The Ne'er-Do-Well Read online

  II

  THE TRAIL DIVIDES

  Inspired by his recent rivalry with Mr. Jefferson Locke, Anthony playedthe part of host more lavishly than even the present occasion required.He ordered elaborately, and it was not long before corks were poppingand dishes rattling quite as if the young men were really hungry. Mr.Locke, however, insisted that his friends should partake of a kind ofdrink previously unheard of, and with this in view had a confidentialchat with the waiter, to whom he unostentatiously handed a five-dollarretainer. No one witnessed this unusual generosity except Higgins, whocommended it fondly; but his remarks went unheeded in the generalclamor.

  The meal was at its noisiest when the man whom Locke had so generouslytipped spoke to him quietly. Whatever his words, they affected thelistener strongly. Locke's face whitened, then grew muddy and yellow,his hands trembled, his lips went dry. He half arose from his chair,then cast a swift look about the room. His companions were too welloccupied, however, to notice this by-play even when the waitercontinued, in a low tone:

  "He slipped me a ten-spot, so I thought it must be something worthwhile."

  "He--he's alone, you say?"

  "Seems to be. What shall I do, sir?"

  Locke took something from his pocket and thrust it into the fellow'shand, while the look in his eyes changed to one of desperation.

  "Step outside and wait. Don't let him come up. I'll call you in aminute."

  Ringold was recounting his version of the first touchdown--how he hadbeen forced inch by inch across the goal line to the tune of thirtythousand yelling throats and his companions were hanging upon hiswords, when their new friend interrupted in such a tone that Anthonyinquired in surprise:

  "What's wrong, old man? Are you sick?"

  Locke shook his head. "I told you fellows I'd been followed thisevening. Remember? Well, there's a man down-stairs who has given thewaiter ten dollars to let him have his coat and apron so he can come inhere."

  "What for?"

  "Who is he?"

  The men stared at the speaker with a sudden new interest.

  "I'm not sure. I--think it's part of a plan to rob me." He let his gazeroam from one face to another. "You see--I just came into a big pieceof coin, and I've got it with me. I'm--I'm alone in New York,understand? They've followed me from St. Louis. Now, I want you boys tohelp me dodge this--"

  Kirk Anthony rose suddenly, moving as lightly upon his feet as a dancer.

  "You say he's below?"

  Locke nodded. It was plain that he was quite unnerved.

  Ringold rose in turn and lurched ponderously toward the door, but Kirkstepped in front of him with a sharp word:

  "Wait! I'll manage this."

  "Lemme go," expostulated the centre-rush. "Locke's a good fellow andthis man wants to trim him."

  "No, no! Sit down!" Ringold obeyed. "If he wants to join us, we'll havehim come up."

  "What?" cried Locke, leaping nervously from his chair. "Don't do that.I want to get out of here."

  "Not a bit like it." Kirk's eyes were sparkling. "We'll give thisfellow the third degree and find out who his pals are."

  "Grand idea!" Higgins seconded with enthusiasm. "Grand!"

  "Hold on! I can't do that. I've got to sail at ten o'clock. I don'tdare get into trouble, don't you understand? It's important." Lockeseemed in an extraordinary panic.

  "Oh, we'll see that you catch your boat all right," Kirk assured him;and then before the other could interfere he rang for the waiter.

  "Give that chap your coat and apron," he ordered, when the attendantanswered, "and when I ring next send him up. Pass the word to Paddenand the others not to notice any little disturbance. I'll answer forresults."

  "I'm going to get out," cried the man from St. Louis. "He mustn't seeme."

  "He'll see you sure if you leave now. You'll have to pass him. Stickhere. We'll have some fun."

