THE VISIT OF A POLICEMAN.
The friends of the Master Workman will take his body and bury it with
all the pomp and honor due his exalted station. _Requiescat._ But we go
in quest of the young man with the awful stain of murder upon his soul.
John Wysong was not suspected of the murder. Without stopping to even
debate the matter, it was decided that in the jostle of the committeemen
to see below, the Master Workman had been accidently pushed out. There
are times when all of the attention of an entire group is focused on a
given point and such was the case when the crime just recorded was
committed. The Mayor stayed to care for the terribly mangled form of the
Master Workman and John Wysong drove the carriage to the stable, put up,
and went home. Early the next morning he went out and got a newspaper to
learn the accepted theory of the death. No thought of murder was found
in the long thrilling recital. John now felt partially relieved.
Yet, though undiscovered and apparently safe on the very scene of his
crime, John was not altogether easy in mind. His conscience troubled
him. He and God were the sole partners in a terrible secret. The world
passed him by, ignorant of his deed. But it seemed to him that the
terrible load could be the more easily borne if only some one knew it
with him. He could not endure that solitary companionship with God.
Whenever he wondered if the crime would ever be known, his mind could
not run out variously to this, that or the other possible source of
detection. No, it ran straight to God; and John would not have been
surprised to hear God tell the world of his crime any day. If God had
had a subordinate, a human being to tell it, John might have thought
that God would not concern himself about making it known. As it was, the
responsibility of telling it was with God; and John looked for it to be
told any day. After God did not tell it, John began to think that God
was waiting on him to tell it. If he did not tell it he felt that his
punishment would be twofold. But fear of his awful fate restrained him.
Thus, John Wysong wandered hopelessly about the streets of Richmond day
and night. He began to grow thin and Erma soon discovered that some
sorrow was eating away his heart. She did what she could to cheer him,
but all to no avail. Erma was still at Aunt Mollie's, "taking in
washing" for a living. It barely kept her alive and caused her clothes
to be of somewhat inferior quality. John would come to see Erma, and,
sitting in front of her, seeing her working so hard, so poorly paid, so
poorly clad, would burst into tears. This would unnerve Erma and set her
to crying. She would go to John and throw her arms around him and beg
him to cheer up and not to break her heart. Her tears would serve to
cause John to quit yielding to his feelings.
One day John came to Mrs. Marston's to see Erma. It was now winter and
she was in the kitchen washing out a tub of clothes. She and John were
in there alone. Her sleeves were rolled up beyond her elbows, laying
bare arms that were perfectly rounded and that tapered with exquisite
beauty. Her long black hair had become unpinned and had fallen down over
her shoulders, allowing two shapely ears to peep out; and they seemed
content with just that much liberty and just that much bondage to
anything so beautifully black as Erma's hair. Her shirt waist was
unbuttoned slightly at the throat, granting a glimpse of a neck full
worthy of partnership with that charming face and well shaped, well
poised head. Though at work she was laughing and chatting and joking
with John, trying to make him lose his moodiness. Suddenly, the kitchen
door was unceremoniously opened and a policeman stood in the doorway.
His eyes first fell on John. Absolute and unqualified terror seized John
and he shrank into a helpless heap on his chair, showing every sign of
guiltiness of a crime. Erma's heart stood still. She saw the look of
terror in John's eye and wondered what crime could be laid at his door.
Womanlike she vowed to be John's friend to the last, though knowing not
his crime. The policeman saw John looking so guiltily that he could
scarcely refrain from taking him, though, he came upon another errand.
His mission was with Erma. He turned his gaze reluctantly from John's
crouching form as though he was losing "game" rightfully his, as he
would put it. He looked Erma full in the face, not a line, not a muscle
escaping his bold gaze. As Erma's full beauty dawned upon him, he pulled
off his hat, so instinctive is man's homage to beauty. At length, having
finished his survey of Erma, he handed her a warrant summoning her to
appear in court on the morrow in a case of forgery, (the State _vs._
James B. Lawson) as a witness for the defendant, the said James B.
Lawson. If her dead mother had stood before her she could not have been
more astounded.
The policeman having fulfilled his errand turned to go. He paused to
cast a parting look at John, whom curiosity had somewhat bolstered up,
when he discovered that the policeman had business with Erma. But the
returning gaze of the policeman made him collapse again, and the
policeman never disliked anything in all his professional career so much
as he did the fact that he now had to leave that house without John
Wysong. Ever after that when he would see John on the street he would
eye him keenly as much as to say, "You belong to me," and John would
slink cowardly away. But we are just now concerned about Erma.