Well, we're no' wantin' hands +just now, d'ye see? An' if we was, we'd no' want you. So now ye +know!" + +The angry mask of a face continued to lower at him unwaveringly; it +was almost bitter and righteous enough to be funny. Waters surveyed +it for a space of moments with a faint interest in its mere +grotesqueness; it did not change nor shift under his scrutiny, but +continued to glare inhumanly like a baleful lamp. He humped a thin +shoulder in resignation and turned away. When he was halfway to the +gate, he heard behind him the foreman ordering the gatekeeper not to +admit him in future. + +Passing again along the cobbled street, he halted suddenly and gazed +about him like a man seeking. Everything was as it had been before, +from the folk moving in it to the pale sky over it. The little shops, +showing idealized pictures of their wares on painted boards beside +their doors for the benefit of a public that could not read; the +cluster of small gold domes on a church at the corner; the great +bearded laboring men in their filthy sheepskins; the Jews, sleek and +furtive; the cabman who doffed his hat and crossed himself as he +drove by a shrine there was not a house nor a man that he could not +identify and classify. He had come back to them from the pain and +labor of his imprisonment confident of what he should find; and it +was as if a home had become hostile and unwelcoming. + +"Guess I'll have to be movin' outta this town," he told himself. +"Seems as if I'd stopped here long enough!" + +He had time to confirm this judgment in the days that followed. The +approach of winter was bringing its inevitable slackness to all work +carried on in the open air, and the big works could afford to be +scrupulous about the characters of the men they engaged; and the +little tradesmen feared the ban of the police. His slender store of +money came to an end, and but for occasional jobs of wood-splitting +as the supplies of winter fuel came in, it would have been difficult +merely to live. As it was, he dragged his belt tighter about the +waist of the old linen blouse and showed to the daylight a face whose +whimsicality and vagueness were darkened with a touch of the +saturnine. He showed it likewise to Miss Pilgrim when one day she +passed him at the noon hour, hurrying past the corner on which he +stood, wrapped to the eyes in her greatcoat. + +She recognized him suddenly and stopped. + +"Good morning," she said. "It's, it's a cold day, isn't it?" + +Waters had his back to the wall for shelter, and though he stood thus +out of the wind, the air drenched him with its chill like water. He +smiled slowly with stiff lips at the brisk outdoor pink in her +cheeks. + +"This ain't cold," he answered. "You won't call this cold when you've +been through a winter here." + +"No," she agreed. "I suppose I won't." She shifted diffidently, +looking at him with her frank eyes. "Are you getting along all +right," she asked. + +He smiled again; in her meaning there was only one kind of "all +right" and "all wrong." "Why, yes," he replied. "I'm all right, Miss +Pilgrim; an' if I wasn't, I'd know where to come." + +She nodded eagerly. "Yes; I don't want you to forget. I I'll always +be glad to do everything I can." + +"Sure; I know that," he replied. "An' you? You makin' out all right +too, Miss Pilgrim? That Vice-vice-Consulate o' yours keepin' you +pretty busy?" + +The brisk pink flooded across her face in a quick flush, and her +mouth drooped. But her eyes, as always, were steady against his. + +"There hasn't been anybody yet," she answered, with a look that +deprecated his smile. + +He hastened to be sympathetic. "Too bad!" he said. "With a room like +that all ready an' waitin' too. But maybe it's only that things is +kind o' slack just now; somebody'll be cuttin' loose pretty soon and +you'll get your turn all right." + +She made to move on, but paused again to answer. + +"The room will always be there if you if anybody wants it," she said. +"Even if nobody ever comes, it shall always be ready, at least. +That's all I can do." + +She bade him farewell, with the little nod she had, and passed on, +muffling her chin down into her great cloth collar. Waters looked +after her with a frown of consideration. He was forgetting for the +moment that he was cold, that he had fed inadequately upon gruel of +barley, that he was all but penniless in an expensive and hostile +world. There was astir in his being, as he watched the slight +overcoated figure of the girl, that same protective instinct which +had galvanized even Selby into generosity; it never fails to make one +feel man enough to cope with any array of ills. There crossed and +tangled in his mind a moving web of schemes for aiding and consoling +her. + +Each of them had for a character vagueness of method and utter +completeness of result, but none amounted to a programme. Waters, for +all his brisk record, was not a man of action; he was rather a +mechanism jolted abruptly into action by the impulses of a detached +and ardent mind. It was chance, the ironic chance whose marionettes +are men and women, and not any design of his, which turned his feet +that evening towards the room that was always to be waiting and +ready. + +He was returning towards his lodging after an afternoon of looking +for work, tired, wearing a humor in tune with the early dark and the +empty monotony of the streets by which he went. The few folk who were +abroad in them went by like shy ghosts; the high fronts of the houses +were like barricades between him and all the comfort and security in +the world. There was mud in the roads and his boots were no longer +weather-proof. Life tasted stale and sour. + +An empty droschky, going the same way as himself, came bumping along +the gutter behind him, the driver singing hoarse and broken snatches +of song. He moved from the edge of the pavement to be clear of +mud-splashes as it passed him, and heard, without further concern, +the vehicle draw up level with him and the whistle and slap of the +whip as the istvostchik light-heartedly tortured his feeble horse. + +"Her eyes are cornflowers," proclaimed the istvostchik melodiously; +"her lips are-" He was abreast of Waters as he broke off. Five feet +of uneven and slimy sidewalk separated them. Waters looked up; a +house-lamp was above, dull and steady as a foggy star; and it showed +him, upon the box of the droschky, his enemy, the mainspring of all +his troubles. He halted short. + +The istvostchik had recognized him likewise. He was something short +of drunk, but his liquor was lively in him, and he wrenched his poor +specter of a horse to a standstill. Upon his seat, padded hugely in +his gown, he had a sort of throned look, a travesty of majesty; his +whip was held like a scepter. + +They stared at one another for a space of three or four breaths. +Waters was frankly aghast; this, upon the top of his other troubles, +was overwhelming. The istvostchik ruptured the moment with a brassy +yell. + +"Wow!" he howled. "My Amerikanetz, the Foreigner, the jail-bird! Look +at him, brothers!" He waved his whip as though the darkness were +thronged with auditors. "Look at the jail-bird!" + +From the gate below the dull lamp a dvornik poked his head forth. +Waters had a sense that every door and window in the street was +similarly fertile in heads. + +"Stop that!" he called to the istvostchik. "That's enough, now." + +The man upon the little cab rolled on his seat in a strident ecstasy +of eloquence, brandishing arm and whip abroad above the back of the +drooping horse. + +"He tried to fight me, and first I beat him terribly oh, terribly! +and then I made a protocol and sent him to prison. See him?" he +bellowed. "See the jail-bird? See the dog?" + +Waters swore helplessly. A month before, upon a quarter of such +provocation, he would have flashed into fight; but cold, hunger and +friendlessness had damped the tinder in him. He made to go on and get +away from it all; he started quickly. + +"Come back, jail-bird!" howled the istvostchik. + +"I haven't done with you, my golubchik, my little prison-rat. Come +back here to me when I bid you. What, you won't? Get on, you!" + +The last was to the horse, accompanied by a rending slash with the +whip. The wretched animal jerked forward, and Waters backed to the +wall as his enemy clattered down upon him again. + +"That'll do you," he warned as the cabman dragged his horse to a +standstill once more. "I'm not lookin' for trouble. You be on your +way!" + +The immense ragged-edged voice of the istvostchik descended upon him, +drowning his protest. + +"He runs away from me, this Amerikanetz! He runs away, because when I +find him I beat him I beat him whenever I find him. See now, +brothers, I am beating him!" + +And out of the tangle of his gesticulations, the whip-lash swooped +across the sidewalk and cut Waters heavily across the neck. + +In the mere surprise of it and the instance of the pain, Waters made +a noise like a yelp, a little spurt of involuntary sound. And then +the tinder lighted. + +"Beating him!" intoned the istvostchik, mighty in his moment. "Beat." + +It was the last coherent syllable which he uttered in the affair. +With a rush Waters cleared the sidewalk and was upon him, had him by +the pulp of clothes which enveloped him and tore him across the wheel +to the ground. They went down together across the curb, legs in the +gutter among the wheels, a convulsive bundle of battle that tore +apart and whirled together again as the American, with all the +long-compressed springs of his being suddenly released and vibrant, +poured his resentment and soul-soreness into his fists and found balm +for them in the mere spite of hitting somebody. + +It was a short fight. The istvostchik, even under his padding, was a +biggish man and vicious with liquor; he grappled at his antagonist +earnestly enough, to drag him down and bite and worry and kick in the +manner of his kind. But the breast of the worn linen blouse ripped in +his clutch and a pair of man-stopping punches on the mouth and the +eye drove him backwards towards the wall. It was then he began to +squeal. + +There were spectators by now, dvorniks who came running and +passers-by upon the other side who appeared from nowhere as though +suddenly materialized. There was a sparse circle of them about the +fight when it ceased, with the istvostchik down and flattened in the +angle of the wall and the pavement, making small timid noises like a +complaining kitten. Waters, with the mist of battle clearing, from +his eyes, saw them all about him, dark, well-wrapped figures, +watching him silently or whispering together. He sensed their +profound disapproval of him and his proceedings. + +"That'll keep you quiet for a while," he spoke down to the wreck of +the istvostchik. + +Only moans answered him; he grunted and turned to go. From the +nearest group of spectators a single figure detached itself and moved +towards him, blocking his path. It revealed itself at close quarters +as a stout, middle-aged man, prosperously fur-coated, with a spike of +dark beard the inevitable public-spirited citizen of the provinces. + +"You must explain this disturbance," he said to Waters importantly. +"You must wait here and explain yes, and show your papers. You cannot +walk away like this!" + +His companions pressed nearer interestedly. Waters could not know the +figure he cut, with his torn blouse which even in the gloom showed +stains of the mud and blood of the combat. + +"Get out of my way!" was all his answer. + +"Your papers," persisted the stout man. "I," he puffed his chest, "I +am in the Administration; I require to see your papers. Produce +them!" + +The pale oblong of his fat face wagged at Waters peremptorily; he +quite obviously felt himself a spokesman for order and decency and +the divinely ordained institution of "papers." + +"I said get out o' my way," said Waters clearly. He put the flat of +his hand against the stout man's fur-coated chest, shoved, and sent +him staggering back on his heels among his supporters. Without +looking towards him again, he passed through them and continued his +way. He heard the chorus of their indignation break out behind him. + +It followed him, a cackle of outraged respectability, with here and +there an epithet distinguishable like a plum in a pudding. "Ruffian," +they called him, "assassin," "robber," and so forth, the innocuous +amateur abuse of men who have learned their bad language from their +newspapers. It was not till he