THE AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT.
Mike Barton, the rounder, knocked off from his lecherous avocation the
afternoon referred to in the previous chapter, as was his custom every
day at that time, and wandered aimlessly through the throngs of
pedestrians in the main thoroughfares of the city. He was submerged in
an elegant overcoat of black that shut him up from head to foot, so that
only his feet stuck out below, and his head half protruded above; for
the day was in its nastiest mood. A new derby hat sat cocked to one side
of his head, and his hair was in imitation of the devotees of the game
of football.
With his hands poked deeply into his side coat pockets, he shambled
along, smoking a cigarette, that, at times, sent up a cloud, like a halo
of fog, around his head. He was careless, unconcerned, and impudently
independent in his gait. He pushed his way through the crowds with such
an abandon of gentility that the curious stared at him, and gave a shrug
of their shoulders, as much as to say, "There goes a bad one." He would
stop at times, when a crowd had formed to gaze at some new attraction in
a window; then, with a toss of his head, would push on, maybe
shouldering a meek little woman out of the way; or sidling up to an
unsophisticated girl with a licentious stare, or a suggestive smile; or
he would drop into a saloon, or billiard hall, or tobacco stand to see
his fellow touts; and then go on, ever aimless in his peregrinations.
After lighting a fresh cigarette, he took up a position on the steps at
the main entrance to the Park building; looking into the faces of the
passers-by, or doing nothing but kill time; when his attention was
arrested by a tall, sleek gentleman in a plug hat and heavy overcoat,
and who was slinging a gold-headed cane, crossing Smithfleld street,
with a lady on his arm.
"By the Gods!" he exclaimed, so loudly that those standing by gazed at
him in wonderment. The cause of his exclamation was the lady and
gentleman in question, crossing the street.
The tall gentleman was talking animatedly, and the lady was smiling and
laughing in return, as if what he said gave her great merriment. As they
passed the corner, going down Fifth, Mike stepped to the pavement, and
followed. He kept a few paces in the rear, but always in sight of the
swiftly moving pair.
The plug hat loomed above the heads of other people, and the lady was
conspicuous by her elegant costume. As they walked on, he followed, ever
in view of the high hat. They turned up Wood, he followed. They crossed
Wood and went down Sixth street, he followed. They came to Liberty and
went down Sixth avenue, he followed. They went out on the Federal street
bridge, he followed. They stopped at the center span, he stopped. They
looked down the river, he took up a position behind an iron girder of
the bridge, and peeped around at them.
The wind was blowing briskly, skudding snow-like clouds across the sky,
and white caps danced upon the river. Smoke from factory chimney, or
train, or boat, lay in horizontal rolls of grayish blackness, like
tubular pillars floating in the air on the breast of the wind. They
looked down the Alleghany, facing the pelting breezes--through the maze
of craft; through the uplifted arms of many bridges, rearing themselves
like spider-lines criss-crossing the vista of the river; through the
distance over black buildings, sheds and shanties, and everything, they
looked, over and above to the bald bluffs of Washington Heights, where
clung the homes of the middle class, like crows' nests in aerie oaks.
Then down beneath that hill of rock, staggering under its weight of
poverty, they looked--she seeing, as if in a vision, the depressing
hovels of the very poor; and a tear came to her eyes. But Mr. Jarney did
not see those tears. He was intent only in passing away a short space of
time with Star, as a gratifying diversion in his daily course of life.
The wind brushed by her skirts with great vehemence, and blew her hair
about her face in straggling strands of plaits. She placed one elbow
upon the iron railing, and rested her chin in her hand, and looked down
at the dancing water. Her mild blue eyes were still moistened, and she
wondered how deep and cold the water below her was, and what there was
beneath its surface. Her lips were blue from the chaffing wind, her
teeth chattered from the chill, and her cheeks paled before the
scurrying blasts.
"I wonder if there is life down there in that dirty yellow water," she
said, meditatively.
"There used to be many fish in there, at least there was when I was a
boy," he answered, leaning over the railing and looking downward; "but
the defilement of the water by the mills and mines has killed every bit
of life, almost."
"Nothing escapes the hand of men, it seems, in their search for wealth,"
she mused.
"Nothing--you have been crying," he said, turning his eyes upon her.
"No; it is the wind," she answered.
"Ah, the wind; it is raw today," he returned. "Let us turn our backs and
go to the other side of the bridge."
They crossed the bridge; and looked northward--through the interminable
spans of other bridges; through the blue fog and smoke that rose in the
distance like vapor from smouldering pits of peat, suffering their eyes
to wander over the serrated house-tops that filled Alleghany City as a
checker-board filled with "men." He directed her attention, by his
raised and extended cane, to some prominent objects that stood out
bolder in the landscape than any of the rest.
