THE TRANSFORMATION
In the brief, tense pause which followed, Lefty’s dominating emotion
was one of thankfulness that the station platform was deserted. The
much delayed fight seemed bound to come off there and then, and Locke
was not sorry. It was high time the fellow was shown a thing or two,
and the Blue Stockings’ twirler was not in the least averse to playing
the part of instructor. He did object, however, to playing that part
before a crowd of witnesses.
Determined to let Savage make the first hostile move, the Big League
player deliberately held himself in check, standing quietly, watching
his antagonist, and wondering why he did not begin. There was not
enough light for him to catch the play of expression on the busher’s
face; consequently the shock of surprise which followed the fellow’s
first words was doubly great.
“So soon?” Savage repeated at length, in a quiet, almost drawling
voice. “Surely there’s been plenty of time for me to get here.”
Lefty stared at him dazedly for a second before he could find his
voice. It was so totally different from what he had expected that for a
moment he could not believe he had heard aright. Then the realization
came suddenly that Savage was playing some game.
“Oh, plenty,” he answered calmly; “only the time was so short I
scarcely thought you’d be coming East.”
Savage shrugged his shoulders, and put down the suitcase. “I don’t
remember saying that I wasn’t,” he returned quietly. “Have a cigarette?”
He extended an open box, and Lefty, retaining his composure with no
little difficulty, accepted one. He refused to let this blustering
braggart outdo him in self-control. What the man’s game was he had not
the remotest idea, but he was certain two could play at it, and he
promptly proceeded to “stall along” until he could get the run of the
cards.
“Thanks,” he murmured nonchalantly, and produced a match box from his
ulster pocket. “Light?”
As the flame flickered up Savage bent slightly toward it, his face
clearly outlined to the smallest detail. Lefty, staring intently at
him, could not detect a sign of that ungovernable fury which had
characterized the busher at their first meeting less than a week
before. He seemed as calm and unruffled as if he had never worked
himself into a violent temper at the man who had accepted his cigarette
and who was now holding a lighted match for him.
The whole thing was such an anti-climax that Lefty could have laughed
aloud had he not been so bewildered. As it was, he decided to let
Savage do the talking, at least until he could determine how things
really stood. With that idea in mind, he took his time, aware from
the sound of the rapidly approaching train that a fresh diversion was
coming to his assistance.
“Mind the smoker?” inquired Savage as the engine thundered past them.
“We may as well sit together, then. It’ll make the time pass quicker.”
Locke acquiesced briefly, and they climbed aboard, picking out a
seat. They were no sooner settled than Savage made some whimsical
comments on two queer-looking characters sitting in front of them,
and the Big League twirler, to his amazement, found himself chuckling
appreciatively at his companion’s dry humor.
It seemed incredible, yet he was actually finding the fellow likable.
Tossing away the end of his cigarette, he pulled out a couple of
cigars, and passed one over. Had any one predicted the action half an
hour before, Lefty would have pronounced that person insane.
“From the way we parted,” he said with sudden impulsiveness, “I’d
hardly have said we’d be chumming it this way to-night.”
Savage, busily cutting the end of his cigar, did not look up.
“Yes?” he murmured. “How so?”
Lefty stared. He had smelled liquor on the busher the afternoon they
first met, but the man could scarcely have been so under the influence
as to have no recollection of their altercation.
“You surely haven’t forgotten that you wanted to lick the pants off
me?” he asked.
The smile vanished from the Westerner’s lips, and a flush swept into
his face. “I’m sorry you remember it so vividly, Locke,” he said, in
a low, rather constrained tone. Lefty wondered whither had vanished
all his slang and coarseness. “I must have been more of a beast than I
thought.” He hesitated, his slim fingers nervously rolling the cigar
between them. “I was feeling pretty rotten that day. I had more booze
in me than was healthy. And―― Well, you understand, old man, how a
fellow sometimes does things he’s ashamed of.”
He raised his head suddenly, and looked straight at Lefty with steady,
level eyes which seemed to hold a hint of appeal in them. For a second
Locke could have sworn that they were not the eyes of Savage at all,
they were so totally different from the lowering, evil-looking orbs
he remembered. Then he realized that it was simply the absence of that
baleful, uncanny glare which had impressed him so disagreeably. They
were human now――human and winning, and decidedly attractive.
Suddenly Locke found himself answering the unspoken appeal eagerly.
“Forget it!” he said forcibly. “You don’t suppose I took it as
seriously as that, do you? I was giving you a little josh, that’s all.
Let’s get on to something else. How’d you make out with Jack?”
“He’s going to give me a show,” Savage answered briefly. “Great chap,
Kennedy.”
“You bet your life he is!”
It was a subject on which Lefty could hold forth indefinitely, and when
the train pulled into Jersey City he found that he had been doing most
of the talking for twenty minutes or so. The announcement from Savage
that he was going over to Brooklyn resulted in an unexpectedly hurried
parting, and Locke had settled down in the uptown tunnel train before
he realized that there were a number of things he had neglected to find
out from the busher――among them the explanation of his curious actions
in the Markham house.
“Doesn’t make any difference, I reckon,” he decided at length. “I’ll
see him again in less than a week. By George, what a transformation!”
He shook his head slowly. “It’s amazing. He’s human now, and not a bad
sort at all. I s’pose it must be drink that does it. Jove! If I had a
devil like that inside me, which liquor unchained, it would be me for
the sprinkler, and no dropping off either.”