BILLY HARPER WRITES A STORY
As Katherine crossed the porch and went down the steps she saw,
entering the yard, a tall, square-hatted apparition.
"Is that you, Miss Katherine?" it called softly to her.
"Yes, Mr. Hollingsworth."
"I was looking for you." He turned and they walked out of the yard
together. "I went to your house, and your aunt told me you were here.
I've got it!" he added excitedly.
"Got what?"
"The agreement!"
She stopped short and seized his arm.
"You mean between Blake, Peck, and Manning?"
"Yes. I've got it!"
"Signed?"
"All signed!" And he slapped the breast pocket of his old frock-coat.
"Let me see it! Please!"
He handed it to her, and by the light of a street lamp she glanced it
through.
"Oh, it's too good to believe!" she murmured exultantly. "Oh, oh!" She
thrust it into her bosom, where it lay beside Doctor Sherman's
confession. "Come, we must hurry!" she cried. And with her arm through
his they set off in the direction of the Square.
"When did Mr. Manning get this?" she asked, after a moment.
"I saw him about an hour ago. He had then just got it."
"It's splendid! Splendid!" she ejaculated. "But I have something,
too!"
"Yes?" queried the old man.
"Something even better." And as they hurried on she told him of Doctor
Sherman's confession.
Old Hosie burst into excited congratulations, but she quickly checked
him.
"We've no time now to rejoice," she said. "We must think how we are
going to use these statements--how we are going to get this
information before the people, get it before them at once, and get it
before them so they must believe it."
They walked on in silent thought. From the moment they had left the
Shermans' gate the two had heard a tremendous cheering from the
direction of the Square, and had seen a steady, up-reaching glow, at
intervals brilliantly bespangled by rockets and roman candles. Now, as
they came into Main Street, they saw that the Court House yard was
jammed with an uproarious multitude. Within the speakers' stand was
throned the Westville Brass Band; enclosing the stand in an imposing
semicircle was massed the Blake Marching Club, in uniforms, their
flaring torches adding to the illumination of the festoons of
incandescent bulbs; and spreading fanwise from this uniformed nucleus
it seemed that all of Westville was assembled--at least all of
Westville that did not watch at fevered bedsides.
At the moment that Katherine and Old Hosie, walking along the southern
side of Main Street, came opposite the stand, the first speaker
concluded his peroration and resumed his seat. There was an outburst
of "Blake! Blake! Blake!" from the enthusiastic thousands; but the
Westville Brass Band broke in with the chorus of "Marching Through
Georgia." The stirring thunder of the band had hardly died away, when
the thousands of voices again rose in cries of "Blake! Blake! Blake!"
The chairman with difficulty quieted the crowd, and urged them to have
patience, as all the candidates were going to speak, and Blake was not
to speak till toward the last. Kennedy was the next orator, and he
told the multitude, with much flinging heavenward of loose-jointed
arms, what an unparalleled administration the officers to be elected
on the morrow would give the city, and how first and foremost it would
be their purpose to settle the problem of the water-works in such a
manner as to free the city forever from the dangers of another
epidemic such as they were now experiencing. As supreme climax to his
speech, he lauded the ability, character and public spirit of Blake
till superlatives could mount no higher.
When he sat down the crowd went well-nigh mad. But amid the cheering
for the city's favourite, some one shouted the name of Doctor West and
with it coupled a vile epithet. At once Doctor West's name swept
through the crowd, hissed, jeered, cursed. This outbreak made clear
one ominous fact. The enthusiasm of the multitude was not just
ordinary, election-time enthusiasm. Beneath it was smouldering a
desire of revenge for the ills they had suffered and were suffering--a
desire which at a moment might flame up into the uncontrollable fury
of a mob.
Katherine clutched Old Hosie's arm.
"Did you hear those cries against my father?"
"Yes."
"Well, I know now what I shall do!"
He saw that her eyes were afire with decision.
"What?"
