THE GUARDSMAN
[Illustration: THE KNIFE DROPPED FROM THE MAN’S HAND]
The Guardsman
By
HOMER GREENE
_Author of “The Flag,” “Pickett’s Gap,” etc._
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1919, by
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
Printed in U. S. A.
List of Illustrations
The knife dropped from the man’s hand _Frontispiece_
“I will go to-day, Mr. Barriscale,” responded Hal _Facing p. 154_
He helped to lift Chick into the car _Facing p. 302_
The Guardsman
CHAPTER I
Hallowe’en! Religion, romance and mischief give life and color to the
name. But in the mind of the American boy mischief is the predominating
thought when the name is spoken. It is still a mystery why this
particular night should have been chosen for indulgence in that form
of juvenile pleasure which consists chiefly in removing loose property
of Mr. Smith to the front yard of Mr. Jones. But that it has been so
chosen no early promenader of the streets on the first morning in
November will have the temerity to deny. Convincing evidence of such
transfers may be seen in almost every block.
The boys of the city of Fairweather were not different from the boys
of other American cities and villages in this respect. So it was that
on Hallowe’en in the year 1909, groups of these young citizens, on
mischief bent, were plainly visible to the discerning eye. In the
well-lighted and peopled streets they paraded boisterously, through the
darker ways they stole quietly with whispered words.
It was not a pleasant night to be out, rain had fallen during the day,
and with the cessation of the storm had come a mist that shrouded the
town, blurred the lights, and made the wet air heavy and lifeless.
A small group of boys, perhaps a half dozen, ranging in age from
twelve to sixteen years, moved quietly up a side street and approached
the business quarter of the city. If they had been in mischief the
evidences of it were not visible among them. If they contemplated
mischief, only a reader of minds could have discovered that fact.
It was past midnight. Few people were abroad. A loitering policeman
stopped at a street-corner as the boys went by and carelessly scanned
the group. They were not openly violating any law nor breaking any city
ordinance, therefore it was not his duty to interfere with their proper
use of the highway, nor to investigate their proposed activities. So
he swung his club back against his forearm, hummed under his breath
a tune that he used to know as a boy, and went placidly on about his
business. But if he had been suspicious, and had stealthily followed
them, he might have seen something that would have aroused within him
a measure of zeal in the performance of his undeniable duties. For,
passing down the main street of the city, not three blocks distant from
the corner where they had met the guardian of the public peace, these
young American citizens came to a cobbler’s shop on the door-casing of
which hung a board sign inscribed with the words:
“PUPPIES FOR SALE HERE.”
“That sign,” said Halpert McCormack, the apparent leader of the group,
“ought to come down. In my opinion a cobbler has no business to be
selling puppies. ‘Shoemaker, stick to your last!’ That’s a proverb we
parsed in Miss Buskin’s class this morning. What do you say, fellows?”
“Sure it ought to come down,” was the immediate and unanimous response.
“Besides,” added Little Dusty, the youngest boy in the company, “his
puppies is no good anyway. My cousin Joe bought one off of him last
week, and he can’t even bark yet.”
One member of the group, inclined to be facetious, inquired:
“Who can’t bark? Joe or the dog?”
“Neither one of ’em,” was the quick reply. “But the puppy’s got fleas
an’ Joe ain’t.”
“That settles it,” said Hal McCormack, gravely. “A man that will sell
puppies with fleas on ’em deserves no consideration from us.”
“Right you are!” was the response. “Here goes!”
It took but a minute to cut the sign loose from its fastenings and to
carry it around into a side street where darkness threw a protecting
mantle over mischief.
One of the other boys turned to Hal. “Well,” he said, “you told us to
take it down; now you got to say what we do with it.”
“Blessed if I know,” replied Hal.
“Stick it up somewheres,” suggested Little Dusty.
“Sure, stick it up somewheres,” exclaimed the first boy, “but where?”
“We might fasten it to the sign o’ Jim Nagel, the butcher,” responded
Little Dusty.
Then a boy known as Slicker spoke up. “Butchers don’t sell puppies,” he
said, “they buy ’em. Folks’d think he was goin’ out o’ business if he
put up a sign like that.”
“Oh,” commented Hal, “can that joke. It’s got whiskers.”
“Besides,” continued Slicker, “I know a better stunt than that. We’ll
take it up to Barriscale’s, an’ fasten it on the gate-post.”