And of all their movements, Mike Barton was a stealthy observer from his
place of espionage. He recognized his sister when first he set eyes on
her. He was inclined to approach her as she stood with Mr. Jarney on the
bridge, and make himself known, and take the consequences of the
possible result of meeting such a gentleman under such dubious
circumstances. But the longer he stood observing them in their quiet
contemplation of the scene, the more disinclined he was in attempting to
carry out his scheme.
Mike Barton knew very well where his sister had gone when she left home.
He knew the home that she lived in; but in his vaccillation he could not
formulate a plan that he could operate tending to its fulfillment, in
reaching her. Therefore, he concluded to wait his time to meet her
alone. This was the first time that he had seen her since she had
entered upon her new life, or in months for that matter. Ah, my
dastardly brother, with all your vile thoughts and debased notions, thy
chaste sister is beyond your unholy machinations! He was not deterred,
however, by pity, or brotherly love, or homely feelings from pursuing
his purpose.
After the panorama had been viewed from the bridge to Star's complete
satisfaction and joy, Mr. Jarney, after taking out his watch to note the
time of day, turned, with Star on his arm, and began retracing his
steps. Mike followed doggedly, surreptitiously, going into stores, into
hotel lobbies--out again into the streets, always at a safe distance,
that his actions would not be noticed by those being followed.
Finally, the trail and the quarry ended at the entrance of the Frick
building. Here Mike took up his post, after Mr. Jarney and Miss Barton
had gone within. There he stood buried deeply in his collar, still
smoking the delectable cigarette (to him), with as much energy and
enjoyment as when he started out on his perambulatory quest for fresh
air. The air being chilly, Mike crouched in a corner beneath the big
arch of the doors to keep the chills from going up and down and through
and through his snakish frame.
An enclosed auto, complete in all its appointments, stood closely
hugging the curbstone, the chauffeur having taken refuge from the
rawness in a nearby lounging place, where a little warmth was obtainable
while he waited for his charges to be taken homeward.
Shortly, after Mike had taken up his position as a sentry might on more
important and graver business, the great doors by him suddenly bursted
open, and the two young ladies hurried out. They approached the auto
together. Edith opened the door of the cab, and let Star within, she
following. After being seated, they leaned back on the soft cushions of
the enclosed conveyance to wait the coming of the chauffeur to take them
at a giddy speed to the mansion on the hill.
Mike, from his sentry corner, watched their every movement. Twice, or
thrice, he was tempted to approach them, and make himself known; but he
was restrained by an inward impulse that told him, even in his vapid
sense of reasoning, that he would be committing an egregious mistake,
should he do so at that time and place.
The chauffeur did not come. The ladies sat quietly, happy, oblivious of
their surroundings, quietly talking; with now and then a little laugh
from each other as a climax to their joyous spirits. Still the chauffeur
did not return; and still the ladies sat on, paying no heed as to
whether the chauffeur was at his post, or off somewhere in China.
Suddenly the machine puffed, snorted, and sent up a fog of acrid fumes.
Then a lever clicked over a rachet, then another; and the auto began
puffing regularly, and moved slowly out into the street. It creeped and
crawled among the wagons and carts and horses to Smithfield street. Up
that crowded thoroughfare it went, weaving its way certainly,
cautiously, deliberately, determinedly, till it was out of the congested
district; and out where the streets were freer from the impedimenta of
human contrivances. As the distance increased, the speed of the machine
increased, accordingly; and they were directly whizzing onward at a
lively whirring, gathering speed continually as the course lengthened
into the thinly traversed streets.
Onward they flew--over crossings, past wagons in a flash; past street
cars, autos, vehicles of all kinds and without number; past block after
block, dingy and austre, shooting by like moving picture scenes; up hill
and down, over smooth asphaltum, jolting over cobbles, over rubbish,
over everything imaginable; fleeing, fleeing, with policemen shouting at
the driver to cease his mad race, and noting down the number for haling
him into court.
But on, ever on, they went, with silent tread, but wild whirring of the
thing that gave it life; and still on, with a swerve and a turn, and a
humming; past naked trees, tall gangling poles, beautiful residences,
sere lawns, barns, stables, fences, open fields and now wooded places,
they traveled, with meteoric speed; up steep hills, down; up, across,
over--ever on, at the same hair-raising flight, throwing mud and water
and gravel with a furious splashing.
