ON THE WEST-BOUND
Young’s first act was to slip the purse into a pocket of his overcoat,
even as his gaze darted stealthily around the waiting-room, and he
summoned a smile, not a particularly gladsome smile, to his face. Joe
noticed the eternal cigarette tremble between his lips. Then:
“Why, hello, Faulkner,” said Mr. Chester Young. “How are you?”
“All right, thanks,” replied Joe, his eyes unconsciously dropping for
an instant to that pocket into which the fat purse had disappeared.
“Sit down a minute, will you; I want to talk to you.”
“Can’t do it,” answered the other briskly, buttoning his coat with none
too steady fingers. “Fact is, I’m running up to Detroit and my train is
leaving in about half a minute. I suppose you were surprised to find
me gone, eh? Well, you see, I got a telegram this afternoon telling me
that my father was very ill and I had to beat it off on the five-two. I
was going to write and explain to you. I’ll do that, anyway. Glad to
have seen you again. You keep that job open for me until Saturday and
I’ll be back for it. Good-night.” He held out his hand and Joe took it.
“Your train’s fifteen minutes late,” said Joe calmly. “So there’s no
hurry. Sit down.” He still held Young’s hand and now pulled him gently
toward the seat. Young resisted, but Joe’s clasp was a strong one, and
unless he wanted to indulge in a scuffle there was nothing to do but
give in. But it was a different Mr. Chester Young who faced Joe now. He
tossed aside his cigarette and observed his captor defiantly.
“Well, what you got to say, Faulkner?” he demanded.
“I suppose you know why I’m here?” asked Joe.
“Never mind what I know. Get down to business. What’s your game?”
“My game’s to collect seventy-five dollars from you, Young. I ought to
charge the costs of collection, too, I guess, but we’ll let that go. If
you want to send nine dollars back by me to Mrs. Bennett, though, I’ll
be glad to take it.”
Young laughed softly. “And why should I hand seventy-five dollars over
to you, Faulkner? What do you think I am, a national bank?”
“If you want an itemized account,” responded Joe patiently, “I can
oblige you. But your train will be leaving in about twelve minutes, you
know. Roughly, the cigars and things you turned back to the dealers
amounted to forty-seven dollars――――”
Young’s expression changed enough to show that he had not expected Joe
to have knowledge of that transaction.
“And you got about thirty out of the cash register yesterday and today.
That foots up to seventy-seven, and――――”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” interrupted Young angrily,
but without raising his voice. “Someone’s been stalling you. You’d
better go back to Amesville and soak your head, sport. You’re too
innocent to be so far from home.”
“Ten minutes to train time now,” said Joe. “Come across, Young. You’re
beaten, and you know it.”
“Why, you silly chump, you can’t hold me up for money like this! I
haven’t got that much, anyway, and if I had I wouldn’t be likely to
pass it over to you. You must be crazy! You ought to get a job in a
squirrel cage!”
“If you haven’t seventy-five it’s going to be awkward,” said Joe
reflectively. “I thought that probably you’d hand it over and there
wouldn’t have to be any trouble about it. I hate to get my name in the
papers, but if I have to all right.”
“Quit your joking,” growled Young. “For two cents I’d knock your
head off. There’s my train and I can’t stop here chewing the rag any
longer.” He got up, bag in hand and grinned mockingly down at the
other. “Give my love to Strobe when you get back, sport. So long.”
Joe sighed regretfully and stood up. “All right,” he murmured. “There’s
no hurry. I don’t mind seeing a little of the world while I’m at it. I
dare say Toledo or Detroit is quite worth visiting.”
Young, who had started toward the door, turned. “If you try to follow
me,” he said menacingly, “I’ll do for you, kid!”
“You won’t get a chance,” replied Joe simply. “I’d rather go home from
here, of course, but if you want to be silly I’ll give you as far as
Toledo to think it over.”
“What would you do in Toledo?” sneered the other.
“Have you arrested, of course. That’s the only thing I can do if you
don’t make good before. I might have done it here, but I thought
you’d prefer to keep out of trouble, and now”――he looked around the
waiting-room――“there isn’t a policeman in sight.”
“Have me arrested!” jeered Young. “Try it, kid! Go ahead and try it!
Why, I never saw you before in my life! Tell that yarn to a cop and see
what will happen.”