had gone a hundred yards, and the +noise of their lamentation had a little died down, that there emerged +out of the blur of it a voice that was quite clear. + +"Hi, you there!" It rang with the note of practiced authority. "Halt, +d'you hear? Halt!" + +The tones were enough, without the fashion of the words, to tell him +that a policeman had arrived on the scene. He looked back and saw +that the group of citizens was flowing along the sidewalk towards +him, a black moving blot. He could not distinguish the policeman, but +he knew that the others must be escorting him, coming with him to see +the finish. + +There was a corner some thirty or forty yards farther on. Waters +jammed his cap tighter on his head, picked up his heels and sprinted +for it. + +"Halt, there!" shouted the policeman. "Halt-I'll shoot!" + +Waters was at the corner when the shot sounded, detonating, like a +cannon in the channel of the street. Where the bullet went he did not +guess; he was round the corner, running in the middle of the street +for the next turning, with eyes alert for any entrance in which he +might find a refuge. But the firing had had its intended effect of +bringing every dvornik to his gate, and there was nothing for it but +to run on. He heard the chase round the corner behind him and the +policeman's 'repeated shout; the skin of his back crawled in +momentary expectation of another shot that might not go wild; and +then, with the next corner yet twenty yards away, came the idea. + +The mere felicity of it tickled him like a jest in the midst of all +his stress; he spent hoarded breath in a gasp of laughter. + +Around the corner that lay just ahead of him, for which he was +racing, was the street in which Miss Pilgrim lived, with her outer +room that was always ready and waiting. Without design or purpose he +had run towards it; an inscrutable fate, whimsical as his own humor, +had herded him thither. Well, he would go there! The matter was +slight, after all; she would explain the whole matter to her Chief of +Police, how the istvostchik had been the assailant and so forth; he +would be released, and her self-appointed function of "vice-vice" +would shine forth justified and vindicated. It all fell out as +dexterously as a conjuring trick. + +"Halt!" yelled the policeman. "I know you, halt!" + +But he did not shoot again; those southern policemen lack the fiber +that will loose bullet after bullet along a dark street; and Waters +had yet a good lead as he rounded the next corner and came into +cover. The house he sought was near by; as he cleared the angle, he +dropped into a swift walk that the new row of dvorniks might not mark +him at once for a fugitive, and strode along sharply under the wall +where it was darkest. He passed Number Seventeen without a sign from +its dvornik, and in the gate of Number Fifteen two dvorniks were +gossiping and did not turn their heads as he passed. The arch of +Number Thirteen, the house he sought, was close at hand when the +pursuit came stamping round the corner behind him; he heard their +cries as he slipped in through the half-open gate of the arch. The +chance that had brought him hither was true to him yet, for there was +no dvornik on watch; the man had chosen that moment of all others to +step over to gossip with his neighbor of Number Fifteen. + +He paused in the blackness of the courtyard to listen whether the +pursuit would pass by, and heard it arrive outside the gate, jangling +with voices. It had gathered up the dvornik on its way. Waters, with +a hand upon the door that opened to the staircase, heard the brisk +voice of the policeman questioning him in curt spurts of speech, and +the dvornik's answers. "Of course, he might have gone in. There is an +Amerikanka here, from the Consulate, and he might have gone to her." +Then the policeman, cutting the knot: "We'll soon see about that!" He +waited no longer, but entered and darted up the stair; he must at all +costs not be caught before he got to Miss Pilgrim. + +It was the thought of her and the expectation of her welcome to the +barren room that made him smile as he climbed. Muddy, penniless and +hunted, he knew himself for one that brought gifts; he was going to +make her rich with the sense of power and benevolence. He was +half-way up the second flight, at the head of which she lived, when +he heard the policeman and his following of citizens enter below him +and the stamp of their firm ascending feet on the lower steps. He +took the remaining stairs three at a time. Upon the landing, the door +of the flat stood ajar. + +Gently, with precautions not to be heard below, he pushed it open, +uncovering the remembered view of the furniture-cluttered passage, +with the doors of rooms opening from it and the kitchen door at the +end. The kitchen door was closed now; there was no sound anywhere +within the place. Nearest to him, on the left of the passage, the +door of the room in which he had drunk tea was open and dark. + +He tapped nervously with his nails upon the door, hearing from below +the approaching footsteps of the hunters. + +"Miss Pilgrim," he called in a loud whisper along the passage. "Miss +Pilgrim!" + +The bell-push was a button somewhere in the woodwork and he could not +find it. He tapped and whispered again. The others were at the foot +of the second flight now; in a couple of seconds the turn of the +staircase would let them see him, and he would be captured and +dragged away from her very threshold. He had a last agony of +hesitation, an impulse swiftly tasted and rejected, to try a rush +down the stairs and a fight to get through and away; and then he +stepped into the flat and eased the door to behind him. Its patent +lock latched itself with a small click unheard by the party whose +feet clattered on the stone steps. + +There was a clock somewhere in the dwelling that ticked pompously and +monotonously, and no other sound. Standing inside the door, in that +hush of the house, he was oppressed by a sense of shameful trespass; +he glanced with trepidation towards the kitchen, dreading to see +someone come forth and shriek at the sight of him. Supposing Miss +Pilgrim were out! Then from the landing came a smart insistent knock +upon the door, and within the flat a bell woke and shrilled +vociferously. He turned; the room that was always to be ready was at +his side, and he fled on tiptoe into its darkness. + +He got himself clear of the door, moving with extended hands across +its creaking parquet till he touched the cold smoothness of the tiled +stove, and freezing to immobility as he heard the kitchen door open. +Quick footsteps advanced along the passage; to him, checking, his +breath in the dark, listening with every nerve taut, it was as though +he saw her, the serene poise of her body as she walked, the pathetic +confidence of her high-held head, so distinctive and personal was +even the noise of her tread on the boards. Presently, when she had +sent the policeman away, he would see her and make her the gift of +his request and watch her face as she received it from him. + +The latch clicked back under her hand, and she was standing in the +entry, confronting the policeman and his backing of citizens. + +"Yes?" he heard her say, with a note of surprise at the sight of +them. "Yes? What is it?" + +The policeman's voice, with the official rasp in it, answered, +spitting facts as brief as curses. "Man evading arrest aggravated +assault believed to be a certain American apparently escaped this +direction." It was like a telegram talking. Then, from his escort, a +corroborating gabble. + +He could imagine her look of rather puzzled eagerness. "An American?" +she exclaimed. Then, as she realized it and its possibilities +possibly also the fact that already when an American was sought for +it was to her door that they came "oh!" + +"Require you to produce him," injected the policeman, "if here! He is +here yes?" + +"No," she answered; "nobody has come here yet." + +There seemed to be a check at that; the effect of her, standing in +the doorway, made insistence difficult. The loud clock ticked on, +and, at the background of the whole affair, the citizens on the +landing maintained a subdued and unremarked murmur among themselves. + +"He came this way," observed the policeman tenaciously. "He was seen +to pass the next house." And a voice chimed in, melancholy, +plaintive, evidently the voice of the dvornik who had been discovered +absent from his post: "Yes, I saw him." + +"Well," Miss Pilgrim seemed a little at a loss. "He's not here." She +paused. "I have two rooms here," she added; "this" she must be +pointing to the dark open door beside her "and my bedroom. You can +look in this room, if that is what you want." + +Waters heard the answering yap of the policeman and the shuffle of +feet. He turned in panic; there was no time to reason with events. A +step, and his groping hands were against that inner door, which +yielded to their touch. Even in the chaos of his wits, he was aware +of that subtle odor he had perceived before, that elusive fragrance +which seemed a very emanation of chaste girlhood and virgin delicacy. +He was inside, leaving the door an inch ajar, as the switch clicked +in the outer room and a narrow jet of light stabbed through the +opening. + +"You see, there is nobody," Miss Pilgrim was saying. + +The citizens, faithful to the trial, had crowded in. The policeman +grunted doubtfully. + +Waters, easing his breath noiselessly, let his eyes wander. The +streak of light lay across the floor and up over the counterpane of a +narrow wooden bed, then climbed the wall across the face of a picture +to the ceiling. Beyond its illumination, there were dim shapes of a +dressing-table and a wash-hand-stand, and there were dresses hanging +on the wall beside him behind a sheet draped from a shelf. A window, +high and double-paned, gave on the courtyard. Through it he could see +the lights shining in curtained windows opposite. + +"That?" It was Miss Pilgrim answering some question. "That is my +bedroom. No; you must not go in there!" + +There was a hush and a citizen said "Ah!" loudly and knowingly. +Waters, listening intently, frowned. + +"I must look," said the policeman curtly. + +"But" her voice came from near the door, as though she were standing +before it, barring the way to them, "you certainly shall not look. It +is my bedroom, and even if your man had come here" she broke off +abruptly. "You see he is not here," she added. + +"I must look," repeated the policeman in exactly the same tone as +before. "It is necessary." + +"No," she said. "You must take my word. If you do not, I shall +complain tomorrow morning to the consul and to the Chief of Police +and you shall be punished." + +"H'm!" The policeman was in doubt; she had spoken with a plain effect +of meaning what she said, and a policeman's head upon a charger is a +small sacrifice for a courteous Chief to offer to a lady friend. He +tried to be reasonable with her. + +"It was because he was seen to come this way," he argued. "He passed +the next house and the dvornik this man here! saw him. He had +committed an assault, an aggravated assault, on an istvostchik and +evaded arrest. And he came this way." + +"He is not here, though," replied Miss Pilgrim steadily. "Nobody at +all has been here this evening. I give you my word." + +The Russian phrase she used was "chestnoe slovo," "upon my honorable +word." Waters caught his breath and listened anxiously. + +"I give you my honorable word that he is not here," she affirmed +deliberately. + +"Now what do you know about that?" exclaimed Waters helplessly. + +From the rear of the room somebody piped up acutely: "Then why may +the policeman not look, since nobody is there?" Murmurs of agreement +supported the questioner. + +Miss Pilgrim did not answer. It was to Waters as though she and the +policeman stood, estimating each other, measuring strength and +capacity. The policeman grunted. + +"Well," he said, "since you say, upon your honorable word but I must +report the matter, you understand." He paused and there followed the +rustle of paper as he produced and opened his notebook. + +"Your names?" he demanded. + +"Certainly," agreed Miss Pilgrim, in a voice of extreme formality. +But she moved to the bedroom door and drew it conclusively shut +before she replied. + +Waters drew deep breaths and shifted his weight from one foot to the +other. From the farther room he could hear now no more than confused +and inarticulate