They moved unostentatiously from the room. Outside, in the hall, she
took his hand. They ran to the front door.
There was the echo of bedlam in his whirling mind when they walked
through the almost deserted street. She called to a taxi and they were
driven for several blocks. At a cheap dance hall they took a table and
drank more liquor. When his head was turned, she narrowed her eyes and
calculated the effect of the alcohol against the dwindling of his purse.
They danced.
"Gee, you're a swell dancer."
"So are you, Bessie."
"Still wanna go home with Bessie?"
"Mmmm."
"Let's go."
Another taxi ride. The lights seethed past him. A dark house and three
flights of rickety stairs. The gritty sound of a key in a lock. A little
room with a table, a bed, two chairs, a gas-light turned low, a
disheveled profusion of female garments.
"Here we are. Sit down."
Hugo looked at her tensely. He laughed then, with a harsh sound. She
flew into his arms, returning his searching caresses with startling
frankness. Presently they moved across the room. He could hear the
noises on the street at long, hot intervals.
* * * * *
Hugo opened his eyes and the light smote them with pain. He raised his
head wonderingly. His stomach crawled with a foul nausea. He saw the
dirty room. Bessie was not in it. He staggered to the wash-bowl and was
sick. He noticed then that her clothes were missing. The fact impressed
him as one that should have significance. He rubbed his head and eyes.
Then he thought accurately. He crossed the room and felt in his trousers
pockets. The money was gone.
At first it did not seem like a catastrophe. He could telegraph to his
father for more money. Then he realized that he was in New York, without
a ticket back to the campus, separated from his friends, and not knowing
the address of the toastmaster. He could not find his fraternity
brothers and he could not get back to school without more money.
Moreover, he was sick.
He dressed with miserable slowness and went down to the street. Served
him right. He had been a fool. He shrugged. A sharp wind blew out of a
bright sky.
Maybe, he thought, he should walk back to Webster. It was only eighty
miles and that distance could be negotiated in less than two hours by
him. But that was unwise. People would see his progress. He sat down in
Madison Square Park and looked at the Flatiron Building with a leisurely
eye. A fire engine surged up the street. A man came to collect the trash
in a green can. A tramp lay down and was ousted by a policeman.
By and by he realized that he was hungry. A little man with darting eyes
took a seat beside him. He regarded Hugo at short intervals. At length
he said. "You got a dime for a cup of coffee?" His words were blurred by
accent.
"No. I came here from school last night and my money was stolen."
"Ah," there was a tinge of discouragement in the other's voice. "And
hungry, perhaps?"
"A little."
"Me--I am also hungry. I have not eaten since two days."
That impressed Hugo as a shameful and intolerable circumstance. "Let's
go over there"--he indicated a small restaurant--"and eat. Then I'll
promise to send the money by mail. At least, we'll be fed that way."
"We will be thrown to the street on our faces."
"Not I. Nobody throws me on my face. And I'll look out for you."
They crossed the thoroughfare and entered the restaurant. The little man
ordered a quantity of food, and Hugo, looking guiltily at the waiter,
duplicated the order. They became distantly acquainted during the
filched repast. The little man's name was Izzie. He sold second-hand
rugs. But he was out of work. Eventually they finished. The waiter
brought the check. He was a large man, whose jowls and hips and
shoulders were heavily weighted with muscle.
Hugo stood up. "Listen, fellow," he began placidly, "my friend and I
haven't a cent between us. I'm Hugo Danner, from Webster University, and
I'll mail you the price of this feed to-morrow. I'll write down my name
and--"
He got no further. The waiter spoke in a thick voice. "So! One of them
guys, eh? Tryin' to get away with it when I'm here, huh? Well, I tell
you how you're gonna pay. You're gonna pay this check with a bloody
mush, see?" His fist doubled and drew back. Hugo did not shift his
position. The fist came forward, but an arm like stone blocked it.
Hugo's free hand barely flicked to the waiter's jaw. He rolled under the
table. "Come on," he said, but Izzie had already vanished through the
door.
Hugo walked hurriedly up the street and turned a corner. A hand tugged
at his coat. He turned and was confronted by Izzie. "I seen you through
the window. Jeest, guy, you kin box. Say, I know where you kin clean
up--if you got the nerve."
"Clean up? Where?"
"Come on. We better get out of here anyhow."
They made their way toward the river. The city changed character on the
other side of the elevated railroad, and presently they were walking
through a dirty, evil-smelling, congested neighborhood.
"Where are we going, Izzie?"
"Wait a minute, Mr. Danner."
"What's the idea?"
"You wait."
Another series of dirty blocks. Then they came to a bulky building that
spread a canopy over the sidewalk. "Here," Izzie said, and pointed.
His finger indicated a sign, which Hugo read twice. It said: "Battling
Ole Swenson will meet all comers in this gymnasium at three this
afternoon and eight to-night. Fifty dollars will be given to any man,
black or white, who can stay three rounds with him, and one hundred
dollars cash money to the man who knocks out Battling Ole Swenson, the
Terror of the Docks."
"See," Izzie said, rubbing his hands excitedly, "mebbe you could do it."
A light dawned on Hugo. He smiled. "I can," he replied. "What time is
it?"
"Two o'clock."
"Well, let's go."
They entered the lobby of the "gymnasium." "Mr. Epstein," Izzie called,
"I gotta fighter for the Swede."
Mr. Epstein was a pale fat man who ignored the handicap of the dank
cigar in his mouth and roared when he spoke. He glanced at Hugo and then
addressed Izzie. "Where is he?"
"There."
Epstein looked at Hugo and then was shaken by laughter. "There, you
says, and there I looks and what do I see but a pink young angel face
that Ole would swallow without chewing."