ITS CHICK PROVES PECULIAR.
Have you never lain back at midnight in the bow of a Whitehall, with
your hands clasped behind your head and your legs lazily
outstretched--no comrades but the oarsman amidships, and the
fellow-passenger facing you from the stern, no sound but the gurgle of
your own gliding, no sensation but the onward impulse of the boat, as
gentle as the swaying of a garden swing, and the scarcely perceptible
breeze aerating the surface of the river? Then the moon has never tinted
the atmosphere for you with such voluptuous purity as it did for Robert
Floyd that night, and the sparse, dim stars have never announced
themselves so articulately as the lights of a grander city than that
whose gloomy masses and scattered lamps they overhung. Even Dobbs'
lighting of a cigar--no cosmic event, surely--did not jar upon the grand
totality. The tiny flame, drawn in and then flaring up, gave flash-light
glimpses of a face unmatched in the shrewdness and humor of its lines.
For fully ten minutes not a word was spoken. Suddenly Dobbs' voice
snapped out:
"The hother duds, quick, chummy. There's a bobby on the draw."
A pair of black trousers was thrown toward him by the oarsman and Dobbs
drew them on over his prison garb.
"Now the coat."
He was turning his striped blouse inside out.
"Now, let's 'ear you in the chorus," said Dobbs, who immediately set up
a sailor's song about Nancy Lee. Robert and the boatman swelled the
chorus as desired, with rollicking "Heave ho's."
"Quit your caterwauling there!" cried the policeman above. The
pseudo-sailors at once hushed as if much frightened and rowed swiftly
under the bridge, while the policeman, satisfied with this display of
obedience, stalked along on his lonely beat. Above the bridge the river
narrowed and the banks were no longer of granite, but of arable loam
scalloped into a thousand little inlets. An hour must have elapsed and
three more bridges had been passed, when the boatman turned into one of
these coves and drove his keel against a grating sand bank. The
passengers jumped out and shook the cramp from their limbs.
"Is that all, Mr. M----"
A finger on Dobbs' lips checked the boatman's sentence half-way and a
nod gave the answer to his uncompleted question. Robert was not paying
attention, but when Dobbs touched his arm and led the way up to the
road, he promptly followed. By this time the milkmen and marketmen were
about. A rattle of distant wheels broke the silence now and then. The
dawn-birds trebled their matin greeting and a pearly flush located the
eastern quarter of the sky. After a few turns, Dobbs approached the side
entrance of a large house, not unlike an inn. The waiter who answered
his tap appeared to have been expecting him.
"'Ere we are, Bobbs, me boy. 'Ere we'll shift our duds and 'ave a talk
over the breakfast victuals. Whew! Hi'm tired! Fetch a lamp, Johnnie,
into the guest chamber. We haren't clemmin' on you, we've got rocks.
Hey, Johnnie?"
The white-aproned waiter grinned and led them into a private room with a
table in the middle.
"The porker, Johnnie, and plenty of good hold hale with the fixins."
Dobbs had drawn his chair up to the table, set Floyd opposite him, and
made one hand wash the other with the true gourmand's expectancy while
he gave this savory order.
"Well, you bloomin' old milksop! Hi suppose you'll put me in your
prayers now, hey? Hey? Hey?"
Dobbs poked Robert under the ribs in a fashion which the young man might
have resented in any but a familiar and a benefactor. Apparently his
acknowledgment of his obligation was not warm enough for the cracksman,
who began grumbling in an injured tone.
"Thankful? Wot's thankful? A word. Hi don't want words. Words is for
magistrates and ministers and such like 'ipocrites. Hi want a mark of
confidence. 'Asn't Dobbs trusted Bobbs?"
"Yes, he has."
