IT was unfortunate that Mr. and Mrs. Dorman-Webster's grand affair,
given in celebration of their silver wedding, should have happened
just at this time. One of the public journals, commenting upon it,
said that giving such an entertainment at such a time was like playing
with a spark of fire over a barrel of gunpowder. It might not bring
about an explosion, but then an explosion might follow--an explosion
whose radius might destroy things of much more value than even Mr.
Dorman-Webster's palace of marble and brownstone.
There had been almost no rioting at night. All the disturbance was
during the day; but disjointed groups--sometimes even crowds--would
pass occasionally along the street after nightfall with more or less
tumult of noise and loud talking. There was a good deal of discussion
as to whether it was safe for ladies to be out at night at such a
time, but, in spite of the possible danger, nearly every one who had
been asked to the Dorman-Websters' went. It was, indeed, a magnificent
affair, and, in spite of the excitement of the riots, a great deal
of space was given to it in the newspapers. It was said that Madame
Antonini had been paid a thousand dollars to come on from the West,
where she was then singing, to appear in the two numbers of the opening
_musicale_. She sang to the accompaniment of a harpsichord that had
belonged to a foreign queen, and which Dorman-Webster had, for that
especial purpose, added to his famous collection of historical musical
instruments of all ages. One of the features of the affair was the
massive decoration of the stair-rails from the ground to the third
floor with red-and-white rose-buds that were said by the newspapers to
have cost two dollars each.
Nearly everybody of the truly Roman caste was there. Gilderman went,
but he had not been feeling well, and so had only stayed out the
_musicale_, coming away before the supper, for the sake of a few
minutes' midnight chat with his wife, who had promised, with the
nurse's consent, to be sitting up when he returned. She was much
interested in all that he had to tell her, but she appeared tired, and
he did not stay very long. As it was still early he went around to
the club. The Dorman-Webster entertainment had nearly depleted the
"Romans," and Gilderman sauntered about with that lonely feeling that
one always has in being at some place when one knows that one's friends
are somewhere else. He had found Pilate sitting in the reading-room
with a litter of papers spread around him.
Pilate was not always asked to such entertainments as that of the
Dorman-Websters'. He used to smile about it sometimes with his
sphinx-like smile, but perhaps he would have been more than human had
he not felt the fact of being left out of such lists of invitations. He
looked up as Gilderman came in. "Why, Mr. Gilderman," he said, "how is
it you're not at the silver wedding?"
"I was there," said Gilderman, "but I did not stay."
"Tired of it?"
"Oh no; not at all."
Then Pilate began again: "By-the-way, Mr. Gilderman, I was very sorry
that I did not feel justified in calling out the troops last Sunday, as
the bishop wanted me to do. I hope he understood my position."
"I think he did understand your position," said Gilderman, almost
dryly. Pilate looked at him for a little while with his keen, steady
eyes. Perhaps he did not know just what construction to place on
Gilderman's phrase. Gilderman wondered whether he looked guilty of the
double meaning he had intended. "Wouldn't you like to play a game of
billiards?" he said.
"Certainly," said Pilate. And then to the club servant, as he arose
from where he sat: "Tell Abraham to fetch the soda-and-whiskey up to
the billiard-room when he brings it. You'll have to allow me ten or a
dozen points, Mr. Gilderman," he said. "I can't play billiards with you
young fellows." And then they went off together to the billiard-room.
Some little time after midnight the men began dropping in from the
Dorman-Websters' until there was quite a number present. About one
o'clock a party of six or eight began playing poker, and in a little
while afterwards Gilderman joined the game.
They had been playing maybe not over a quarter of an hour when those
hands were dealt to Gilderman and Latimer-Moire which were afterwards
so much talked about.
Ryan was dealing at the time, and Gilderman drew three cards to a pair
of queens. The first card he turned up was a third queen, the next was
an ace. He wondered passively how it would feel to draw a fourth queen,
and then he turned up the card. It was the queen of clubs.
He felt struck almost as with a physical shock. He closed his cards
slowly and laid them face down upon the table, and he was conscious
as he did so that he had been able to infuse a perfect and complete
expression of indifference into his face and action. Oh, if it were
only possible now for some one to hold a hand to play against him!
