HOW GEOFFREY RAVENSLEE WENT SEEKING AN OBJECT
A clock in the hall without struck midnight, but Mr. Ravenslee sat there
long after the silvery chime had died away, his chin sunk upon his broad
chest, his sombre eyes staring blindly at the fading embers, lost in
profound and gloomy meditation. But, all at once, he started and glanced
swiftly around toward a certain window, the curtains of which were only
partly drawn, and his lounging attitude changed instantly to one of
watchful alertness.
As he sat thus, broad shoulders stooped, feet drawn up--poised for swift
action, he beheld a light that flashed here and there, that vanished and
came again, hovering up and down and to and fro outside the window;
wherefore he reached out a long arm in the gloom and silently opened a
certain drawer in the escritoire.
Came a soft click, a faint creak, and a breath of cool, fragrant air as
the window was cautiously opened, and a shapeless something climbed
through, while Mr. Ravenslee sat motionless--waiting.
The flashing light winked again, a small, bright disc that hovered
uncertainly and finally steadied upon the carved cabinet in the corner,
and the Something crept stealthily thither. A long-drawn, breathless
minute and then--the room was flooded with brilliant light, and a
figure, kneeling before the cabinet, uttered a strangled cry and leapt
up, only to recoil before Mr. Ravenslee's levelled revolver.
A pallid-faced, willowy lad, this, of perhaps seventeen, who, sinking to
his knees, threw up an arm across his face, then raised both hands above
his head.
"Ah, don't shoot, mister!" he gasped. "Oh, don't shoot--I got me hands
up!"
"Stand up!" said Ravenslee grimly, "up with you and shutter that
window--you may have friends outside, and I'm taking no chances!
Quick--shutter that window, I say."
The lad struggled to his feet and, crossing to the window, fumbled the
shutter into place, his ghastly face turning and turning toward the
revolver that glittered in such deadly fashion in Mr. Ravenslee's steady
hand. At length, the shutters barred, the boy turned, and moistening dry
lips, spoke hoarsely and with apparent effort.
"Oh, mister--don't go for to--croak a guy as--as ain't done nothing!"
"You broke into my house!"
"But I--haven't took nothin'!"
"Because I happened to catch you!"
"But--but--oh, sir," stammered the boy, taking off his cap and fumbling
with it while he stared wide-eyed at the threatening revolver, "I--I
ain't a real thief--cross me heart and hope to die, I ain't! Don't croak
me, sir!"
"But why in the world not?" enquired Mr. Ravenslee. "Alone and unaided
I have captured a desperate criminal, a bloodthirsty villain--caught him
in the very act of burgling a cabinet where I keep my cigars of
price--and Mr. Brimberly's, of course! Consequently to--er--croak you
is my privilege as a citizen; it's all quite just and proper--really,
I ought to croak you, you know."
"I--ain't desprit, mister," the boy pleaded, "I ain't a reg'lar crook;
dis is me first try-out--honest it is!"
"But then I prefer to regard you as a deep-dyed desperado--you must be
quite--er--sixteen! Consequently it is my duty to croak you on the spot,
or hand you over to the police--"
"No, no!" cried the boy, his tremulous hands reached out in a passion
of supplication, "not d' cops--don't let th' p'lice get me. Oh, I never
took nothin' from nobody--lemme go! Be a sport and let me beat it,
please, sir!"
All Mr. Ravenslee's chronic languor seemed to have returned as, leaning
back in the deep-cushioned chair, he regarded this youthful malefactor
with sleepy eyes, yet eyes that missed nothing of the boy's quivering
earnestness as he continued, breathlessly:
"Oh, I ain't a real crook, I never done nothin' like this before, an'
I never will again if--if you'll only let me chase meself--"
"And now," sighed Mr. Ravenslee, "I'll trouble you for the 'phone,
yonder."
"Are ye goin' to--call in de cops?"
"That is my intention. Give me the 'phone."
"No!" cried the boy, and springing before the telephone he stood there,
trembling but defiant.
"Give me that telephone!"
"Not much I won't!"
"Then of course I must shoot you!"