murmurings; but he was not curious about the rest. +He knew just what was going on the fatuous interrogatory as to name, +surname, age, birthplace, nationality, father, mother, trade, married +or single, civil status, and all the rest of the rigmarole involved +in every contact with the Russian police. He had seen it many times +and endured it himself often enough. Just now he had another matter +to think of. + +"Honorable word!" he repeated. "It's a wonder she couldn't find +something different to say. Now I got to fool her. I got to, I." + +The window showed him the pit of the courtyard; its frame was not yet +caulked with cotton-wool and sealed with brown paper for the winter. +He got it open and leaned out, feeling to either side for a spout, a +pipe, anything that would give him handhold to climb down by. There +was nothing of the kind; but directly below him he could make out the +mass of the great square stack of furnace-wood built against the +wall. From the sill to the top of the stack was a drop of full twenty +feet. + +He measured it with his eyes as best he could in the darkness. It was +a chance, a not impossible one, but ugly enough. At any rate, it was +the only one, if he were to get out and leave that "honorable word" +untarnished. It never occurred to him that she might take it less +seriously than he. + +Waters, who dreamed, who stood by and gazed when life became +turbulent and vivid, did not hesitate now. There was time for nothing +but action, if he was to substitute a worthy sacrifice for his +spoiled gift. + +Seated upon the sill, he managed to draw the inner window shut and to +latch it through the ventilating pane; the outer one he had to leave +swinging and trust that she might find or not demand an explanation +for it. This done, he was left, with his back to the house, seated +upon the sill, a ledge perhaps a foot wide, with his legs swinging +above the twenty-foot drop. In order to make it with a chance for +safety, he had so to change his posture that he could hang by his +hands from the sill, thus reducing the sheer fall by some six feet. + +The dull windows of the courtyard watched him like stagnant eyes as, +leaning aside, he labored to turn and lower himself. His experience +at sea and upon the gantries in the yards should have helped him; but +the past days, with their chill and insufficient food, had done their +work on nerve and muscle, and he was still straining to turn and get +his weight on to his hands when he slipped. + +In the outer room, the catechism was running, or crawling, its ritual +course. + +"Father's nationality?" the policeman was inquiring, with his +notebook upheld to the light and! a stub of flat pencil poised for +the answer. A noise from the courtyard reached him. "What's that?" he +inquired. + +"Sounds like wood slipping off the stack," volunteered a citizen, and +the dvornik, whose business it had been to pile it, and who had +trouble enough on his hands already, sighed and drooped. + +"American, of course," replied Miss Pilgrim patiently. + +Below in the courtyard, Waters sat up and raised a hand to where +something wet and warm was running down his cheek from under his +hair, and found that it hurt his wrist when he did so. He rose +stiffly, cursing to himself at the pain it caused him. Above him, the +windows of the room that was always to be ready and waiting were +broad and bright and heads were visible against them. He felt himself +carefully and discovered that he could walk. + +"Huh! Me for the roads goin' south outta this," he soliloquized, as +he hobbled towards the gate; "an' startin' right now!" + +He paused at the entry to the arch and looked back at the windows +again. + +"Honorable word!" he repeated bitterly, nursing his injured wrist. +"Wouldn't that jar you?" + +He moved out through the gale slowly and painfully. + + + +XI + +THE CONNOISSEUR + +The office of the machine-tool agency, where Mr. Baruch sat bowed and +intent over his desk, was still as a chapel upon that afternoon of +early autumn; the pale South Russian sun, shining full upon its +windows, did no more than touch with color the sober shadows of the +place. From the single room of the American Vice-Consulate, across +the narrow staircase-landing without, there came to Mr. Baruch the +hum of indistinguishable voices that touched his consciousness +without troubling it. Then, suddenly, with a swell-organ effect, as +though a door had been flung open between him and the speakers, he +heard a single voice that babbled and faltered in noisy shrill anger. + +"Out o' this! Out o' this!" It was the unmistakable voice of Selby, +the vice-consul, whose routine day was incomplete without a quarrel. +"Call yourself an American you? Coming in here." + +The voice ceased abruptly. Mr. Baruch, at his desk, moved slightly +like one who disposes of a trivial interruption, and bent again to +the matter before him. Between his large, white hands, each decorated +with a single ring, he held a small oblong box, the size of a +cigar-case, of that blue lacquer of which Russian craftsmen once +alone possessed the secret. Battered now by base uses, tarnished and +abraded here and there, it preserved yet, for such eyes as those of +Mr. Baruch, clues to its ancient delicacy of surface and the glory of +its sky-rivaling blue. He had found it an hour before upon a +tobacconist's counter, containing matches, and had bought it for a +few kopeks; and now, alone in his office, amid his catalogues of +lathes and punches, he was poring over it, reading it as another man +might read poetry, inhaling from it all that the artist, its maker, +had breathed into it. + +There was a telephone at work in the Vice-Consulate now a voice +speaking in staccato bursts, pausing between each for the answer. Mr. +Baruch sighed gently, lifting the box for the light to slide upon its +surface. He was a large man, nearing his fiftieth year, and a quiet +self-security a quality of being at home in the world was the chief +of his effects. Upon the wide spaces of his face, the little and neat +features were grouped concisely, a nose boldly curved but small and +well modeled, a mouth at once sensuous and fastidious, and eyes +steadfast and benign. A dozen races between the Caspian and the +Vistula had fused to produce this machine-tool agent, and over the +union of them there was spread, like a preservative varnish, the +smoothness of an imperturbable placidity. + +Footsteps crossed the landing, and there was a loud knock on his +door. Before Mr. Baruch, deliberate always, could reply, it was +pushed open and Selby, the vice-consul, his hair awry, his glasses +askew on the high, thin bridge of his nose, and with all his general +air of a maddened bird, stood upon the threshold. + +"Ah, Selby, it is you, my friend!" remarked Mr. Baruch pleasantly. +"And you wish to see me yes?" + +Selby advanced into the room, saving his eyeglasses by a sudden +clutch. + +"Say, Baruch," he shrilled, "here's the devil of a thing! This place +gets worse every day. Feller comes into my office, kind of a peddler, +selling rugs and carpets and shows a sort of passport; Armenian, I +guess, or a Persian, or something; and when I tell him to clear out, +if he doesn't go and throw a kind of a fit right on my floor!" + +"Ah!" said Mr. Baruch sympathetically. "A fit yes? You have +telephoned for the gorodski pomosh the town ambulance?" + +"Yes," said Selby; "at least, I had Miss Pilgrim do that, my clerk, +you know." + +"Yes," said Mr. Baruch; "I know Miss Pilgrim. Well, I will come and +see your peddler man." He rose. "But first see what I have been +buying for myself, Selby." He held out the little battered box upon +his large, firm palm. "You like it? I gave forty kopeks for it to a +man who would have taken twenty. It is nice yes?" + +Selby gazed vaguely. "Very nice," he said perfunctorily. "I used to +buy 'em, too, when I came here first." + +Mr. Baruch smiled that quiet, friendly smile of his, and put the box +carefully into a drawer of his desk. + +The American Vice-Consulate at Nikolaief was housed in a single great +room lighted by a large window at one end overlooking the port and +the wharves, so that, entering from the gloom of the little landing, +one looked along the length of it as towards the mouth of a cave. +Desks, tables, a copying-press and a typewriter were all its gear; it +was a place as avidly specialized for its purpose as an iron foundry, +but now, for the moment, it was redeemed from its everyday barrenness +by the two figures upon the floor near the entrance. + +The peddler lay at full length, a bundle of strange travel-wrecked +clothes, suggesting a lay figure in his limp inertness and the loose +sprawl of his limbs. Beside him on the boards, trim in white blouse +and tweed skirt, kneeled the vice-consul's clerk, Miss Pilgrim. She +had one arm under the man's head, and with the other was drawing +towards her his fallen bundle of rugs to serve as a pillow. As she +bent, her gentle face, luminously fair, was over the swart, clenched +countenance of the unconscious man, whose stagnant eyes seemed set on +her in an unwinking stare. + +Mr. Baruch bent to help her place the bundle in position. She lifted +her face to him in recognition. Selby, fretting to and fro, snorted. + +"Blamed if I'd have touched him," he said. "Most likely he never saw +soap in his life. A hobo that's what he is just a hobo." + +Miss Pilgrim gave a little deprecating smile and stood up. She was a +slight girl, serious and gentle, and half her waking life was spent +in counteracting the effects of Selby 's indigestion and ill-temper. +Mr. Baruch was still stooping to the bundle of rugs. + +"Oh, that'll be all right, Mr. Baruch," she assured him. "He's quite +comfortable now." + +Mr. Baruch, still stooping, looked up at her. + +"I am seeing the kind of rugs he has," he answered. "I am interested +in rugs. You do not know rugs no?" + +"No," replied Miss Pilgrim. + +"Ah! This, now, is out of Persia, I think," said Mr. Baruch, edging +one loose from the disordered bundle. "Think!" he said. "This poor +fellow, lying here he is Armenian. How many years has he walked, +carrying his carpets and rugs, all the way down into Persia, selling +and changing his goods in bazaars and caravanserais, and then back +over the Caucasus and through the middle of the Don Cossacks all +across the Black Lands carrying the rugs till he comes to throw his +fit on Mr. Selby's floor! It is a strange way to live, Miss Pilgrim, +yes?" + +"Ye-es," breathed Miss Pilgrim. "Ye-es." + +He smiled at her. He had a corner of the rug unfolded now and draped +over his bent knee. His hand stroked it delicately; the blank light +from the window let its coloring show in its just values. Mr. Baruch, +with the dregs of his smile yet curving his lips, scanned it without +too much appearance of interest. He was known for a "collector," a +man who gathered things that others disregarded, and both Miss +Pilgrim and Selby watched him with the respect of the laity for the +initiate. But they could not discern or share the mounting ecstasy of +the connoisseur, of the spirit which is to the artist what the wife +is to the husband, as he realized the truth and power of the +coloring, its stained-glass glow, the justice and strength of the +patterning and the authentic silk-and-steel of the texture. + +"Is it any good?" asked Selby suddenly. "I've heard of 'em being +worth a lot sometimes thousands of dollars!" + +"Sometimes," agreed Mr. Baruch. "Those you can see in museums. This +one, now I would offer him twenty rubles for it, and I would give +perhaps thirty if he bargained too hard. That is because I have a +place for it in my house." + +"And he'd probably make a hundred per cent, on it at that," said +Selby. "These fellows." + +The loud feet of the ambulance men on the stairs interrupted him. Mr. +Baruch, dragging the partly unfolded rugs with him, moved away as the +white clad doctor and his retinue of stretcher-bearers came in at the +door, with exactly the manner of the mere spectator who makes room +for people more directly concerned. He saw the doctor kneel beside +the prostrate man and Miss Pilgrim hand him one of the office +tea-glasses; then, while all crowded round to watch the process of +luring back the strayed soul of the peddler, he had leisure to assure +himself again of the quality of his find. The tea-glass clinked +against clenched teeth. "A spoon, somebody!" snapped the doctor. The +cramped throat gurgled painfully; but Mr. Baruch, slave