It did not take long for the news of Morosco’s contemplated resignation
to filter through the rank and file of Company E. And every one
assumed, as McCormack had done, that Brownell would go up, and that
Barriscale would get a commission. There was no excitement concerning
it, and little discussion. The second lieutenant was popular, and the
enlisted men of the company were pleased with the contemplation of his
prospective advancement. But Barriscale had not yet touched the popular
heart, and, although no one criticized his qualities as a soldier or
his efficiency as an orderly sergeant, at the same time no one became
enthusiastic over the idea of his promotion. There was no outspoken
opposition to his advancement among the men in the ranks; but one
hanger-on of the company was not pleased with the outlook and did not
hesitate to give expression to his thought. This was Chick Dalloway.
He had never forgotten the night in the stack-room when both he and
McCormack had suffered from young Barriscale’s abuse. He had not yet
ceased to ridicule the elder Barriscale’s proposition to establish
a fund for a prize, nor had he yet condoned the offense of which he
believed the millionaire to be guilty in connection with Hal’s loss
of his position at the bank. Moreover, his heart still burned with
resentment whenever he thought of the indignity that had been placed
upon his friend and mentor on the evening of Donatello’s ejectment from
the armory.
It was, therefore, in no pleasant mood that on the night when the news
of Morosco’s contemplated resignation first reached his ears, he walked
down the street toward the place he called his home.
It was after drill; he had been at the armory; and ahead of him was a
group of a half-dozen members of the company dressed in uniform, going
in the same direction with him. They appeared to be in high spirits,
they were talking and laughing freely, and, as they marched along, they
began to sing one of the war songs made popular by the British troops
on the western front.
For some reason, which he did not stop to dissect, their gayety seemed
to jar on Chick’s particular mood, and he decided to change his course
at the next corner, and lengthen his journey home by the distance of a
block.
But, as he turned eastward, he discovered, lying in front of him on the
pavement, in the full light of the electric street lamp, what appeared
to be a letter. He picked it up and examined it. It was an unsealed and
unstamped envelope, bearing on its face only the word “Miss.” Evidently
the writer had been interrupted in his task of addressing the letter,
and had laid it aside, intending to add other words later; or else,
having got that far toward identifying the intended recipient of the
missive, he had, for some unknown reason, changed his mind. The one
preliminary word, however, was in a man’s hand, and the envelope was
not empty.
When Chick had made out what it was that he had picked up, it occurred
to him that one of the singing boys ahead of him might have dropped it.
He hurried to catch up with them, and called, but, in their exuberance
of jollity, they failed to hear him.
It was not until he was almost in touch with them that his voice
reached their ears.
“Say,” he cried, “did any of you fellows drop anything?”
They suspended their musical efforts for the moment, stopped and faced
him.
“Did we what?” asked one of them.
“Drop anything? let anything fall? lose anything out o’ your pockets?”
“What are you giving us, Chick? Is this one of your practical jokes?”
“Honest to goodness, no!” declared Chick. “I thought one o’ you might
’a’ dropped something; say like a--a pocketbook, or something like
that.”
“Have we, boys? Has any one lost a pocketbook?”
The speaker faced his companions, each one of whom made immediate
search of his pockets. Then, practically in unison, they declared that
nothing of the kind had been lost.
“Why?” asked another one in the group. “Have you found a pocketbook?”
“No,” replied Chick truthfully, “I ain’t.”
“Then what in Sam Hill are you holding us up for, and scrapping the
finest music that ever came from human throats?”
“Oh,” replied Chick, “I just wanted to know, that’s all. If they ain’t
none o’ you lost nothin’, w’y then o’ course I ain’t found it.”
“Boys,” said a third one of the company, “are we going to stand for a
thing like this? This levity at our expense must cease. He’s a Hun.
What shall we do with him?”
“Give him the g. b. in a blanket on the armory lawn next drill night.
All in favor say aye!”
There was a chorus of ayes.
“Forward, march! Hip! hip! hip!”
The ranks were reformed and the fun-loving young fellows marched on.
Chick smiled. He knew that these boys were fond of him, and would
sooner have suffered torture than have done him any harm. But he
congratulated himself on his diplomacy. He knew that if he had told
them that it was a letter he had found they would have insisted upon
seeing it, perhaps upon reading it, since the envelope was unsealed.
And some deep sense of chivalry warned the boy that a letter addressed
to “Miss,” whoever she might be, was not intended for the public eye.