"Well, w'y won't Bobbs trust Dobbs? Are we mis-mated? Do we work at
cross-purposes? Hi need a pal, Bobbs--upon which you may remark w'ere is
the shillin' comin' from wot's payin' this piper? But there's pals and
pals! And if Hi offer my friendship to a honorable associate Hi made the
acquaintance of while we was both serving in Col. Mainwaring's regiment,
wot's Jim Budge got to say? Cut and run, Jim, says I, and much obliged
for your 'elp. 'Ave a glass, Bobbs?"
The waiter had brought in several bottles of ale. Robert filled out a
glass of the brown, foaming liquor and poured it down with a gusto that
seemed to cheer Dobbs immensely.
"The uniform, Johnnie, and don't overtoast the porker."
Johnnie seemed afflicted once more with his grinning fit, for he stuffed
his apron in his mouth when he got to the door.
"What are your plans ahead, Dobbs?" asked Floyd, nibbling a pretzel,
while the cracksman helped himself liberally to the ale.
"My plans is Chicago. Hi'm going into business as a reformer."
"Ha, ha; what will you reform--yourself first, I suppose?"
"Hi'll begin on the police force. You haren't a-drinkin', Bobbs. Your
'ealth, me boy, a-standin' toast to the 'ealth of Dobbs' pal. Hip, hip,
hip-oh, 'ere's Johnnie, with the porker."
Johnnie seemed to have caught a sharp glance from Dobbs on the
threshold, for his grin subsided and he was obsequious in his attentions
to the breakfasting pair. Dobbs accepted them as a lord would the bows
of a lackey, but Robert felt constrained to brush off the importunate
caresses which he had no means of repaying in coin.
"If there's one meat in creation wot's sweet and savory," said Dobbs
ecstatically, digging a fork in the dish just brought, "it's a juicy
little 3-months-old baby porker, swimmin' in greens and gravy."
Robert could hardly help smiling while Dobbs carved the young pig,
smacking his lips prodigiously meanwhile.
"A hearty breakfast, me boy; we've a long ride before us."
"Where to?"
"Pitch in and don't spare the gravy--w'ere to? W'ot say to the
Hargentine Republic, w'ere you can sue for your uncle's money by proxy,
hey?"
"My uncle's money?"
"It's your'n, now the will's busted."
"I don't want the money and never wanted it."
"Then wot are you 'ere for?"
"Only the fresh air and the trip. I thought they might do me good."
"See 'ere, Bobbs, if you think Hi'm a-fishin' for a slice o' your
bloomin' pile, Hi'll show you Hi'm straight as a flag-pole. Them's not
the harticles of partnership Hi propose."
"I never said they were, Dobbs."
"But your heye says you suspect me, and it don't pay to be too
suspicious, me boy. Hi'm opposed to suspicion, bein' of a hinnocent
nature myself. 'Aven't you learned that, Bobbs, halready? 'Aven't Hi
trusted a hutter stranger with my rat's tooth and gone 'alvesies with
'im, doublin' the risk and not doublin' the enjoyment?"
"You've placed me under a great obligation, certainly. I wouldn't have
missed this night for the world."
"'Ere's a 'ealth to it, Bobbs--a standin' toast--and may we never bunk
in the bastile again. Hip, hip, hip--"
"Here are the clothes, Mr. Mc--"
The crashing of a beer bottle on the floor cut the name off at the
initial letter, and for some reason Johnnie did not finish it after he
had picked up the fragments.
"Lay the duds on the chair, Johnnie; we haren't done discussin' the
porker." A black business outfit, including headgear and footgear, bore
witness to the cracksman's foresight. "Bring us some more hale. 'Ave a
pretzel, Bobbs (hic)."
Bobbs was undeniably succumbing to the influence of his potations, but
Robert knew the thirst-creating properties of salted cracker, so he
declined the proffered morsel.
"Won't break bread with me! Hi say, Bobbs, this is a houtrage--a
houtrage. W'ere'd you be this minute if it wasn't for me? Afore a tender
little juicy porker, asprawlin' of your legs under the table and
a-facin' a hail jolly Johnnie, w'ich is me? Or snoozin' in a ten-foot
kennel, with sweet dreams o' the swingin' gallows?"