The boy stood with head up-flung and fists tight-clenched; Mr. Ravenslee
lounged in his chair with levelled pistol. So they fronted each
other--but, all at once, with a sound between a choke and a groan, the
lad covered his face.
"Go on!" he whispered hoarsely, "go on--what's keepin' you? If it's the
cops or croaking, I--I'd rather croak."
"Why?"
"'Cause if I was ever sent to--prison--it 'ud break her heart, I guess."
"Her heart?" said Mr. Ravenslee, and lowered the pistol.
"Me sister's."
"Ah--so you have a sister?" and Mr. Ravenslee sat up suddenly.
"Lots o' guys has, but there ain't a sister like mine in all N'
York--nor nowheres else."
"Who are you? What's your name?"
"Spike. Me real name's Arthur, but Arthur sounds kinder soft an' sissy;
nobody don't call me Arthur 'cept her, an' I don't mind her."
"And what's her name?"
"Hermy--Hermione, sir."
"Hermione--why, that's Greek! It's a very beautiful name!"
"Kind of fits her too!" nodded Spike, warming to his theme. "Hermy's
ace-high on the face and figure question! Why, there ain't a swell dame
on Fift' Av'ner, nor nowheres else, got anything on Hermy as a looker!"
"And what of your father and mother?"
"Ain't got none--don't remember having none--don't want none; Hermy's
good 'nuff for me."
"Good to you, is she?" enquired Mr. Ravenslee.
"Good t' me!" cried Spike, "good? Well, say--when I think about it I--I
gets watery in me lamps, kinder sloppy in me talk, an' all mushy inside!
Good t' me? Well, you can just bet on that!"
"And," enquired Mr. Ravenslee sleepily, "are you as good to her?"
Hereupon Spike turned his cap inside out and looked at it thoughtfully.
"I--I dunno, mister."
"Ah! perhaps you--make her cry, sometimes?"
Hereupon Spike began to pick at the lining of his cap and finally
answered: "Sometimes, I guess."
"Would she cry if she could see you now, I wonder?"
Hereupon Spike began to wring and twist his cap in nervous hands ere he
answered: "I--I guess she might, perhaps."
"She must love you a good deal."
At this, Spike twisted his cap into a ball but spoke nothing; seeing
which Mr. Ravenslee proceeded.
"You are luckier than I; there isn't a soul in the world to do as much
for me."
Spike gulped audibly and, thereafter, sniffed.
"Now suppose," said Mr. Ravenslee, "let us suppose she found out that
the brother she loved so much was a--thief?"
Hereupon Spike unrolled his cap and proceeded to rub his eyes with it,
and, when at last he spoke, it was in a voice broken by great sobs.
"Say--cut it out--cut it out! I never meant to--to do it. They got me
soused--doped me, I think, else I'd never have done it. I ain't good,
but I ain't so rotten bad as--what I seem. I ain't no real crook, but if
you wanter croak me for what I done--go ahead! Only don't--don't let d'
cops get me, 'cause o' Hermy. If you croak me, she'll think I got it in
a scrap, maybe; so if you wanter plug me, go ahead!"
"But what are you shivering for?"
"I--I'm just waitin', sir," answered Spike, closing his eyes, "I--I seen
a guy shot once!"
Mr. Ravenslee sighed and nodded.
"After all," said he, "I don't think I'll croak you," and he slipped
the revolver into his pocket while Spike watched him in sudden tense
eagerness.
"What yer mean to do wi' me?" he asked.
"That's the question; what shall I do with you? Let me think."
"Say," cried the boy eagerly, "you don't have to do no thinkin'--leave
it all to me! It's de winder for mine; I'll chase meself quick--"
"No you don't! Sit down--sit down, I say!"
Spike sighed and seated himself on the extreme edge of the chair his
captor indicated.
"Won't yer lemme beat it, sir?" he pleaded.
"No, some one else might catch you next time and have the pleasure
of--er--croaking you or handing you over to the police--"
"There won't be no next time, sir!" cried Spike eagerly. "I'll never
do it no more--I'll cut d' whole gang, I'll give Bud M'Ginnis d'
throw-down--on d' dead level I will, if you'll only let me--"
"Who's Bud M'Ginnis?"