"I am going across there, watch my chance, slip out upon the speakers'
stand, and expose and denounce Mr. Blake before Mr. Blake's own
audience!"
The audacity of the plan for a moment caught Old Hosie's breath. Then
its dramatic quality fired his imagination.
"Gorgeous!" he exclaimed.
"Come on!" she cried.
She started across the street, with Old Hosie at her heels. But before
she reached the opposite curb she paused, and turned slowly back.
"What's the matter?" asked Old Hosie.
"It won't do. The people on the stand would pull me down before I got
started speaking. And even if I spoke, the people would not believe
me. I have got to put this evidence"--she pressed the documents within
her bosom--"before their very eyes. No, we have got to think of some
other way."
By this time they were back in the seclusion of the doorway of the
_Express_ Building, where they had previously been standing. For
several moments the hoarse, vehement oratory of a tired throat rasped
upon their heedless ears. Once or twice Old Hosie stole a glance at
Katherine's tensely thoughtful face, then returned to his own
meditation.
Presently she touched him on the arm. He looked up.
"I have it this time!" she said, with the quiet of suppressed
excitement.
"Yes?"
"We're going to get out an extra!"
"An extra?" he exclaimed blankly.
"Yes. Of the _Express_!"
"An extra of the _Express_?"
"Yes. Get it out before this crowd scatters, and in it reproductions
of these documents!"
He stared at her. "Son of Methuselah!" Then he whistled. Then his look
became a bit strange, and there was a strange quality to his voice
when he said:
"So you are going to give Arnold Bruce's paper the credit of the
exposure?"
His tone told her the meaning that lay behind his words. He had known
of the engagement, and he knew that it was now broken. She flushed.
"It's the best way," she said shortly.
"But you can't do it alone!"
"Of course not." Her voice began to gather energy. "We've got to get
the _Express_ people here at once--and especially Mr. Harper.
Everything depends on Mr. Harper. He'll have to get the paper out."
"Yes! Yes!" said Old Hosie, catching her excitement.
"You look for him here in this crowd--and, also, if you can see to it,
send some one to get the foreman and his people. I'll look for Mr.
Harper at his hotel. We'll meet here at the office."
With that they hurried away on their respective errands. Arrived at
the National House, where Billy Harper lived, Katherine walked into
the great bare office and straight up to the clerk, whom the
mass-meeting had left as the room's sole occupant.
"Is Mr. Harper in?" she asked quickly.
The clerk, one of the most prodigious of local beaux, was startled by
this sudden apparition.
"I--I believe he is."
"Please tell him at once that I wish to see him."
He fumbled the white wall of his lofty collar with an embarrassed
hand.
"Excuse me, Miss West, but the fact is, I'm afraid he can't see you."
"Give him my name and tell him I simply _must_ see him."
The clerk's embarrassment waxed greater.
"I--I guess I should have said it the other way around," he stammered.
"I'm afraid you won't want to see him."
"Why not?"
"The fact is--he's pretty much cut up, you know--and he's been so
worried that--that--well, the plain fact is," he blurted out, "Mr.
Harper has been drinking."
"To-night?"
"Yes."
"Much?"
"Well--I'm afraid quite a little."
"But he's here?"
"He's in the bar-room."
Katherine's heart had been steadily sinking.
"I must see him anyhow!" she said desperately. "Please call him out!"
The clerk hesitated, in even deeper embarrassment. This affair was
quite without precedent in his career.
"You must call him out--this second! Didn't you hear me?"
"Certainly, certainly."
He came hastily from behind his desk and disappeared through a pair of
swinging wicker doors. After a moment he reappeared, alone, and his
manner showed a degree of embarrassment even more acute.
Katherine crossed eagerly to meet him.
"You found Mr. Harper?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
"I couldn't make him understand. And even if I could,
he's--he's--well," he added with a painful effort, "he's in no
condition for you to talk to, Miss West."