  The white-faced man sank back into his chair, while Anthony directedsharply:

  "Now, gentlemen, be seated. Here, Locke, your back to the door--yourface looks like a chalk-mine. There! Now don't be so nervous--we'llcure this fellow's ambition as a gin-slinger. I'll change names withyou for a minute. Now, Ringold, go ahead with your story." Then, as thegiant took up his tale again: "Listen to him, fellows; look pleasant,please. Remember you're not sitting up with a corpse. A little moreginger, Ringie. Good!" He pushed the button twice, and a moment Laterthe door opened quietly to admit a medium-sized man in white coat andapron.

  Had the young men been a little less exhilarated they might havesuspected that Locke's story of having been dogged from St. Louis was atrifle exaggerated; for, instead of singling him out at first glance,the new-comer paused at a respectful distance inside the door andallowed his eyes to shift uncertainly from one to another as if indoubt as to which was his quarry. Anthony did not dream that it was hisown resemblance to the Missourian that led to this confusion, but infact, while he and Locke were totally unlike when closely compared,they were of a similar size and coloring, and the same generaldescription would have fitted both.

  Having allowed the intruder a moment in which to take in the room, Kirkleaned back in his chair and nodded for him to approach.

  "Cigars!" he ordered. "Bring a box of Carolinas."

  "Yes, sir. Are you Mr. Locke, sir?" inquired the new waiter.

  "Yes," said Kirk.

  "Telephone message for you, Mr. Locke," the waiter muttered.

  "What's that?" Anthony queried, loud enough for the others to hear.

  "Somebody calling you by 'phone. They're holding the wire outside. I'llshow you the booth."

  "Oh, will you?" Kirk Anthony's hands suddenly shot out and seized themasquerader by the throat. The man uttered a startled gasp, butsimultaneously the iron grip of Marty Ringold fell upon his arms anddoubled them behind him, while Kirk gibed:

  "You'll get me outside and into a telephone booth, eh? My dear sir,that is old stuff."

  The rest of the party were on their feet instantly, watching thestruggle and crowding forward with angry exclamations. Ringold, withthe man's two wrists locked securely in his own huge paw, was growling:

  "Smooth way to do up a fellow, I call it."

  "All the way from St. Louis for a telephone call, eh?" Anthony sank histhumbs into the stranger's throat, then, as the man's face grew blackand his contortions diminished, added: "We're going to make a goodwaiter out of you."

  Jefferson Locke broke in excitedly: "Choke him good! Choke him! That'sright. Put him out for keeps. For God's sake, don't let him go!"

  But it was not Kirk's idea to strangle his victim beyond a certainpoint. He relaxed his grip after a moment and, nodding to Ringold to dolikewise, took the fellow's wrists himself, then swung him about untilhe faced the others. The man's lungs filled with fresh air, he began tostruggle once more, and when his voice had returned he gasped:

  "I'll get you for this. You'll do a trick--" He mumbled a name that didnot sound at all like Jefferson Locke, whereupon the Missourian made arush at him that required the full strength of Anthony's free hand tothwart.

  "Here, stand back! I've got him!"

  "I'll kill him!" chattered the other.

  "Let me go," the stranger gasped. "I'll take you all in. I'm anofficer."

  "It's a lie!" shouted Locke. "He's a thief."

  "I tell you I'm--an officer; I arrest this--"

  The words were cut off abruptly by a loud exclamation from Higgins anda crash of glass. Kirk Anthony's face was drenched, his eyes werefilled with a stinging liquid; he felt his prisoner sink limply backinto his arms and beheld Higgins struggling in the grasp of big MartyRingold, the foil-covered neck of a wine bottle in his fingers.

  The foolish fellow had been hovering uncertainly round the edges of thecrowd, longing to help his friends and crazily anxious to win glory bysome deed of valor. At the first opening he had darted wildly into thefray, not realizing that the enemy was already helpless in the hands ofhis captors.

  "I've got him!" he cried, jo
yously. "He's out!'

  "Higgins!" Anthony exclaimed, sharply. "What the devil--" Then the deadweight in his arms, the lolling head and sagging jaw of the stranger,sobered him like a deluge of ice-water.

  "You've done it this time," he muttered.

  "Good God!" Locke cried. "Let's get away! He's hurt!"