"Say," exclaimed the boy, staring, "don't yer know that? Why, Bud's
d' main squeeze with d' gang, d' whole cheese, he is--an' he kind o'
thinks I'm d' candy-kid 'cause he's stuck on me sister--".
"Ah!" nodded Mr. Ravenslee, frowning a little, "and is she--er--stuck on
him?"
"Not so as you could notice it, she ain't! No, she can't see Bud with a
pair of opry-glasses, an' he's a dead game sport, too! Oh, there ain't
no flies on Bud, an' nobody can lick him, either; but Hermy don't cotton
none, she hasn't got no use for him, see? But say--" Spike rose
tentatively and looked on his captor with eyes big and supplicating.
"Well, what now?"
"Why, I thought if you was tired of me chewing d' rag and wanted to hit
the feathers, I'd just cop a sneak. See, if you'll only lemme go, I'll
do d' square thing and get a steady job like Hermy wants me to--honest,
I will, sir! Y' see, me sister's away to-night--she does needleworks for
swell folks an' stops with 'em sometimes--so if you'll only let me beat
it, I can skin back an' she'll never know! Ah!--lemme go, sir!"
"Well then," sighed Mr. Ravenslee, "for her sake I will let you
go--wait! I'll let you go and never speak of your--er--little escapade
here, if you will take me with you."
Now at this, Spike gaped and fell back a step.
"Go wi' me--wi' me?" he stammered. "You--go wi' me to Hell's Kitchen--to
Mulligan's Dump--you! Say, what kind o' song and dance are you giving
me, anyway? Aw--quit yer kiddin', sir!"
"But I mean it."
"On--on d' level?"
"On the level."
"Holy Gee!" and Spike relapsed into wide-eyed, voiceless wonder.
"Is it a go?" enquired Mr. Ravenslee.
"But--but, say--" stammered the boy, glancing from the elegant figure in
the chair around the luxurious room and back again, "but you're a--a--"
"Just a poor, disconsolate, lonely--er--guy!"
"What!" cried Spike, staring around him again, "with all this? Oh, yes,
you're homeless and starving, you are--I don't think!"
"Is it a go?"
"But say--whatcher want to go wi' me for? What's yer game? Put me wise."
"I am filled with desire to breathe awhile the salubrious air of Hell's
Kitchen; will you take me?" Now as he spoke, beholding the boy's staring
amaze, Mr. Ravenslee's frowning brows relaxed, his firm, clean-shaven
lips quivered, and all at once curved up into a smile of singular
sweetness--a smile before which the hopelessness and fear died out of
the boy's long-lashed eyes, his whole strained attitude vanished, and he
smiled also--though perhaps a little tremulously.
"Will you take me, Spike?"
"You bet I will!" exclaimed the boy, his blue eyes shining, "and I'll do
my best to show you I--I ain't so bad as I--as I seem--an' we'll shake
on it if you like." And Spike advanced with his hand outstretched, then
paused, suddenly abashed, and drooping his head, turned away. "I--I
forgot," he muttered, "--I'm--you said I was a--thief!"
"You meant to be!" said Mr. Ravenslee, and rising, he stretched himself
and glanced at his watch.
"Are you coming wi' me, sir?" enquired Spike, regarding Mr. Ravenslee's
length and breadth with quick, appraising eyes.
"I surely am!"
"But--but not in them glad rags!" and Spike pointed to Mr. Ravenslee's
exquisitely tailored garments.
"Ah--to be sure!" nodded their wearer. "We'll soon fix that," and he
touched the electric bell.
"Say," cried Spike, starting forward in sudden terror, "you--you ain't
goin' to give me away?"
"No."
"Cross your heart--hope to die, you ain't?"
"Across my heart and hope to die, I'm not--and there's my hand on it,
Spike."
"What?" exclaimed the boy, his eyes suspiciously bright, "d' you mean
you will shake--after--after what I--"
"There's my hand, Spike!" So their hands met and gripped, the boy's hot
and eagerly tremulous, the man's cool and steady and strong; then of a
sudden Spike choked and turning his back brushed away his tears with his
cap. Also at this moment, with a soft and discreet knock, Mr. Brimberly
opened the door and bowed himself into the room; his attitude was
deferential as always, his smile as respectful, but, beholding Spike,
his round eyes grew rounder and his whiskers slightly bristly.
