THEIR VICTIM
Haldane drew an envelope from his breast-pocket, and laid it on the
table, saying with a reckless laugh:
"Well, well, as you say, there is no great harm in borrowing a little of
this money, and returning it again before the evening is over. The only
question is how to open this package, for if torn it may require
explanations that I do not care to make."
"We can easily manage that," laughed Ketchem; "put the package in your
pocket a few moments," and he rang the bell.
To the boy who appeared he said, "Bring us three hot whiskey
punches--hot, remember; steaming hot."
He soon reappeared with the punch, and the door was locked again.
"Hold your package over the steam of your punch, and the gum will
dissolve so that you can open and close it in a way that will defy
detection."
The suggestion was speedily carried out.
"Now," continued Mr. Ketchem, "the punch having already served so
excellent a turn, we will finish it by drinking to your good luck."
Haldane won the first two games. This success, together with the liquor,
which was strong, almost wholly dethroned his reason, and in his mad,
drunken excitement he began to stake large sums. The eyes of his
companions grew more wolfish than ever, and, after a significant flash
toward each other, the gamblers turned fortune against their victim
finally. The brandy was now placed within his reach, and under its
influence Haldane threw down money at random. The first package was soon
emptied. He snatched the other from his pocket and tore it open, but
before its contents had likewise disappeared his head drooped upon his
breast, and he became insensible.
They watched him a moment, smiled grimly at each other, drew a long
breath of relief, and, rising, stretched themselves like men who had
been under a strain that had taxed them severely.
"Half an hour yet," said Mr. Van Wink; "wish the time was up."
"This is a heavy swag if we get off safely with it. I say, Haldane, wake
up."
But Haldane was sunk in the deepest stupor.
"I guess it's safe enough," said Van Wink, answering Ketchem's
questioning eyes.
The latter thereupon completely emptied the remaining package of money,
and replaced the two empty envelopes in Haldane's breast-pocket, and
buttoned up his coat.
With mutual glances of exultation at the largeness of the sum, they
swiftly divided the spoil between them. It was agreed that after leaving
the hotel they should separate, that one should go to Boston, the other
to Baltimore, and that they should return to their old haunts in New
York after the interest caused by the affair had died out. Then,
lighting cigars, they coolly sat down to wait for the train, having
first opened a window and placed Haldane where the fresh air would blow
upon him.
When the time of departure approached, Mr. Van Wink went to the bar and
paid both their own and Haldane's bill, saying that they would now
vacate the room. On his return Ketchem had so far aroused Haldane that
he was able to leave the house with their assistance, and yet so
intoxicated as to be incapable of thinking and acting for himself. They
took him down a side street, now utterly deserted, and left him on the
steps of a low groggery, from whence still issued the voices of some
late revellers. Five minutes later the "owl train" bore from the town
Messrs. Van Wink and Ketchem, who might be called with a certain aptness
birds of the night and of prey.
Haldane remained upon the saloon steps, where he had been left, blinking
stupidly at a distant street lamp. He had a vague impression that
something was wrong--that a misfortune of some kind had befallen him,
but all was confused and blurred. He would have soon gone to sleep again
had not the door opened, and a man emerged, who exclaimed:
"Faix, an who have we here, noddin' to himself as if he knew more'n
other folk? Are ye waitin' for some un to ax ye within for a comfortin'
dhrop?"
"Take me 'ome," mumbled Haldane.
"Where's yer home?"
"Mrs. Haldane's," answered the youth, thinking himself in his native
town.
"By me sowl, if it isn't Boss Arnot's new clerk. Sure's me name is Pat
M'Cabe 'tis Misther Haldane. I say, are ye sick?"
"Take me 'ome."
"Faix, I see," winking at two or three of his cronies who had gathered
at the open door; "it's a disase I'm taken wid meself at odd spells,
though I takes moighty good care to kape out o' the way of ould man
Arnot when I'm so afflicted. He has a quare way o' thinkin' that ivery
man about him can go as rigaler as if made in a mash-shine shop, bad
luck till 'im."