But what should he, himself, do with it? He drew it from the pocket
in which, by way of precaution, he had placed it, and again examined
the brief superscription. He noticed now, also, that the envelope was
soiled and marked by the trampling of feet. Evidently some one had
dropped it on the pavement before the boys had come along, and they,
not seeing it, had trodden on it. He looked up and down the quiet
street, but no one was in sight save the disappearing group of young
men in khaki who had already resumed their singing. It was obvious
that he could not stand there and ask occasional passers-by if any one
of them had lost a letter. It was just as obvious that it would be
useless to carry it to the post-office, the police station or the drug
store, and worse than useless to throw it back into the street. There
was really but one reasonable thing to do with it, for the present at
any rate, and that was to take it home with him. So he took it home.
In the privacy of his little attic room, by the dim light of a small,
smoky, oil lamp, he examined it once more. It occurred to him that by
looking at the contents of the letter the name of the person to whom
it belonged would be disclosed. So he slipped the folded sheet out of
the envelope, but he still hesitated to read what was written there.
It seemed to him that he was intruding upon some one’s privacy, and,
notwithstanding his lack of training and his crude environment, Chick
was at heart a gentleman. He studied over the matter for many minutes
before he finally decided that the purpose he had in view justified the
apparent intrusion into some one’s personal affairs. But when he had
once cleared his mind of doubt he hesitated no longer. He unfolded the
sheet and slowly and with difficulty, for he was no scholar, he picked
out the words and sentences.
The letter was as follows:
“MY DEAR RACHAEL:
“I am going to ask you in writing something that I haven’t
dared to ask you in person. I am going to ask you if you will
marry me. It goes without saying that I am in love with you
or I wouldn’t ask you. We have been going together for about
six months, and you don’t seem to have got tired of me, so
I am plucking up courage to ask you. You know I have a good
position at the Barriscale works, and I guess you understand
I’m a pretty decent fellow. The only thing in the way is that
if this country gets into war I will likely have to go over
there with Company E and fight. But I don’t mind that if you
don’t. You know I’m a corporal now, but there’s a good chance
of my being promoted to be a sergeant, because there’s going to
be a vacancy soon, and I’m as likely to get the appointment as
anybody.
“Dear Rachael, I hope you love me and that you will answer this
very soon and tell me you will marry me.
“Yours with much love,
ALFRED.
“P. S.--I never loved any other girl as much as I love you.
“A.”
Well, it was a love-letter; a real, genuine love-letter. Chick had
never seen one before. He had only heard of them and wondered about
them. And, being a love-letter, it was, of course, a thousand times
more important that he should keep secret the contents, than though it
had been a mere business letter. But who was Rachael to whom the letter
had been written? and, more especially, who was Alfred, who had written
it? He was a corporal in Company E. That fact, of course, went a long
way toward his identification, but it was not sufficient to make the
identification complete. There were five corporals in Company E, and if
any one of them bore the name of Alfred, Chick did not know it.
It had become very plain to him, however, that he must find the person
who had written this letter, and deliver it up to him. That would
be simply a gentleman’s duty. In the meantime the missive would be
secreted in an inner pocket of his waistcoat where no human eye would
have an opportunity to gaze on it.
Before he turned out his light and got into bed Chick formulated his
plan of action.
The next day he called at the office of Captain Murray.
“Do you happen to have,” he asked him, “any list of the co’porals in
Company E?”
“Not here, Chick,” was the reply. “My roster is at the armory. I can
tell who they are, though.”
“First names an’ all?”
“Hardly that. I only know them by their last names. Why?”
“Oh, I just kind o’ thought I’d like to know; that’s all. I--I might
want to ask one of ’em for a job.”
“I see. Well, you go to Orderly Sergeant Barriscale. He’ll have a list
and he’ll give you their full names.”
“No, I wouldn’t ask him. I don’t want to be under no obligation to him.
I’ll find out some way.”
And Chick did find out. It was a slow and laborious process. But by
consulting the city directory, by asking personal friends of the
corporals, by many a roundabout way, he was in possession, before
nightfall, of the desired information.
And then he ran up against another difficulty. There were two Alfreds
in the list; both of them young, unmarried fellows, liable to have
sweethearts. He decided to take the bull by the horns and interview
each of them in turn. He found Alfred Griffin at his place of
employment, a big wholesale house in the lower end of the city. He was
shipping clerk there. His coat was off, his sleeves were rolled up, and
he was busy as a bee checking up half a roomful of barrels, boxes and
bales ready to be sent out to customers.