  "Here, you!" Anthony shot a command at the speaker that checked himhalf-way across the room. "Ringold, take the door and don't let anybodyin or out." To Higgins he exclaimed, "You idiot, didn't you see I hadhis hands?"

  "No. Had to get him," returned Higgins, with vinous dignity. "Wanted torob my old friend, Mr.--What's his name?"

  "We've got to leave quick before we get in bad," Locke reiterated,nervously, but Anthony retorted:

  "We're in bad now. I want Padden." He stepped to the door and signaleda passing waiter. A moment later the proprietor knocked, and Ringoldadmitted him.

  "What's the--" Padden started at sight of the motionless figure on thefloor, and, kneeling beside it, made a quick examination, while Anthonyexplained the circumstances leading up to the assault.

  "Thief, eh? I see."

  "Is he badly hurt?" queried Locke, bending a pale face upon them.

  "Huh! I guess he's due for the hospital," the owner of the AustrianVillage announced. "He had his nerve, trying to turn a trick in myplace. I thought I knew all the dips, but he's a stranger." With nimblefingers he ran through the fellow's pockets, then continued:

  "I'm glad you got him, but you'd better get together and rehearsebefore the police--" He stopped abruptly once more, then looked upcuriously.

  "What is it?" questioned the man from Missouri.

  Padden pointed silently to the lapel of the fellow's vest, which he hadturned back. A nickeled badge was pinned upon it. "He's no thief; he'sa detective--a plain-clothes man!"

  "Wha'd I tell you!" Higgins exulted. "I can smell 'em!"

  The crowd looked nonplussed, with the exception of Jefferson Locke, whobecame calmer than at any time since the waiter had first whisperedinto his ear.

  "We didn't know who he was," he began, hurriedly, "You must square itfor us, Padden. I don't care what it costs." He extended a bulky rollof bank-notes toward the gray-haired man. "These boys can't stand thissort of thing, and neither can I. I've got to sail at ten o'clock thismorning."

  "Looks to me like you've croaked him," said the proprietor, ignoringthe proffered money.

  "It's worth a thousand dollars to me not to miss my boat."

  "Wait a minute." Padden emptied the unconscious man's pockets, amongother things of some telegrams and a legally folded paper. The latterhe opened and scanned swiftly, then turned his little eyes upon Lockewithout a word, whereupon that gentleman, with equal silence, took fromhis inside pocket a wallet, and selected a bill, the denomination ofwhich he displayed to the proprietor before folding it inside thebundle he held.

  "Here! It may cost you something."

  Padden nodded and accepted the money, saying:

  "Oh, I guess I can fix it. I know the right doctor." He regained hisfeet, then warned the onlookers: "But you'll have to keep your trapsclosed, understand?"

  "Will he die?" asked Ringold, fearfully, his back still against thedoor.

  "Not a chance. But if he does he'll never know who hit him. You see, wepicked him up in the alley and brought him in." Padden winkedmeaningly. "It happens right along in this part of town. Do you get me?I'll keep these." He indicated the badge and papers in his hand. "Nowgo out as if nothing had come off. Drop in again the next time you'rein town. I'll take care of the supper checks."

  As the partly sobered visitors struggled into their overcoats Paddendrew Locke aside, and, nodding toward Higgins, who was still talkative,said:

  "If you want to catch that ten o'clock boat you'd better stick close toyour friend; I know him."

  "Thanks!" Locke glanced at the prostrate figure, then inquired in a lowtone: "On the level, will he make it?"

  "Hard to tell. Just the same, if I was you I'd change my sailing--hemight come to."

  "You chaps have done me a big favor to-night," said Locke, a littlelater, when he and his companions were safely out of the AustrianVillage, "and I won't forget it, either. Now let's finish the eveningthe way we began it."

  Anderson, Rankin, and Burroughs, to conceal their nervousness, pleadedbodily fatigue, while Anthony also declared that he had enjoyed himselfsufficiently for one night and intended to go home and to bed. "Thatepisode rather got on my nerves," he acknowledged.