"I wouldn't be here, certainly, Dobbs."
"You wouldn't be 'ere! That's so. A glass on the 'ead of it. Your 'and,
Bobbs, and your 'ealth. Bobbs says (hic), and Bobbs is a gemman (hic),
Bobbs says he wouldn't be 'ere. But afore we part," here the cracksman
sat down again, "Hi 'ope ee'll show ee's a gemman and not mistrust 'is
pal. Hi ain't no psalm-singer, Bobbs, me boy. Wot's more natural, with a
blank check before 'im, than for the confidential clark to facsimilate
'is marster's hautograph? Wot's the hodds? Hi'll drink with 'im hall the
same--and a glass on the 'ead of it, Bobbs."
Dobbs was rapidly becoming incoherent and his incoherence took a
boastful turn.
"Ho, Hi cawn't 'elp a-grinnin, w'en Hi think of old Koerber a-wakin' up
and a-roarin' for 'elp. Didn't Hi do 'im brown, Bobbs (hic)?"
"He was no match for you, certainly."
"Ee? Koerber? Lemme tell you there's few in the fawncy stand as 'igh as
Bill Dobbs. Wot's Jim Budge? A hordinary bloomin' safe-cracker as must
'ave a pal. Ee cawn't stand alone, no more'n one leg of a scissors,
which is the Hirish for bachelor. Barney Pease (hic) is truly great, Hi
own. For sleight-of-'and work ee 'as no superior in the three kingdoms."
"Not even the solitary cracksman?"
"Not even the solitary cracksman, w'ich is me. But sleight-of-'and
hisn't hall, Bobbs. It's sleight-of-'ead! Do you fawncy Barney Pease
could 'ave got you over that sky-scrapin' wall? It was Bill Dobbs' 'andy
'inge done that. Lor' bless us! We'll be famous for this 'ere night's
outin'."
"I've a notion you'd be a bad man to cross, Dobbs, eh?"
"Do you fawncy Hi'd 'urt you, Bobbs, me hangel? Hi wouldn't 'arm you no
more'n a wadge-dog would bark at a baby. Hi'll (hic) Hi'll protect you,
Bobbs."
Floyd smiled at the cracksman's offer of patronage. But this time he
thought it better not to seal the compact with a bumper.
"Not drink?" Dobbs' temper had changed again. "Won't drink and won't
give me no mark of 'is confidence--"
"What is it you want, Dobbs? A confession?"
"Confession? Hi? Ho!" the cracksman laughed as if the joke were a rich
one. He was far gone, as indeed any man might be after taking so many
quarts of ale.
"Confession, ho, ho--wot do Hi want of a confession? Hi 'ad a natural
curiosity to know 'ow you set it, and"--his voice assumed reproachful
quavers--"a natural mortification to find that my pal (hic) wouldn't
trust me."
"Well, the truth is, Dobbs--"
"Wot is the truth?"
"Is this house safe? Walls have ears, they say."
"Safeazherown (hic)."
"I'm afraid--couldn't I write it down--that waiter, you know--" Robert
walked uneasily to the door, but the waiter was not eavesdropping.
"Waiter," Dobbs rung the bell and Johnnie appeared.
"Bring me pen and paper." They were brought with expedition.
"Zhall I 'old the lamp, Bobbs?"
"It's almost lightsome enough to see, if you draw up the curtains."
"Hi'll 'old the light, Bobbs."
"Steady, now, you'll drop it."
Dobbs staggered over behind Robert, with the lamp in his trembling hand
and stood over the young man's shoulder while he wrote the following
confession:
"When you pick a lady's pocket on a railway train next time, do it with
your left hand, Mr. McCausl--"
Before he realized what was happening the lamp had been shattered
against the opposite wall and he found himself forced to the floor, with
a cold circle of steel at his temple.