“All right, let’s go out on the platform. There’s one there, I guess.”
Young’s eyes dropped, but after an instant’s hesitation he turned
toward the door again. “Sure! Come on and find him!”
Joe kept close at his elbow and they passed through the door and into
the throng on the long platform. The west-bound train had pulled
into the station a few minutes before and outside all was bustle and
confusion. Young paused and looked up and down the platform.
“There’s a cop down there,” he exclaimed. “Come on and we’ll finish
this up right now.”
He pushed past Joe and made his way with difficulty in and out of the
crowd. Joe followed close on his heels. Above the sound of escaping
steam and the noise of the crowd he heard the cry of “All abo-o-oard!”
He was quite certain that Young had not seen a policeman in the
direction he was taking and was wondering whether the former meant
to make a sudden dash for liberty when he was once free of the throng
or, at the last instant, leap aboard the train. There was a sound of
releasing brakes, at the other end of the long train a bell clanged
warningly, and, an instant later, the cars began to move slowly past.
They were out of the crowd now and near the end of the train. Joe saw
Young turn his head a little in the direction of the moving train and
something warned him to be on his guard. Young swung around and faced
him.
“I was sure I saw a cop down here,” he said puzzledly. “Where do you
suppose he got to? See him anywhere?”
Perhaps Young expected Joe to look away for a moment, for he suddenly
shot out his right fist straight at the younger boy’s face. But Joe had
not moved his gaze a fraction from Young’s countenance and he read what
was coming before the arm was drawn back for the blow. Instinctively
he dodged to the right and Young’s fist went harmlessly past his head.
Then something took him in the knees――he surmised afterwards that it
was Young’s suit-case――and he went staggering back against the station
wall.
When he recovered himself Young was darting across the platform, bag
swinging wildly, and even as he started in pursuit his quarry tossed
the suit-case onto the forward platform of the last car, trotted
alongside and, aided by the porter, who had been in the act of closing
the vestibule door, sprang aboard!
A dozen strides told Joe that he could never reach that platform. The
train, gaining speed every instant, was now moving rapidly out of the
station and beside him the lighted windows of the last car slipped
past. There was but one thing to do and he determined to do it, or, at
least, make a try. Slackening his pace a little, he let the length of
the car go past him and then, spurting desperately, heedless of the
warning shouts of lookers-on, he managed to grasp the forward rail of
the last steps!
The speed of the train lifted him from his feet and hurled him against
the rear railing. He made a clutch for this, but failed, and swung
outward again, dangling, his feet trailing along the planks of the
station platform. Cries of alarm arose from the watchers behind. But
Joe held on, searched with his left hand for a hold, knocked his knees
bruisingly against the car steps, got one on the lower ledge, and,
somehow, dragged himself to his feet, clinging at last to the brass
gate that closed the platform off and fighting for breath!
For a full minute he clung there, dizzy, conscious of smarting
contusions about his knees and of a dull ache in one hip where he
had collided with the railing. Finally he climbed over the gate,
tried the door and found it unlocked and stepped inside a handsome
library-compartment in which a half-dozen men were seated about in the
cane easy-chairs reading. His appearance elicited no surprise. Perhaps
they thought he had been on the platform while the train was in the
station. At all events, although the occupants of the compartment
raised their eyes as the door opened, only one of the number displayed
any interest in the boy’s advent.
The single exception was a tall, loose-jointed man, who, with his chair
turned toward the windows, sat with long legs doubled up almost to his
chin and a book face-down in his lap. As the door opened he turned
his head and looked attentively at the breathless and still somewhat
white-faced youth who entered. Joe paused to take another full breath
before undertaking the passage of the swaying car and in that moment
his eyes encountered those of the man. The man raised a long, lean hand
and beckoned with a finger. Joe made his way to him and the passenger,
undoubling himself, stretched a foot out, hooked it about the leg of
the next chair and pulled it beside his own.
“Sit down,” he said. He had a remarkable voice, Joe thought, and
equally remarkable eyes, very light blue-gray in colour, that somehow
compelled obedience. Joe embarrassedly seated himself.
“That’s a good way to get killed,” said the man calmly. “Don’t you know
that?”
“I suppose it is, sir. I didn’t stop to think much about it.”
“I wouldn’t make a practice of it. I take it that the other fellow got
aboard all right.”
“The other fellow?” faltered Joe.