Then the play began, and he saw almost immediately that even this
desire was to be gratified. One by one the other men dropped out of
the game until only Latimer-Moire and himself remained. The betting
went steadily on and on, each time being to the full limit. The stakes
doubled and quadrupled again and again. It passed through Gilderman's
mind, what if his opponent should, after all, have four kings? Such a
chance was almost impossible, but the thought of it caused him a pang
as it went through his mind. The rumor of the betting flew through the
club, and quite a little crowd presently gathered around the table.
Gilderman kept his cards face down upon the board. The men, as they
came, went one by one around back of Latimer-Moire and looked into his
hand. Nearly all of them laughed when they saw it. "Let's see what
you've got, Gildy?" said Stirling West, over Gilderman's shoulder.
"No, by George!" said Gilderman, without looking around. He put his
hand over his cards as he spoke. "I'm playing this hand alone," he
said, "and I'll play it till the crack of doom, if need be." As he
spoke another sudden, dull spark of apprehension passed through his
heart. What if Latimer-Moire should have four kings, after all?
The betting went on and on, and now there was perfect silence.
"Look here, old fellow," burst out Gilderman, at last, "I tell you
plainly you're up against an almost certain thing. I don't want to win
your money, but I'm not going to give in as long as you keep at it."
"You haven't won your money yet, my boy," cried Latimer-Moire. "Don't
you worry about me; I'll look after myself," and a general laugh went
around the table.
One or two more bets were made, and then Gilderman called the game.
"I thought you were going to keep it up till the crack of doom," said
Latimer-Moire.
"It's on your account I call the game," said Gilderman. "Let's see what
you've got."
Latimer-Moire laid down a card. It was the ace of clubs. He couldn't
have four aces, for Gilderman had one. What was it he had? What _if_
he had four kings? Gilderman held his breath. Then his heart gave a
bound and he knew that he had won. Latimer-Moire laid down a knave.
Three more knaves followed, laid down upon the table one by one. What
triumph! What glory! Gilderman held his cards firmly in his hand. His
impulse was to pretend that he was beaten. "Well, well!" he said,
trying to infuse all the disappointment he could into his voice, "who
would have believed you would draw four cards and get four jacks by it?
Well, well!"
"Let's see what you've got, Gildy," said West.
But still Gilderman lingered. The triumph was very, very sweet under
the tongue of his soul. "Four jacks!" he repeated. "Well, well, well!"
"Oh, show up your hand, Gilderman!" called out a voice from those who
stood looking on.
Then Gilderman laid down his hand, spreading all the cards face up upon
the green baize tablecloth.
There was a moment or two of silence and then almost a roar of
laughter. Stirling West fetched Gilderman a tremendous clap upon the
shoulder. "Gildy's luck forever!" he cried out. Latimer-Moire joined
the laugh against himself, but very constrainedly. Gilderman relit his
cigar, which had gone out. His hand was chill and trembled in spite of
himself. He assumed an air of perfect calmness and indifference, but
his bosom was swelling and heaving with triumph. Then he pushed back
his chair and arose.
"Hold on, Gildy!" cried out Latimer-Moire. "Ain't you going to give me
a chance to win my money back?"
"Not to-night," said Gilderman; "some other time maybe, my boy, but I
can't spoil such luck by playing another hand to-night, old fellow."
"Why, confound it--hold on, Gilderman, you can't go away without giving
me some show. Just a couple more hands."
"Not to-night," said Gilderman, and then he walked away with Stirling
West. Pilate had come to the table and was standing looking down at the
cards that still lay face up upon the board. Some one was explaining
the game to him. "Well," he said, "I've been playing the game for about
forty years now and I don't think I ever saw a piece of luck like that.
Four queens against four jacks!"
Gilderman, as he walked away, heard the words and his bosom swelled
with a still bigger load of triumph. As he whirled home in the
electric cab he lay back in the leather cushions and gave himself up
to the delight of his triumph. He was filled full with a great and
pervading joy. That last queen! What a delicious shock when he turned
up the card and saw what it was! What a glorious piece of luck! And
then he thought, what should he do with the money? He did not want
Latimer-Moire's money. He would hand it over to the bishop; that was
what he would do. Suppose he gave it to that one-armed fellow the
bishop had spoken about the other day. No; it was too much to give in a
lump to a poor devil like that. He revolted somehow from the thought of
doing that; he would hand it over to the bishop.
Presently the cab stopped at the sidewalk in front of his own home.