As Chick made his way across the room between piles of merchandise,
Griffin saw him coming and greeted him cheerily.
“Hello, Chick!” he said. “What’s the best word to-day?”
“The word o’ hope,” replied Chick. “You feelin’ perty good to-day,
yourself?”
“Fine!”
“Ain’t disappointed about nothin’?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
Chick didn’t answer the question. He looked around cautiously to make
sure that no one else was within hearing, then he asked suddenly:
“Say, do you know a girl by the name o’ Rachael?”
“Do I know a girl by the name of Rachael?”
“That’s what I ast you.”
“Sure I do! Look here, boy, what have you got up your sleeve?”
“Nothin’ much. Did you ever love any other girl as much as you love
her?”
Alfred Griffin flung his checking book down on top of a barrel and
stared at Chick in utter astonishment.
“Well, for the love of Pete!” he exclaimed. “What is it to you whether
I love her at all or not?”
Chick was not in the least disconcerted at this outburst.
“Oh, it ain’t much to me,” he answered coolly. “I jest thought I’d
inquire whether you ever ast her to marry you.”
This was too much for Alfred bearing the surname of Griffin. He burst
into a hearty laugh.
“Chick,” he said when he caught his breath, “you’re the limit. I
haven’t the ghost of an idea what you’re driving at; but let me tell
you, confidentially, that I think you’ve got the wrong pig by the ear.
The fellow you want to investigate is Corporal Fred Lewis. He’s got a
girl by the name of Rachael, and I know her. And any day he wants to
yield up his claim on her, whatever it is, I’ll be glad to drop into
his shoes. Do you get me? Now, is that what you want to know?”
“W’y, I heard one o’ you fellows had a girl by the name o’ Rachael, and
I didn’t know which one it was.”
“Well, what did you want to know for?”
“I’ll tell you. You see, I’m lookin’ for a job. Not a stiddy all day
job, you un’erstand; jest pickin’ up around mornin’s. An’ I didn’t know
but what her folks might want such a man. And ef they did, I might git
a recommend from whichever one o’ you fellows is sparkin’ the girl.
See?”
Alfred, surnamed Griffin, looked at him for a moment quizzically.
“Chick,” he said at last, “you’re the most wonderful prevaricator that
has happened since the days of Ananias. I don’t know _why_ you’re
lying to me like that; I only know you _are_. Now you go and hunt up
Fred Lewis if you want to, and you pull this stuff on him, and see what
you get. But don’t tell him I told you about Rachael. My life wouldn’t
be worth a penny whistle if you did. He’s mighty sensitive about that
girl.”
Chick was grinning broadly. He did not resent the charge made against
him. He knew that his accuser was in the best of humor. He had the
information he wanted, and he turned to go.
“All right!” he said. “Much obleeged to you. No hard feelin’s. I’ll do
as much for you some time. Fred Lewis works down to the Barriscale,
don’t he?”
“Yes; you’ll find him there in the assembling department. He’s got a
good job. If he wants to marry Rachael he can afford to.”
“Sure! I won’t tell him you said so, though. He can’t pick nothin’ out
o’ me.”
“That’s the talk! Good luck to you! Go to it!”
He waved his hand gayly as the boy clumped out of the wareroom.
Chick went on down the street toward the Barriscale plant, but he did not
enter it. It was within a quarter of an hour of quitting time anyway;
so he hung around in the neighborhood until the men came out, hundreds
of them, and, separating into groups, entered the four streets that
converged upon the plaza fronting the mills. His quick eye detected
young Lewis in the crowd, in company with a fellow employee, and,
walking a few rods in the rear, he trailed along after them.
It was not until half a dozen or more blocks had been covered that
the two young men separated, and the one whom Chick sought went on
alone. He walked rapidly and it was no light task for the boy with the
physical handicap to overtake him. But he did overtake him eventually,
and, half out of breath, shuffled along beside him.
The young man, seeing who his companion was, made no show, either of
pleasure or displeasure. He looked anxious and worried, as though his
mind was absorbed in the thought of some impending misfortune.
“Oh, is that you, Chick?” he said quietly. “Going my way?”
“Yes, for a block or two,” wheezed the boy. “Thought you might like to
have company.”
“Sure! Come along! Am I walking a little too fast for you?”
“Oh, I guess I can keep up all right.”
But the young man slowed down in his gait, nevertheless, and made it
easier for the boy to keep alongside.
For a little while after that neither of them spoke, Chick because he
had not yet recovered sufficient breath, and Lewis because he was not
in the mood for talking.