At first, Edith and her companion supposed they were bounding homeward
at the usual rate of progress in that direction when riding in the
Jarney auto. But when Edith beheld new scenes--new objects, new places
on the way, and finally a countryside in its wintery dress, she became
necessarily alarmed; and she was still more alarmed when she saw that
darkness was hovering over the land, and they not yet home. Star, being
composed and guided mostly by Edith's actions, was not bothering
herself, but when she saw Edith exhibiting intense anxiety, she, too,
became alarmed.
Whereupon, Edith attempted to attract the attention of the chauffeur to
the strangeness of the places they were passing; but he paid no more
heed to her calling than if she were not inside; and he went on, ever
faster, if possible. Edith opened the side door of the auto once, and
put her head without, but owing to the swaying of the machine under the
prodigiousness of its hurrying, she momentarily closed it again, fearing
an accident.
In the flight, Edith and Star paid no attention to the identity of the
man at the steering wheel, believing that he was their old faithful one,
who had gone quite crazy, or had met with hail companions, and had
imbibed too freely.
"Oh, oh, Star!" cried Edith; "if we do not stop that man there will be a
terrible accident soon," and she tapped on the plate glass window in
front of her.
"He must be crazy," suggested Star.
"Poor man, if I could only get at him, I would soon check the machine,"
said Edith as the car turned a corner, throwing her into the arms of
Star, who caught her, in her fright, and pressed her to her breast.
Edith was in a very agitated state of mind, for their situation, seemed
to her, to be of the most precarious kind.
Star had already clasped Edith in her arms, but she wanted to hold her
closer, if possible, to whisper consoling words. And as she was about to
say a word of comfort, there was a sudden stoppage of the machine. They
were thrown forward, and it turned on its side, buckling up like a
crushed egg shell. All that Star remembered was a terrific crash, a
grinding noise, and the breaking of glass--then darkness.
Edith rose up from the middle of the road, stunned, dazed, bewildered.
She stood a moment beholding the wreckage; then, quickly surveying the
scene, rushed to the ruined cab, from which she had been flung, and
seized Star by the arm, and lifted her up and dragged her out. Star was
unconscious. Edith administered a little dirty water, taken from a
puddle in the road, to her face; and she soon recovered.
"Are you hurt?" asked Edith, kneeling by her side, as she lay by the
roadside.
"Not much," she replied. "Only had my wits knocked out a little; I am
all right now. Are you hurt?"
"Not much," answered Edith, as she brushed back the hair that had fallen
over Star's face. Then Star arose.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"We seem to be in the country," replied Edith. "I see a house across the
field aways. We must have help, Star, at once. I do not see the
chauffeur; he must have disappeared."
Edith now released Star, seeing that she was not hurt, and began to
brush her clothing to remove some of the be-spatterment that came as a
result of her dropping so miraculously in the mire of the highway.
"The chauffeur may be under the car," said Star.
"Why, I do not see him; it is strange," said Edith, as she walked about
the car, and looked beneath it. "Let us search the weeds by the fence."
Carrying out the suggestion, the two young ladies, now fully recovered,
but much excited still, began to tramp among the dead herbage by the
fence. Edith plunged in among the weeds and thistles and briars, with as
much courage as she would have shown in hunting for some piece of finery
in her boudoir, having no regard for the dispoilment of her fine clothes
any more than if they were of linsey-woolsey. Star climbed the fence and
was treading down the reedage of the field with an earnestness of
purpose that became her character to act her part well in any
employment.
"Here he is!" shouted Star, after trampling down a few square feet of
bramble to get to a spot, where she thought she saw, while mounting the
fence, a man's coat. "He is dead!" The man was lying on his face, and
Star stood over him.
"Dead!" cried Edith, climbing the fence, and running toward Star,
tearing her dress on the briars in her haste to join her friend.
"Dead!" she repeated, as she took Star by the arm. "Dead! Poor man!"
Both stood looking down upon him, wondering what next to do. Edith
stooped down and turned him on his back.
"Oh, Edith! He is my poor brother!" wildly cried Star.
Edith arose, shocked by Star's sudden outburst, wondering what it all
meant. Star knelt down by his side, and tenderly took up one of the dead
man's hands in hers.
"He is dead! dead! dead! Poor brother!" she said sadly, with her tears
falling over him. "We have found him alone, dear Edith, ourselves. God
must have sent him on this wild ride to reach the pearly gates before
his time. Poor brother! We did not know it was him. It is better that we
did not know. Poor brother, he is dead!"
Edith bowed her head and wept in sympathy with the grief-stricken Star.
The hollow face of Michael Barton turned up to them, like a Death's
Head, in the twilight. He was dead! And this loving sister never knew of
the depravity of her fallen brother. It is probably well. For he must
have his reckoning with his God.