“Gee!” exclaimed Little Dusty. “My dad works at Barriscale’s, and if
Mr. Barriscale found out I had a hand in it, Pop might get fired.”
“Well,” replied Slicker, “nobody’s goin’ to know who had a hand in it.
We ain’t goin’ to hire no brass band an’ go around shoutin’ what we
done. Are we, Hal?”
“No,” said Hal soberly. “This is secret business. No boy’s got a right
to tell on anybody but himself, not even if they skin him alive. I
won’t.”
“Nor I,” “Nor I.” The response was unanimous and whole-hearted.
“I don’t know about this Barriscale business, though,” added Hal. “If
Mr. Barriscale should get mad about it, he’d scour the city to find out
who did it, and then he’d have us all put in jail. Young Ben isn’t any
easy proposition to butt up against, either.”
“Oh, you’re chicken-hearted!” exclaimed Slicker. “It’s no fun to swipe
things if you don’t put ’em where folks don’t like it. I say hang the
puppy sign on the king’s gate-post an’ let the consekences take care o’
theirselves. Am I right?”
“Right you are!” responded one member of the group after another. But
Hal said: “Well, whatever you fellows say, goes. I’m game if you are.
Where’s your sign? Let me have it!”
He took the oblong board and concealed it under the capacious folds of
his rain-coat. “Now,” he added, “come on!”
So they started, heading again toward the main street of the city. Two
blocks up that street they once more passed the loitering policeman on
duty. If he had any suspicion that the outer garment of the leader of
the group hid contraband property from his sight he did not mention it.
But when they were well by he turned and called to them.
“You boys,” he said, “have no business on the street this time o’
night. I want you to go home, every one o’ you.”
“That’s where we’re headed for,” replied Slicker; and with that the
incident was closed.
Benjamin Barriscale, toward whose private property the boys were
moving, was at the head of the principal industry of the city, operated
by a corporation known as the Barriscale Manufacturing Company. He
was reputed to be a man of great wealth, of unbending will, generous
or domineering as best suited his purpose. To invade his premises at
midnight, on a mischief-making errand, was therefore an adventure which
called for both courage and caution. His mansion was a full half mile
from the center of the city; a square, stately house set well back from
the street in the midst of a spacious lawn. Two massive, ornamental
gate-posts guarded the entrance to the grounds, but the gates that
swung between them were rarely closed. When the boys reached the place
it was well past midnight and the lights in the electric lamps at the
porch entrance had been extinguished. A single gleam showed faintly at
an upper window; for the rest the darkness was complete save that a
street lamp, a block away, endeavored, quite ineffectually, to send
its rays into the thick mist overhanging the Barriscale grounds. For
the perpetration of undiscoverable mischief the night was ideal.
Midway of the journey the heavy board sign had been transferred from
its hiding-place under Hal’s rain-coat to the possession of two of the
younger boys. Even to them it had grown increasingly substantial, and
they were not loath now to relieve themselves of their burden.
After careful inspection of the gate-post it was the consensus of
opinion that there was but one place on it where the sign could be
conspicuously and safely fastened, and that was at the moulding near
the top of the post.
And to hold it in place a piece of stout twine of sufficient length to
pass across the face of the board and be tied behind the iron ornament
at the summit was absolutely necessary. But the twine was immediately
forthcoming. There was scarcely a boy in the company who had not that
necessary equipment in one or another of his pockets. And the combined
supply of the group, doubled and twisted and knotted, left nothing in
the way of fastening material to be desired. So the puppy sign was
hoisted into place, and two boys, at the risk of tumbling and breaking
their necks, anchored it securely to the stone coping and the iron
ornaments of Benjamin Barriscale’s massive gate-post.
But the incident was not yet quite closed. Before the mischief-makers
were ready to turn their faces toward the street Slicker bethought
himself of a supplementary task.
“Who’s got some black crayon?” he asked of the company.
No one appeared to have black crayon, but Little Dusty was able to
produce a stub of a carpenter’s pencil which he had somewhere acquired,
and he turned it over to the questioner.
“That’s the goods,” said Slicker. “Now hoist me up again.”
Supported on the shoulders of two of his comrades, and steadying
himself with his left hand, he scrawled on the lower face of the board,
in large black letters:
“Buy young Ben. He’s the only puppy left.”
When he had been carefully lowered to the sidewalk Slicker told his
inquiring companions what he had written.
“That was a mistake!” exclaimed Hal. “They’ll have it in for us now,
sure!”
“Let ’em,” replied Slicker.
