powder, she walked at Lawrence's side, using her eyes with that
dazzling effect known only to women of the tropics.
He would confront her with Vicente, Lawrence thought, but as the
battlements of Ulloa Castle came in sight, the "Place of Executions"
suggested another idea.
"Halt!" He formed a firing platoon and blind-folded the prisoner.
Thinking of Vicente's story of the guns, he asserted, as if he meant
it, "With my own eyes, during the fighting, I saw your gun boxes
taken from the arsenal. Where are they now?"
La Pava gave no answer. She folded her arms and held her head
proudly.
"Ready!... Aim!..." Lawrence raised the muzzle of the sergeant's
gun; the men, following this lead, aimed high.
"_Squad_----"
It was too much even for La Pava. She dropped to her knees.
"Wait, _señor_! I will tell all, on one so small condition--that
you spare the life of Emilio Gonzales. If not--you can kill me. On
your word as an officer save him, and let me see him, and by the
Blessed Virgin I will tell you the truth."
"Where is this man?"
"He is in the Military Hospital."
"I will do all I can for Gonzales--I'll take you to him. Now, where
are the guns?"
"They are buried in the patio--in _front_ of my house."
Even then she smiled.
"Remember," he warned, removing the blindfold, "if you have lied,
you will be shot. Sergeant, look for them; report to me at the
hospital."
As the men marched off Vicente, the ubiquitous, who had trailed La
Pava, emerged from the shadow of a doorway. La Pava, whom nothing
seemed to startle, sneered at him. Lawrence gripped his automatic,
recognized Vicente, and thereupon wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"_Señor_," whined the beast, "her lover's name is not Gonzales, but
Diaz, the traitor." La Pava glared at him murderously. "It was
Diaz," Vicente added with unction, "who shot the officer in the
back."
"You gave me your word----" she began, turning to Lawrence.
"To save 'Emilio Gonzales,'" he reminded her.
"True, my captain, alas!" Her black lashes drooped over a message of
love. "But you will set me free?"
"When I see the guns."
Furious, she sprang at Vicente, who stepped back. Haughtily she
faced him and spoke shrilly in an Indian dialect. Despite this, her
manner reassured Lawrence. Apparently, she was in a mad rage. In
reality, she was telling Vicente to take the underground passage
from Ulloa Castle to the hospital and warn Diaz. "Do this," she was
saying, "and I'll see no more of Fernando. You will have me--you
alone--for life."
She ended with what seemed a torrent of invective. Vicente played
his part--with his heart afire, he seemed to Lawrence merely
scornful.
"_Hasta la vista, señor._" Vicente, triumphant, sauntered toward the
castle.
"Ugh!" said La Pava, with deep loathing. "He is but carrion. Because
I do not give myself to him he would destroy his rival." She
shrugged her shoulders. "Will you take me to the hospital?"
"We are going there now."
"I am very tired," she sighed, leaning against him. "I grow faint."
They walked slowly, Lawrence giving her the support of his arm.
Finally, nearing the hospital, they turned into a plaza where the
street lamp had been shot down.
In a flash La Pava swung under his arm, drew his pistol, wrenched
herself away, and covered him.
"Ah! You are not so quick this time. Don't move! You Americans say
you will shoot, and you do not shoot." She fired twice, rapidly,
over his head. "But I have still four shots, and I am a _Mexican_."
A mounted figure, leading a second horse, whirled up and reined in
with a jolt. Fernando Diaz showed his white teeth, smiling
cordially, as he took the automatic from his mistress and levelled
it at Lawrence.
"What say you, _querida_? I finished Vicente. Shall I do away with
this _gringo_?"
La Pava mounted as Diaz spoke.
"Let him live," she said, "for he is a brave man."
"_Adios, señor!_ The machine-guns are safe through the lines. Take
my advice, _teniente_, and never trust a woman----"
Diaz's spurs dug deep, and sparks flew from the cobbles.
"--unless," La Pava laughed back through the darkness, "unless,
_señor_, she loves you."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY PRESENT
By Carrie Seever
Lizzie was sitting in a corner counting her money. "Thirty-five,
Kitty, thirty-five cents." When Lizzie's mother was away, washing,
she made her kitten her confidant. "Talk about mamma'll be s'prised
when she gits this birthday present, My-i! Third one I'm givin'
her--when I was five I gave her peanut candy; only she didn't come
home till the peanuts were picked out. Second time I gave her a blue
hair ribbon; blue looks nice on my red hair. Now I'm seven--twice
seven an' I won't have these freckles an' long skirt'll cover my
skinny legs, an'," she continued, getting up and trying to stand
dignifiedly, "my name'll be Elizabeth. Then I'll give mamma a'
album! S'long, Kitty."