to the +delight of the eye, was unheeding. A joy akin to love, pervading and +rejoicing his every faculty, had possession of him. The carpet was +all he had deemed it and more, the perfect expression in its medium +of a fine and pure will to beauty. + +The peddler on the floor behind him groaned painfully and tatters of +speech formed on his lips. + +"That's better," said the doctor encouragingly. + +Mr. Baruch dropped the rug and moved quietly towards the group. + +The man was conscious again; a stretcher-bearer, kneeling behind him, +was holding him in a half sitting posture, and Mr. Baruch watched +with interest how the tide of returning intelligence mounted in the +thin mask of his face. He was an Armenian by every evidence, an +effect of weather-beaten pallor appearing through dense masses of +coal-black beard and hair one of those timid and servile +off-scourings of civilization whose wandering lives are daily epics +of horrid peril and adventure. His pale eyes roved here and there as +he lay against the stretcher-bearer's knee. + +"Well," said the doctor, rising and dusting his hands one against the +other, "we won't need the stretcher. Two of you take him under his +arms and help him up." + +The burly Russian ambulance men hoisted him easily enough and stood +supporting him while he hung between them weakly. Still his eyes +wandered, seeking dumbly in the big room. The doctor turned to speak +to the vice-consul, and Miss Pilgrim moved forward to the sick man. + +"Yes?" she questioned, in her uncertain Russian. "Yes? What is it?" + +He made feeble sounds, but Mr. Baruch heard no shaped word. Miss +Pilgrim, however, seemed to understand. + +"Oh, your rugs!" she answered. "They're all here, quite safe." She +pointed to the bundle, lying where it had been thrust aside. "Quite +safe, you see." + +Mr. Baruch said no word. The silken carpet that he had removed was +out of sight upon the farther side of the big central table of the +office. The peddler groaned again and murmured; Miss Pilgrim bent +forward to give ear. Mr. Baruch, quietly and deliberately as always, +moved to join the conference of the doctor and Selby. He was making a +third to their conversation when Miss Pilgrim turned. + +"One more?" she was saying. "Is there one more? Mr. Baruch, did you-- +Oh, there it is!" + +She moved across to fetch it. The peddler's eyes followed her +slavishly. Mr. Baruch smiled. + +"Yes?" he said. "Oh, that carpet! He wants to sell it yes?" + +"He isn't fit to do any bargaining yet," replied Miss Pilgrim, and +Mr. Baruch nodded agreeably. + +The doctor and Selby finished their talk, and the former came back +into the group. + +"Well, take him down to the ambulance," he bade the men. + +They moved to obey, but the sick man, mouthing strange sounds, seemed +to try to hang back, making gestures with his head towards the +disregarded bundle that was the whole of his earthly wealth. + +"What's the matter with him?" cried the doctor impatiently. "Those +rugs? Oh, we can't take a hotbed of microbes like that to the +hospital! Move him along there!" + +"And I'm not going to have 'em here," barked Selby. The peddler, limp +between the big stretcher bearers, moaned and seemed to shiver in a +vain effort to free himself. + +"Wait, please!" Miss Pilgrim came forward. She had been folding the +silken rug of Mr. Baruch's choice, and was now carrying it before +her. It was as though she wore an apron of dawn gold and sunset red. + +The pitiful man rolled meek imploring eyes upon her. She cast down +the rug she carried upon the others in their bundle and stood over +them. + +"I'll take care of them," she said. "They will be safe with me. Do +you understand? Me!" She touched herself upon her white-clad bosom +with one hand, pointing with the other to the rugs. + +The man gazed at her mournfully, resignedly. Martyrdom was the daily +bread of his race; oppression had been his apprenticeship to life. It +was in the order of things as he knew it that those who had power +over him should plunder him; but, facing the earnest girl, with her +frank and kindly eyes, some glimmer of hope lighted in his +abjectness. He sighed and let his head fall forward in a feeble +motion of acquiescence, and the big men who held him took him out and +down the stairs to the waiting ambulance. + +"Well!" said Selby, as the door closed behind the doctor. "Who +wouldn't sell a farm and be a consul. We'd ought to have the place +disinfected. What do you reckon to do with that junk, Miss Pilgrim?" + +Miss Pilgrim was readjusting the thong that had bound the rugs +together. + +"Oh, I'll take them home in a droschky, Mr. Selby," she said. "I've +got a cupboard in my rooms where they can stay till the poor man gets +out of hospital." + +"All right," snarled Selby. "It's your troubles." He turned away, but +stopped upon a sudden thought. "What about letting Baruch take that +rug now?" he asked. "He's offered a price and he can pay it to you." + +"Certainly," agreed Mr. Baruch. "I can pay the cash to Miss Pilgrim +and she can pay it to the poor man. He will perhaps be glad to have +some cash at once when he comes out." + +Miss Pilgrim, kneeling beside the pack of rugs, looked doubtfully +from one to the other. Mr. Baruch returned her gaze benignly. Selby, +as always, had the affronted air of one who is prepared to be refused +the most just and moderate demand. + +"Why," she began hesitatingly, "I suppose-" Then Selby had to strike +in. + +"Aren't worrying because you said you'd look after the stuff +yourself, are you?" he jeered. + +Mr. Baruch's expression did not alter by so much as a twitch; there +was no outward index of his impulse to smite the blundering man +across the mouth. + +The hesitancy upon Miss Pilgrim's face dissolved in an instant and +she positively brightened. + +"Of course," she said happily. "What can I have been thinking of? +When the poor man comes out Mr. Baruch can make his own bargain with +him; but till then I promised!" + +Selby, with slipping glasses awry on his' nose, gaped at her. + +"Promised!" he repeated. "That that hobo." + +Mr. Baruch intervened. + +"But, Selby, my friend, Miss Pilgrim is quite right. She promised; +and it is only two or three days to wait, and also it is not the only +rug in the world. Though," he added generously, "it is a nice rug +yes?" + +Miss Pilgrim smiled at him gratefully; Selby shrugged, and just +caught his glasses as the shrug shook them loose. + +"Fix it to suit yourselves," he snarled, and moved away toward his +untidy desk by the window. + +The pale autumn sun had dissolved in watery splendors as Mr. Baruch, +with the wide astrakhan collar of his overcoat turned up about his +ears, walked easily homeward in the brisk evening chill. There were +lights along the wharves, and the broad waters of the port, along +which his road lay, were freckled with the spark-like lanterns on the +ships, each with its little shimmer of radiance reflected from the +stream. Commonly, as he strolled, he saw it all with gladness; the +world and the fullness thereof were ministers of his pleasure; but +upon this night he saw it absently, with eyes that dwelt beyond it +all. Outwardly, he was the usual Mr. Baruch; his slightly sluggish +benevolence of demeanor was unchanged as he returned the salute of a +policeman upon a corner, but inwardly he was like a man uplifted by +good news. The sense of pure beauty, buried in his being, stirred +like a rebellious slave. Those arabesques, that coloring, that +texture thrilled him like a gospel. + +It was in the same mood of abstraction that he let himself into his +flat in the great German-built apartment-house that overlooked the +"boulevard" and the thronged river. He laid aside his overcoat in the +little hall, conventional with its waxed wood and its mirror, clicked +an electric-light switch and passed through a portiere into the +salon, which was the chief room of his abode. A large room, oblong +and high-ceilinged, designed by a man with palace architecture that +obsession of the Russian architect on the brain. He advanced to it, +still with that vagueness of sense, and stopped, looking round him. + +It was part of the effect which Mr. Baruch made upon those who came +into contact with him that few suspected him of a home, a domesticity +of his own; he was so complete, so compactly self-contained, without +appanages of that kind. Here, however, was the frame of his real +existence, which contained it as a frame contains a picture and threw +it into relief. The great room, under the strong lights, showed the +conventional desert of polished parquet floor, with sparse furniture +grouped about it. There was an ivory-inlaid stand with a Benares +brass tray; a Circassian bridal linen-chest stood against a wall; the +tiles of the stove in the corner illustrated the life and martyrdom +of Saint Tikhon. Upon another wall was a trophy of old Cossack +swords. Before the linen-chest there stood a trunk of the kind that +every Russian housemaid takes with her to her employment a thing of +bent birchwood, fantastically painted in strong reds and blues. One +buys such things for the price of a cocktail. + +Mr. Baruch stood, looking round him at the room. Everything in it was +of his choosing, the trophy of some moment or some hour of delight. +He had selected his own background. + +"Ah Samuel!" + +He turned, deliberate always. Between the portieres that screened the +opposite doorway there stood the supreme "find" of his collection. +Somewhere or other, between the processes of becoming an emperor in +the machine-tool trade of southern Russia and an American citizen, +Mr. Baruch so complete in himself, so perfect an entity had added to +himself a wife. The taste that manifested itself alike on battered +blue lacquer and worn prayer-rugs from Persia had not failed him +then; he had found a thing perfect of its kind. From the uneasy +Caucasus, where the harem-furnishers of Circassia jostle the +woman-merchants of Georgia, he had brought back a prize. The woman +who stood in the doorway, one strong bare arm uplifted to hold back +the stamped leather curtain, was large a great white creature like a +moving statue, with a still, blank face framed in banks of shining +jet hair. The strong, lights of the chamber shone on her; she stood, +still as an image, with large, incurious eyes, looking at him. All +the Orient was immanent in her; she had the quiet, the resignation, +the un-hope of the odalisque. + +"Samuel," she said again. + +"Ah, Adina!" And then, in the Circassian idiom, "Grace go before +you!" + +Her white arm sank and the curtains swelled together behind her. Mr. +Baruch took the chief of his treasures into his arms and kissed her. + +The room in which presently they dined was tiny, like a cabinet +particulier; they sat at food like lovers, with shutters closed upon +the windows to defend their privacy. Mr. Baruch ate largely, and his +great wife watched him across the table with still satisfaction. The +linen of the table had been woven by the nuns of the Lavra at Kiev; +the soup-bowls were from Cracow; there was nothing in the place that +had not its quality and distinction. And Mr. Baruch fitted it as a +snail fits its shell. It was his shell, for, like a snail, he had +exuded it from his being and it was part of him. + +"I saw a carpet to-day," he said abruptly. There was Black Sea salmon +on his plate, and he spoke above a laden fork. + +"Yes?" The big, quiet woman did not so much inquire as invite him to +continue. Mr. Baruch ate some salmon. "A carpet yes," he said +presently. "Real like Diamonds, like you, Adina, I no mistake." + +At the compliment, she lowered her head and raised it again in a +motion like a very slow nod. Mr. Baruch finished his salmon without +further words. + +"And?" Upon her unfinished question he looked up. + +"Yes," he said; "surely! In a few days I shall bring it home." + +Her large eyes, the docile eyes of the slave-wife, acclaimed him. For +her there were no doubts, no judgments; the husband was the master, +the god of the house. Mr. Baruch continued his meal to its end. + +"And now," he said presently, when he had finished, "you will go to +bed." + +She stood up forthwith, revealing again her majestic stature and +pose. Mr. Baruch sat at his end of the table with his tiny cup of +coffee and his thimble-like glass before him. He lifted his eyes and +gazed at her appreciatively, and, for a moment, there lighted in his +face a reflection of what Selby and Miss Pilgrim might have seen in +it, had