Katherine gazed whitely at the clerk for a moment. Then without a word
she stepped by him and passed through the wicker door. With a glance
she took in the garishly lighted room--its rows of bottles, its
glittering mirrors, its white-aproned bartender, its pair of topers
whose loyalty to the bar was stronger than the lure of oratory and
music at the Square. And there at a table, his head upon his arms, sat
the loosely hunched body of him who was the foundation of all her
present hopes.
She moved swiftly across the sawdusted floor and shook the acting
editor by the shoulder.
"Mr. Harper!" she called into his ear.
She shook him again, and again she called his name.
"Le' me 'lone," he grunted thickly. "Wanter sleep."
She was conscious that the two topers had paused in mid-drink and were
looking her way with a grinning, alcoholic curiosity. She shook the
editor with all her strength.
"Mr. Harper!" she called fiercely.
"G'way!" he mumbled. "'M busy. Wanter sleep."
Katherine gazed down at the insensate mass in utter hopelessness.
Without him she could do nothing, and the precious minutes were
flying. Through the night came a rumble of applause and fast upon it
the music of another patriotic air.
In desperation she turned to the bartender.
"Can't you help me rouse him?" she cried. "I've simply _got_ to speak
to him!"
That gentleman had often been appealed to by frantic women as against
customers who had bought too liberally. But Katherine was a new
variety in his experience. There was a great deal too much of him
about the waist and also beneath the chin, but there was good-nature
in his eyes, and he came from behind his counter and bore himself
toward Katherine with a clumsy and ornate courtesy.
"Don't see how you can, Miss. He's been hittin' an awful pace lately.
You see for yourself how far gone he is."
"But I must speak to him--I must! Surely there is some extreme measure
that would bring him to his senses!"
"But, excuse me; you see, Miss, Mr. Harper is a reg'lar guest of the
hotel, and I wouldn't dare go to extremes. If I was to make him
mad----"
"I'll take all the blame!" she cried. "And afterward he'll thank you
for it!"
The bartender scratched his thin hair.
"Of course, I want to help you, Miss, and since you put it that way,
all right. You say I can go the limit?"
"Yes! Yes!"
The bartender retired behind his bar and returned with a pail of
water. He removed the young editor's hat.
"Stand back, Miss; it's ice cold," he said; and with a swing of his
pudgy arms he sent the water about Harper's head, neck, and upper
body.
The young fellow staggered up with a gasping cry. His blinking eyes
saw the bartender, with the empty pail. He reached for the tumbler
before him.
"Damn you, Murphy!" he growled. "I'll pay you----"
But Katherine stepped quickly forward and touched his dripping sleeve.
"Mr. Harper!" she said.
He slowly turned his head. Then the hand with the upraised tumbler
sank to the table, and he stared at her.
"Mr. Harper," she said sharply, slowly, trying to drive her words into
his dulled brain, "I've got to speak to you! At once!"
He continued to blink at her stupidly. At length his lips opened.
"Miss West," he said thickly.
She shook him fiercely.
"Pull yourself together! I've got to speak to you!"
At this moment Mr. Murphy, who had gone once more behind his bar,
reappeared bearing a glass. This he held out to Harper.
"Here, Billy, put this down. It'll help straighten you up."
Harper took the glass in a trembling hand and swallowed its contents.
"And now, Miss," said the bartender, putting Harper's dry hat on him,
"the thing to do is to get him out in the cold air, and walk him round
a bit. I'd do it for you myself," he added gallantly, "but everybody's
down at the Square and there ain't no one here to relieve me."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Murphy."
"It's nothing at all, Miss," said he with a grandiloquent gesture of a
hairy, bediamonded hand. "Glad to do it."
She slipped her arm through the young editor's.
"And now, Mr. Harper, we must go."
Billy Harper vaguely understood the situation and there was a trace of
awakening shame in his husky voice.
"Are you sure--you want to be seen with me--like this?"
"I must, whether I want to or not," she said briefly; and she led him
through the side door out into the frosty night.
