CONFLICT
There were two cars parked in the shadow of the S.P. bridge. Two
large cars parked in shadows deepened by the dark clothing of the men
who watched over them.
As a truck lumbered down the highway, one of these dark figures
climbed out of his car and moved forward, signaling with his
flashlight. "All right, Fred. It's me, Nick! Right up here."
The truck swung to the side of the road, stopped.
"Say, who's that with----"
On him, and on the second man who had climbed out of his car and
joined him, an avalanche abruptly descended from the driver's
seat--an avalanche which immediately separated into two distinct and
belligerent halves, Rudy Bronson and Sport O'Malley.
[Illustration: A scene from the Radio Picture, "The Vagabond Lover,"
starring RUDY VALLEE.]
They had caught the truck three miles farther back, following Rudy's
hasty explanation to Sport, and the driver who had started with it
from The Magic Lantern now reposed in its bottom, neatly trussed.
Sport had been in favor of administering a heavy cuffing; but Rudy
had restrained him with: "Better save yourself. We might need that
pep at the bridge."
He now saw the truth of his words realized. Jumping from the truck,
he brought his first blow down with a force which, landing true,
might have slain an ox. But it did not land true, and the
head-waiter was a husky man. Nick reeled, but he came back a moment
later, and came so fast that Rudy soon knew that Sport must attend to
the other hijacker as best he could.
"Come on and fight," he snarled ragingly, and Nick obeyed.
It was a grand fight while it lasted, and it lasted a hard, long
time. Nick was tough and willing, and not unskilled in the use of
his fists. But Rudy, thoroughly aroused by his blows, fought with
that grim ferocity of which only mild young men seem capable. He
fought without much skill or science, but what he lacked of those
attributes he more than compensated for in a determination that was
not done even when Nick was stretched in a beaten heap on the highway.
When the head-waiter at last was down, Rudy turned, battered and
torn, to see how Sport was faring. But it was apparent immediately
that he need have no cause for worry in regard to Sport O'Malley.
Sport's face hadn't been improved, and he was blowing like a porpoise
as he rested--but it was upon Nick's companion that he rested. "Nice
scrap, Rudy," Sport gasped, "I--didn't think--you had it----"
"A very nice scrap indeed!" echoed a voice.
Rudy lifted his throbbing head to face a little group coming forward
from a touring car that had come to a stop behind the truck. A group
headed by Bland himself. Good, now the old hypocrite could take his
hooch and jump in the nearest lake. He was through. Rudy turned a
little. And there was Molly. And Glen Patterson, the town's
chief-of-police.
"A very nice scrap, indeed!"
Rudy stared at them for a hideous, suspended moment. So Bland had
cracked! Had lost his head and cracked, just as he had feared! And
here was Molly--Sport's girl--present to learn the truth as soon as
Nick opened his mouth, which would be pretty quick now, for the
head-waiter had attained his feet and was dizzily eyeing the crowd.
Rudy did not pause to think what he was doing. Across his mind
flashed the knowledge that he had flunked out of school, that he was
going home a failure. On the other hand, Molly and Sport had all the
best of their college life still before them. Still shocked by the
terrible beating he had taken, he gave no thought to the consequences
of the gesture which he now made. Realizing only that Molly and
Sport loved each other, and in his mind therefore must be protected
at all cost, he stepped forward and spoke sharply:
"All right, Patterson," he said. "Let's cut the song and dance.
There's booze in that truck--and it belongs to _me_! I guess Mr.
Bland here heard that I was running it through to-night, and sent
Nick and these other boys out to stop it. Well, they did. And here
I am."
He stopped, reeling slightly. There was a silence. Bland's eyes did
not move from Rudy's face. "What's in that truck, my boy?" he asked.
"I guess you know what's in there!" Rudy began angrily. Then he
checked himself shortly. "Booze! What did you expect--soda-water?"
And then Bland laughed. Uproariously. "Yes, just that exactly. And
if I don't find it I've spent a useless half-hour loading it!"
Patterson nudged his deputies toward Nick and the other hijacker.
"You know who we came for. Do your stuff."
Rudy's head was whirling, but not so giddily that he could not hear
Molly's voice excitedly explaining to Sport: "I saw you boys run
after the truck and told Dad. He didn't know what to make of it
until he remembered that Rudy had tried to speak to him. He
suspected that Rudy had got wind of what Nick was going to do."
Sport caught feebly at the name. "Nick?"
"Yes, the head-waiter! Dad knew that he was selling liquor at The
Magic Lantern. Of course he could have fired him outright--but you
know how Dad is, always wanting to do a thing so thoroughly. He
wanted to get Nick right. Naturally, he could have had him arrested
for selling it at the place; but that would have caused a commotion
he didn't want. So he fixed up the truck with this load of
ginger-ale and had poor old Fred--what did you boys do with
him?--hint to Nick that it was liquor."
"So that Nick----?"
"Would do just what he tried to do--hijack it."
"Oh," said Sport. Slowly he turned to look at Rudy. "And when it
looked as though the cops had crashed in on our little plan to save
Mr. Bland," he said slowly, "you stepped in and were going to
shoulder the whole thing. Why did you do that, Rudy?"
Rudy turned away, his face blazing. Not for anything in the world
would he have told these listening people that to his loveless life,
love seemed the most precious thing in the world. He could not tell
Sport that his quixotic gesture had been made to save a girl he
scarcely knew--and, indirectly, Sport himself.
But Molly was a wise young woman. She looked from Sport's face to
Rudy's. "I think I know why he did it, Sport. And if you think a
moment, you'll realize why he did it, too. Can't you see that he
thought by saving Dad he would be saving me--and us?"
Sport's hand shot out quickly, clasping Rudy's in a promise of
everlasting regard. "Where have you been keeping yourself all this
time, fella? Holy cow, you may be a bum saxophonist--but I'm
thinking that you're just about the greatest guy in the world!"