Bob's work as a salesman continued to be so effective that Kurtz
finally offered him a salaried position. But instead of accepting, Bob
made a counter-proposition that caused the little man to gasp. Briefly,
it was to extend the scope of the present business by laying in a stock
of extravagant, high-priced shirt and necktie materials, with Bob as
partner in the new venture. Kurtz protested that he was not a
haberdasher, but he was constrained to admit that Bob had the right
idea of smart business, and after some discussion accepted his
employee's nonchalant offer to go halves on the new venture and share
in its profits. The fact that Bob had no money with which to carry
through his part of the deal troubled that youth not in the
least--Kurtz's credit was ample. Bob's theory of securing the Fifth
Avenue trade was to double existing prices, and if this did not bring
the business, to double them a second time; and this theory was
correct, as he demonstrated when the new department was organized.
But despite the excellent income he now began to make there was never
anything left in the Wharton bank-account, for Bob moved his wife to a
more pretentious apartment on Riverside Drive and managed to increase
their expenses so as to balance his earnings very nicely. It was quite
a feat to adjust a fixed outlay to a varying income so that nothing
whatever should remain, and he considered it a strong proof of his
capacities that he succeeded.
By Christmas the haberdashery venture had shown such a profit that he
began to pile up a small bank-account in spite of himself; so he bought
an automobile, which served to eat up any monthly profits and guarantee
a deficit under the most favorable circumstances. Being thus relieved
of financial uncertainty, he laid plans to wrest from Kurtz a full
partnership in the tailoring business itself.
The Whartons' new home was charming, and Bob provided his wife with
every luxury. Lorelei did not regret that she was prevented from going
out as much as formerly--her experience at Fennellcourt had cured her
of any desire to get into her husband's social set--and unconsciously
she and Bob began to develop a real home life.
As time went on and evidences of prosperity showed themselves Lorelei's
family forgot some of their dislike of Bob and became more
companionable. Strangely enough, too, their cost of living increased in
proportion to their friendliness; but Bob never questioned any amount
they asked him for, and he swelled their allowance with characteristic
prodigality.
Lorelei was proud of him, as she had reason to be, but she had occasion
for sorrow as well. His generosity was really big, his pagan joyousness
banished shadows, but he was intensely human in his failings, and in
spite of his determination to stop drinking, in spite of all his
earnest promises, the old appetite periodically betrayed him. For a
month, for two months at a time, he would manfully fight his desires,
then without excuse, without cause, just when he was boasting loudest
of his victory, he would fall. And yet drinking did not brutalize him
as it does most men; he never became disgusting; liquor intoxicated
him, but less in body than in spirit. His repentance followed promptly,
his chagrin was intense, and his fear of Lorelei almost ludicrous. But
the girl had acquired a wider charity, a gentler patience; she grieved,
she tried to help him, and his frailty endeared him to her. Love had
been slow to awaken; in fact, she had not been definitely aware of its
birth; but suddenly she had found it flowering in her soul, and now it
flourished the more as that other interest intensified and began to
dominate her.
Bob responded to all her efforts save one: she could not make him
serious. On the whole, however, they were more happy than they had ever
been.
One day, during the slack holiday season, Hannibal Wharton appeared at
the Kurtz establishment. He appraised the elaborate surroundings with a
hostile eye and stared at his son impassively.
"So! You're a seamstress now," he began, and Bob grinned. "Merkle told
me you repaid his loan and had an automobile."
"That's true."
"Second-hand car?"
"No."
"How much do you owe?"
"Nothing, except for stock."
"Stock! What do you mean?"
"Kurtz and I are partners in one end of this business."
"I'll be damned!" breathed Mr. Wharton. Then he inquired, curiously,
"Do you like this work?"
"It's not what I prefer, still there is a margin of profit."
"Huh! I should think so, at ninety dollars a suit. Well, this town is
full of fools."
Bob agreed. "But we dress 'em better than they do in Pittsburg."
After a moment's consideration Hannibal said slowly: "Mother's at the
Waldorf; she wants to see you. You've just about broken her heart, Bob."
"We're not going out much, but perhaps we could call on her--"
"'We'! I said she wants to see YOU."
