A VISIT TO LOZCOSKI.
Joyce was called into the city by the Lozcoski affair the very next day.
She was accompanied by George Dalton, also by a tablet filled with
memoranda. There were things to buy for the Bonnivels, the Hapgoods, and
for her own household. There was counsel to secure for Nate, some
business to transact with Mr. Barrington, and, lastly, the Lozcoski
matter. She could not expect anything but a busy, tiresome day. The
gaunt, haggard face of the Pole haunted her by times, and in the train
she suddenly remarked to her manager,
"I can't feel right over that Lozcoski! Every time I think of him I have
a feeling that, somehow, he hasn't had fair play. There was an awful
anger and despair in his look when he saw Murfree, and an awful terror
met it. There has been wrong somewhere between those two men. You are
sure the Pole had a fair trial?"
"Why, I suppose so. Of course he couldn't make himself understood very
well without an interpreter, and they had difficulty in finding
one--indeed had to give it up, I think--but there seemed no doubt of the
matter."
"But why couldn't they find an interpreter?"
"Well, as I understand it, the man comes from some remote part of the
country, and speaks a villainous patois that even an educated person of
his own land can scarcely make out. He is very ignorant, and slow to
pick up our tongue."
"Was Murfree his only accuser?"
"Virtually. Still, his written deposition was so clear one could not
gainsay it, I have heard."
"Written? Why did he not appear in court?"
"He was ill at the time, I believe. The fact is, it all happened once
when I was east on business, and I really know but little about it,
except from hearsay."
"Possibly this accounts for Lozcoski's anger against the man. Ignorant
as he is, he has no sense of justice, perhaps. But he has suffered
cruelly, and I can't help feeling that there is something he resents
with all his soul."
"How imaginative you are! Don't you think all wrong-doers resent their
punishment?"
"No, I do not. Many times in my life I have felt that I was not getting
the full measure of my dues in that way. In fact, the hardest things in
my experience have not come to me in the guise of reproof. I could not
connect them with any of my ill doings. They just came out of a clear
sky, as it were. Often, when I have been naughtiest, I have seemed to
escape with less of pain and trouble than when I have been trying to be
exceptionally good."
"Perhaps you were not logical enough to trace out cause and effect."
"Possibly not." She looked at him reflectively a moment. "I _am_ very
illogical, I fear. I once told myself that anything I might want to do
to help Littleton would be over your dead body, almost. And, now, I
never make a move without looking to you for the encouragement and
support that make it perfectly satisfactory. I ought to have read you
better from the first!"
Dalton rigidly suppressed the tremor of emotion that shook him from head
to foot, and after an instant's pause answered in a cool tone,
"A man generally makes his employer's interests his own, doesn't he?"
She laughed sweetly.
"Am I your employer? It seems funny, doesn't it? But you need not try to
explain it all away through your loyalty to my interests. I won't
believe that. You are just as much interested in these people as I am.
You know every man, woman, and child by name and nature--now 'fess!
Don't you?"
"I'd be a chump if I did not make that a part of my business, at least
to some extent. Of course I know some better than others."
They fell into silence after that. George had no desire to talk. It was
enough to sit close beside a presence which meant the personification of
purity and sweetness to him. Silence is never intrusive, She can sit
between lovers, even, and shed a benediction upon both. It is only
nervousness and fear that will drive her away. Joyce spoke first, in a
tone almost of relief,
"Here we are! Now, shall we go first to Mr. Barrington?"
"When I have all these weightier matters off my mind I can better enjoy
my feminine errands, I imagine."
"Certainly. And I hope we'll find him in."
He reached down her umbrella and followed her from the coach. The
brakeman winked at the porter, and jerked a thumb towards them, as they
walked leisurely down the platform.
"Best looking bride I've seen this season!" he remarked emphatically.
"And the groom's got no eyes for any one else. Gee! Don't her clothes
fit, though?"
"It's her figger fits," laughed the fat porter, with an unctuous
chuckle. "Coffee sacks 'uld look well on her."