Out of the door she skipped, and down the alley toward the market.
She forgot about the market when she reached the corner of the
alley, for there stood a cart loaded with clocks, vases, jewellery,
everything to satisfy one's birthday wish--even an album.
Lizzie joined the crowd that had gathered to hear what the owner of
these articles had to say. She listened a moment and then danced for
joy--the man, who seemed to be all stomach and voice, was actually
inviting them to take a twenty-five dollar watch for five cents.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the stomach and voice, "any
article on this counter for five cents--every piece o' chewing gum
wins something. You want to try, mister? Now, folks, watch him read
the name o' one o' these handsome presents from the slip o' paper
'round that gum. Gold-handled umbreller? Here you are. Who's goner
win the other one? Nothin' faky. That's right, try your luck"--to a
man who was edging to the front. "Diamond stud? You're lucky--only
a few more diamond studs left. Next! Any one else? Don't stop 'cause
you won a' umbreller. That's it. Watcher got now? Gold bracelet?
Five rubies and four emeralds in it, ladies and gents."
Lizzie began to realize that she wasn't dreaming--three prizes gone
already!
"Lady, don't you want this linen tablecloth? Fifteen dollars retail.
Or this album that plays music when you're lookin' at your loved
ones?"
Lizzie gasped--there was only one album. "I want to win the album,"
she shouted.
"Come right up with your nickel. Here's a gal knows a good thing
even if she did swallow two teeth."
Had this remark been made about Lizzie's teeth at another time she
would have fired a red-headed retort, but now she thought of only
the album.
She exchanged her five pennies for the gum, and with trembling
fingers unrolled the tissue paper and let the stomach and voice read
the name from the slip of paper--"Lead pencil," was announced.
Poor Lizzie's heart sank, and the stomach and voice was telling the
crowd that there were a few pencils in the lot, and showed them a
box containing five pencils.
At this Lizzie cheered up--she decided that if no one else won
those pencils and she was unlucky five more times she would still
have five cents left with which to win the album.
She won five more pencils, had given a last look at the last five
pennies, unrolled the slip of paper and given it to her nearest
neighbour to read--"lead pencil," was read.
"Since they ain't no more pencils I'll take the album," announced
Lizzie triumphantly.
"Got more, sissy," said the stomach and voice, taking a few from his
pocket and placing them in the box, handing one to Lizzie.
The crowd jeered and left. Lizzie was too dazed to go, and, sitting
on a soapbox in the alley, stared at the album. She heard the shrill
whistle the stomach and voice gave, and a few minutes later saw the
winners appear, returning the articles they had won. She wondered
why they did this, and, as a new crowd was coming, drew closer to
the cart.
She listened again to the same harangue and saw the umbrella winner
take another chance. She gave a start when he thundered
"umbrella"--she saw through the performance, and her cheeks glowed
with indignation.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she screamed, "this is a fake
business--that man won a' umbreller an' brought it back, an' so did
the other man." By this time she was out of reach of the stomach and
voice, who threatened to knock two more teeth down her throat. But
Lizzie's voice was not out of reach, and the crowd could hear her
yelling, "Everybody else wins penny lead pencils." The crowd
laughed and left.
Lizzie waited for the next crowd, and, coming from her hiding-place,
gave them the same information.
After the crowd had gone the stomach and voice caught Lizzie, who,
while trying to free herself from his grasp, bumped her lip, and the
blood oozed from her tender gum.
"P'liceman, p'liceman, help!" she screamed.
Seeing the people in the neighbourhood coming to Lizzie's rescue,
the stomach and voice promised to return her money if she would keep
quiet.
"I'm goner tell 'em all you knocked my teeth out 'less you gi' me
the album," snapped Lizzie.
"A' right," meekly answered the stomach and voice, who had been
collared by this time, but was released when the men received
Lizzie's invitation to come up the alley and see her album.
"Good-bye, mister--thanks awfully for the gum an' pencils, too,"
and away she ran, the album in her arms.
When in the room, she locked the door for fear the album would be
taken away.