"Ah, Brimberly," nodded his master, "you are not in bed yet--good!"
"No, sir," answered Mr. Brimberly, "I'm not in bed yet, sir, but when
you rang I was in the very hact, sir--"
"First of all," said Young R., selecting a cigar, "let me introduce you
to--er--my friend, Spike!"
Hereupon Mr. Brimberly rolled his eyes in Spike's direction, glanced him
over, touched either whisker, and bowed--and lo! those fleecy whiskers
were now eloquent of pompous dignity, beholding which Spike shuffled his
feet, averted his eyes, and twisted his cap into a very tight ball
indeed.
But now Brimberly turned his eyes (and his whiskers) on his master, who
had taken out his watch.
"Brimberly," said he, "it is now very nearly two o'clock."
"Very late, sir--oh, very late, sir--indeed, I was in the very hact of
goin' to bed, sir--I'd even unbuttoned my waistcoat, sir, when you
rang--two o'clock, sir--dear me, a most un-'oly hour, sir--"
"Consequently, Brimberly, I am thinking of taking a little outing--"
"Certingly, sir--oh, certingly!"
"And I want some other clothes--"
"Clothes, sir--yessir. There's the noo 'arris tweed, sir--"
"With holes in them, if possible, Brimberly."
"'Oles, sir! Beg parding, sir, but did you say 'oles, sir?"
"Also patches, Brimberly, the bigger the better!"
"Patches! Hexcuse me, sir, but--patches! I beg parding, but--" Mr.
Brimberly laid a feeble hand upon a twitching whisker.
"In a word, Brimberly," pursued his master, seating himself upon the
escritoire and swinging his leg, "I want some old clothes, shabby
clothes--moth-eaten, stained, battered, and torn. Also a muffler and
an old hat. Can you find me some?"
"No, sir, I don't--that is, yessir, I do. Hexcuse me, sir--'arf a
moment, sir." Saying which, Mr. Brimberly bowed and went from the room
with one hand still clutching his whisker very much as though he had
taken himself into custody and were leading himself out.
"Say," exclaimed Spike in a hoarse whisper and edging nearer to Mr.
Ravenslee, "who's His Whiskers--de swell guy with d' face trimmings?"
"Why, since you ask, Spike, he is a very worthy person who devotes his
life to--er--looking after my welfare and--other things."
"Holy Gee!" exclaimed Spike, staring, "I should have thought you was big
'nuff to do that fer yourself, unless--" and here he broke off suddenly
and gazed on Mr. Ravenslee's long figure with a new and more particular
interest.
"Unless what?"
"Say--you ain't got bats in your belfry, have you--you ain't weak in the
think-box, or soft in the nut, are ye?"
"No--at least not more than the average, I believe."
"I mean His Whiskers don't have to lead you around on a string or watch
out you don't set fire to yourself, does he?"
"Well, strictly speaking, I can't say that his duties are quite so
far-reaching."
"Who are you, anyway?"
"Well, my names are Geoffrey, Guy, Eustace, Hughson-and--er--a few
others, but these will do to go on with, perhaps?"
"Well, I guess yes!"
"You can take your choice."
"Well, Guy won't do--no siree--ye see every mutt's a guy down our
way--so I guess we'll make it Geoff. But, say, if you ain't weak on the
think-machinery, why d' ye keep a guy like His Whiskers hanging around?"
"Because he has become a habit, Spike--and habits cling--and speaking of
habits--here it is!" Sure enough, at that moment Brimberly's knuckles
made themselves discreetly heard, and Brimberly himself appeared with
divers garments across his arm, at sight of which Spike stood
immediately dumb in staring, awe-struck wonder.
"Ah, you've got them, Brimberly?"
"Yessir! These is the best I can do, sir--"
"Say rather--the worst!"
"'Ere's a nice, big 'ole in the coat, sir," said Mr. Brimberly,
unfolding the garment in question, "and the weskit, sir; the pocket
is tore, you'll notice, sir."