“But you don’t know what you’ll be up against.”
“Maybe they’ll tell me if I ask ’em,” responded Slicker lightly.
Then Little Dusty spoke up.
“I hope Ben sees it himself,” said Dusty. “He’ll know what some boys
thinks of him.”
“And we ain’t the only ones that think that way, either,” added another
member of the group.
“You bet we ain’t!” exclaimed still another. “I know lots o’ fellows
that’s got no use for him at all.”
It was very true that Benjamin Barriscale, Jr., was not especially
popular with boys of his age. He was the only son of the wealthiest
man in the city; he appreciated that fact, and was self-important
accordingly. He was not offensively aristocratic or domineering, but he
was unsocial, undemocratic, uncompanionable. He had his own group of
friends, boys who followed him and flattered him, but he never seemed
to inspire a spirit of true comradeship in any one.
Having at last finished the work in hand the Hallowe’en mischief-makers
again faced toward the street, prepared now to follow the friendly
advice of the down-town policeman.
But Slicker, with a low whistle, brought them to a sudden halt.
“We forgot somethin’,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“What?” was the unanimous inquiry.
“We ain’t takin’ anything away. We got to take as much as we bring.
’Twouldn’t be fair to the rest o’ the places we visited if we didn’t do
anything here but just leave a sign on a gate-post.”
“What is they to take?” inquired Little Dusty.
“I don’t know,” replied Slicker, “but we got to find somethin’. Come on
back!”
Hal began to demur, but he was speedily overruled by the rest, and
was quickly prevailed upon to accompany them. In single file, led by
Slicker, they passed between the gate-posts and up the paved walk.
Then they stopped to listen. Out from the darkness at the left came
gently the sound of splashing water. The boys knew, every one knew,
that there was an ornamental fountain there. It had been a feature of
the Barriscale lawn for many years. They also knew that, peering into
the basin from the rim was the marble figure of a kneeling boy.
“Sh!” said Slicker. “What do you say if we cop the marble kid?”
“Great!” replied two of the boys. “Fine!” exclaimed Little Dusty. “But
can we get her loose?”
“Sure we can. It ain’t spiked down. I know how it sets.”
Slicker had already started across the lawn, and the others followed.
But when they reached the fountain Hal again put in a word of protest.
“We mustn’t do that,” he said. “That thing cost money. S’pose we should
drop it an’ break it?”
“Aw, we’ll be careful. See! It’s loose.” And Slicker, moving the corner
of the statue gently, proved his contention that it could be easily
removed. Indeed, one stout boy could have lifted it from its resting
place and carried it away. “Here you, Billy,” added Slicker, “give us a
lift.”
“Sh!” whispered Little Dusty. “Somebody’s comin’. Drop it an’ duck!”
They left the statue and threw themselves prostrate on the grass to
await the passing by of the person whose footsteps they had heard. It
was a man, evidently belated and walking rapidly down the street. And
he never dreamed that, less than forty feet away from him, a group of
mischievous boys were about to commit an act of vandalism unlicensed
and unwarranted even by the rules and customs of Hallowe’en. Removing
the cobbler’s sign had been taking sufficiently daring liberties with
the property of other people, and fastening it to Mr. Barriscale’s
gate-post had been hardly a meritorious invasion of the rights of
private persons, even though it had all been done by virtue of the
license assumed to be granted to Hallowe’en revelers. But what was now
contemplated went far beyond the limit of harmless mischief, and the
project, if carried to completion, would become not only a violation of
law, but of good manners and good morals as well. Yet Hal was the only
one of the company who appeared to look upon it in this light. And
when the sound of passing footsteps had died away in the distance, and
bodies were raised from the grass, he again protested.
“We’re getting in too deep,” he whispered. “It isn’t right. It isn’t
fair. It’s carrying the thing too far.”
“We won’t carry it far,” replied Slicker. “Just up street a ways an’
drop it on somebody’s porch.”
“You know what I mean,” insisted Hal. “I’m ready for fun, or mischief
either, up to a certain limit. But this is going beyond the limit.”
“Aw! you’re a piker! If you don’t like what we’re goin’ to do, you can
take a sneak an’ go home. Come on, fellows! Who’s game?”
From the response it appeared that every one in the crowd was game
except Hal. His judgment had been overruled and he made no further
objection. But he did not “take a sneak.”
“All right!” he said. “If you fellows think it’s decent, and think you
can get away with it, I’ll go along; but I’m not crazy about the job, I
can tell you.”