The period that succeeded will ever remain in Katherine's mind as
matchless in her life for agonized suspense. She was ever crying out
frantically to herself, why did this man she led have to be in such a
condition at this the time when he was needed most? While she rapidly
walked her drenched and shivering charge through the deserted back
streets, the enthusiasm of Court House Square reverberated maddeningly
in her ears. She realized how rapidly time was flying--and yet, aflame
with desire for action as she was, all she could do was to lead this
brilliant, stupefied creature to and fro, to and fro. She wondered if
she would be able to bring him to his senses in time to be of service.
To her impatience, which made an hour of every moment, it seemed she
never would. But her hope was all on him, and so doggedly she kept him
going.
Presently he began to lurch against her less heavily and less
frequently; and soon, his head hanging low in humiliation, he started
shiveringly to mumble out an abject apology. She cut him short.
"We've no time for apologies. There's work to be done. Is your head
clear enough to understand?"
"I think so," he said humbly, albeit somewhat thickly.
"Listen then! And listen hard!"
Briefly and clearly she outlined to him her discoveries and told him
of the documents she had just secured. She did not realize it, but
this recital of hers was, for the purpose of sobering him, better far
than a douche of ice-water, better far than walking in the tingling
air. She was appealing to, stimulating, the most sensitive organ of
the born newspaper man, his sense of news. Before she was through he
had come to a pause beneath a sputtering arc light, and was
interrupting her with short questions, his eyes ablaze with
excitement.
"God!" he ejaculated when she had finished, "that would make the
greatest newspaper story that ever broke loose in this town!"
She trembled with an excitement equal to his own.
"And I want you to make it into the greatest newspaper story that ever
broke loose in this town!"
"But to-morrow the voting----"
"There's no to-morrow about it! We've got to act to-night. You must
get out an extra of the _Express_."
"An extra of the _Express_!"
"Yes. And it must be on the streets before that mass-meeting breaks
up."
"Oh, my God, my God!" Billy whispered in awe to himself, forgetting
how cold he was as his mind took in the plan. Then he started away
almost on a run. "We'll do it! But first, we've got to get the
press-room gang."
"I've seen to that. I think we'll find them waiting at the office."
"You don't say!" ejaculated Billy. "Miss West, to-morrow, when there's
more time, I'm going to apologize to you, and everybody, for----"
"If you get out this extra, you won't need to apologize to anybody."
"But to-night, if you'll let me," continued Billy, "I want you to let
me say that you're a wonder!"
Katherine let this praise go by unheeded, and as they hurried toward
the Square she gave him details she had omitted in her outline. When
they reached the _Express_ office they found Old Hosie, who told them
that the foreman and the mechanical staff were in the press-room. A
shout from Billy down the stairway brought the foreman running up.
"Do you know what's doing, Jake?" cried Billy.
"Yes. Mr. Hollingsworth told me."
"Everything ready?"
"Sure, Billy. We're waiting for your copy."
"Good! First of all get these engraved." He excitedly handed the
foreman Katherine's two documents. "Each of 'em three columns wide.
We'll run 'em on the front page. And, Jake, if you let those get lost,
I'll shoot you so full of holes your wife'll think she's married to a
screen door! Now chase along with you!"
Billy threw off his drenched coat, slipped into an old one hanging on
a hook, dropped into a chair before a typewriter, ran in a sheet of
paper, and without an instant's hesitation began to rattle off the
story--and Katherine, in a sort of fascination, stood gazing at that
worth-while spectacle, a first-class newspaperman in full action.
But suddenly he gave a cry of dismay and his arms fell to his sides.
"My mind sees the story all right," he groaned. "I don't know whether
it's that ice-water or the drink, but my arms are so shaky I can't hit
the keys straight."
On the instant Katherine had him out of the chair and was in his
place.
"I studied typewriting along with my law," she said rapidly. "Dictate
it to me on the machine."