"Excellent, Brimberly!"
"As for these trousis, sir--"
"They seem rather superior garments, I'm afraid!" said Mr. Ravenslee,
shaking his head.
"But you'll notice as they're very much wore round the 'eels, sir."
"They'll do. Now the hat and muffler."
"All 'ere, sir--the 'at's got its brim broke, sir."
"Couldn't be better, Brimberly!" So saying, Mr. Ravenslee took up the
clothes and turned toward the door. "Now I'll trouble you to keep an eye
on--er--young America here while I get into these."
"Sir," said Mr. Brimberly, turning his whiskers full upon Spike, who
immediately fell to shuffling and wringing at his cap. "Sir--I will,
certingly, sir."
Now when the door had shut after his master, Mr. Brimberly raised eyes
and hands to the ceiling and shook his head until his whiskers quivered.
Quoth he: "Hall I arsks is--wot next!" Thereafter he lowered his eyes
and regarded Spike as if he had been that basest of base minions--a boy
in buttons. At last he deigned speech.
"And w'en did _you_ come in, pray?"
"'Bout a hour ago, sir," answered Spike, dropping his cap in his
embarrassment.
"Ah!" nodded Mr. Brimberly, "about a hour ago--ho! By appointment, I
pre-zoom?"
"No, sir--by a winder."
"A--wot?"
"A winder, sir."
"A--winder? 'Eavens and earth--a winder--ow? Where? Wot for?"
"Say, mister," said Spike, breaking in upon Mr. Brimberly's astounded
questioning, "is he nutty?" And he jerked his thumb toward the door
through which Mr. Ravenslee had gone.
"Nutty!" said Mr. Brimberly, staring.
"Yes--I mean is he batty? Has he got wheels?"
"W'eels?" said Mr. Brimberly, his eyes rounder than usual.
"Well, then, is he daffy?--off his trolley?"
"Off 'is wot?" said Mr. Brimberly, fumbling for his whisker.
"Holy Gee!" exclaimed Spike, "can't you understand English? Say, is your
brother as smart as you?"
"The honly brother as ever I 'ad was a infant as died and--but wot was
you saying about a winder?"
"Nothin'!"
"Come, speak up, you young vagabone--" began Mr. Brimberly, his whiskers
suddenly fierce and threatening, but just then, fortunately for Spike,
the door swung, open, and Mr. Ravenslee entered.
And lo! what a change was here! The battered hat, the faded muffler and
shabby clothes seemed only to show off all the hitherto hidden strength
and vigour of the powerful limbs below; indeed it almost seemed that
with his elegant garments he had laid aside his lassitude also and taken
on a new air of resolution, for his eyes were sleepy no longer, and his
every gesture was lithe and quick. So great was the change that Spike
stared speechless, and Mr. Brimberly gaped with whiskers a-droop.
"Well, shall I do?" enquired Mr. Ravenslee, tightening his faded
neckerchief.
"Do?" repeated Spike, "say--you look all to d' mustard, Geoff! You--you
look as if you could--do things, now!"
"Strangely enough, Spike, I rather feel that way too!" So saying, Mr.
Ravenslee took a pipe from the rack, filled it with quick, energetic
fingers, and proceeded to light it, watched in dumb amaze by the gaping
Brimberly.
"Brimberly," said he, "I shall probably return to-morrow."
"Yes, sir," said he faintly.
"Or the day after."
"Yes, sir!"
"Or the day after."
"Yes, sir!"
"Or the day after that; anyhow, I shall probably return. Should any one
call--business or otherwise--tell 'em to call again; say I'm out of
town--you understand?"
"Out of town--certingly, sir."
"Referring to--to the matter we talked of to-night, Brimberly--"
"Meaning the hobject, sir?"
"Precisely! Don't trouble yourself about it."
"No, sir?"
"No, Brimberly--I'm going to try and find one for myself."
"Ho--very good, sir!"
"And now," said the new Mr. Ravenslee, laying one white, ringless hand
on Spike's shoulder and pointing toward the open door with the other,
"lead on--young Destiny!"