It was Chick who at last broke the silence.
“Lemme see!” said he, “your name’s Alfred, ain’t it? They call you
Fred; but your right name’s Alfred, ain’t it?”
“Yes. Why?”
The young man seemed to evince little curiosity, and to ask the
question more as a matter of form than because of a desire to seek
information.
“Oh, nothin’ much,” replied Chick. “Only, if you was, now, writin’ a
letter, say to a girl, you’d sign your name Alfred, I s’pose?”
Young Lewis awakened out of his apparent lethargy and glanced down
curiously at the boy who was, with some effort, keeping up with him.
“Why, I suppose so,” he said. “What do you want to know for?”
Chick did not reply to the question, but, after a habit he had, he
asked another one instead.
“And if you was writin’ to any girl, you’d most likely be writin’ to a
girl name o’ Rachael, I s’pose?”
The young fellow stopped suddenly, faced sharply toward the boy, and
laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Look here, Chick!” he exclaimed; “have you found anything?”
“Me? Found anything?” repeated Chick, in apparent surprise.
“Yes; a letter, or anything like that?”
“Why, have you lost one?”
“Chick! Don’t keep me in suspense! If you’ve found my letter, tell me.
I’ve worried myself pretty nearly into my grave over it, already.”
“I ast you, have you lost a letter?” Chick was very resolute and
determined.
“Yes,” was the equally resolute reply, “I’ve lost one. Have you found
it?”
They were standing on a quiet street corner, scarcely a block away from
the Lewis home. One or two men passed by and spoke to them, but the
greetings went unheeded.
“I’ve found a letter,” said Chick; “but how do I know whether it’s
yourn or not? Who was it to?”
The young fellow swallowed awkwardly before replying, and grew red
in the face. His first impulse was to resent the question as an
unwarranted intrusion into his private affairs. But, on second thought,
he knew that such an attitude on his part, especially toward Chick,
would be extremely poor policy.
“Why,” he exclaimed finally, “it was to a girl by the name of Rachael,
and it was signed ‘Alfred.’”
“That’s all right so far,” assented Chick. “But they’s lots o’ Rachaels
in the U. S., and the world’s full of Alfreds. Tell me what was in it.”
“Oh, now, look here, Chick! That’s not necessary. Surely I’ve
identified the letter sufficiently, and I’m entitled to have it.”
But Chick was obdurate. “No,” he said, “a man can’t be too careful
about love-letters. If this here letter should git into the hands o’
the wrong party my goose would be cooked. You got to tell me what was
in the letter ’fore I give it up.”
Alfred Lewis looked up the street, then down the street, and then at
Chick.
“Well,” he said finally, “I asked Rachael to marry me.”
“That’s right!” assented the boy. “You sure did. Now, was they any p.
s. on the end, or wasn’t they?”
“I believe there was.”
“What was in it?”
“Look here, Chick! Confound you! you’re getting too blamed inquisitive.”
But Chick straightened up as far as his deformed shoulders would
permit, and thrust his hands determinedly into his pockets.
“I got to know,” he said.
There was apparently no escape, and the young lover, with scarlet face
and stammering tongue, blurted out:
“Why, I told her I never loved any other girl as much as I did her.
Does that satisfy you?”
Chick did not answer the question. Instead, he thrust one hand deeper
into his pocket, drew forth the precious missive and handed it to the
writer thereof, who, having glanced at it exteriorly and interiorly,
gave a great sigh of relief. Then followed a shower of questions as
to when, where and how the letter had been found, to all of which
Chick not only gave complete and satisfactory answers, but he also
entertained his listener with a full account of his own Sherlock
Holmesian efforts in running down the writer.
At the conclusion of the narration young Lewis grasped the boy’s hand.
“Chick,” he declared, “you’ve saved my life. What if the other fellows
had got onto it! They’d have made the town too hot to hold me. That job
was worth money, Chick; yes, it was worth money.”
He thrust his hand into his pocket as he spoke, drew forth a purse,
extracted therefrom a bill with a green back, and held it out to the
boy. But Chick waved aside the gift disdainfully.
“No,” he said, “you can’t pay me nothin’. That was jest a friendly job.
But some day, when I git to be a member o’ the comp’ny, I might want a
favor; see? Then I’ll ast you.”
The owner of the restored love-letter again grasped the boy’s hand.
“Chick,” he said warmly, “whenever you want any favor that I can do for
you, no matter what it is, you come to me and tell me, and I’ll do it
if it takes a leg! Do you understand?”
“I un’erstand.”