Mr. Barrington soon put them on the right path for their legal quest,
and before noon they were following a turnkey along a dim stone
corridor, which led to the hospital cell where Lozcoski was confined. A
third party trailed respectfully in their rear. He was an interpreter
whom Joyce had insisted upon securing, at a rather startling sum--for he
was reported versed in every patois of Poland--that they might have an
opportunity to converse freely with his countryman, before the latter
was called upon to testify in the matter.
As the cell door opened before them a wild figure started up from the
bunk, and stared through the gloom with great eyes. Joyce drew back,
half startled, and Dalton spoke quickly, in a tone of authority.
"Bring this lady something to sit on outside here. She can't go in
there."
A chair was brought, and he stood close beside her, repeating her
low-toned requests aloud to the interpreter.
"Speak to him and tell him he has nothing to fear, that he is simply to
tell an honest story of why he tried to fire the Works, and that all
justice shall be granted him."
At first Lozcoski did not seem to listen. Crouched in an attitude of
hopeless submission, he would not even raise his eyes as the
interpreter's voice skipped over the hard consonants of his native
tongue.
But presently his head was thrown back and he spoke in a quick,
passionate tone. He was answered in a soothing voice, then took up the
word himself, and getting well started, went on faster and faster,
gradually straightening himself, and beginning to gesticulate with his
hands. Once he raised the right hand and spoke low and impressively,
while both he and the interpreter bowed their heads. With every sentence
the latter's manner became more interested, and his short interrogations
more eager. At last, as the narrative flowed on, he did not attempt to
interrupt for some time, then he raised a hand, spoke a sentence in an
authoritative manner, and turned to Dalton, seeming to think he was the
person to whom he should defer.
"He tells a strange story, sir," said he in English, "and he has sworn
to its truth by the most terrible oath in our religion. Shall I tell it
to you now?"
"Yes, but speak low," said Dalton, looking towards Joyce, who nodded.
"It seems he, and the man who witnessed against him, both belong to the
same secret society--a Nihilistic affair, I take it,--and are sworn to
eternal brotherhood, of course. Once, this man he mentions was in danger
of the law, and our prisoner here risked his life to save him. He does
not explain all the details, but he was obliged to fly from Poland, and
came to this country. Arrived here he tried various ways of making a
living, and finally shipped as a sailor on a ship of war. He served for
two months on the war-ship "Terror"--Joyce at this word looked up in
startled fashion and turned pale--"but becoming disabled by a fall from
the rigging, was left in hospital before its next cruise on the Florida
coast. When he recovered sufficiently to be discharged he was told that
a branch of his Nihilistic society was in this city, and would look
after him, if he could get here. He managed to beat his way through, and
was helped to work of various kinds for a month, or so. At length, one
night at a meeting of the society, he encountered his old friend, and
greeted him warmly. The man treated him well enough then, and they
renewed their old intimacy, the other promising to find him a steady job
at some big factory near by. His promises did not materialize, and our
prisoner here appealed to him again and again, for he was destitute.
Finally, at one of the monthly meetings, the old chum sought him out,
and with a somewhat excited air said he was ready now to do him a
service, if he would come along home with him that night. Our prisoner,
who had been so exceptionally slow in acquiring the English language
that he found it difficult to secure work anywhere, listened to his
promises with much gratitude, and went along. The man took him to a
small village surrounding some big works, and kept Lozcoski shut in his
room through the whole of the next day, explaining that scab workmen
were around and they must move carefully. That night the man roused him
from sleep and told him to come along, for there was work for him at
last. It was to be night work, but that was the best he could do for
him. Suspecting no harm, he gladly went along and, directed by the
other, was set to piling certain light trash against different parts of
the building. The place was unlighted except by the glow of the furnaces
inside, and he did not clearly know what he was doing. The other
directed every movement, then left him standing in the deep shadow of an
angle in the building, saying he would return in a moment. He was going
after the boss. Lozcoski waited a long time. After a while there were
loud shouts, and he could see that there was a glare all about him, as
if of fire. He stepped out to see what had happened, and saw men
running. Suddenly his chum sprang around the angle and caught him by the
shoulder, pressing him forward. The men, at his call, turned and saw
him. They were surrounded, and the chum talked loudly, and seemed
denouncing our friend here. At any rate, they seized him and took him
off to jail. He vainly tried to make some one comprehend the right and
wrong of it, but could not make himself understood. Even the interpreter
provided could not thoroughly understand him, and took his excited
denunciations against the traitor as the ravings of one half insane with
trouble. He does not rightly know, even yet, what he is imprisoned for,
but his whole soul is bitter against that man, and he means to kill him
yet, if it is the last thing he does on earth!"