"And not my wife?"
"Certainly not. Neither do I. You don't seem to understand--"
Bob answered smoothly: "Certainly I understand; you think ninety
dollars is too much for a suit. Perhaps I can show you something in
scarfs of an exclusive design?"
"Don't be funny!" growled his father.
"Really, dad, you'd better go. That suit of yours is a sight. Somebody
may think we made it for you."
Mr. Wharton remained silent for a moment. "The situation is impossible,
and anybody but you would see it. We can't accept that woman, and we
won't. She's notorious."
"No more so than I--or you, for that matter."
"She's a grafter. She'd quit you if I paid her enough."
"How do you know?"
"Her mother has been to see me half a dozen times. I've offered to pay
her anything within reason, but they're holding out for something big.
You come back, Bob. Let her go back to her own people."
"And what's to become of the other one?" Bob was smiling faintly.
"The other one? What do you mean?"
"I mean there will be three in the family soon, dad; you're going to be
a grandfather."
The effect of this announcement was unexpected. Hannibal Wharton was
momentarily stricken dumb, for once he was utterly at a loss. Then,
instead of raising his voice, he spoke with a sharp, stuttering
incisiveness:
"So that's her game, eh? I suppose she thinks she'll breed her way into
the family. Well, she won't. It won't work. I was willing to compromise
before--so long as there was no tangible bond between that family and
mine--but they've got their blood mixed with mine; they've got a
finger-hold in spite of hell, and I suppose they'll hold on. But I
won't acknowledge a grandchild with scum like that in its veins. Good
God! Now listen--you." Wharton's jaw was outthrust, his gaze hard and
unwavering. "No child tainted with that blood will share in one penny
of my money, now or at any other time. Understand?"
"Perfectly." Bob's color had receded, but in no other way did he show
his struggle for self-mastery. "My wife isn't having a baby to spite
you, and if it ever needs a grandfather we'll adopt one."
"They've pulled you down into the mud; now they've tied you there.
Heredity's stronger than you or I; watch your child grow up, and watch
its mother's blood tell. Then remember that I tried to free you before
it was too late. Well, I'm through. This settles me. Good-by, and God
help you with that rotten gang." Hannibal Wharton turned and strode out
of the room shaking his head and mumbling.
Jimmy Knight had fallen upon evil times. A combination of circumstances
had seriously affected his mode of making a living, and that of his
friends. To outward appearances the frequenters of Tony the Barber's
place were as thrifty as usual, but in the pinochle-room at the rear
there was gloom. Reason for these hard times lay in an upheaval of
public sentiment that had galvanized the Police Department into one of
its periodic spasms of activity, and the cause ran back to a sordid
quarrel between two factions of the Tenderloin. At about the time when
Jimmy came to New York the contention had become too bitter for the
underworld to hold, and echoes of it had begun to leak out; later it
culminated in the murder of the leader of one clique. Murders, it is
true, are not uncommon in New York, but this one was staged in the
glare of Broadway, and with a bold defiance of the law that aroused
popular indignation. There followed a chain of fortuitous happenings
that issued in the capture of the murderers, in a wide-spread exposure
of social conditions, and in a great outburst of public indignation
against a police system that allowed such abuses to exist.
Of course there came a loud protest from the guardians of the law, a
frantic waving of spotless banners, and a prating of virtue; but the
popular will has a way of obtaining its desires regardless of red tape,
trickery, or politics, and in this case it demanded a reorganization of
the department and got it.
Discipline suddenly strengthened, and as a result gambling almost
ceased, wire-tapping languished, organized blackmail was conducted
under cover: only crime in its crudest forms continued as usual; and it
followed therefore that Jimmy Knight was not prosperous. Had it not
been for his share in Bob's generosity he would have been forced to the
distressing necessity of asking for employment--a thing to curdle his
blood! It was characteristic of young Knight that he did not scruple to
accept charity from the man he hated, although he cherished the memory
of that public beating at Bob's hands and the humiliation of it gnawed
him like a cancer.
