THE RESULT OF AN EVENING WITH GENTLEMEN.
All the time that these smiling villains were by consummate art drawing
their weak-headed victim into their tolls, what was August doing? Where
were his prompt decision of character, his quick intelligence, his fine
German perseverance, that should have saved the brother of Julia
Anderson from harpies? Could our blue-eyed young countryman, who knew
how to cherish noble aspirations walking in a plowman's furrow--could he
stand there satisfying his revenge by witnessing the ruin of a young man
who, like many others, was wicked only because he was weak?
In truth, August was a man whose feelings were persistent. His
resentment was--like his love--constant. But his love of justice was
higher and more persistent, and he could not have seen any one fleeced
in this merciless way without taking sides strongly with the victim.
Much less could he see the brother of Julia tempted on to the rocks by
the false lights of villainous wreckers without a great desire to save
him. For the letter of Andrew had ceased now to burn in his pocket. That
other letter--the only one that Julia had been able to send through
Cynthy Ann and Jonas--that other letter, written all over with such
tender extravagances as love feeds on; the thought of that other letter,
which told how beautiful and precious were the invitations to the weary
and heavy-laden, had stilled resentment, and there came instead a keen
desire to save Norman for the sake of Julia and justice. But how to do
it was an embarrassing question--a question that was more than August
could solve. There was a difficulty in the weakness and wrong-headedness
of Norman; a difficulty in Norman's prejudice against Dutchmen in
general and August in particular; a difficulty in the fact that August
was a sort of a fugitive, if not from justice, certainly from injustice.
But when nearly a third of Norman's employer's money had gone into the
gamblers' heap, and when August began to understand that it was another
man's money that Norman was losing, and that the victim was threatened
by no half-way ruin, he determined to do something, even at the risk of
making himself known to Norman and to Parkins--was he Humphreys in
disguise?--and at the risk of arrest for house-breaking. August acted
with his eyes open to all the perils from gamblers' pistols and
gamblers' malice; and after he had started to interfere, the mud-clerk
called him back, and said, in his half-indifferent way:
"Looky here, Gus, don't be a blamed fool. That's a purty little game.
That greeny's got to learn to let blacklegs alone, and he don't look
like one that'll take advice. Let him scorch a little; it'll do him
good. It's healthy for young men. That's the reason the old man don't
forbid it, I s'pose. And these fellows carry good shooting-irons with
hair-triggers, and I declare I don't want to be bothered writing home to
your mother, and explaining to her that you got killed in a fight with
blacklegs, I declare I don't, you see. And then you'll get the 'old man'
down on you, if you let a bird out of the trap in which he goes snucks;
you will, I declare. And you'll get walking-papers at Louisville. Let
the game alone. You haven't got any hand to play against Parkins, nohow;
and I reckon the greenhorns are his lawful prey. Cats couldn't live
without mice. You'll lose your place, I declare you will, if you say
a word."
[Illustration: THE MUD-CLERK]
August stopped long enough to take in the full measure of his sacrifice.
So far from being deterred by it, he was more than ever determined to
act. Not the love Julia, so much, now, but the farewell prayer and
benediction and the whole life and spirit of the sweet Moravian mother
in her child-full house at home were in his mind at this moment. Things
which a man will not do for the love of woman he may do for the love of
God--and it was with a sense of moral exaltation that August entered
into the lofty spirit of self-sacrifice he had seen in his mother, and
caught himself saying, in his heart, as he had heard her say, "Let us do
anything for the Father's sake!" Some will call this cant. So much the
worse for them. This motive, too little felt in our day--too little felt
in any day--is the great impulse that has enabled men to do the bravest
things that have been done. The sublimest self-sacrifice is only
possible to a man by the aid of some strong moral tonic. God's love is
the chief support of the strongest spirits.
August touched Norman on the arm. The face of the latter expressed
anything but pleasure at meeting him, now that he felt guilty. But this
was not the uppermost feeling with Norman. He noticed that August's
clothes were spotted with engine-grease, and his first fear was of
compromising his respectability.
In a hurried way August began to explain to him that he was betting with
gamblers, but Smith stood close to them, looking at August in such a
contemptuous way as to make Norman feel very uncomfortable, and Parkins
seeing the crowd attracted by August's explanations--which he made in
some detail, by way of adapting himself to Norman--of the trick by which
the upper card is thrown out first, Parkins said, "I see you understand
the game, young man. If you do, why don't you bet?"
At this the crowd laughed, and Norman drew away from the striker's
greasy clothes, and said that he didn't want to speak any further to a
burglar, he believed. But August followed, determined to warn him
against Smith. Smith was ahead of him, however, saving to Norman, "Look
out for your pockets--that greasy fellow will rob you."
And Norman, who was nothing if not highly respectable, resolved to
shake off the troublesome "Dutchman" at once. "I don't know what you are
up to now, but at home you are known as a thief. So please let me alone,
will you?" This Norman tried to say in an annihilating way.
The crowd looked for a fight. August said loud enough to be heard, "You
know very well that you lie. I wanted to save you from being a thief,
but you are betting money now that is not yours."
The company, of course, sympathized with the gentleman and against the
machine-oil on the striker's clothes, so that there arose quickly a
murmur, started by Smith, "Put the bully out," and August was "hustled."
It is well that he was not shot.
It was quite time for him to go on watch now; for the loud-ticking
marine-clock over the window of the clerk's office pointed to three
minutes past twelve, and the striker hurried to his post at the
starboard engine, with the bitterness of defeat and the shame of insult
in his heart. He had sacrificed his place, doubtless, and risked much
beside, and all for nothing. The third engineer complained of his
tardiness in not having relieved him three minutes before, and August
went to his duties with a bitter heart. To a man who is persistent, as
August was, defeat of any sort is humiliating.
As for Norman, he bet after this just to show his independence and to
show that the money was his own, as well as in the vain hope of winning
back what he had lost. He bet every cent. Then he lost his watch, and at
half-past one o'clock he went to his state-room, stripped of all loose
valuables, and sweating great drops. And the mud-clerk, who was still in
the office, remarked to himself, with a pleasant chuckle, that it was
good for him; he declared it was; teach the fellow to let monte alone,
and keep his eyes peeled when he traveled. It would so!
The idea was a good one, and he went down to the starboard engine and
told the result of the nice little game to his friend the striker,
drawling it out in a relishful way, how the blamed idiot never stopped
till they'd got his watch, and then looked like as if he'd a notion to
jump into the "drink." But 'twould cure him of meddlin' with monte.
It would so!
He walked away, and August was just reflecting on the heartlessness of
his friend, when the mud-clerk came back again, and began drawling his
words out as before, just as though each distinct word were of a
delightful flavor and he regretted that he must part with it.
"I've got you even with Parkins, old fellow. He'll be strung up on a
lamp-post at Paducah, I reckon. I saw a Paducah man aboard, and I put a
flea in his ear. We've got to lay there an hour or two to put off a
hundred barrels of molasses and two hundred sacks of coffee and two lots
of plunder. There'll be a hot time for Parkins. He let on to marry a
girl and fooled her. They'll teach him a lesson. You'll be off watch,
and we'll have some fun looking on." And the mud-clerk evidently thought
that it would be even funnier to see Parkins hanged than it had been to
see him fleece Norman. Gus the striker did not see how either scene
could be very entertaining. But he was sick at heart, and one could not
expect him to show much interest in manly sports.