“Yes, the――ah――the gentleman who tried to put his fist in your face.”
“Oh! You saw――――”
“I happened to be looking out the window. You side-stepped very neatly.
Fellow a friend of yours?”
“Not exactly.” Joe smiled faintly. There was an answering twinkle in
the light blue eyes.
“No? But you evidently couldn’t bear to part with him. It’s not my
business, but I’m curious to know the story. Fact is, I make my living
from stories. I get chaps like you to tell them to me and then I write
them down and sell them. It’s a very simple way to make a fortune.”
Joe smiled uncertainly. It sounded as if the other was joking, but his
expression was quite serious. He had a lean, clean-shaven face, with
many deep wrinkles. His nose was long and straight and his mouth rather
large. Somehow, though, it was a nice face and inspired confidence.
“There isn’t much story,” said Joe hesitantly. “The――the other fellow
has something that belongs to me and I want to get it.”
“Situation Number Three,” murmured the man. “Hackneyed, but capable of
interesting and even novel variations.”
“Sir?” asked Joe.
“May I ask what is the value of the something the other chap has of
yours? It’s interesting sometimes to know for what amount a person
will risk his life. Personally I wouldn’t do it for less than two
hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Not now, that is. There was a time,
when I was considerably younger, when I dare say I’d have done it for
considerably less; say for five thousand――or nothing at all. In your
case now――――”
“It’s only about seventy-five dollars,” replied Joe. “He――he stole it.”
The man nodded. “Naturally. Seventy-five dollars, though, seems an
inadequate reward for a broken neck. Any kind of a respectable funeral
would cost all of that. I don’t see that you stood to win much.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t stop to think of all that, sir. He jumped on the
train and so I――I jumped on, too!”
“I see. And now?”
Joe hesitated. “I suppose I’ll have to get him arrested in Toledo if he
won’t give it up without.”
“Why didn’t you call a policeman at that last place?”
“I didn’t see one. Besides, I thought he’d give the money back without
any fuss when he saw that I had caught him.”
“But he wouldn’t?”
“No, sir.”
“Perhaps he hasn’t got it with him. Perhaps he’s spent it.”
“I don’t think so. You see――――”
“But I don’t see,” said the man, with a smile. “I want to, though.
Starting at the beginning, now――――” He doubled his long legs up
again, clasped his hands around them and observed Joe expectantly
and encouragingly. Joe hesitated, smiled, and told his story. During
the recital the gray-blue eyes watched him intently and their owner
maintained absolute silence. There was but one interruption, and that
was when the conductor came in. Joe reached for his money, but the man
gently pushed his hand away from his pocket.
“Pardon me,” he said gently, “but it’s my party.” He took out a very
stunning gold-trimmed pocket-book, pulled a five-dollar note from it
and handed it to the conductor.
“Where to?” asked the latter. Joe’s new acquaintance questioned
silently.
“Toledo, I guess,” said Joe. “Do we stop before we get there?”
The conductor shook his head, made out the check, returned the change
and took his departure.
“I’m much obliged,” said Joe, “but I didn’t mean for you to pay my
fare, sir.”
“I know you didn’t. But as you’re my guest it was only right that I
should. So you guessed that that punch was coming, did you?”
“Yes, sir, sort of. And then, when he swung around his bag struck me on
the knees and I went back against the wall.”
“To be continued in our next,” murmured the other. He examined his
watch. “We’ll be in Toledo in about ten minutes, I think. So perhaps
you’d better go and see your friend. Afterwards come back here and tell
me what the result is. It would be too commonplace to bring the police
into this. So we’ll just put our heads together and find an artistic
dénoûement.”
Joe hurried through the three Pullman cars and through an equal number
of day-coaches without finding Mr. Chester Young. But in the next, the
smoking car, the sight of that gentleman rewarded him as he closed the
door. Young was seated half-way along the car, smoking a cigarette and
figuring on the back of an envelope. Beside him, on the other half of
the seat, rested the suit-case.
Joe walked quietly down the aisle. Young didn’t see him until he had
laid hand on the bag. Then, with an alarmed grasp at the suit-case,
Young raised his eyes. His jaw dropped ludicrously and the cigarette
in his mouth rolled to the floor, and while Joe set the suit-case
aside and seated himself Young continued to regard him in stupefied
amazement.