"Kitty, look! A' album, and me on'y seven. They'll just have to call
me Elizabeth, freckles an' legs an' all."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
RED BLOOD OR BLUE
By E. Montgomery
Dear Lou:
"This is the last letter I shall write to you, for to-morrow I begin
the final stage of my transition. At four o'clock I shall become a
lady. To be sure, you and I will know that I am only an imitation,
but with an eighteen-carat setting every one else will take me for
the real thing.
"Lou, I've been wondering how many generations it will take to make
a real lady. My daughter perhaps will be one, and if not, then her
daughter; but I will always be an imitation.
"My grandmother did day's work to give my mother a schooling, and my
mother helped in the shop so that I could have dancing lessons
before I was six. I can't disappoint them, and I can't shirk my duty
toward my children yet to be born. They stretch out their hands to
me, asking I know not what, so to-morrow I give them a gentleman
father. Yes, Lou, he is a little man, not much higher than my
shoulder, and he is fat and jaded and old; but he has a name which
can unlock the holy of holies in New York, and I may enter it with
him, for I shall be his wife.
"They tell me I should be proud of my conquest, and I am, for it is
not my gold alone which has ensnared him, but myself; and I am
beautiful, Lou. It is three years since you have seen me, and I grow
lovelier every day.
"I am tall, divinely tall; slender of hip and full of bosom, with
all the promise of ripening womanhood. And to-morrow my maidenhood
is to be sacrificed on the altar of holy (?) matrimony, and the
metamorphosis will be complete. I shall be a lady.
"Oh, Lou, why wasn't your father a gentleman? He might have been a
rake, a roué, a gambler--anything, so long as he was a gentleman.
But he is only my father's boyhood friend, and still a village
carpenter.
"You had to work your way through college, and my father rolled me
through on the almighty dollar.
"And yet I think for all my education there is something radically
wrong with me. I am that hybrid thing, 'a lady in the making, an
imitation lady.' And what troubles me most is the thought that
perhaps I am only an imitation woman also.
"My ancestors had red blood in their veins, and my descendants'
blood will be blue; but in my veins there is nothing but water.
"Listen, Lou; to-day I shut myself in my room and scrubbed the floor
of my private bath. Down on my knees I went with soap and brush and
scrubbed for all there was in me, and when I finished my back ached
horribly, and still the floor was far from clean; and I the
granddaughter of a woman who has scrubbed acres of floors, and could
do it yet, though she is almost eighty.
"Oh, Lou, Lou, I wish I had dared to run away with you that last
night three years ago. Do you remember--the moon, the gate that
creaked, the smell of the dew on the grass, the chirping of the
insects--a heavenly midsummer night, made for love--as we were
made for love?
"I had to stand on tiptoe when you kissed me. And your dear eyes
were filled with anguish when we parted. You told me I would find
you there when I needed you. And, oh! I need you now!
"How many generations of our children's children would it take to
make a lady, Lou?
"Everything is wrong with the world to-night. My head hurts and I
can't think.
"See! Here on my desk I have a time-table, a brave blue time-table,
which tells me that I am only four short hours away from you, and
that I still have ample time to pack and catch the midnight train.
"If I join you, you need never see this letter--and if I do not,
then you _must_ not see it. I will burn it.
"This is my hour, my future is in my own hands. It is all a question
of courage: my ancestors had it, my descendants will have it; but
have I?
"Your unhappy
"Ruth."
The wedding of a steel king's daughter into one of New York's oldest
families is worth a column on the front page of any paper. Pictures
of the happy couple stared out of every edition.
The weary housemaid spread one on the floor as she cleaned the
disordered room her young mistress had left behind.
She gathered a little pile of ashes from the hearth and dumped them
on the paper. They completely covered the smiling faces of the bride
and groom--not that it mattered, for the ashes were cold.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
THE IMPULSIVE MR. JIGGS
By Roger Brown
Marathon Jiggs approached the day-clerk.
"Is Mr. George Jones here?" he inquired.
"He is registered here, but he's out at present," replied the clerk.
"Would you like to leave any message?"
"Thank you, I believe I will," said Jiggs, reaching for the hotel
stationery. He hastily scribbled a note, left it, sans envelope, at
the desk, and took his departure.
About an hour later a large, overbearing woman of the
superdreadnought type steamed majestically to the desk, a small and
timid-looking individual in her wake. After taking the mail that had
accumulated in the box she stalked imposingly to the elevator,
accompanied by the timid person, who, by his conduct, appeared to be
her husband.
