They left her and walked from the hotel. At the door Harrigan turned
fiercely upon the Scotchman.
"Do what ye please for the five hours, McTee, but give me the room I
need for breathin'. D'ye hear? Otherwise I'll be forgettin' me
promises."
"Do I hear ye?" answered McTee, snarling. "Aye, growl while you may.
I'll stop that throat of yours for good--tonight."
He turned on his heel, and the two men separated. Harrigan struck with
a long swing out over a road which led into the rolling fields near the
little town. He walked rapidly, and his thoughts kept pace, for he was
counting his chances to win Kate as a miser counts his hoard of gold.
Two pictures weighed large in his mind. One was of Kate at ease in the
home of the Spaniard. Such ease would never be his; she came from
another social world--a higher sphere. The second picture was of McTee
climbing down from the wireless house and calmly assuming command of
the mutineers in the crisis. Such a maneuver would never have occurred
to the Irishman, and it was only through that maneuver that the ship
had been brought to shore, for nothing save the iron will of McTee
could have directed the mutineers.
When the sun hung low, he turned and strode back toward the village,
and despair trailed him like his shadow.
He began to see clearly now what he had always feared. She loved
McTee--McTee, who spoke clear, pure English, when he chose, and who
could talk of many things. She loved McTee, but she dared not avow that
love for fear of infuriating Harrigan and thereby risking the life of
the Scotchman. It grew plainer and plainer. With the thought of Kate
came another, far different, and yet blending one with another. When he
reached the village, it was still a short time before sunset. He went
straight to the British consulate and entered, for he had reached the
solution of his puzzle.
"My name's Harrigan," he said to the little man with the sideburns and
the studious eyes, "and I've come to know if the old country has sent
for volunteers. I want to go over."
"The old country," said the consul, "has called for volunteers, and I
have discovered a means of sending our boys across the water; but"--and
here he examined Harrigan shrewdly--"but it's an easy thing to take an
Irish name. How am I to know you're not a German, my friend? I've never
seen you before."
Harrigan swelled.
"A German? Me?" he muttered, and then, his head tilted back: "Ye little
wan-eyed, lantern-jawed, flat-headed block, is it me--is it Harrigan ye
call a German? Shtep out from behind the desk an' let me see av you're
a man!"
Strangely enough, the consul did not seem irritated by this outburst.
He was, in fact, smiling. Then his hand went out to the Irishman.
"Mr. Harrigan," he said, "I'm honored by knowing you."
Harrigan stared and accepted the hand with caution; there was still
battle in his eyes.
"And can you send me over?" he asked doubtfully.
"I can. As I said before, we've raised a small fund for just this
purpose."
He drew out a piece of paper and commenced taking down the particulars
of Harrigan's name and birth and other details. Then a short
typewritten note signed by the consul ended the interview. He gave
Harrigan directions about how he could reach a shipping agent on the
eastern coast, handed over the note, and the Irishman stepped out of
the little office already on his way to the world war. He took no
pleasure in his resolution, but wandered slowly back toward the hotel
with downward head. He would speak a curt farewell and step out of the
lives of the two. It would be very simple unless McTee showed some
exultation, but if he did--Here Harrigan refused to think further.
It was well after sunset when he crossed the veranda, and at the door
he found McTee striding up and down.
"Harrigan," said McTee.
"Well?", growled Harrigan.
"Stand over here close to me, and keep your face shut while I'm
speaking. It won't take me long."
The words were insulting enough, but the voice which spoke them was
sadly subdued.
"Listen," said McTee. "What I've got to say is harder for me to do than
anything I've ever done in my life. So don't make me repeat anything.
Harrigan, I've tried to beat you by fair means or foul ever since we
met--ever since you saved my hide in the Ivilei district of Honolulu.
I've tried to get you down, and I've failed. I fought you"--here he
ground his teeth in agony--"and you beat me."