Perhaps all in Mr. Arnot's employ would have echoed this sentiment,
could the ill luck have blighted him without reaching them. In working
his employes as he did his machinery, Mr. Arnot forgot that the latter
was often oiled, but that he entirely neglected to lubricate the wills
of the former with occasional expressions of kindness and interest in
their welfare. Thus it came to pass that even down to poor Pat M'Cabe,
man of all work around the office building, all felt that their employer
was a hard, driving taskmaster, who ever looked beyond them and their
interests to what they accomplished for him. The spirit of the master
infused itself among the men, and the tendency of each one to look out
for himself without regard to others was increased. If Pat had served a
kinder and more considerate man, he might have been inclined to show
greater consideration for the intoxicated youth; but Pat's favorite
phrase, "Divil take the hindmost," was but a fair expression of the
spirit which animated his master, and the majority in his employ. When,
therefore, Haldane, in his thick, imperfect utterance, again said, "Take
me 'ome," Pat concluded that it would be the best and safest course for
himself. Helping the young man to his feet he said:
"Can ye walk? Mighty onstiddy on yer pins; but I'm athinkin' I can get
ye to the big house afore mornin'. Should I kape ye out o' the way till
ye get sober, and ould man Arnot find it out, I'd be in the street
meself widout a job 'fore he ate his dinner. Stiddy now; lean aginst me,
and don't wabble yer legs so."
With like exhortations the elder and more wary disciple of Bacchus
disappeared with his charge in the gloom of the night.
It chanced that the light burned late, on this evening, in Mrs. Arnot's
parlor. The lady's indisposition had confined her to her room and couch
during the greater part of the day; but as the sun declined, the
distress in her head had gradually ceased, and she had found her airy
drawing-room a welcome change from the apartment heavy with the odor of
anaesthetics. Two students from the university had aided in beguiling
the early part of the evening, and then Laura had commenced reading
aloud an interesting tale, which had suspended the consciousness of
time. But as the marble clock on the mantel chimed out the hour of
twelve, Mrs. Arnot rose hastily from the sofa, exclaiming:
"What am I thinking of, to keep you up so late! If your mother knew that
you were out of your bed she would hesitate to trust you with me again."
"One more chapter, dear auntie, please?"
"Yes, dear, several more--to-morrow; but to bed now, _instanter_.
Come, kiss your remorseful aunt good-night. I'll remain here a while
longer, for either your foolish story or the after effects of my
wretched headache make me a trifle morbid and wakeful to-night. Oh, how
that bell startles me! what can it mean so late?"
The loud ring at the door remained unanswered a few moments, for the
servants had all retired. But the applicant without did not wait long
before repeating the summons still more emphatically.
Then they heard the library door open, and Mr. Arnot's heavy step in the
hall, as he went himself to learn the nature of the untimely call. His
wife's nervous timidity vanished at once, and she stepped forward to
join her husband, while Laura stood looking out from the parlor entrance
with a pale and frightened face. "Can it be bad news from home?" she
thought.
"Who is there?" demanded Mr. Arnot, sternly.
"Me and Misther Haldane," answered a voice without in broadest brogue.
"Mr. Haldane!" exclaimed Mr. Arnot excitedly; "what can this mean? Who
is _me?_" he next asked loudly.
"Me is Pat M'Cabe, sure; the same as tidies up the office and does yer
irrinds. Mr. Haldane's had a bad turn, and I've brought him home."
As Mr. Arnot swung open the door, a man, who seemingly had been leaning
against it, fell prone within the hall. Laura gave a slight scream, and
Mrs. Arnot was much alarmed, thinking that Haldane was suffering from
some sudden and alarming attack. Thoughts of at once telegraphing to his
mother were entering her mind, when the object of her solicitude tried
to rise, and mumbled in the thick utterance of intoxication:
"This isn't home. Take me to mother's."