When the couple got to their room Mrs. George Jones sat down and
scanned the family mail. As she read, the colour flooded her
expansive face like a sunset, then receded, leaving her chalky white
with rage. Her unfortunate spouse cowered in a corner.
Rising to her feet in all the majesty of her five-feet-eleven, she
thrust a note into Jones's hand. "Read that!" she commanded
hoarsely.
With amazement and fear alternately expressed in his weak
countenance, Jones read the following:
"Dear George:
Why don't you let me know when you get to town? I expected you
yesterday. Call me up, the same old number, and we will have a time
to-night.
"Yours as ever,
"Mary."
"You roué!" stormed Mrs. Jones. "I shall institute divorce
proceedings immediately. To think _you_ have been leading a double
life! You may expect a visit from my lawyer!" The door slammed
behind her as Jones sank dazedly into a chair.
As she flounced out the door of the hotel Marathon Jiggs again came
to the desk. "Did Mr. Jones get my note?" he asked.
"No, but his wife did," replied the clerk.
"His wife?" came in gasp from Jiggs. "_His wife?_ Who--let me see
the register, please."
He hastily scanned the list of guests until he came to Jones's name.
"'Mr. George K. Jones and wife, Chicago, Illinois,'" he read
incredulously, "and I thought it was George H. Jones of Pittsburg.
What if his wife--I must see him immediately," and he hurried to
the elevator.
As Jones sat in his room, bewildered at the events of the past hour,
a knock startled him out of his reverie. "Come in!" he called
uneasily, expecting his wife's lawyer to appear. The sight of the
homely but benevolent face of Jiggs was a distinct relief.
"My name is Jiggs," stated the caller--"Marathon Jiggs, nicknamed
'Mary' at the university. I left a note for a friend of mine whom I
thought was staying here, named George H. Jones. I understand that
your wife got it by mistake. It is quite possible that she read it
and misunderstand the matter; therefore I have come to clear it up,
if such is the case, and exonerate you."
Jones drew up a chair. "Sit down," he said, "and we will talk this
over. My wife has just gone out to see a lawyer about a divorce. You
have already done me a favour; now what," taking out a checkbook,
"will you take to keep quiet about the facts?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------
TOMASO AND ME
By Graham Clark
I can't talk good American way. In the carpet factory where I worked
the Polacks, Sheenies, and Wops talked any old way, and I learnt to
say American like them. But maybe I talk good enough to tell about
Tomaso and me.
Tomaso comed from Italy. For that the peoples in this country calls
him a Wop. I comed from Albania. Never did my father lets a Wop come
to our house, for most Albanese hates the Wops. But first day I seen
Tomaso I stopped hating _all_ the Wops. He comed to work in the
factory, setting patterns like me. His eyes looked big and soft like
our little dog's. His voice was like the big strings on my father's
harp when he pulls his fingers over them gentle like. He was like
American fellas--tall with a nice head. His neck, where the hair
comed down black and shiny, was like a young girl's.
When I first seen Tomaso he was nineteen. But some ways I was an old
woman, for the hunger that pulls your waist in tight and the cold
that makes your blood black comed many times too many times to my
bunch, for in our house was many kids, and my father couldn't makes
enough money to buy plenty of food. So I went to work in the factory
before the law lets me. The superintendent fixed it so I got the job
all right. I said I was older than I was.
Always I thought about the bunch at home, till I seen Tomaso. Then I
thought in my mind of him--and me. One day, soon after Tomaso comed
to the factory, my mother said to me: "Maria, you're big enough to
marry. In the old country you would have a husband. Your father will
go to Brooklyn and tell your aunts to gets you a husband. In
Brooklyn there's plenty of Albanese. You will marry one of your own
peoples."
I said no word back. In my mind I was thinking I would marry only
Tomaso. On Sunday my father went to Brooklyn to speak with my aunt
for a husband for me. We lived in New Jersey, in an old shack like a
pig's. Dirt and bad smell was everywhere. Always I wanted to live
American way; but how could we gets clean with nanny-goats and
chickens coming in the house like peoples?
Two weeks, and my aunt comed from Brooklyn with a guy. He looked
like a rat. His hair was thin like lace, and you could see the
yellow skin in spots, greasy like. He was just as high as my little
brother Stephano, fourteen. And he was twenty-five!
"Here's Dimiter," my aunt said. "He's a nice fella. He drives a team
for Brooklyn and gets good money. His father has a house in the old
country. Each year he'll send Dimiter wine and oil."