More than once lately Jim had been tempted to turn his knowledge of the
Hammon "suicide" into cash, but he could think of no safe and certain
means of doing so until one day Max Melcher dropped a bit of
intelligence that promised to open a way.
"Who do you suppose I just heard from?" Max inquired, one raw afternoon
in March, when he had found Jim in their usual haunt. "Lilas Lynn."
Jim made no attempt to conceal his surprise and interest. "Where is
she?"
"She wrote from Liverpool, asking for money. Can you beat that?"
"Money? Why, she had a satchel full. What's become of it?"
Melcher shrugged. "She's taken the jumps--English Derby, Paris
race-meet, Monte Carlo--"
"Huh! She fished all the sucker-holes along the route, eh? Of course
you cabled her a few C's?" Jim snickered.
"Do I look as if I had? She's sick, got a cough, and says it's the
'con.' She wants to come home."
Jim started. "Say, that's no hospital bark of hers; it's nothing but
the coke." After a moment he asked casually, "Where's she stopping?"
"Liverpool."
"What's her address? I'll drop her a line to cheer her up."
"She wrote from the Hotel--" Melcher checked himself and shot a
questioning look at his friend. "Why this sudden charity?"
Jim's gaze was bland, his tone one of wounded innocence. "Can't a guy
offer to cheer--"
"You're not in the business of cheering sick dames," Melcher said,
sharply. Then, after a pause, "You never came through with me, Jim.
There was something phony about Lilas's get-away. She left too suddenly
after the Hammon suicide, and she's been under cover now for eight
months. I never got it quite right. What're you holding out?"
Jim sparred adroitly, but without effect.
"Oh! You've got an ace buried somewhere," Melcher said. "You're a
shifty guy. Of course this is a friendly game we're playing, but, just
the same, I never bettered a poker hand by leaving the room. I don't
even turn my head to spit when I'm sitting in with a fellow like you.
Lilas has got something on her mind, and I believe I'll cable her the
price of a ticket."
That was enough for Jim. He began to weaken, and at last made a clean
breast of all the circumstances surrounding Jarvis Hammon's death
rather than risk the result of a meeting between Max and Lilas. When he
had finished his story Melcher was leaning forward, his pink,
smooth-shaven, agreeable face gravely intent.
"So that was the way of it. Wharton and Merkle--and a four-wheeler! By
God! That was nervy--on Merkle's part, especially. He took a chance.
And Lilas shot the old man, eh?"
"Nobody saw her do it," Jim explained. "Lorelei was in the dining-room
at the time it happened, and Hammon swore he did it himself. He stood
on that to the last."
"I didn't know they grew men the size of that fellow," Max mused.
"After all, it's the suckers that die game. And you were going to put
this over single-handed, eh?--you and Lilas, perhaps! My boy, you must
learn to shoot before you go hunting. Why, there's a hundred thousand
quick money in this."
"If Wharton had done the shooting or Merkle--yes."
"What's the difference who did it? Why, it's a cinch. Get this! Lilas
comes home broke. She's sick, and sees the undertaker flirting with
her, so she decides to spill the whole story and take the
consequences--understand? It's conscience." Mr. Melcher laughed lightly
at his little joke. "A sick woman's conscience is an expensive thing;
it takes money to square it. Merkle won't stand, and Wharton can't, on
account of his wife--your sister. He'll tap his old man, and Hannibal
will loosen for the family honor. After they're dry we've got the
Hammon widow to work on."
"It'll take money to do this--protection, too."
"Well, I've got both."
"I suppose we'll split three ways."
Max pursed his lips thoughtfully. "N-no; you and Lilas are broke. I've
got the money and the police. I'll take half."
Jim's acquiescence to these terms came hard, and he cursed himself as a
fool for putting himself at the mercy of this man. He was still raging
inwardly when Melcher left to send a cablegram; but there was ample
leisure for reflection during the week that followed, and, being
possessed of some ingenuity, Jim had formulated a scheme before Lilas
Lynn's arrival.
In due time she came, and Melcher saw her established at a modest hotel
before making known in detail his intentions.