they known how to look, when first he realized the silken +glories of the carpet. The woman, returning his gaze, maintained her +pale, submissive calm. + +"Blessings upon you!" he said, dismissing her. + +She lowered her splendid head in instant obedience. + +"Blessings," she replied, "and again blessings! Have sweet sleep, +lord and husband!" + +He sat above his coffee and his liqueur and watched her superb body +pass forth from the little room. She did not turn to look back; they +are not trained to coquetry, those chattel-women of the Caucasus. Mr. +Baruch smiled while he let the sweetish and violently strong liqueur +roll over his tongue and the assertively fragrant coffee possess his +senses. His wife was a "find," a thing perfect of its sort, that +satisfied his exigent taste; and now again he was to thrill with the +joy of acquisition. There were rugs in the room where he sat one +draped over a settee, another hanging upon the wall opposite him, one +underfoot each fine and singular in its manner He passed an eye over +them and then ceased to sec them. His benevolent face, with all its +suggestive reserve and its quiet shrewdness, fell vague with reverie. +It was in absence of mind rather than in presence of appetite that he +helped himself for the fourth time to the high-explosive liqueur from +the old Vilna decanter; and there flashed into sight before him, the +clearer for the spur with which the potent drink rowelled his +consciousness, the vision of the silk carpet, its glow, as though +fire were mixed with the dyes of it, the faultless Tightness and art +of its pattern, the soul-ensnaring perfection of the whole. + +It was some hours later that he looked into his wife's room on his +way to his own. She was asleep, her quiet head cushioned upon the +waves of her hair. Mr. Baruch, half-burned cigar between his teeth, +stood and gazed at her. Her face, wiped clean of its powder, was +white as paper, with that deathlike whiteness which counts as beauty +in Circassia; only the shadows of her eyelids and the broad red of +her lips stained her pallor. Across her breast the red and blue hem +of the quilt lay like a scarf. + +Mr. Baruch looked at the arrangement critically. He was a connoisseur +in perfection, and something was lacking. It eluded him for a moment +or two and then, suddenly, like an inspiration, he perceived it. The +rug the thing delicate as silk, with its sheen, its flush of hues, +with the white slumbering face above it! The picture, the perfect +thing he saw it! + +The woman in the bed stirred and murmured. + +"Blessings upon you," said Mr. Baruch, and smiled as he turned away. + +"Bl-essings," she murmured sleepily, without opening her eyes, and +sighed and lay still once more. + +The heart of man is a battle-ground where might is always right and +victory is always to the strongest of the warring passions. And even +a saint's passion to holiness is hardly stronger, more selfless, more +disregardful of conditions and obstacles than the passion of the +lover of the beautiful, the connoisseur, toward acquisition. In the +days that followed, Mr. Baruch, walking his quiet ways about the +city, working in the stillness of his office, acquired the sense that +the carpet, by the mere force of his desire, was somehow due to him a +thing only momentarily out of his hands, like one's brief loan to a +friend. Presently it would come his way and be his; and it belongs to +his sense of security in his right that not once, not even when he +remembered it most avidly, did he think of the expedient of buying it +from the sick peddler by paying him the value of it. + +Another man would probably have gone forthwith to Selby, told him the +secret, and enlisted his aid; but Mr. Baruch did not work like that. +He allowed chance a week in which to show its reasonableness; and not +till then, nothing having happened, did he furnish himself, one +afternoon, with an excuse, in the form of a disputed customs charge, +and cross the narrow landing to the American Vice-Consulate. + +Selby was there alone at his disorderly desk by the window, fussing +feebly among the chaos of his tumbled papers, and making a noise of +desperation with his lips like a singing kettle. + +"Ah, Selby, my friend!" Mr. Baruch went smilingly forward. "You work +always too much. And now come I with a little other thing for you. It +is too bad yes?" + +"Hallo, Baruch!" returned Selby. "You're right about the working. +Here I keep a girl to keep my papers in some kind of a sort of order +and I been hunting and digging for an hour to find one of 'em. It +gets me what she thinks I pay her for! Hoboes an' that kind o' trash, +that's her style." + +Mr. Baruch had still his agreeable, mild smile, which was as much a +part of his daily wear as his trousers. He could not have steered the +talk to better purpose. + +"Hoboes?" he said vaguely. "Trash?" + +Selby exploded in weak, sputtering fury, and, as always, his glasses +canted on the high, thin bridge of his nose and waggled in time to +each jerk of words. + +"It's that hobo, you saw him, Baruch, that pranced in here and threw +a fit and a lot of old carpets all over my floor. Armenian or some +such thing! Well, they took him to the hospital and this afternoon he +hadn't got more sense than to send a message over here." + +Mr. Baruch nodded. + +"Ah, to Miss Pilgrim, yes? because of her very kind treatment." + +Selby caught his glasses as they fell. + +"Huh!" he sneered malevolently. "You'd have to be a hobo before you'd +get kindness from her. Hard-luck stories is the only kind she +believes. 'I'll have to go, Mr. Selby,' she says. And she goes--and +here's me hunting and pawing around--" + +"Yes," agreed Mr. Baruch; "it is inconvenient. So I will come back +tomorrow with my matter, when you shall have more time. Then the poor +man, he is worse or better?" + +"You don't suppose I been inquiring after him, do you?" squealed +Selby. + +"No," replied Mr. Baruch equably, "I do not suppose that, Selby, my +friend." + +The street in which Miss Pilgrim had her rooms was one of the long +gullies of high-fronted architecture running at right angles to the +river, and thither portly, handsomely overcoated, with the +deliberateness of a balanced and ordered mind in every tread of his +measured gait went Mr. Baruch. He had no plan; his resource and +personality would not fail him in an emergency, and it was time he +brought them to bear. One thing he was sure of he would take the +carpet home that night. + +At the head of two flights of iron-railed stone stairs, he reached +the door of the flat which he sought. Two or three attempts upon the +bell-push brought no response, and he could hear no sound of life +through the door. He waited composedly. It did not enter his head +that all the occupants might be out; and he was right, for presently, +after he had thumped on the door with his gloved fist, there was a +slip-slap of feet within and a sloven of a woman opened to him. + +Mr. Baruch gave her his smile. + +"The American lady is in? I wish to speak to her." The woman stood +aside hastily to let him enter. "Say Gaspodin Baruch is here," he +directed blandly. + +It was a narrow corridor, flanked with doors, in which he stood. The +woman knocked at the nearest of these, opened it, and spoke his name. +Immediately from within he heard the glad, gentle voice of the +consul's clerk. + +"Surely!" it answered the servant in Russian; then called in English, +"Come in, Mr. Baruch, please!" + +He removed his hat and entered. An unshaded electric-light bulb +filled the room with crude light, stripping its poverty and +tawdriness naked to the eye its bamboo furniture, its imitation +parquet, and the cheap distemper of its walls. But of these Mr. +Baruch was only faintly aware, for in the middle of the floor, with +brown paper and string beside her, Miss Pilgrim knelt amid a +kaleidoscope of tumbled rugs, and in her hand, half folded already, +was the rug. + +She was smiling up at him with her mild, serene face, while under her +thin, pale hands lay the treasure. + +"Now this is nice of you, Mr. Baruch," she was saying. "I suppose Mr. +Selby told you I'd had to go out." + +Mr. Baruch nodded. He had let his eyes rest on the rug for a space of +seconds, and then averted them. + +"Yes," he said. "He said it was some message about the poor man who +was ill, and I think he was angry." + +"Angry?" Miss Pilgrim's smile faded. "I'm, I'm sorry for that." + +"So," continued Mr. Baruch, "as I have to go by this way, I think I +will call to see if I can help. It was some paper Mr. Selby cannot +find, I think." + +"Some paper?" Miss Pilgrim pondered. "You don't know which it was?" + +Mr. Baruch shook his head regretfully. Between them the rug lay and +glowed up at him. + +"You see," continued Miss Pilgrim, "it's this way, Mr. Baruch. That +poor man in the hospital doesn't seem to be getting any better yet, +and he's evidently fretting about his rugs. They're probably all he's +got in the world. So this afternoon they telephoned up from the +hospital to say he wanted me to send down one in particular, the +thinnest one of them all. That's this one!" + +She showed it to him, her fingers feeling its edge. There was wonder +in his mind that the mere contact of it did not tell her of its +worth. + +"I'm afraid it's the one you wanted to buy," she said. "The one you +said was worth thirty rubles. Well, of course, it's his, and since he +wanted it I had to get it for him. I couldn't do anything else, could +I, Mr. Baruch?" + +Mr. Baruch agreed. + +"It is very kind treatment," he approved. "So now you pack it in a +parcel and take it to the hospital before you go back to find Mr. +Selby's paper yes? Mr. Selby will be glad." + +A pucker of worry appeared between the girl's frank brows and she +fell swiftly to folding and packing the rug. + +"If if only he hasn't left the office before I got there!" she +doubted. + +Mr. Baruch picked up the string and prepared to assist with the +packing. + +"Perhaps he will not be gone," he said consolingly. "He was so angry +I think the paper would be important, and he would stay to find it +yes?" Miss Pilgrim did not seem cheered by this supposition. "Well," +said Mr. Baruch then, "if it should be a help to you and the poor +man, I can take this parcel for you and leave it in the gate of the +hospital when I go past this evening." + +He had a momentary tremor as he made the proposal, but it was not +doubt that it would be accepted or fear lest his purpose should show +through it. He felt neither of these; it was the thrill of victory +that he had to keep out of his tone and his smile. + +For it was victory. Miss Pilgrim beamed at him thankfully. + +"Oh, Mr. Baruch, you are kind!" she cried. "I didn't like to ask you, +but you must be a thought reader. If you'd just hand it in for Doctor +Semianoff, he'll know all about it, and I can get back to Mr. Selby +at once. And thank you ever so much, Mr. Baruch!" + +"But," protested Mr. Baruch, "it is a little thing--it is nothing. +And it is much pleasure to me to do this for you and the poor man. +Tonight he will have it, and tomorrow perhaps he will be better." + +They went down the stairs together and bade each other a friendly +good night in the gateway. + +"And I'm ever so much obliged to you, Mr. Baruch," said Miss Pilgrim +again, her pale face shining in the dusk. + +Mr. Baruch put a fatherly hand on her sleeve. + +"Hush! You must not say it," he said. "It is I that am happy." + +Half an hour later, he found what he sought in a large furniture +store on the Pushkinskaia, an imitation Persian rug, manufactured at +Frankfurt, and priced seventeen rubles. With a little bargaining the +salesman was no match for Mr. Baruch, at that he got it for fifteen +and a half. He himself directed the packing of it, to see that no +store-label was included in the parcel; and a quarter of an hour +later he delivered it by cab to the dvornik at the hospital gate for +Doctor Semianoff. Then he drove homeward; he could not spare the time +to walk while the bundle he held in his arms was yet unopened nor its +treasure housed in his home. + +His stratagem was perfect. Even if the Armenian were to make an +outcry, who would lend him an ear? + +It would appear it could easily be made to appear that he was +endeavoring to extort money from Miss Pilgrim upon a flimsy pretext +that a worthless rug had been substituted for a valuable one, and the +police would know how to deal with him. Mr. Baruch put the matter +behind