"It was the bucking of the deck that beat you," put in Harrigan.
"Shut up till I'm through or I'll wring your neck and break your back!
I've failed to down you, Harrigan. You beat me on the Mary Rogers. You
made a fool of me on the island. And on the Heron--"
He paused again, breathing hard.
"On the _Heron_, it was you who brought us food and water when we were
dying. And afterward, when Henshaw died, I jumped out before the
mutineers and took command of them because I thought I could win back
in Kate's mind any ground which I'd lost before. I paraded the deck
before her eyes; I gave commands; I was the man of the hour; I was
driving the _Heron_ to the shore in spite of the fire."
"You were," admitted Harrigan sadly. "It was a great work you did,
McTee. It was that which won her--"
"But even when I was in command, you proved yourself the better man,
Harrigan."
The Irishman leaned back against the wall, gasping, weak with
astonishment.
McTee went on: "I paraded the deck; I made a play to make her admire
me, and for a while I succeeded, until the time came when you were
carried up to the deck too weak to keep the men at work in the
fireroom. Ah, Harrigan, that was a great moment to me. I said to Kate:
'Harrigan has done well, but of course he can't control men--his mind
is too simple.'"
"Did you say that?" murmured Harrigan, and hatred made his voice soft,
almost reverent.
"I did, and I went on: 'I suppose I'll have to go down there and drive
the lads back to their work.' So down I went, but you know what
happened. They wouldn't work for me. They stood around looking stupid
at me and left me alone in the fireroom, and I had to come back on
deck, in the sight of Kate, and rouse you out of your sleep and beg you
to go back and try to make the lads keep at their work. And you got up
to your knees, struggling to get back your consciousness! And you
staggered to your feet, and you called to the firemen who lay senseless
and sick on the deck around you--sick for sleep--and when they heard
you call, they got up, groaning, and they reeled after you back to
their work in the fireroom, and some of them dragged themselves along
on their hands and knees. Oh, God!"
He struck his clenched fist across his eyes.
"And all the time I was watching the awe and the wonder come up like a
fire in the eyes of Kate, while she looked after you."
Harrigan watched him with the same stupid amazement.
"Harrigan," said McTee at last, "you've won her. When I walked out by
myself today, I saw that I was the only obstacle between her and her
happiness. She doesn't dare tell you she loves you, for fear that I'll
try to kill you. So I've decided to step out from between--I _have_
stepped out! I'm going back to Scotland and get into the war. If I have
fighting enough, I can forget the girl, maybe, and you! I've talked to
the British consul already, and he's given me a note that will take me
over the water. So, Harrigan, I've merely come to say good-by to you--
and you can say good-by for me to Kate."
"Wait," said Harrigan. "There are a good many kinds of fools, but a
Scotch fool is the worst of all. Take that paper out of your pocket and
tear it up. Ah-h, McTee, ye blind man! Can't ye see that gir-rl's been
eatin' out her hear-rt for the love av ye, damn your eyes? Can't ye see
that the only thing that keeps her from throwin' her ar-rms around your
neck is the fear of Harrigan? Look!"
He pulled out the note which the consul had given him.
"I've got the same thing you have. I'm going to go over the water. I
tell you, I've seen her eyes whin she looked at ye, McTee, an' that's
how I know she loves ye. Tear up your paper! A blight on ye! May ye
have long life and make the girl happy--an' rot in hell after!"
"By God," said McTee, "we've both been thinking the same thing at the
same time. And maybe we're both wrong. Kate said she had something to
say to us. Let's see her first and hear her speak."
"It'll break my heart to hear her confess she loves ye, McTee--but I'll
go!"
They went to the sleepy clerk behind the desk and asked him to send up
word to Miss Malone that they wished to see her.
"Ah, Miss Malone," said the clerk, nodding, "before she left--"
"Left?" echoed the two giants in voices of thunder.
"She gave me this note to deliver to you."