My father gived Dimiter his hand to kiss. My mother said he was
better than us, Albanese way. I said no word. At dinner my father
said: "Maria, you are engage to Dimiter. He will be my son. I'll
give him one hundred dollars and kill the old nanny-goat for the
wedding. All the Albanese and some of the Wops and Polacks will come
and make presents."
In my mind I was asking, "Where will you gets the hundred dollars?"
I looked at Dimiter. He showed all crooked teeth when he laughed. In
my mind I was thinking I would likes to spit in his face. To my
mother I said: "I am too young to marry. Wait a year."
"A year!" My mother hollered and hit the table. "A fella don't wants
a girl if she's old. You'll marry Dimiter now."
Something inside me got hard like a stone. I hated my mother. The
whole bunch. Why should I marry the rat? Why shouldn't I pick my own
fella, American way?
"When will I come to marry?" Dimiter asked my father.
My father said: "Sunday we'll speak to the priest. Next Sunday will
be the wedding."
Up I jumps. Two weeks and me married to the rat? What about Tomaso?
Two days ago he had walked with me from the factory. At the bridge
we stopped. "You're my little sweetheart," Tomaso said, soft like.
His eyes was shiny like dew. I got red as a pepper and runned away.
But in my mind I was thinking I loved Tomaso. Sure, I would not tell
my father, for the Albanese hates the Wops.
So I remembered Tomaso's eyes and voice. And I said: "I won't marry
this guy." My father's shoulders went up high. My mother got mad
like diavolo. The rat was yellow like sick. My aunt said: "Maria's
just a young girl. Give her time for thinking over."
"No thinking over," my father hollered. "I give Dimiter my daughter.
Two weeks will be the wedding."
My mother laughed with her tongue out, Albanese way. More than ever
she looked like our old nanny-goat. I stood higher than her and said
to her face: "If I am a little girl I will stay home with the other
kids and my father to feed me. If I am a woman and works for the
bunch I will find my own fella, American way."
My father made to hit me, but I runned upstairs and shut the door
hard. My aunt and the rat went away. All day I put nothing in my
mouth. I said no word.
Next day I set the patterns wrong. The boss sweared. In the evening
Tomaso walked with me. "Why are you to cry?" he asked. His voice was
like all his peoples was dead. I told him about the rat. He put his
head high and his eyes looked like two pieces of fire in the dark.
His lips got tight over his teeth and I seen him make hard fists.
Then he comed close. His arm was by my arm. In my mind I said I
would like to put my head on his shoulder and my lips to his lips.
But Albanese girls don't do that way till they're married.
"I hates Albanese! I hates Italians! I hates the old country!" said
Tomaso. His voice was like a knife. "They makes their girls to marry
any old guy. I likes American way--a fella and a girl to love and
then marry, and other peoples stay out of it."
"I will do American way," I said. Tomaso's hair rubbed my cheek; I
got warm and happy. Only Tomaso and me. Just us in the world.
"And _I_ will do American way," Tomaso said in my hair. It was dark,
but I seen his face, warm like the sunshine. Before I knowed,
Tomaso's lips held mine tight. Sure, it was wicked. Don't the priest
tell you so? But how could I help it? Tomaso was so strong--and we
loved together.
"We'll get married American way," Tomaso said, soft like. His face
was like fur on my face. "I have two hundred dollars from my last
job. My father is not a poor man, and I am his only child. Shall it
be that way, my sweetheart?"
Sure, there was a big scrap at our shack next day when I runned off
with a Wop. But Tomaso and me should worry! We got married American
way. I stopped the factory and made my house nice. One month
married, and comed my father and mother to see me.
"Ta, like Americanos!" my mother said. But she didn't laugh with her
tongue out. She wanted to be good. I was her first child. My father
gived his hand for me to kiss. "Bless my daughter," he said. Then he
gived his hand for Tomaso to kiss, and made tears to run out of his
eyes. Then he borrowed ten dollars from Tomaso and everything got
all right.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
THICKER THAN WATER
By Ralph Henry Barbour and George Randolph Osborne
Doctor Burroughs, summoned from the operating room, greeted his
friend from the doorway: "Sorry, Harry, but you'll have to go on
without me. I've got a case on the table that I can't leave. Make my
excuses, will you?"
"There's still an hour," replied the visitor. "I'm early and can
wait."