him contentedly. + +The majestic woman in his home watched him impassively as he unpacked +his parcel and spread the rug loosely across a couple of chairs in +the salon. In actual words he said only: "This is the carpet, Adina, +for your bed. Look at it well!" She looked obediently, glancing from +it to his face, her own still with its unchanging calm, and wondered +dully in her sex-specialized brain at the light of rapture in his +countenance. He pored upon it, devouring its rareness of beauty, the +sum and the detail of its perfection, with a joy as pure, an +appreciation as generous, as if he had not stolen it from under the +hands of a sick pauper and a Good Samaritan. + +That night he stood at the door of his wife's room. "Blessings upon +you!" he said, and smiled at her in acknowledgment of the blessings +she returned. A brass-and-glass lantern contained the electric light +in the chamber; it shone softly on all the apparatus of toilet and +slumber, and upon the picture that was Mr. Baruch's chief work of art +the marble-white face thrown into high relief by the unbound black +hair and the colors, like a tangle of softened and subdued rainbows, +that flowed from her bosom to the foot of the bed. He crossed the +floor and bent and kissed her where she lay. + +"Wonderful!" he said to her. "You are a question, an eternal +question. And here" his hand moved on the surface of the rug like a +caress "is the answer to you. Two perfect things two perfect things!" + +"Blessings!" she murmured. + +"I have them," he said; "two of them," and he laughed and left her. + +He did not see Miss Pilgrim the following day or the next; that was +easy for him to contrive, for much of his business was done outside +his office. It was not that he had any fear of meeting her; but it +was more agreeable to his feelings not to be reminded of her part in +the acquisition of the carpet. Upon the third day, he was late in +arriving, for his wife had complained at breakfast of headache and +sickness, and he had stayed to comfort her and see her back to bed +for a twenty-four hours' holiday from life. On his way he had stopped +at a florist's to send her back some flowers.' + +He was barely seated at his desk when there was a knock upon his door +and Miss Pilgrim entered. + +He smiled his usual pleasant welcome at her. + +"Ah, Miss Pilgrim, good morning, I am glad to see you. You will sit +down yes?" + +He was rising to give her a chair he was not in the least afraid of +her when something about her arrested him, a trouble, a note of +sorrow. + +"Mr. Baruch" she began. + +He knew the value of the deft interruption that breaks the thread of +thought. + +"There is something not right?" he suggested. "I hope not." With a +manner of sudden concern, he added: "The poor man, he is worse no?" + +Miss Pilgrim showed him a stricken face and eyes brimming with tears. + +"He's, he's dead!" she quavered. + +"See, now!" said Mr. Baruch, shocked. "What a sad thing and after all +your kind treatment! I am sorry, Miss Pilgrim; but it is to remember +that the poor man has come here through much hardship yes? And at the +least, you have given him back his rug to comfort him." + +"But" Miss Pilgrim stayed his drift of easy, grave speech with a sort +of cry "that's the cause of all the trouble and danger and you only +did it to help me. You must come with me to the town clinic at once. +Mr. Selby's gone already. There'll be no danger if you come at once." + +"Danger?" repeated Mr. Baruch. "I have not understood." But though in +all truth he did not understand, a foreboding of knowledge was chill +upon him. He cleared his throat. "What did he die of?" + +Miss Pilgrim's tears had overflowed. She had a difficulty in +speaking. But her stammered words came as clearly to his ears as +though they were being shouted. + +"Smallpox!" + +He sat down heavily in the chair whence he had risen to receive her, +and Miss Pilgrim through her tears saw him shrivel in a gust of utter +terror. All his mask of complacency, of kindly power, of reticence of +spirit fell from him; he gulped, and his mouth sagged slack. She +moved a pace nearer to him. + +"But it'll be all right, Mr. Baruch, if you'll just come to the +clinic at once and be vaccinated. It's only because we touched him +and the rugs. There isn't any need to be so frightened." + +She could not divine the vision that stood before his strained eyes +the white face of a woman, weary with her ailment, and the beautiful +thing that blanketed her, beautiful and venomous like a snake. His +senses swam. But from his shaking lips two words formed themselves: + +"My wife!" + +"Oh, come along, Mr. Baruch!" cried Miss Pilgrim. "Your wife hasn't +touched the rugs. She'll be perfectly all right!" + +He gave her a look that began abjectly but strengthened as it +continued to something like a strange sneer. For he was a +connoisseur; he knew. And he was certain that Fate would never leave +a drama unfinished like that. + + + +XII + +THE DAY OF OMENS + +The velvet-footed, rat-faced valet moved noiselessly in the bedroom, +placing matters in order for his master's toilet. He had drawn the +curtains to admit the day and closed the window to bar out its +morning freshness, and it was while he was clearing the pockets of +the dress clothes that he became aware that from the alcove at his +back, in which the bed stood, eyes were watching him. Without hurry, +he deposited a little pile of coins on the edge of the dressing-table +and laid the trousers aside; then, with his long thief's hands +hanging open in obvious innocence, he turned and saw that his +master had waked in his usual uncanny fashion, returning from +slumber to full consciousness with no interval of drowsiness and +half-wakefulness. It was as if he would take the fortunes of the day +by surprise. His wonderful white hair, which made him noticeable +without ever making him venerable, was tumbled on his head; he looked +from his pillow with the immobility and inexpressiveness of a wax +figure. + +To his valet's murmured "good morning," he frowned slightly, as if in +some preoccupation of his thoughts. + +"What sort of day is it?" he asked, without replying to the greeting. + +"It is fine, M'sieur le Prince," answered the valet; "a beautiful +day." + +"H'm!" The Prince de Monpavon lifted himself on one silk-sleeved +elbow to see for himself. The window was on the west side of the +building, so that from the bed one looked as through a tunnel of +shadow to a sunlight that hung aloof and distant. He surveyed it for +a space of minutes with a face of discontent, then fell back on his +pillows. + +"Thought it was raining," he remarked. "Something feels wrong about +it. What time is it?" + +"It is twenty minutes past eleven, M'sieur le Prince," replied the +servant. "I will fetch M'sieur le Prince's letters. And M. Dupontel +has telephoned." + +"Eh?" The Prince's hard eyes came round to him swiftly, but not soon +enough to see that movement of his right hand that gave him the +appearance of deftly pocketing some small object concealed in the +palm of it. "What does he say?" + +"He will be here at noon, and hopes that M'sieur le Prince will go to +take lunch with him." + +The Prince nodded slowly, and the valet, treading always as if noise +were a sacrilege, passed out of the room to fetch the letters. The +Prince lifted his head to pack the pillow under it more conveniently, +and waited in an appearance of deep thought. Under the bedclothes the +contour of his body showed long, and slender, and his face, upturned +to the canopy of the bed, was one upon which the years of his age had +found slight foothold. It had the smooth pallor of a man whose chief +activities are indoors: it was wary, nervous, and faintly sinister, +with strong, dark eyebrows standing in picturesque contrast to the +white hair. The figure he was accustomed to present was that of a man +established in life as in a stronghold. + +He was neither youthful nor elderly, but mature. Without fortune or +rich connections, he had contrived during nearly thirty years to live +as a man of wealth; he had seen the game ecarte go out and bridge +come in; and had so devised the effect he made that he was still more +eminent as a personality than as a gambler. Though he played in many +places, he was careful not to win too much in any of them, and rather +than press for a debt he would forgive it. + +The rat-faced valet reappeared, carrying a salver on which were some +half dozen envelopes. The Prince took them, and proceeded to examine +them before opening them, while the valet, still with his uncanny +noiselessness, continued his interrupted preparations. Two of the +letters the Prince tossed to the floor forthwith; he knew them for +trifling bills. Of the others, there was one with the name of a Paris +hotel printed on the flap which appeared to interest him. He had that +common weakness for guessing at a letter before opening it which +princes share with scullions; and in the case of this one there was +something vaguely familiar in the handwriting to which he could not +put a name. He stared at it thoughtfully, and felt again a momentary +stirring within him of that ill ease with which he had waked from +sleep, which had made him doubt that the day was bright. Like all +gamblers, he found significance in things themselves insignificant. +Impatiently he abandoned his speculations and tore the envelope open; +then turned upon his elbow to look at the signature. + +"Parbleu!" he exclaimed. + +The valet turned at the sound, but his master had forgotten his +existence. The man, his hands still busy inserting studs in a shirt, +watched with sidelong glances how the Prince had thrown off his +languor and leaned above his letter, startled and absorbed. + +"MY DEAR MONPAVON [read the Prince]: For the first time since our +parting, nearly a generation ago, I am once more in Paris, of which +the very speech has become strange in my mouth. I return as a citizen +of the United States, a foreigner; you will perhaps recognize me with +difficulty; and I would hardly give you that trouble were it not for +the engagement which is outstanding between us an engagement which +you will not fail to recall. It was concluded upon that evening on +which we saw each other last, when, having lost to you all that +remained to me to lose, you offered me my revenge whenever I should +choose to come for it. Well, I have come for it. I will call upon you +as soon as possible. I hope such visits are still as welcome to you +as once they were." + +And at the tail of the letter there sprawled the signature, bold and +black: "JULES CARIGNY." + +"Tiens!" exclaimed the Prince. + +The valet moved. "M'sieur le Prince spoke?" he queried. + +"No!" said the Prince impatiently. He glanced up from his letter at +the man's sly, secret face. "But by the way have you ever heard of a +Monsieur Carigny?" + +It was with something like the empty shell of a smile that the man +answered. "Everybody who knows M'sieur le Prince has heard of him," +he said suavely. + +"H'm!" the Prince grunted doubtfully, but he knew it was true. +Everybody had heard of Carigny and the revenge that was due to him; +impossible to refuse it to him now. + +There are incidents in every man's life concerning which one can +never be sure that they are closed; in such a life as that of the +Prince de Monpavon there are many. The affair of Carigny, nearly +thirty years before, was one of them. While he stared again at the +letter, there rose before the Prince's eyes a vision of the evening +upon which they had parted in a great; over-ornate room with +card-tables in it, and a hanging chandelier of glass lusters that +shivered and made a tinkling bell-music whenever the door opened. It +had been a short game. It was a season of high stakes, and Carigny, +as a loser, had doubled and doubled till the last quick hand that +finished him. He was a slim youth, with a face smooth and pale. He +sat back in his chair, with his head hanging, staring with a look of +stupefaction at the cards that spelled his ruin, his finish, and his +exile. About him, some of the onlookers began to talk loudly to cover +his confusion, and their voices seemed to restore him. He blinked and +closed his mouth, and sat up. "Well," he said, then, "there's an end +of that!" + +The Prince had answered with some conventional remark, the insincere +regrets of a winner for the loser's ill fortune, and had added +something about giving Carigny his revenge. + +The other smiled a