In New York
Most of New York--that is, all those more fortunate individuals who
were not actually tied to the city by the necessities of business, were
somewhere on the seashore, or up in the hills, seeking cool, bracing
air with which to sooth their jaded nerves. The heat was torrid. The
noise and the city odours burdened life to an almost insupportable
extent. There was no shade anywhere that could help things, and not a
breath of air, except that set in motion by artificial means in the
dwellings, was stirring to make things easier. The sun scorched down
on the immaculate streets from early dawn to late evening. And even as
late as nearing midnight the furious mercury registered anything up to
eighty degrees of humid heat.
It was the one time in the year when the bustle and rush of the great
hotels was at its lowest ebb. The telephone boys had time to sweat at
leisure. The head-porters had breathing space from their everlasting
task of booking railroad “reservations” for their transient custom.
Even the waiters were able to give a personal touch of interest to
their guests. But for all the greater ease of service the leisure
thus obtained was more than counter-balanced by the discomfort of the
appalling humidity.
At the Seraphim Hotel the oval of the great dining-hall was almost
empty. An army of waiters stood ready to advance upon their customers.
But the customers were few, and many of the beautifully appointed
tables had remained unoccupied for the day’s lunch. On the raised
amphitheatre which circled the outer extremities of the hall only
about half a dozen tables were occupied, while in the central space one
solitary couple sat lunching.
It was a man and a woman. The girl was exquisitely gowned in a quiet,
unassuming fashion. A woman might have appraised the costliness of
her equipment at its true value. To a man she appeared to be just
well turned out in something that was sufficiently diaphanous for the
temperature all must endure in July in New York. But her hat--well,
even a man could not have made any miscalculation as to her hat. It was
exquisite, and added a wealth of charm to the beautiful, smiling face
beneath it.
She was regarding her companion with almost hungry interest. Her blue
eyes were gravely smiling, for all a certain anxiety was gazing out
of them. She was eyeing his well-barbered, snow-white hair that was
a never-ending source of admiring concern for her. Then, too, the
deeply-lined, clean-shaven face left her not a little troubled. He was
dressed well in well-cut summer suiting, and his broad shoulders and
strong, shapely hands told of work they could never have encountered in
New York.
The man had been talking for some time in a tone which was never
permitted to reach beyond his companion’s ears, and the twinkle of a
smile lit eyes that were twin in colour to those he was gazing into.
He had been recounting the details of a long story that held his
companion completely enthralled. There were moments when he had to
break off to remind her of the food that no longer made any claim upon
her appetite. And as he finished a deep sigh proclaimed the breathless
interest in which the girl had been held.
“It’s all amazing, dreadful,” she breathed, in a suppressed tone.
“If it weren’t you, Jim, sitting there telling me I could never have
believed it. I just hadn’t a notion when I got your letter asking for
those five thousand dollars. You never gave me an inkling. You never
said a thing. And now you tell me all this.”
She made a gesture that expressed her amazement.
“Eddie hunted for killing the man who had broken up his home-life.
Poor, dear, weak, foolish Mary gone--goodness knows where. And you, my
dear old brother and best of all playmates, convicted and sentenced
for--for--as a price for that fool loyalty which has always been
your besetting curse. The disaster of it is unspeakable. It’s--it’s
dreadful. And look at you,” she went on, with that final touch of the
woman which she found impossible to resist. “Your hair snow-white, and
not a single curl remaining. Your poor thin face lined like a man of
more than twice your years. And you have come here with--with a price
on your head. Jim--Jim, you must get away. You must get away to a place
of safety. Your money’s been safe with me. I’ll hand it over. And you
must get away.”
Jim Pryse’s eyes twinkled humorously.
“That’s what I came here for.”
“That’s why you came here--for safety?” The girl’s eyes widened. “You
must be crazy.”
Jim shook his head.
“Not a thing. But smile, Blanche. Get that look of worry out of your
dandy eyes. There are waiters around.”
The girl shrugged her shoulders a little helplessly. But she smiled.
And somehow the smile was unforced.
“Oh, Jim, you’re just the same. Just the same--what shall I
say?--devil-may-care you’ve always been. You’ve told me enough to make
me realise something of the awful thing you’ve been through. And your
beautiful white hair, and those cruel lines down around your mouth and
cheeks, tell of what you have not told. What are you going to do?”
“Do?”
Jim sat back in his chair and laughed happily as the waiter approached
with two _pêches Melbas_. He continued to smile while the man removed
the plates and set the sweets before them. Then, as he withdrew,
his smile resolved itself into that twinkle which was his natural
expression of good-humour.
“Why, I guess there’s a whole heap of things I could do,” he went on
quietly. “But I’m only going to do just one of ’em. You know, Blanche,
it’s a pretty terrible thing when a feller gets bug on notions of
the welfare of his fellow-man. It’s the sort of craziness that sets
a boy yearning to get after folks and things with a club. He sort of
sees red most every time he hears some fool kid won’t eat its bottle
right, and the birch in a school-house is liable to set him shooting up
Presidents. Which mostly means the bottom’s dropped right out of his
sense of proportion, and his backbone’s disintegrated in the juices of
a mess of sloppy sympathy. Well, there’s nothing much wrong with my
backbone yet, and my sense of proportion seems in decent shape. All
that’s happened is that I’ve got a notion, and, if _you_ feel good
about it, I’m going to work it out. If it works good I’ll be mighty
pleased, and’ll be feeling like some commercial philanthropist who
reads a news-sheet’s account of his good works. If it doesn’t, why,
I’ll throw in my hand, and start a fresh deal with the same deck of
cards.”