And he passed them the envelope. Each of them placed a hand upon it and
stared stupidly at the other.
"Open it!" said Harrigan hoarsely.
"I'm troubled with my old failing--a weakness of the eyes," said McTee.
"Open it yourself."
Harrigan opened it at last and drew out the paper within. They stood
under a light, shoulder to shoulder, and read with difficulty, for the
hand of Harrigan which held the paper shook.
Dear lads, dear Dan and Angus:
As soon as you left me, I went to the British consul, and from him I
learned the shortest way of cutting across country to the railroad. By
the time you read this, I am on the train and speeding north to the
States.
I have known for a long time that the only thing which keeps you from
being fast friends is the love which each of you says he has for me. So
I have decided to step from between you, for there is nothing on earth
so glorious as the deep friendship of one strong man for another.
I fear you may try to follow me, but I warn you that it would be
useless. I have taken a course of training, and I am qualified as a
nurse. The Red Cross of America will soon be sending units across the
water to care for the wounded of the Allies. I shall go with one of the
first units. You might be able to trace me to the States, but you will
never be able to trace me overseas. This is good-by.
It is hard to say it in writing. I want to take your hands and tell you
how much you mean to me. But I could not wait to do that. For your own
sakes I have to flee from you both.
Now that I have said good-by, it is easier to add another thing. I care
for both of you more than for any man I have ever known, but one of you
I love with all my soul. Even now I dare not say which, for it might
make enmity and jealousy between you, and enmity between such men as
you means only one thing--death.
I have tried to find courage to stand before you and say which of you I
love, but I cannot. At the last moment I grow weak at the thought of
the battle which would follow. My only resort is to resign him I care
for beyond all friends, and him I love beyond all other men.
I know that when I am gone, you will become fast friends, and together
you will be kings of men. And in time--for a man's life is filled with
actions which rub out all memories--you will forget that you loved me,
I know; but perhaps you will not forget that because I resigned you
both, I built a foundation of rock for your friendship.
You will be happy, you will be strong, you will be true to one another.
And for that I am glad. But to you whom I love: Oh, my dear, it is
breaking my heart to leave you!
Kate
One hand of each was on the paper as they lowered it and stared into
each other's face, with a black doubt, and a wild hope. Then of one
accord they raised the paper and read it through again.
"And to think," muttered Harrigan at last, "that I should have ruined
her happiness. I could tear my heart out, McTee!"
"Harrigan," said the big Scotchman solemnly, "it is you she means. See!
She cried over the paper while she was writing. No woman could weep for
Black McTee!"
"And no woman could write like that to Harrigan. Angus, you can keep
the knowledge that she loves you, but let me keep the letter. Ah-h,
McTee, I'll be afther keepin' it forninst me heart!"
"Let's go outside," said McTee. "There is no air in this room."
They went out into the black night, and as they walked, each kept his
hand upon the letter, so that it seemed to be a power which tied them
together.
"Angus," said Harrigan after a time, "we'll be fightin' for the letter
soon. Why should we? I know every line of it by heart."
"I know every word," answered McTee.
"I've a thought," said Harrigan. "In the ould days, whin a great man
died, they used to burn his body. An' now I'm feelin' as if somethin'
had died in me--the hope av winnin' Kate, McTee. So let's burn her
letter between us, eh?"
"Harrigan," said McTee with heartfelt emotion, "that thought is well
worthy of you!"
They knelt on the little spot. They placed the paper between them. Each
scratched a match and lighted one side of the paper; the flames rose
and met in the middle of the letter. Yet they did not watch the
progress of the fire; by the sudden flare of light they gazed steadily
into each other's face, straining their eyes as the light died away as
though each had discovered in the other something new and strange. When
they looked down, the paper was merely a dim, red glow which passed
away as quickly as a flush dies from the face, and the wind carried
away the frail ashes. Then they rose and walked shoulder to shoulder on
and into the night.