George and Joyce looked at each other.
"You divined it," he murmured.
"Yes, to a certain extent. This Lozcoski must have justice, and so--so
must Murfree."
"Yet you will hate to punish him, I can see!" His eyes, looking down
into hers, were soft and shining, and held that little twinkle of tender
ridicule which he seemed to reserve for her. She no longer resented it,
however. She knew the loyalty that tempered it. She said in the same low
tone,
"I want a question asked."
"The queen has but to command."
"Thanks, sir courtier. Ask who commanded that war-ship they spoke of."
Dalton turned to the interpreter, who put the question.
Lozcoski shook his head in replying, and the other explained, "He has
forgotten."
"Then let him tell about the night he came to the Social-house,"
suggested the "queen," and the narrative was resumed.
It was not long. Lozcoski, while in prison, brooded over the wrong done
him, day and night. When the fire gave him opportunity, he managed to
escape with two other convicts, and leaving them at the first chance, he
made his way to Littleton, resolving never to leave there until he had
punished his man. He had chanced upon Dan's retreat, evidently, and had
lived as he could for days, but on extremely short rations, as the
fields were all harvested and berry time over. At night he would walk
into town and wait around, hoping to see his victim. But the old man was
wary and nearly always traveled in company. If Lozcoski had possessed a
revolver he could have made short work of him, but having no means to
procure any he had to wait for a personal encounter. The night he came
to the Social-house he had been three days without food, and was insane
with hunger. He had but two ideas in his disordered brain--to eat, and
to kill. He must do the first in order to gain strength for the second.
Even the actual sight of his enemy, before the door of the refreshment
room, could not detain him from the food that he had caught sight of
through the door. His hunger partly appeased, he had started out boldly
to find Murfree, who fled for home on seeing him. Finding no one there,
however, and afraid to be alone, he had rushed back again, feeling
safety in numbers. He was just in time to meet his avenger in the hall,
and in spite of the onlookers, the Pole's terrible onslaught had nearly
finished him.
Dalton put several searching questions, then assuring the prisoner,
through the interpreter, that matters should be righted, and his
surroundings made comfortable at once, they left him with a new look on
his worn face.
After leaving the interpreter, well satisfied with his morning's work,
they were standing at a corner waiting for a trolley, when Joyce said in
a weary voice,
"Is that all we have to do together?"
Dalton glanced down at her, and his lips twitched a little at the
corners.
"For the present, I fear. Luncheon comes next, doesn't it? I had
hoped--but I heard you accept Mr. Barrington's invitation to his house."
"Yes," absently. "Then I won't see you again?"
"What train did you think of taking for home?"
"I want to take the 5.13, if I can make it, but may have to wait for the
6.05. Which do you take?"
"I'll be there for the 5.13."
"All right!" cheerfully. "I'll try and be there. It's so much pleasanter
to have company. Is this my car?"
He helped her on, and stepped back to await his own, going to another
part of the city.
"Poor little thing!" he thought. "How the contact with crime sickens
her. I can always see it. Yet she will not swerve from her good work,
though she might sit lapped in luxury. They say those soldiers who
sicken and tremble when going into the fight often make the bravest
heroes. She is the pluckiest little fighter I ever saw, but it is
herself she conquers--and me!"