That settled it. There was no other protest, and the process of removal
began at once. Two boys, one at each end, lifted the statue carefully
from its resting place. But then an accident happened. Slicker, leaning
too far toward the fountain in his effort at assistance, tumbled
inadvertently into the basin.
The boys, frightened at the mishap, lowered their burden to the grass,
dropped on their knees, and awaited developments. It was possible that
the noise of the splash might arouse the inmates of the house and
lead to an investigation. Wet to his waist the victim of misplaced
confidence in his own ability to preserve his balance, dragged himself
slowly up across the rim of the basin, and joined his drooping comrades
on the lawn. No one laughed. It was too serious a moment. Slicker
himself was the first to speak.
“Gee!” he whispered through his chattering teeth, “that water’s cold.”
Then Hal had his innings.
“You’re the guy,” he said, “that better take a sneak for home, and get
some dry duds on.”
“Not on your life,” was the reply. “I ain’t no sugar lump. A drop o’
water won’t hurt me. I’m goin’ to stay by till we land this stone cupid
on somebody’s porch.”
“Whose porch?” asked Little Dusty.
“Well, I’ll s-s-say, Jim Perry’s. That’s only two or three blocks away,
and we ain’t done nothin’ for J-J-Jim yet to-night.”
“That’s right! We mustn’t forget Jim.”
Evidently the noise of Slicker’s misadventure had aroused no one.
Absolute silence still reigned in and about the Barriscale mansion. The
boys got to their feet, again lifted the marble figure, and two of
them bore it silently to the street and turned up the walk.
They passed the electric light at the corner in safety, went one more
block, and then turned into a side street. It was very dark here. From
two or three upper windows there were gleams of faint light, otherwise
the darkness was impenetrable. Jim Perry lived midway of this block,
but to locate his house in this kind of a night was next to impossible.
It was not until one of the members of the group, known as Billy,
whose home was just across the street, had gone back to the corner
and counted the houses, that the boys felt at all sure of their exact
location. But, having satisfied themselves that their selection of a
resting-place for the “stone cupid” was fully justified, they lost no
time in carrying their burden up the steps and depositing it on the
Perry porch, much to the relief of Hal, who had been in constant fear
lest some accident should happen to it.
And, having thus performed their duties and finished their night’s
adventures, the Hallowe’en marauders decided to disband and seek their
respective homes.
“Remember,” warned Slicker, “mum’s the word. No fellow’s got a right to
squeal if they skin him alive.”
“I won’t peach,” replied one. “Nor I,” “Nor I,” added others. But Hal
said:
“I’ll tell on myself if I want to, but wild horses won’t drag out of me
anything about the rest of you.”
“All right! That’s fair!”
So, by ones and twos, they slipped away into the thick mist, leaving
the marble figure of a kneeling boy reposing quietly on Jim Perry’s
front porch, and peering silently into a crack in the floor, as he had
peered for many years at his own image mirrored in the water of the
fountain on the Barriscale lawn.
A half hour later another group of boys, marching up the main residence
street of the city, reached the mansion of Benjamin Barriscale. And
in this group was Benjamin Barriscale, Jr. They were returning from
an evening of Hallowe’en adventures not dissimilar to the adventures
of the company that had preceded them. At the entrance to the grounds
they stopped to say good-night to Ben, for they too had finished their
evening of sport and were on their way home.
In the mist and darkness no one saw the sign with which the big
gate-post at the left had been ornamented. That work of skill and art
was destined not to be discovered until the light of morning should
disclose its beauty and appropriateness to the passer-by.
The splashing of the water in the fountain on the lawn came musically
to the ears of the tired strollers, but no one of them dreamed that
the kneeling water-sprite was no longer peering from the rim of the
basin into the liquid depth beneath him.
“Well, boys,” said Ben, “I want the rest of you to do just as I’m going
to do.”
A shrill voice piped up:
“Do you know what you’re goin’ to do?”
“Sure I do,” replied Ben; “I’m going up to the house and turn in so
quick you can’t see me do it.”
“No, you’re not. You’re goin’ with us.”
“Where?”
“Well, you see, we haven’t taken anything off of Jim Perry’s porch yet.
We always do that, every Hallowe’en, and if we pass him by this year
he’d feel hurt.”
“That’s right!” added another boy. “We’ve got to do it. He’d never get
over it if we didn’t. Come on!”
But Ben hung back. “I’m too tired,” he said. “You go ahead and swipe
what you want to, but count me out.”