  "Mine, too," assented Locke. "That's why you mustn't leave me. I justwon't let you. Remember, you agreed to see me off."

  "'S'right, fellows," Higgins joined in. "We agreed to put him aboardand we must do it. Don't break up the party, Kirk."

  "I don't want to go home," Ringold muttered.

  "It's a breach of hospitality to go home," Higgins insisted. "Besides,after my bloody 'ncounter with that limb of the law I need a stimulant.You must look after me."

  "I shall tuck you in your little bed," Kirk told him. But Higgins wouldhear to nothing of the sort, protesting that he was in honor bound toconduct his old friend Locke to the steamer, and Anthony feared thatwithout his protection some harm might befall his irresponsible andimpulsive companion. Candor requires it to be said that he didhesitate, arguing long with the limp-legged Higgins; but Locke wasinsistent, the others grew impatient of the delay, and in the end heallowed himself to be persuaded.

  It is often through just such sudden, inconsequent decisions,influenced perhaps by the merest trifles, that a man's life is madegreat or small; just such narrow forkings of the trail may divert himinto strange adventurings, or into worlds undreamed of. Kirk Anthony,twenty-six years old, with a heritage at hand, and with an averagecapacity for good or evil, chose the turning that led him swiftly fromthe world he knew into an alien land.

  Numbed as they were by the excesses of the evening, it did not take theyoung men long to lose all clear and vivid remembrance of this recentexperience; for the time had come when Nature was offering her lastresistance, and their brains were badly awhirl. Of all the four,Jefferson Locke was the only one who retained his wits to thefullest--a circumstance that would have proved him the owner of aremarkably steady head had it not been for the fact that he hadcunningly substituted water for gin each time it came his turn todrink. It was a commentary upon the state of his companions that theydid not notice the limpid clearness of his beverage.

  Dawn found them in an East Side basement drinking-place frequented bythe lowest classes. Ringold was slumbering peacefully, half overflowingthe wet surface of a table; Anthony had discovered musical talent inthe bartender and was seated at a battered piano, laboriouslyexperimenting with the accompaniment to an Irish ballad; Higgins andLocke were talking earnestly. It was the slackest, blackest hour in anall-night dive; the nocturnal habitues had slunk away, and the day'strade had not yet begun. Higgins, drawn and haggard beneath his drunkenflush, was babbling incessantly; Locke, as usual, sat facing theentrance, his eyes watchful, his countenance alert. In spite of thefact that he had constantly plied his companion with liquor in the hopeof stilling his tongue, Higgins seemed incapable of silence, and keptbreaking forth into loud, garbled recitals of the scene at Padden's,which caused the Missourian to shiver with apprehension. To a sober eyeit would have been patent that Locke was laboring under some strongexcitement; for every door that opened caused him to start, everystranger that entered made him quake. He consulted his watchrepeatedly, he flushed and paled and fidgeted, then lost himself infrowning meditation.

  "Grandes' fellow I ever met," Higgins was saying for the hundredthtime. "Got two faults, tha's all; he's modesht an' he's lazy--he won'twork."

  "Anthony?"

  "Yes."

  Locke stirred himself, and, leaning forward, said: "You and he are goodfriends, eh?"

  "Best ever."

  "Would you like to play a joke on him?"

  "Joke? Can't be done. He's wises' guy ever. I've tried it an' alwaysg
et the wors' of it. Yes, sir, he's wise guy. Jus' got two faults: hewon't work an'--"

  "Look here! Why don't you make him work?"

  "Huh?" Higgins turned a pair of bleared, unfocusable eyes upon thespeaker.

  "Why don't somebody make him work?"

  The lean-faced youth laughed moistly.

  "Tha's good joke."

  "I mean it."

  "Got too much money. 'S old man puts up reg'lar."

  "Listen! It's a shame for a fine fellow like him to go to the dogs."Higgins nodded heavily in agreement. "Why don't you send him away wherehe'll have to rustle? That's the joke I meant."