Lilas was little more than a wreck of what she had been. It seemed
impossible that eight short months could have worked so great a change
in one of her youth and strength. Ill she undoubtedly was. She was
thin, her nerves had yielded to the ravages of the drug, and a queer,
unhealthy pallor had blanched her skin; her eyes were big and feverish
and restless. Only at such times as she was without cocaine did her
mind suffer; when she had it she was unnaturally alert. Having lately
felt the harsh grip of poverty, she was obsessed now by the need of
money, and offered no objections to Max's schemes. Rather, she welcomed
them fiercely. She and Max and Jim mapped out a course of action
together; but a day or two later, when Jim thought the moment
propitious, he secured her ear alone and gave voice to his resentment
against Max.
As soon as Lilas understood his drift she met him more than half-way.
She was vulture-like in her greed, and with a full understanding
between them the two conspired to use Max only so long and so far as
suited their purposes.
In spite of Bob Wharton's peculiarly mutable temperament he was not
remiss in his duties toward Lorelei during the period that led up to
the birth of their child. Utterly careless and improvident in his own
affairs, he was naturally considerate of others and possessed a
surprising depth of sympathy. Hence he met the responsibilities of his
present situation with considerable credit.
One evening he was concerned to find his wife greatly agitated, and
upon learning the cause his consternation matched hers. Lorelei's eyes
were big and frightened as she explained: "Lilas is back. She was here
to-day."
"Lilas? Good Lord! What did she want?"
"Nothing. She just came to see me. She's changed dreadfully, and talked
about nothing except--that awful night. You remember? I'm nearly in
hysterics."
"Now, that won't do. You pass your worries on to me. Lilas can't make
trouble for us without making more for herself."
But Lorelei seemed oppressed with a premonition of trouble. "I'm
frightened, Bob," she confessed. "She acted so--strangely. Suppose--oh,
suppose I should have to go to jail now or--to court--"
Bob took his wife in his arms and did his best to cure her of these
sick fancies; but it was no easy task to quiet her, for a million
apprehensions had sprung into life with the reopening of that old
horror. At last he reminded her gently:
"Remember, dear, your thoughts are like branding-irons just now; they
leave their marks. We want our child to be brave and confident and
steadfast, not a coward--or something worse. This is how cowards are
made. How can a child inherit weakness when its mother is without fear?"
Profiting by this experience, Bob undertook to guard against another
visit from Lilas. He was really worried, although he pretended to
dismiss the matter as inconsequential, and his fears flared into full
blaze again a few days later, when Jimmy Knight called upon him and
announced cautiously:
"Say, you know Lilas is back. Well, she's gone off her nut--she's going
to give herself up."
"Give herself up? How?"
"She's going to tell the truth about the Hammon affair. She thinks
she's dying. Where do we go from here if she does that?"
Bob could not conceal his alarm, which increased when his
brother-in-law begged him to do something quickly to save them all from
disaster. "I wouldn't come to you," Jim confessed, candidly, "if I knew
what to do; for you don't like me, and I'm not crazy about you. But
we've got to stand together on account of Lorelei--not that I'd enjoy a
call on the district attorney at any time."
Agreeing that there was no time to waste, the two men hastened to
Lilas's hotel, only to receive a greeting that was far from auspicious.
When they had adroitly brought the conversation around to the point at
issue Lilas explained:
"Yes, the doctors have ticketed me. They've shown me the gate." She
coughed hollowly and laid her hand on her chest. "Oh, it's the white
bug! That closes the show for me." She appeared very ill, and it did
not occur to Bob to doubt her.
Jim began briskly: "Why, that's nothing, Lilas! Arizona is the place
for you."
"Arizona is a long jump from Broadway."
"I'll help you if you need help," Bob hastened to offer.
Lilas flashed him a grateful glance from eyes that were doubly large
and dark against her pallor. "You're a prince with your money,
but--it's too late."
"Nonsense!"
"Oh, they'd get me sooner or later. I may as well face the music."
"Do you mean slow music? Do you mean the bugs will get you?" Jim
inquired.