Again the shrill, piping voice broke in:
“Oh, don’t spoil the fun, Ben. Don’t be a piker. You’re the captain of
the crew. You’ve got to go along to give orders. Come on!”
Thus adjured, Ben’s resolution wavered. He was fond of being considered
the leader of his group. He felt that he was born to command.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll go this once if you insist on it. But this
is the last prank for to-night, you understand.”
“Sure we understand.”
Silently the boys left the stately entrance to the Barriscale mansion
and moved up the street and around the corner, following unwittingly in
the footsteps of those boys who had taken the same journey so short a
time before.
This group also found it difficult to locate the Perry house in the
thick mist and deep darkness that shrouded the side street. But, having
at last satisfied themselves that they were on the right spot, they
selected two of their number to mount the porch and seek for booty
while the rest stood guard below.
The reconnoitering squad at once entered upon the performance of the
duties assigned to them, but it was no easy task to find their way
about in the pitch darkness that surrounded the Perry house.
Those who were waiting on the pavement heard a noise as of some one
stumbling, and a smothered exclamation of surprise.
“What’s the matter?” asked Ben, mounting half-way up the steps leading
to the porch. “What is it?”
“Don’t know,” was the whispered reply. “Feels like stone. Heavy as the
dickens!”
“Can you lift it?”
“Sure! The two of us have it now.”
“Then bring it along.”
Bearing the burden between them, and slowly feeling their way, the
committee of search descended to the sidewalk and halted.
“What is it, anyway?” asked one. “Let’s feel of it,” said another.
So the investigation began, but it resulted in no definite knowledge
concerning the character of the prize. Eyes were of course useless, and
fingers were of little less avail.
“It feels something like the boy on the rim of our fountain basin,”
said Ben after passing his hand carefully over the object from end to
end. “But of course it can’t be that. Anyway, now we’ve got it what are
we going to do with it?”
“Carry it to Hal McCormack’s and leave it on his porch,” said the boy
with the shrill voice. “Let him find out what it is, an’ whose it is,
an’ carry it home to-morrow morning. I bet he’s had plenty of fun
to-night at somebody else’s expense; now let’s have a little fun at his
expense.”
“Well, don’t waste time,” cautioned Ben. “If you’re going to take it to
McCormack’s, come along!”
But the boy who was bearing the heavy end of the burden hesitated.
“Say,” he whispered, “can’t one o’ you fellows take my end? I barked my
shin on the blamed thing up there, and it hurts.”
“Sure!” replied Ben. “Here; let me have it. Hurry up!”
But, in attempting to relieve his comrade, Ben failed to make his grasp
secure; the end of the marble figure slipped from his hands, fell to
the pavement, and was broken off almost midway of the statue, the
remaining portion still secure in the grip of a boy named Bob.
The crash of the fall broke ominously into the stillness of the
deserted street. For the first time that night the boys were really
frightened.
“The jig’s up!” whispered one of them, as the fog-muffled echoes died
away.
“Let’s leave the thing here on the walk an’ skedaddle,” said another.
“Let’s take it back on the porch,” said a third.
“No! I tell you, no!” exclaimed Ben. “We can’t leave it here now. We’ve
got to take it away.”
He stooped and picked up the fragment nearest to him as he spoke. “Can
you handle that other end alone, Bob?” he asked. “I’ve got this one;
come on!”
Leading the way, he started off into the darkness, and his fellows
followed him. There was little attempt now to soften their footsteps.
It was primarily a question of haste.
At the corner of the street the boy with the shrill voice asked where
they were going.
“To Hal McCormack’s, you simpleton!” answered Ben impatiently. “Isn’t
that where you said you wanted to go?”
“Yes.”
“Then come along, and don’t stop to ask fool questions.”
The accident, and the thought of its possible consequences, had
irritated him beyond measure, though he alone had been responsible for
the breaking of the marble.
So to Hal McCormack’s house, three blocks away, they went. No words
were spoken. The matter had become too serious. The two boys carrying
the separated fragments mounted the steps cautiously and deposited
their several burdens on the porch floor.
“Now,” said Ben, as he retraced his steps to the sidewalk, “beat it!”
They did not wait upon the order of their going, but went at once.
Up-stairs, in bed, Hal faintly heard a shuffling, scraping noise on the
porch beneath his room, then, overcome by weariness, indifferent to all
noises from whatever source they might proceed, he fell asleep.