little and shook his head. "You are very good," he +had answered; "but at present that is impossible. Some day, perhaps." + +He paused. He had risen from his chair, and, though the evening was +yet young, he had the look of a man wearied utterly. All the room was +watching him; it was known that he had lost all. + +"Whenever you like," the Prince had replied. + +Carigny nodded slowly. "It may be a long time," he said. "I can see +that it may be years. But, since you are so good, some day we will +play once more. It is agreed?" + +"Certainly; it is agreed," said the Prince. + +Carigny smiled once more. He had a queer, ironic little smile that +seemed to mock its own mirth. Then, nodding a good night here and +there, he had gone toward the door, tall and a little drooping, +between the men who stood aside to give him passage, strangely +significant and notable at that final moment. At the door he had +turned and looked toward the Prince. + +"Au revoir!" he had said. + +And the Prince, concerned not to fail in his attitude, not to make +the wrong impression upon those who watched, had matched his tone +carefully to Carigny's as he replied: "Au revoir!" + +The thing had touched men's imaginations. The drama of that promised +return, years ahead, had made a story; it had threatened the Prince +with notoriety. He had had to live dexterously to escape it to play +little and with restraint for many months afterward. It had had to be +suffered to exhaust itself, to die lingeringly. It had lain in its +grave for nearly thirty years; and now, like a hand reaching out from +a tomb, came this letter. The incident was not closed. + +"No wonder," said the Prince to himself, as he knotted his necktie +before the mirror "no wonder the day felt wrong! There is bad luck in +the very air. I must be very careful today." + +M. Dupontel, waiting for him in the salon, saw him enter between the +folding doors with a face upon which his distaste of the day had cast +a shadow. Dupontel was no more than twenty-five, and the Prince was +one of his admirations and his most expensive hobby. He rose from his +seat, smiling, surveying, the other's effect of immaculate clothing, +fine bearing, and striking looks, and marking the set of his +countenance. + +"You look very correct today," he remarked pleasantly. + +The Prince nodded without humor. "It is one of my days for being +correct," he answered. "I feel it in the air it is a day to be on my +guard. I have these sensations sometimes not often, mercifully! and I +have learned to pay attention to them." + +Dupontel smiled again. "To me it seems a cheerful day," he said. "And +you begin it well, at any rate." + +"How, then?" The Prince, coaxing on his grey gloves, turned narrowed +eyes upon him. "In what way do I begin it well?" + +Dupontel produced a pocket-book from the breast of his coat. "I have +to settle with you over last evening," he said. "Two thousand, wasn't +it? I call that beginning any day well." + +He dropped the notes upon the little table where the Prince's hat and +cane lay. + +The Prince picked up the notes. + +"Thanks!" he said. He looked at the young man almost with curiosity. +"Sure it's convenient?" + +For answer, Dupontel showed him his pocketbook, with still half a +dozen thousand-franc notes in it. + +"I see," said the Prince. + +He still hesitated for a moment or two, as if touched by some +compunction, before he put the notes into his pocket. It had occurred +to him vaguely that he might propitiate his fortune by sacrificing +this money make himself, as it were, by a timely generosity, the +creditor of good luck. But it was not the kind of thing he was used +to do. + +"Eh bien!" he said, and put the notes out of sight. + +"And now," said Dupontel, "let us eat." + +"Yes," said the Prince slowly. "That is the next thing, I suppose. +And presently I will tell you a reason why this is a day to be +careful of." + +In the elevator that bore them toward the street, he began of a +sudden to search his pockets. Dupontel, watching, him in surprise, +saw a real worry replace the customary lofty impassivity of his face. + +"You have lost something?" he asked. + +"Yes," answered the Prince shortly. "Take us up again at once," he +ordered the attendant. + +"I will not keep you a moment," he said to Dupontel, when the +elevator had reached his own floor again, and he entered his +apartment quickly. + +He found his valet still in the bedroom, putting it deftly in order, +always with that secret and furtive quality of look and movement. The +Prince, tall, notably splendid in person, halted in the doorway; the +man, mean, little, shaped by servile and menial uses, stopped in the +middle of the room and returned his gaze warily. There was an instant +of silence. + +"I had a coin," began the Prince. "A gold coin, not a French one! I +had it in my pocket last night. Where is it?" + +Never was anything so shallow as the other's pretence of distressed +ignorance. It was as if he scarcely troubled to dissemble his +amusement and malice. + +"But I have not seen it, M'sieur le Prince," he said. "If M'sieur le +Prince wishes, I will search. Doubtless." + +"I am in a hurry," interrupted the Prince. "It is a Mexican coin +worth ten francs only." He held out a coin. "Here is a ten-franc +piece. Be quick." + +They were equals for the moment; the relationship was plain to both +of them. With no failing of his countenance, the valet drew the +missing, piece from his pocket. + +"Mexican?" he said. "I thought it was Spanish." + +The coins changed hands. Neither of them failed in his attitude; they +were well matched. + +The Prince rejoined Dupontel with his Mexican gold piece still in his +hand. + +"It was this I had left behind," he said, showing the thin-worn gold +disc. "It is well, a talisman of mine, a sort of mascot. I was nearly +going without it. Rather than do that I would stay at home." + +Dupontel laughed. "You are superstitious, then?" he said lightly. "It +is not much to look at, your talisman." + +The Prince shook his head; it seemed impossible to make him smile +that morning. + +"That is true," he agreed, "but a man must put faith in something. +When you have heard what I have to tell you, you will understand +that." + +The streets, those lively streets of Paris that mask the keenness of +their commerce with so festive a face, were sunlit as they passed on +their way, and along the boulevards the trees were gracious with +young green. They went at the even and leisurely pace which is +natural in that city of many halting-places two men worth turning to +look at, so perfectly did each, in his particular way, typify his +world. Both were tall, easy-moving, sure and restrained in every +gesture. Dupontel at twenty-five, for all the boyishness that +sometimes showed in him, had already his finished personal effect; +and the Prince, white-haired, dark-browed, with a certain austerity +of expression, was as complete a thing as a work of art. + +"Then what is it, exactly, that you fear from this Carigny?" asked +Dupontel, when the Prince had told him of the letter. "I have heard +the story, of course; but I never heard he was dangerous." + +"It is not he that is dangerous," said the Prince. + +"What, then?" + +The Prince shook his head doubtfully. Such men as he seldom have a +confidant, but he was used to speak to Dupontel with more freedom +than to any other. + +"Things are dangerous," he answered. "There is bad luck about; I tell +you, I feel it. And now, this business of Carigny cropping up, rising +like a ghost of the past to demand a reckoning!" He shuddered; it was +like the shudder of a man who feels a sudden chill. "A reckoning!" he +repeated. "At this rate, one is never quit of anything." + +They were nearing the restaurant at which they were to lunch. +Dupontel touched his companion lightly on the arm. + +"You are depressed," he said. "You must gather your forces, Monpavon. +You mustn't let Carigny find you in a state like this; it would make +things easy for him." + +The Prince made a weary little gesture of assent. "I shall be ready +for him," he said. "If only-" + +"If only what?" + +They were at the door of the restaurant. A page like a scarlet doll +held open the door for them; a Swiss, ornately uniformed, stood +frozen at the salute. The Prince's somber eyes passed unseeing over +these articles of human furniture. + +"If only I don't get a sign," he said; "like going out without my +Mexican coin, you know that would be a sign. If only I can avoid that +and a couple of other things I'll be ready enough for Monsieur +Carigny when he comes." + +"Tiens!" said Dupontel. "You and your signs, c'est epatant!" + +He was amused, and even a little contemptuous. He had not yet been +long enough at play to reach that stage when the gambler is the +servant of small private fetishes when an incident at the beginning +of the day can fill him with fears or hopes, and all life has a +meaning which expresses itself in the run of the cards. + +They took their places at the table reserved for them. Waiters stood +aloof, effacing themselves, prepared to pounce upon their smallest +need and annihilate it. Dupontel breathed a number as he sat down, +and the rotund and reverend wine-waiter, wearing a chain of office, +tried to express in his face respectful esteem for a man who could +give such an order. + +"You need a stimulant, an encouragement," said Dupontel, leaning +across to the Prince. "Therefore I have ordered for us." + +He had his hands joined under his chin and his elbows on the table. +The Prince, with something like a crisp oath, snatched at the +salt-cellar which his movement would have overset, and saved it saved +it with grains of salt sliding on the very rim, but none fallen to +the table. He made sure of this fact anxiously. + +"That was a near thing," he said, looking up at Dupontel. There was +actually color in his face. + +"Another fraction of a second and" His gesture completed the +sentence. + +"My dear fellow!" remonstrated Dupontel. + +"That was the second," said the Prince. "First I nearly left my coin +at home that was my servant's doing. Then the salt is all but spilled +my friend does that. If I had a wife, I should expect to owe the +third danger to her. Who will bring it to me, I wonder?" + +"You are extraordinary, with your signs and dangers," said Dupontel. +"I never heard you speak like this before. And, in any case, you have +averted two perils." + +"I have averted two," agreed the Prince. "You are right; that in +itself is almost a sign. It it gives me hope for the third the blind +man." + +"Eh? The blind man? What blind man?" + +The Prince took a spoonful of soup. + +"Sometimes I forget how young you are," he said. "A blind man, of +course, is nothing to you. You give him an alms, touching his hand +when you put the money into it, and go on to the club to play bridge. +But if I, by any chance of the street, were to touch a blind man, I +should go home and go to bed. I have my share of prudence me! and +that is a risk I do not take. No!" + +He interrupted himself to drink from his glass, while Dupontel sat +back and prepared, with a gesture of utter impatience, to be +contemptuous and argumentative. + +"Carigny," said the Prince, setting his glass down, "Carigny, in the +old days, believed that too. But he was not prudent. That night we +played, that last night of which he writes in his letter, there was a +blind man who begged of him. And when he would have dropped a franc +in his hand, the creature groped suddenly for the coin. We were +walking to the club together, and I saw it, standing aside meanwhile. +It was an old debris of a man, who begged in a voice that whispered +and croaked, and his hand was shriveled and purple, and it wavered +and trembled as he held it out. Because he was blind, with eyelids +swollen and discolored, Carigny said, as he drew the money from his +pocket: 'Here is a franc, my friend!' Then the old creature groped, +as I have said, with a jerk of his inhuman claw, and grabbed the +money from Carigny before he could let it fall, and I saw their hands +touch. Carigny would not have played that night but that we had +appointed to play." + +"You could have let him off till next day," said Dupontel. + +The Prince shook his head. "In those times," he said, "it was not the +custom to break one's engagements neither to break them nor to allow +them to be broken." + +"I should like to see this Carigny of yours," said Dupontel +thoughtfully. "When do you expect him to call on you?" + +"His