There was not a word of comment. At once Billy began talking, and the
keys began to whir beneath Katherine's hands. The first page finished,
Billy snatched it from her, gave a roar of "Copy!" glanced it through
with a correcting pencil, and thrust it into the hands of an
in-rushing boy.
As the boy scuttled away, a thunderous cheering arose from the Court
House yard--applause that outsounded a dozen-fold all that had gone
before.
"What's that?" asked Katherine of Old Hosie, who stood at the window
looking down upon the Square.
"It's Blake, trying to speak. They're giving him the ovation of his
life!"
Katherine's face set. "H'm!" said Billy grimly, and plunged again into
his dictation. Now and then the uproar that followed a happy phrase of
Blake almost drowned the voice of Billy, now and then Old Hosie from
his post at the window broke in with a sentence of description of the
tumultuous scene without; but despite these interruptions the story
rattled swiftly on. Again and again Billy ran to the sink at the back
of the office and let the clearing water splash over his head; his
collar was a shapeless rag; he had to keep thrusting his dripping hair
back from his forehead; his slight, chilled body was shivering in
every member; but the story kept coming, coming, coming, a living,
throbbing creation from his thin and twitching lips.
As Katherine's flying hands set down the words, she thrilled as though
this story were a thing entirely new to her. For Billy Harper,
whatever faults inheritance or habit had fixed upon him, was a
reporter straight from God. His trained mind had instantly seized upon
and mastered all the dramatic values of the complicated story, and his
English, though crude and rough-and-tumble from his haste, was vivid
passionate, rousing. He told how Doctor West was the victim of a plot,
a plot whose great victim was the city and people of Westville, and
this plot he outlined in all its details. He told of Doctor Sherman's
part, at Blake's compulsion. He told of the secret league between
Blake and Peck. He declared the truth of the charges for which Bruce
was then lying in the county jail. And finally--though this he did at
the beginning of his story--he drove home in his most nerve-twanging
words the fact that Blake the benefactor, Blake the applauded, was the
direct cause of the typhoid epidemic.
As a fresh sheet was being run into the machine toward the end of the
story there was another tremendous outburst from the Square,
surpassing even the one of half an hour before.
"Blake's just finished his speech," called Old Hosie from the window.
"The crowd wants to carry him on their shoulders."
"They'd better hurry up; this is one of their last chances!" cried
Billy.
Then he saw the foreman enter with a look of concern. "Any thing
wrong, Jake?"
"One of the linotype men has skipped out," was the answer.
"Well, what of that?" said Harper. "You've got one left."
"It means that we'll be delayed in getting out the paper. I hadn't
noticed it before, but Grant's been gone some time. We're quite a bit
behind you, and Simmons alone can't begin to handle that copy as fast
as you're sending it down."
"Do the best you can," said Billy.
He started at the dictation again. Then he broke off and called
sharply to the foreman:
"Hold on, Jake. D'you suppose Grant slipped out to give the story
away?"
"I don't know. But Grant was a Blake man."
Billy swore under his breath.
"But he hadn't seen the best part of the story," said the foreman.
"I'd given him only that part about Blake and Peck."
"Well, anyhow, it's too late for him to hurt us any," said Billy, and
once more plunged into the dictation.
Fifteen minutes later the story was finished, and Katherine leaned
back in her chair with aching arms, while Billy wrote a lurid headline
across the entire front page. With this he rushed down into the
composing-room to give orders about the make-up. When he returned he
carried a bunch of long strips.
"These are the proofs of the whole thing, documents and all, except
the last part of the story," he said. "Let's see if they've got it all
straight."
He laid the proofs on Katherine's desk and was drawing a chair up
beside her, when the telephone rang.
"Who can want to talk to us at such an hour?" he impatiently
exclaimed, taking up the receiver.
"Hello! Who's this?... What!... All right. Hold the wire."
With a surprised look he pushed the telephone toward Katherine.
"Somebody to talk to you," he said.
"To talk to me!" exclaimed Katherine. "Who?"
"Harrison Blake," said Billy.