The _chauffeur_ jumped down and opened the door and Gilderman stepped
out. He lingered for a little while after the cab had whirled away into
the darkness. The night was very mild and pleasant, and the moon was
beautiful. So he stood for a while smoking his cigar, thinking of his
luck and feeling very happy. The white clouds of smoke drifted pallidly
away in the milky moonlight.
Suddenly there was a disturbance some little distance up the street,
and a lot of figures came out from the park. Then they came marching
down the sidewalk. Even in the distance Gilderman could see the gleam
of brass buttons and of official badges, and he knew that they had
been making some arrest. As the crowd approached, Gilderman walked
slowly up the broad stone steps to the wide vestibule above. The porter
opened the door at his coming, but Gilderman did not immediately enter.
He stood upon the top step smoking a last puff or two at his cigar
before he threw it away, and watching, with a sort of idle curiosity,
for the crowd to go past on the other side of the street. Presently
they were there, passing under the wide aureola of light of the double
cluster of electric lamps at the curb.
Then Gilderman saw who it was that they had arrested--it was He.
Gilderman could not see whether He had handcuffs upon the wrists, but
two policemen walked one upon each side of Him. Two or three policemen
came behind them, and there was quite a crowd of men besides, one of
them with his head tied up in a bloody cloth. As they came under the
circle of light one face was turned and looked straight at Gilderman.
The features appeared to be calm and emotionless. There was no hat upon
the head, and Gilderman was almost sure he saw red drops of moisture,
as of sweat, shining on His brow. Then they had gone by and Gilderman
stood looking after them. The hall porter had also come farther out
into the vestibule to see the crowd as it passed by.
As Gilderman stood gazing after the departing figures another figure
came down the street, this time upon the same side as that on which
he stood. It was a man walking rather close to the curb. Presently he
also came within the circle of light directly in front of the house. He
seemed to shrink for a moment and then walked out into the street. He
looked up quickly towards Gilderman as he passed, and then Gilderman
recognized him. He was that one of the disciples whom he remembered
having seen a few days before--the short, thick-set man with the bald
head and curly hair and beard. He turned his face towards Gilderman as
he passed. Gilderman came partly down the steps. "Stop a minute, my
man," he said; "I want to speak to you."
The man hesitated for an instant and then stood still. He hung back
in the partial darkness of the street, and as Gilderman approached he
seemed to shrink back farther still.
"Was that your Master who went by just now?" asked Gilderman.
"Yes, sir," said the man.
"Where are they going to take Him?" asked Gilderman.
"I don't know," said the man; "I didn't have time to ask."
He was looking furtively down the street. The crowd had disappeared
in the distance, but Gilderman could hear the sound of voices and the
tread of feet far away. There was just a flitting glimpse of them as
they passed under a circle of light a block or so away.
"Where are you going now?" asked Gilderman.
"I don't know," said the man. "I'm going to see where they take Him."
He stepped farther back into the street as he spoke. He lingered for a
moment and then turned and went away in the direction the others had
taken. After he had gone a little distance he began running. Gilderman
could hear his footsteps passing away down the street farther and
farther. He saw a glimpse of his figure flitting under a corner lamp,
and then he was gone.
* * * * *
So it is that the life of that young man came just within touch of the
agony suffered alone in the darkness of the garden. So it is that we
all of us, rich in our possessions of happiness and of wealth, live
each his life, unconscious of the divine travail going on beneath until
suddenly the end of all comes and we stand face to face with that which
has been done. So it is that, all unconsciously to us, beneath the thin
and crackling shell of mundane life, God is working out His end and we
know nothing of it.
We laugh, we sing, we dance, we love, we hate, we triumph and strive
for joys that turn to ashes in the mouth, and all the time the divine
phenomenon of life is working out its completion beneath those shadowy
appearances of things real. Now and then, maybe, like this young man,
we suddenly come face to face with the Divine Humanity and maybe feel
the soul quake at His presence. Then the face passes by and we see it
and think of it no more except as an incident.
* * * * *
As Gilderman turned and went up into his warm and well-lighted house,
filled with its richness and delectabilities, he wondered passively
what would be done to the Man; what would be the end of it all with
Him. The baby was awake and crying, and as Gilderman went to his room
he caught a fleeting glimpse of the silently moving nurse passing
across the dim upper hall.
Oh, the triumph of finding that a fourth queen had been dealt him! Four
queens! He saw just how that queen of clubs had looked when he turned
it up. How the fellows had roared when he showed his hand!
He looked at his watch as he wound it up. It was half-past two o'clock.