NANCE BURRILL'S WARNING.
The sudden and surprising exit of Burrill caused, for a moment, a stay
of proceedings, and left the group, so rapidly gathered in Nance
Burrill's kitchen, standing _en tableaux_, for a full minute.
Dr. Heath was the first to recover from his surprise, and as he took in
the absurdity of the scene, he uttered a low laugh, and turned once more
toward the woman, Nance, who seemed to have lost herself in a prolonged
stare.
"Your persecutor does not like my looks, apparently," he said, at the
same time taking from his pocket a small medicine case. "Or was it some
of these good friends that put him to flight?" And he glanced at the
group gathered near the door.
A woman with a child in her arms, and her husband with two more in
charge, at her heels; a family group to the rescue; two or three old
women, of course; and a man with a slouching gait, a shock of unruly red
hair, and a face very much freckled across the cheek bones, and very red
about the nose; the eyes, too, had an uncanny squint, as if nature had
given up her task too soon and left him to survey the world through the
narrow slits. This man had always an air of being profoundly interested
in the smallest affairs of life, perhaps because the slits through which
he gazed magnified the objects gazed upon, and he peered about him now
with profoundest solicitude. This was Watt Brooks, a mechanic, and
hanger-on about the mills, where he did an occasional bit of odd work,
and employed the balance of his time in gossiping among the women, or
lounging at the drinking saloons, talking a great deal about the wrongs
of the working classes, and winning to himself some friends from a
certain turbulent class who listened admiringly to his loud, communistic
oratory.
Brooks had not been long in W----, but he had made rapid headway among
that class who, having little or nothing to love or to fear, are not
slow to relieve the monotony of very bare existence by appropriating to
themselves the friendship of every hail fellow whom chance throws in
their way.
Accordingly Brooks had become a sort of oracle among the dwellers in
"Mill avenue," as the street was facetiously called, and he was ready
for any dish of gossip, not infrequently making himself conspicuous as a
teller of news; he was faithful in gathering up and retailing small
items among such ladies of the "avenue" as, being exempted from mill
work because of family cares, had time and inclination, and this latter
was seldom lacking, to chatter with him about the latest mishap, or the
one that was bound to occur soon.
Prominent among the gossips of Mill avenue was that much abused matron
Mrs. John Burrill number one, and she had not been slow to discover the
advantages of possessing such an acquaintance as Mr. Brooks; accordingly
they gravitated toward each other by mutual attraction, and it was quite
a common thing for Brooks to drop in and pass an evening hour in the
society of Mrs. Burrill, sometimes even taking a cup of tea at the table
of the lone woman on a Sunday afternoon.
As Doctor Heath laid his case upon the small pine table, and prepared to
deal out a soothing lotion for the bruised Mrs. Burrill, Brooks advanced
courageously, supported on either hand by an anxious old lady, and the
chorus commenced.
"It warn't _us_ as scared him out, sir," said Brooks, positively. "He's
seen all o' us, first and last. Maybe as he's had cause for remembering
_you_, sir?" and Brooks peered anxiously at the doctor, as if hoping for
a prompt confirmation of this shrewd guess.
"Sure, an' it was a guilty conscience, if ever I seen one, as made the
brute beast run like that, from the sight of the doctor," chimed in
first old lady, who quarreled with her "old man" on principle, and
seldom came out second best. "Faith, an' the murtherin' wretch has half
killed ye, Burrill, dear."
"I was that scart with the screamin'," said the mother of three, "that I
nearly let the baby fall a-runnin' here."
And then they all gathered around Mrs. Burrill, and talked vigorously,
and all together, while Brooks, hovering near the doctor, pursued his
investigation.
"A bad lot, that Burrill, sir. I've seen him, frequent; and so he's had
occasion to know you, sir?"
"No, my good fellow; I never had the honor of meeting Mr. John Burrill
before," replied Doctor Heath, smiling at the man's pertinacity.
"Now, I want to know," exclaimed Brooks, in accents of real distress,
"then what _could_ have set him off like that?"
"I suppose we were getting too many for him," replied the doctor,
easily.
"Not a bit of it, sir. Burrill ain't no coward, especially when he's in
liquor; and he and me's on good enough terms, too; though, of course,"
said Brooks, recollecting himself, and glancing anxiously at the
reclining figure of the injured one, "of course, I would never stand by
and see a lady struck down, sir."