  "Huh?" Again the listener's mind failed to follow, and Locke repeatedhis words, concluding: "It would make a new man of him."

  "Oh, he wouldn't work. Too lazy."

  "He'd have to if he were broke."

  "But he AIN'T broke. Didn't I tell you 's old man puts up reg'lar? Fineman, too, Misser Anthony; owns railroads."

  "I'll tell you how we can work it. I've got a ticket for CentralAmerica in my pocket. The boat sails at ten. Let's send him down there."

  "Wha' for?"

  Locke kept his temper with an effort. "To make a man of him. We'll gothrough his clothes and when he lands he'll be broke. He'll HAVE towork. Don't you see?"

  "No." Anthony's friend did not see. "He don't want to go to CentralAmerica," he argued; "he's got a new autom'bile."

  "But suppose we got him soused, went through his pockets, and then puthim aboard the boat. He'd be at sea by the time he woke up; he couldn'tget back; he'd have to work; don't you see? He'd be broke when helanded and have to rustle money to get back with. I think it's an awfulfunny idea."

  The undeniable humor of such a situation finally dawned upon Higgins'smind, and he burst into a loud guffaw.

  "Hey there! Shut up!" Anthony called from the piano. "Listen here! I'vefound the lost chord." He bore down with his huge hands upon the yellowkeyboard, bringing forth a metallic crash that blended fearfully withthe bartender's voice. "It's a great discovery."

  "I'll get him full if you'll help manage him," Locke went on. "Andhere's the ticket." He tapped his pocket.

  "Where'd you get it?"

  "Bought it yesterday. It's first class and better, and he'll fit mydescription. We're about the same size."

  "Ain't you goin'?"

  "No. I've changed my mind. I may jump over to Paris. Come, are you on?"

  Higgins giggled. "Darn' funny idea, if you can get him full."

  "Wait." Locke rose and went to the bar, where he called loudly for thesinger; then, when the bartender had deserted the piano, he spoke toAnthony: "Keep it up, old man, you're doing fine."

  For some moments he talked earnestly to the man behind the bar; but hisback was to Higgins, Anthony was occupied, and Ringold still slumbered;hence no one observed the transfer of another of those yellow bills ofwhich he seemed to have an unlimited store.

  Strangely enough, Mr. Jefferson Locke's plan worked without a hitch.Within ten minutes after Kirk Anthony had taken the drink handed him hedeclared himself sleepy, and rose from the piano, only to seek a chair,into which he flung himself heavily.

  "It's all right," Locke told his drunken companion. "I've got a taxiwaiting. We'll leave Ringold where he is."

  Twenty-four hours later Adelbert Higgins undertook to recall what hadhappened to him after he left Muller's place on East Fourteenth Street,but his memory was tricky. He recollected a vaguely humorous discussionof some sort with a stranger, the details of which were almost entirelymissing. He remembered that dawn had broken when he came out of thesaloon, but beyond that he could not go with any degree of certainty.There was a hazy memory of an interminable ride in a closed vehicle ofsome sort, a dizzy panorama of moving buildings, bleak, wind-swepttrees, frosty meadows, and land-locked lakes backed by what were eitherdistant mountain ranges or apartment houses. This last, however, wasall very blurred and indistinct.

  As to who was with him on the ride, or what took place thereafter, hehad no memory and no opportunity of learning, owing to certainunexpected and alarming occurrences which made it imperative for him toterminate his connection with his college, as big Marty Ringold haddone earlier in the day, and begin to pack his belongings. Partly outof deference to the frantic appeals of his widowed mother, partly owingto the telephoned advice of Mr. Michael Padden, of Sixth Avenue, whosaid the injured man had recognized one of his assailants, he bookedpassage to Japan by the next steamer out of Vancouver. He left New Yorkthat afternoon by the Twentieth Century Limited, taking with him onlyone suit-case and a determination to see the world.