'I want to talk to you about that libel suit.'
'Can't talk to me, Henry. You'll have to see my lawyer.'
'Yay-ah, I know. I've got a lawyer too.'
'All right. Let 'em talk to each other.'
'You know you can't get any ten thousand dollars.'
'Can't talk about that.'
'Yes, you can. You gotta.'
'Oh, I've gotta, have I?'
'Yes, you bet you have. Some people seem to think you've got a case.'
'Guess there ain't much doubt about that.'
'Mebbe there ain't. Even if what I said was true.'
'Look here, Henry, I don't care to have this kind o' talk going on
around here. You better go along.'
'Go along nothing! I'll say every word of it. And what's more, you'll
listen. No, don't you go. You stand right there.'
Charlie, a stoutish man in an alpaca coat, with a florid countenance
and a huge moustache, gave a moment's consideration to the blazing young
crusader before him. The boy wasn't going to be any too easy to handle.
He had no need to see him clearly to become aware of that fact. Charlie
shifted his cigar.
'Lemme put it this way. S'pose you could sting me. You'd never get ten
thousand. But s'pose, after I get through talking, you decide to go
ahead and push the case-----'
'Push the case? Well, rather!'
'Wait a minute! All right, let's say you're going ahead and fight for
part o' that ten thousand. What you think you could get. Then what'm I
going to do?'
'Do you suppose I care what----'
'Oh, yes you do! Now listen! I want you to get this straight. You----'
'_You_ want _me_ to----'
'Keep still! Now here's----'
'Look here, I won't have you----'
'Yes, you will! Listen. If you fight, I'll fight. I'll go straight after
you. I'll run you to earth. I'll hire detectives to shadow you. I _know_
you ain't straight, and I'll show you up before the whole dam town. I'm
right and I tell you right here I'm going to _prove_ it! I'll put you in
prison! I'll----'
During most of this speech Charlie was talking too. But in so low a tone
that he could hardly miss what Henry was saving. He broke in now with a
loud:--
'Shut up!'
Henry stopped really because he was out of breath. It gratified him
to see that neighbours were appearing in their lighted windows. And a
youthful chorus on a porch across the way was suddenly hushed.
'Came here to make a scene, did you? Well, I'll----'
'No, I didn't come here to make a scene. I came here to make you listen
to reason and I'm going to do it.'
'Well, drop your voice a little, can't you! No sense in yelling our
private affairs.'
'Sure I'll drop my voice. You're the one that started the yelling.'
'Well, I don't say you couldn't make it hard for any man in my position
if you want to be nasty--fight that way.'
'You wait!'
'But what I'd like to know is--what I'd like to know... Where you goin'
to get the money to hire all those detectives?'
'Where'm I going to get the money to pay you if you win the suit?'
Though Charlie came back with, 'Oh, I'll win the suit all right,
all right!' this was clearly a facer. He added, pondering, 'I guess
Munson'll manage to attach anything you've got.' But he was at sea.
'Fine dirty idea o' yours, hounding a decent man, with detectives.' And
finally, 'Well, what do you want?'
'Listen! S'pose you did win. You'd never get ten thousand.'
'I'd get five.'
'No, you wouldn't. Why don't you act sensible and tell me what you'll
take to stop it.'
'I'd have to think that over.'
'You tell me now or I'll bust this town open.'
'No good talking that way, Henry. Can you get any money?'
'Tell you for sure in twenty-four hours.'
'But it ain't the money. You've assailed my character. That's what
you've done. Will you retract in print?'
'No, I won't. But if you'll come down to a decent price and promise to
call off the boycott----'
'What boycott?'
'Advertising. You know. You do that, and I'll agree to leave you alone.
Somebody else'll have to find you out, that's all. I've gotta help Hump
Weaver pull the _Gleaner_ out. I guess that's my job now.'
He said this last sadly. He had read stories of wonderful young
St Georges who slew a dozen political dragons at a time. Who never
compromised or gave hostages to fortune. But there was only one chance
for the paper and for old Hump. That chance was here and now.
He was sorry he couldn't see Charlie Waterhouse's face. 'What'll you
give?' asked that worthy, after thoughtfully chewing, his cigar.
'A thousand.'
'Lord, no. Four thousand.'
'That's impossible.'
'Three, then.'
'No, I won't pay anything like three.'
'I wouldn't go a cent under two.'
'Well--two thousand then. All right. I'll let you know by to-morrow
night.'
'You understand, Henry, it ain't the money. It's for the good o' the
town I'm doing it. To keep peace, y' understand. That's why I'm doing
it. Y' understand that, Henry.' He actually reached over the fence and
hung to the boy's arm.
'We'd better shake hands on it,' said Henry.
'Sure! I'll stand by it, if you will.'
'I will. Good-bye, now.'
And Henry, somewhat confused regarding his ethical position, depressed
at the thought that you couldn't rise altogether out of this hard world,
that you had to live right in it, compromise with it, let yourself be
soiled by it--Henry, his eyes down to beads, flushed about the temples,
caught the eight-six to Chicago.
He rode out to the West Side on a cable-car. It is an interesting item
to note in the rather zig-zag development of Henry's highly emotional
nature that he never once weakened during that long ride. He was burning
up, of course. It was like that wonderful week when he had written day
and night, night and day, the Simpson Street stories. But it was, in a
way, glorious. That ethereal electricity was flowing right through him.
The Power was on him. He knew, not in his surface mind but in the deeper
seat of all belief, in his feelings, that he couldn't be stopped or
headed. Not to-night.
5
'You are not altogether clear, Henry. Let me understand this.'