letter says 'as soon as possible,'" answered the Prince. "That +constitutes in itself an engagement which Carigny will not fail to +keep. He will come this afternoon." + +Their meal achieved itself perfectly, like a ritual There arrived the +time when the Prince set down his tiny coffee-cup and leaned back +detachedly, while the waiter with the bill went through his +celebrated impersonation of a man receiving a favor. Together they +passed out between the great glass doors to the street. + +"You will walk?" inquired Dupontel. + +"As usual," said the Prince. It was his custom to pass the time +between lunch and the hour when he was likely to find a game of +bridge in strolling; it served for exercise. + +"But," suggested the young man, "you might meet a blind man! Wouldn't +it be better to go straight to the club?" + +"And meet one on the way there?" The Prince shook his head. "No, my +friend. That is a chance one must take. One can, however, keep one's +eyes open." + +In the Place de la Concorde they actually did meet a blind man a +lean, bowed man feeling his way along the curb with a stick deftly +enough, so that, as he was on the wrong side of the sidewalk, it +would have been easy enough to brush against him in passing. It was +the Prince who first perceived him approaching. He touched Dupontel +and pointed. + +"Parbleu!" exclaimed Dupontel. He looked strangely at the blind +bearer of fate and then at his companion. The Prince was smiling now, +but not in mirth. + +"Let us make room for him," he said; and they stepped into the +roadway to let him pass. + +What was strange was that when he came abreast of them he paused, +with his face nosing and peering in his blindness, and felt before +him with an extended hand, as if he had expected to find something in +his way. The hand and the skinny wrist, protruding from the frayed +sleeve and searching the empty air, affected Dupontel unpleasantly; +they touched the fund of credulity in him which is at the root of all +men who believe in nothing. He watched the blind man like an actor in +a scene till he moved on again, with his stick tracing the edge of +the curb and his strained face unresponsive to the sunlight. + +"What was he doing?" he asked, then. + +The Prince's wry smile showed again. "Doing?" he repeated, "why, he +was feeling for me." + +Dupontel shrugged, but not in disapproval this time. His imagination +was burdened with a new sense of his companion's life, complex with +difficulties, haunted by portents like specters of good and evil +fortune. + +"But, at all events, he did not touch you!" he said at last. + +"No!" The Prince swung his cane, drawing up his tall, trim figure, +and stepping out briskly. "No, he did not touch me. They dog me, +these, these tokens of the devil; but I am not caught. It is I that +save myself. After all, mon cher, it seems possible that this may be +Carigny's bad day not mine!" + +Dupontel had not meant to accompany the Prince to his club that day; +his purpose had been to leave him at the door and go elsewhere. But +it was possible that his meeting with Carigny might be something +which it would be well to have seen; and, besides, his affairs were +gaining a strange hue; glamour was in them. He felt a little thrill +when the massive club porter, approaching them in the hall, spoke +Carigny's name. + +"Monsieur Carigny telephoned," said the porter. "He particularly +desired that Monsieur le Prince should be told, as soon as he +arrived, that Monsieur Carigny would call at half-past four." + +The Prince nodded. "I shall be upstairs, in the card-room," he +answered, and passed on. + +In the card-room were several men of the Prince's who had known +Carigny in his Paris days, while there was scarcely a man present who +had not heard some version of the Carigny story. To certain of them +the Prince spoke of the visit he was expecting. He had decided that, +since the meeting was not by any means to be avoided or hidden, it +would best serve him to announce it to take his part in the drama and +squeeze it of what credit he could. It spread through the room and +through the club like a scandal. There was a throng in the room, +expectant, hungry for the possibility of a scene. In the recess of a +tall window, the Prince, superb in his self-possession, a figure in a +world of players that was past, with his pale, severe face impassive +under his white hair, made the crowd of them seem vulgar and raucous +by contrast with him. Dupontel, watching him, had a moment of +consternation; the Prince seemed a thing too supremely complete, too +perfect as a product of his world, to risk upon the turn of the +cards. + +A club servant entered, bearing a card on a salver, and the talk +stilled as he presented it to the Prince. He, in converse with a +veteran who had known Carigny, took the card and held it in his +fingers without looking at it while he finished what he was saying. +All eyes were on him; it was a neat piece of social bravado. He +glanced at the card at last. + +"Announce Monsieur Carigny," he said to the servant, and went on +talking. Dupontel felt like cheering him. The talk resumed, in a +changed key. + +The door opened, and the servant was once more visible, standing back +against it, not without a sense of his importance as, say, a +scene-shifter in the play. His voice, rolling the r, was a flat +bellow of ceremony. + +"Monsieur Car-rigny," he announced, "and Monsieur Georges Car-rigny!" + +Every one turned. Through the door which the servant held open there +advanced two men. The first was bearded, a large man, definitely +elderly, who walked with a curious deliberation of tread and looked +neither to the right nor to the left. The younger, following at his +elbow, was possibly Dupontel's age. In him, not the clothes alone, +but the face, keen lipped, quiet-eyed, not quite concealing its +reserves of vitality under its composure, proclaimed the American. + +The men in the room, moving aside, made an avenue from the door to +the window in which, the Prince stood. The Prince came along it to +greet his guest. As they halted, face to face, Dupontel saw that the +young stranger touched the elder on the arm. + +The Prince seemed to have doubts. He remembered Carigny as a slim +youth; the stranger was burly, with a bush of beard and a red face. + +"It is Carigny?" inquired the Prince, hesitating. + +The stranger smiled. "Yes," he answered. "Monpavon, is it not?" + +Even his French had changed, become the French of a foreigner. + +"You have been a long time coming for your revenge," said the Prince. +"But you are welcome always, Carigny." + +He held out his hand, and again the young man touched the elder. As +if he hesitated to join hands with the Prince, Carigny gave his hand, +slowly, awkwardly; but his grip, when he had done it, was firm. They +stood, clasping hands, under the inquisitive eyes of the others. + +"Since we are to play," said Carigny, "you must allow me to present +you to my son. He does not play; I have discouraged him. But he will +read my cards for me. You do not object?" + +Their clasped hands fell apart. The Prince looked his +incomprehension. The young man was making him a bow of sorts. + +"I am charmed," he answered. "But read your cards? I don't +understand." + +Dupontel arrested an impulse to step forward, to interrupt, to +interfere in some manner. He saw that Carigny smiled. + +"Yes," he answered. "Tell me which card is which, you know. You see, +Monpavon, for the last five years I have been blind!" + +His voice, with its foreign accent rendering strange his precise and +old-fashioned French, continued to explain. But Dupontel did not hear +what it said. He was looking at the Prince. Save for an astonished +knitting of the brows, he had not moved; he preserved, under those +watching eyes, his attitude. The worst had come to pass the thing he +feared had ambushed him? and he was facing it. But presently he +raised his right hand, the hand that had touched Carigny's, looked at +it thoughtfully, and brushed it with his left. If he had any virtue, +he was exhibiting it now. One could defeat him but not discountenance +him. + +"Certainly," he was saying presently. "The right of choice is yours, +Carigny. Ecarte, since you wish it, by all means." + +Dupontel, to whom he had explained himself, knew what that handshake +had meant. In the move toward the card-table, he caught his eye. The +Prince smiled at him. "You see how useless it is to strive," he +seemed to say. + +The pretence that the onlookers were present by chance was gone when +the Prince and his adversary sat down opposite to each other at the +little green table. The onlookers thronged about them, frankly +curious. The young man, Carigny's son, stood leaning over his +father's shoulder. Dupontel was at the back of his friend. He saw the +green table across the Prince's white head. The deal fell to the +Prince. + +He had the pack in his hand when he spoke across to Carigny. + +"Carigny," he said. The blind man lifted his face to listen. "The +last game was a short one." + +The other nodded. "Make it as short as you like," he said. "Make it +one hand, if it pleases you, Monpavon. I shall be satisfied." + +"One hand!" + +"Certainly; if that is short enough for you," said Carigny. "But the +stakes you remember them?" + +He asked the question as if he would warn his adversary, and as if he +himself were certain of the issue. He had the demeanor of a man who +undertakes a problem of which he knows the answer. + +"Be careful," breathed Dupontel at the Prince's back. + +"You lost, let me see!" replied the Prince, unheeding Dupontel's +whisper. "It was four hundred thousand francs, I think." + +The bearded face opposite him smiled. "You have not forgotten, I +see!" + +The Prince nodded. "One hand, then!" + +He proceeded to deal. He was certain of losing, or he would not have +consented to such an outrage upon the game's refinements. And yet, he +had hopes; the spirit that presides over cards is capricious. + +The young man had sorted the cards and placed them in his father's +hands, and was whispering in his ear. Then he stood upright. The +Prince waited. + +"You propose?" he inquired. + +"No," said the other; "I play." + +There was a movement among the spectators as some shifted in an +endeavor to see the cards. Dupontel was edged from his post for a +moment. When he had shouldered his way back to it, the play had +already begun. It seemed to him almost indecent that such an affair +should rest on a single hand of cards; it was making free with +matters of importance. As he gained a sight of the table again, +Carigny scored his second trick and the third card fell. The Prince +trumped it. The young man smiled and whispered. Another card was +played, and the Prince won again, He laid his last card face down on +the table. + +"Carigny," he said. + +"Have you played?" asked the other. + +"No," said the Prince. "Listen! I will make you a proposal. I do not +know what your last card is; you do not know mine. It rests on that +card, our four hundred thousand francs. I may win, in spite of +everything. But I offer you half the stakes now, if you like; two +hundred thousand instead of four and we will not play that last +card." + +"Eh?" The blind man hid his card with his hand. His son bent over +him, whispering. A man next to Dupontel nudged him. "What is +Monpavon's card?" he murmured. Dupontel did not know. The cards had +been the least part of the affair to him. The Prince sat still, +waiting. + +"Very well," said Carigny, at last. "I am willing, Monpavon. Two +hundred thousand, eh?" + +"Two hundred thousand," corroborated the Prince. + +He reached for the pack. Before anyone could protest, he had +slipped his card into it and mingled it with the others beyond +identification. + +"We are quits, then," he was saying to Carigny, and once more the +ancient adversaries shook hands. + +"But what was the card?" asked a dozen men at once. + +The Prince let his hard, serene eye wander over them. He was walking +toward the door, guiding Carigny with a hand on his arm. There was a +flicker of a smile on his face. Without answering, he passed out. To +this day, no man knows what card he held. + + +PRINTED BY CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THOSE WHO SMILED*** + + +******* This file should be named 23993.txt or 23993.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/9/9/23993 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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