Mrs. Arnot's eyes turned questioningly to her husband, and she saw that
his face was dark with anger and disgust.
"He is drunk," he said, turning to Pat, who stood in the door, cap in
hand.
"Faix, sur, it looks moighty loike it. But it's not for a dacent sober
man loike meself to spake sartainly o' sich matters."
"Few words and to the point, sir," said Mr. Arnot harshly; "your breath
tells where you have been. But where did you find this--and how came you
to find him?"
Either Mr. Arnot was at a loss for a term which would express his
estimation of the young man, who had slowly and unsteadily risen, and
was supporting himself by holding fast the hatrack, or he was restrained
in his utterance by the presence of his wife.
"Well, sur," said Pat, with as ingenuous and candid an air as if he were
telling the truth, "the wife o' a neighbor o' mine was taken on a
suddint, and I went for the docther, and as I was a comin' home, who
shud I see sittin' on a doorsthep but Misther Haldane, and I thought it
me duty to bring him home to yees."
"You have done right. Was it on the doorstep of a drinking-place you
found him?"
"I'm athinkin' it was, sur; it had that sort o' look."
Mr. Arnot turned to his wife and said coldly, "You now see how it works.
But this is not a fit object for you and Laura to look upon; so please
retire. I will see that he gets safely to his room. I suppose he must go
there, though the station-house is the more proper place for him."
"He certainly must go to his own room," said Mrs. Arnot, firmly but
quietly.
"Well, then, steady him along up the stairs, Pat. I will show you where
to put the--" and Mr. Arnot again seemed to hesitate for a term, but the
blank was more expressive of his contempt than any epithet could be,
since his tone and manner suggested the worst.
Returning to the parlor, Mrs. Arnot found Laura's face expressive of the
deepest alarm and distress.
"O auntie, what does all this mean? Am I in any way to blame? He said he
would go to ruin if I didn't--but how could I?"
"No, my dear, you are not in the slightest degree to blame. Mr. Haldane
seems both bad and foolish. I feel to-night that he is not worthy to
speak to you; much less is he fit to be intrusted with that which you
will eventually give, I hope, only to one who is pre-eminently noble and
good. Come with me to your room, my child. I am very sorry I permitted
you to stay up to-night."
But Laura was sleepless and deeply troubled; she had never seen a
laborer--much less one of her own acquaintances--in Haldane's condition
before; and to her young, innocent mind the event had almost the
character of a tragedy. Although conscious of entire blamelessness, she
supposed that she was more directly the cause of Haldane's behavior than
was true, and that he was carrying out his threat to destroy himself by
reckless dissipation. She did not know that he had been beguiled into
his miserable condition through bad habits of long standing, and that he
had fallen into the clutches of those who always infest public haunts,
and live by preying upon the fast, foolish, and unwary. Haldane, from
his character and associations, was liable to such an experience
whenever circumstances combined to make it possible. Young men with no
more principle than he possessed are never safe from disaster, and they
who trust them trust rather to the chances of their not meeting the
peculiar temptations and tests to which they would prove unequal. Laura
could not then know how little she had to do with the tremendous
downfall of her premature lover. The same conditions given, he would
probably have met with the same experience upon any occasion. After his
first glass of punch the small degree of discretion that he had learned
thus far in life began to desert him; and every man as he becomes
intoxicated is first a fool, and then the victim of every one who
chooses to take advantage of his voluntary helplessness and degradation.
But innocent Laura saw a romantic and tragic element in the painful
event, and she fell asleep with some vague womanly thoughts about saving
a fellow-creature by the sacrifice of herself. However, the morning
light, the truth concerning Haldane, and her own good sense, would
banish such morbid fancies. Indeed the worst possible way in which a
young woman can set about reforming a bad man is to marry him. The usual
result is greatly increased guilt on the part of the husband, and
lifelong, hopeless wretchedness for the wife.