The man paused for a moment, and his sister shook her head
admonishingly.
“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Jim, any more than I shall
ever understand our Eddie,” Blanche said. “Maybe I lack a sense of
humour. Maybe, being a woman, I haven’t a notion beyond the things I
was raised to. Why--why had you two boys to quit business right here
in New York and get out to the--tough countries? You had ample here.
Our folks left us all three the same. And the business was good. No,
you sell up and get out. I know you’ve made a big fortune in gold, and
Eddie was doing well in Greenwood. But--but all this terrible disaster
could have been avoided. All this----”
“No, it couldn’t, Sis.” Jim shook his head and laughed. “If we’d
stayed around we’d have got mixed up with things, anyway. These things
don’t happen because. They happen anyway. A feller’s going to get the
marked-out tally someway. Fate’s got just so many kicks for every
feller born. And he’s going to get ’em. Do you fancy hearing my plan?”
“Of course I do, Jim. I’ve been waiting. And I want you to know that
there isn’t a thing in the world you can ask me that I won’t do for
you.”
The man chuckled softly as he ate the last of his sweet.
“Fine,” he cried. “That fool loyalty again. Only it’s you this time,
Sis.”
The girl smiled back at him.
“Don’t be absurd,” she said gently. “Get on with the thing I want to
hear.”
“Well, for all I’ve got a million or so gold in my bank-roll I guess
I was right down and out after getting clear of that red-coated boy,
and looked like leaving my miserable bones feed for the coyotes.
It was then I found it--in those two boys. One was a pretty tough,
straight-thinking French-Canadian farmer, and the other was a broth of
an Irish boy, whose only worry in life seemed to be he was scared to
death of liquor, and scared worse that some time prohibition would make
him have to live dry. Those two boys knew me for an escaped convict.
Yet they kept me alive, fed me, and helped me all they knew to make a
getaway. And they both did it for nix, and under threat of penitentiary
for themselves. Say, those boys had a cargo of sheer sympathy and
humanity aboard them enough to stock a heavenly department store, and
the whole thing has given me a hunch. That hunch says I’m going to
stake my last ounce of gold to help other ‘down-and-outs’ the same as
they helped me. And I’ve come along now because I kind of hope you’ll
help me. You see, a boy can do ordinary things. But when it comes to
the real good things of life the girl’s got him beat out of sight.”
“There isn’t need to ask me, Jim,” the girl said, in a voice in which
emotion came near to robbing it of steadiness. Then she laughed in
self-defence. “You see, I’m one of those fool women who haven’t a
notion beyond the men-folk belonging to them. My brothers have always
been first with me. And now I sort of feel they’re more first than
ever.”
Jim sat silent for a moment. His eyes were hidden as he contemplated
the table. However he had been hit by the humanity and sympathy of
those others, the utter and complete self-sacrifice of this sister, who
dwelt in all the comfort and even luxury of her great home city, left
him speechless for the moment.
At last he looked up. And when he did so the humour had faded out of
his eyes. It had been replaced by a smile that was full of a world of
tender gratitude.
“That makes me feel good, Sis,” he said quietly. “It also makes me feel
bad. You see, you don’t know the thing I’m going to ask you.”
He glanced about the room. Then his gaze came back to the fair-haired
creature who was only midway between twenty and thirty, and who he
proposed to expose to a life the roughness of which would test her to
the uttermost.
“Not ask, Jim.”
The smile accompanying her denial was dazzling.
“No.”
Suddenly Jim spread out his strong hands.
“How would you fancy coming right out West to the heart of the Canadian
Rockies?” he began. “How’d you fancy setting up a swell home with me
there? There’s no stores or subways there. There’s no Fifth Avenue,
or theatres, or bridge parties, or dances. The only noise and bustle
you’ll get there is when the wind howls down off the glaciers. There
won’t be a thing to worry over but the cold, and snows, and blizzards
in winter, and the storms and wash-outs in summer. Then there’ll be
the buzzy flies, and the crazy skitters, and the voice of the timber
wolves, and the yowl of the coyotes who missed feeding my bones. Maybe
you won’t locate Eddie there, but there’ll be other folk who aren’t
yearning for the sun of civilisation to shine on them. There won’t be
any steam heat, and lots of other things you’re used to. But there’ll
be cattle, and horses, and a real live trade, and work that’ll leave
you with a joy of life and health you can’t ever get in a city. I’ve
got to do something for the ‘down-and-outs.’ I’m filled right up to
the neck with a yearning to help the way I was helped. I’ve found the
wonderful, sweet grass Valley of Hope. And I want to set its gateway
wide open for those folk who haven’t found it. Will you come along,
Sis?”
“Why, I’m crazy to.”
The man turned abruptly and hailed the waiter. When the bill was
settled he pushed back his chair.
“Come along, Sis,” he said, in a tone that thanked the girl infinitely
better than words could have done. “It’s hot enough here with the fans
going. Maybe Central Park’ll be a foretaste of hell about now. Any
way, we’ll chance it. We’ll take a crawl out there in the open, with
that great old sun beating us over the head, and I’ll tell you all the
details of the thing I’ve set my heart upon. And we’ll plan it out
together.”