"No. I mean I'd have to take it on the dodge if I went, and what's the
use of that? I've talked too much." With a sudden flash of feeling she
cried: "I've been through hell for eight months, and I'm tired out. I
came home broke, sick, thinking of that night when--you know! I seem to
see HIS face everywhere. It bothers me at night. I used to dream of my
father and a stream of molten steel. Well, the dreams are getting
worse, only now I see Jarvis's face in place of my father's, and I tell
you I can't stand it; I can't stand these dreams, and that face of his
looking at me all the time. So I'm going to give myself up, have it
over with, and do my penalty. Maybe I can sleep then. If my lungs hold
out, all right; if they don't--well, I'll sleep anyhow. You see, I
can't make a living, for I can't go back on the stage. Why, I can't
leave this hotel--and take my trunks."
Jimmy Knight broke out nervously, "That penalty talk is all right for
you, Lilas, but think about the rest of us."
"Yes; Lorelei, for instance," Bob added. "She isn't strong. You mustn't
think of doing this thing."
"I know," Miss Lynn nodded. "I'm sorry, but--"
"I'll furnish all the money you want." She looked her gratitude again.
"You must buck up and try to get well."
For some time the two men jointly attempted to argue Lilas out of her
black despondency, and when they left it was with a hard-won promise
that she would do nothing definite at once.
Outside the room Jim heaved a sigh of relief. "Whew! I could feel the
knot under my ear, but--glory to God, it slipped! Just the same, I'm
going to buy some oakum and make a false beard in case she flops."
In this way the trap was set and baited so skilfully that the victim
was without suspicion. That evening Lilas, Jim, and Max Melcher dined
together in very good spirits; and, strangely enough, the girl showed
an excellent appetite for one so troubled in soul.
Wharton was as good as his word. Not only did he put Lilas in funds,
but he exerted his every power of persuasion to rouse her from her
despondency and reawaken a healthy desire for life. It transpired that
she had assumed some outrageous obligations, and, moreover, had hired a
number of expensive lung specialists, for whom she asked him to settle;
nevertheless he met her demands and was encouraged when she began to
purchase a new wardrobe. Although he considered himself a spendthrift,
her reckless disregard of money gave him a jolt, but he was working to
gain time, and his relief on Lorelei's account deadened all other
feelings.
Before long he had advanced several thousand dollars to the girl, and
still her desire for martyrdom had not entirely vanished. Realizing
that the mere presence of one so temperamentally hysterical as she was
a constant menace, he insisted upon her going South, and in order to
provide handsomely for her comfort he borrowed from his friends. He was
aghast when he finally reckoned up the amount he had spent upon her.
There followed a short interval of relief, during which Lilas pretended
to be making ready, then upon the very eve of her departure she sent
for him in much haste and awoke him rudely from his trance.
She began by saying that his kindness and liberality had aroused in her
a desire to live and to begin anew, if not for her own, then for his
and Lorelei's sakes, but that she was in terrible trouble. Her
punishment had sought her out after all.
It was a long time before Bob could make head or tail out of what she
told him, but eventually he learned that in the hour of her deepest
dejection she had confided her secret to others, and the result of this
confidence had now arisen to thwart all their plans.
With a dizzy feeling of insecurity Bob asked, "Who did you tell?"
"Melcher. He sent me money to come home with, and he seemed to be my
only friend."
"Friend! I thought you and he were enemies."
"Oh, he doesn't love me and he doesn't hate me," Lilas explained. "He
seemed sorry for me, and I was grateful for any sympathy, no matter
where it came from. You see, I didn't know what I was doing, and I
didn't realize my mistake until it was too late."
"Melcher of all people!" Bob groaned.
"Wait--that's not all. You see, I wanted to go clean, and yet I was
afraid of the police, so Max advised me to hire a lawyer who'd get me
off light. Well, I did."
"Goldberg, I suppose." Bob breathed a malediction as Lilas nodded. "Why
didn't you hire a hall or book yourself through the Lyceum Bureau?"
"Don't be hard on me." Lilas had foresworn the stage, but she did a
creditable bit of emotional acting. "A frantic woman will do almost
anything."
"Well, present your bill in full. What's the next misfortune?"
"I had no idea men could be so vile. Yesterday I told Max of the change
in my plans; that you've made life possible to me and showed me that I
couldn't go through without consequences to others. He--" She dropped
her hands in a gesture of resignation. "What's the use? You know the
kind of man he is."
"Go on."
Lilas began to weep silently, rocking her body to and fro. "It's just
my luck--when I had another chance, too! I don't care for my own sake,
but I do love--Lorelei; and you've certainly been a prince, Bob."
"Good Lord! Max can't insist on your giving yourself up. Why, that's
absurd!"
"Oh, he doesn't care what becomes of me. It's--it's--" Lilas broke out
in a passion: "I never thought I was putting you in his power, and--and
Lorelei, too--and Jim, and Mr. Merkle. Of course you won't believe
that, but I can't help what you think. I wouldn't blame you
for--killing me. Why, I'd go to the chair to keep you people clear,
but--those are the facts. Now you've got it all."
"Max sees money in sight, I presume?"
"That's all he sees. Money? My God! He's mad. Why he doesn't talk
figures that I understand. It's nothing but blackmail, Bob, and you
mustn't stand for it. He's a queer man--he helped me when I was broke;
now he'd hitch me to a bull and ticket me up the river, to get that
money. Why, he'd strap the coppers on my feet and turn on the juice
with his own hand rather than lose this chance."
As her flow of speech died down to apologetic murmurs Bob said gravely:
"I never thought Merkle and I could cover a thing like Hammon's death,
but, after all, they can't do much to us."
"It's mighty kind of you to say so. I'll stand whatever comes to me; I
was thinking more of Lorelei--she's in no condition--"
Bob uttered an exclamation. "You're right! We've got to gain time.
After the baby's born it won't matter so much."
"Max is no fool; he won't wait. Besides, Goldberg's been to see
Inspector Snell already on my account, and Snell is in the know. He's
holding back warrants now for all of us. I couldn't leave town if I
wanted to."
The numbing force of the calamity coming at this of all times fairly
stupefied Bob, rendering him incapable of clear analysis or even of the
suspicions his ordinary intelligence would have prompted.
"Why doesn't Snell get busy?" he inquired, blankly, at which Lilas lost
her patience.
"Don't you see he's in on the graft? Snell doesn't want to pinch us. He
doesn't care how Jarvis died, any more than Max or Goldberg cares. They
want money, MONEY--coin! That's how things are run in this town, that's
how the police are squared. If you don't come across they'll try to
show that it was murder instead of self-defense. Remember it was my gun
that killed--that did the work--and it was found in Hammon's library."
Before Bob's arrival Lilas had prepared herself for this scene by a
liberal dose of cocaine, but the strain of her acting had exhausted her
strength; her brain was tiring. Accordingly she excused herself, and,
once in her bathroom, prepared a fresh solution of the powder, leaving
Bob the while to meditate upon his plight. When she returned her eyes
were brighter and she had regained the mastery of her unruly nerves.
Bob looked up with a drawn expression that almost moved her to pity.
"How much do they want?" he inquired, dully.
"Don't be a fool, Bob. You helped me; I won't see you gouged. No matter
what you gave they'd frame you over again. We'd better face it."
"I CAN'T face it," he cried. "Alone, I would in a minute--no court in
the world would hold Merkle and me for what we did--but I can't let 'em
hurt my wife and my kid. Why, Lorelei would die of fright." He choked
and stammered. "They want money. How much?"
"Merkle is the man they're after."
"How much?" he insisted.
"It would take a hundred thousand to square it."
Bob gasped. "This is the worst dream I ever had."
"I told you I couldn't understand their figures. But Merkle's a
millionaire. If you had ten dollars you'd give one to square a copper,
wouldn't you? Well, your name's Wharton, and his is Merkle. There's
fifty million dollars behind those two names, and Max knows it. If I
had the price I'd pay it to save you people who helped me when I needed
help, but--what have I got? I told Max he could go to hell, and you'd
better tell him the same thing. Now--what do you want me to do?"
Bob's lips were white. "Stand pat and wait until I--rob a bank. I've
got to buy three weeks' time, no matter what it costs."
When he had gone Lilas 'phoned first to Melcher and reported progress;
then she called up Jim. The latter appeared in person that evening, and
the two sat until late talking guardedly.