"Manifestly not," replied the doctor, drily. "Then, as he would not fear
you, and could not fear me, he must have been in the first stages of
'snake seeing.'"
"It's my opinion, he took you for somebody else, as he has reasons to be
afraid of," said one of the women, with an emphatic nod.
But here the voice of the heroine of the occasion rose high above the
rest.
"John Burrill wasn't so drunk as to run away from a man he never saw, or
to see crooked," she said, fiercely. "I saw the look on his face,
blinded tho' I was, and he's afraid of _you_, Doctor Heath. I don't know
why. There's some secrets in John Burrill's life that I don't know, and
there's more that I wish I didn't know; but here, or somewhere else, he
has known you, sir. Perhaps only by sight; but he's afraid of you,
that's certain."
There was no reply from Doctor Heath; he was busy over his medicine
case. He prepared a lotion, to be applied to the bruises, and a
sedative, to be applied to the nerves of the patient, who was beginning
to recover herself in a measure, and launched out into a torrent of
invective against the author of her trouble; after which she rushed into
a wild recital of her wrongs, beginning at the time when she left a good
place in England, to follow the fortunes of John Burrill, and running
with glib tongue over the entire gamut of her trials since. And all of
this, although it was far from new to the dwellers of Mill Avenue, was
listened to, by them, with absorbed interest, and the proper
accompaniment of ejaculations, at the proper places. During this
discourse, to which Brooks listened with evidences of liveliest
interest, Doctor Heath remained seemingly inattentive, waiting for a
lull in the storm; when it came at last, he ascertained as briefly as
possible, who among the women would remain, and pass the night with Mrs.
Burrill; gave her direction, as to the use she was to make of the
medicines he had prepared, and buttoned his coat about him, preparatory
to departure.
As his hand was upon the latch, the voice of his patient arrested him.
"Doctor," she said, earnestly. "It wouldn't be gratitude in me to let
you go away without a word of warning. I don't want to pry into your
affairs, but let me tell you this: You are not done with John Burrill;
you took him by surprise to-night; but, I'll wager he is over his scare
by now, and he is plotting how he can get another sight at you,
unbeknown to yourself; and, if he has reason to be afraid of you, then
look out for him; _you_ have reasons for being afraid too."
Doctor Heath hesitated a moment, and a shade of annoyance crossed his
face, then he said in his usual careless tone:
"Give yourself no uneasiness about this matter, madam; I never saw the
scoundrel before, and he was simply afraid of my fist. However, if he
ever should cross my path, be assured I shall know how to dispose of
him;" and Clifford Heath bowed and went out into the night, little
recking that he had left his life in the hands of five old women.
In a short time, Brooks arose and shuffled out, and then the tongues
were once more loosened, the husband attendant had been ordered home
with his two charges, and the chief subject of their converse was Doctor
Heath, and the strange influence he had exerted upon John Burrill; and a
fruitful theme they found it.
Meantime, John Burrill, who had fled straight on down the gloomy length
of Mill avenue, found himself, and his senses, together, close under the
shadow of one of the huge factories, and at the river's very edge.
Here, breathless and bespattered, he sat down upon a flat stone to
recover himself, and review the situation.
"Curse the man," he muttered. "I would not have made such a fool of
myself for a gold mine; but I couldn't have helped it for two," he
added, after a moment's reflection, "if it's the man I supposed it to
be! But it can't be! It is not."
He was by this time, comparatively sober, and he arose to his feet,
finally, feeling his courage returning, but still deep in thought.
"Hang the luck," he muttered, kicking viciously at a loose stone. "If
that's the man I fear, then Jasper Lamotte would be glad to know him.
Why!" starting suddenly erect, "I can find out, and I will. I must, for
my own safety," and John Burrill faced about and retraced his steps.
Cautiously this time, he went over the ground, heeding where he set his
foot, lest some misstep should betray his presence in Mill avenue still;
more and more cautiously as he neared the house from which he had so
lately fled.
Closer and closer he crept, until at last he was under the window of the
kitchen, and here he crouched, listening. He heard the mingled confusion
of voices, then the firm tones of Clifford Heath, clear above the rest.
Hearing this, he moved quickly away, for he was in instant danger of
detection, should the door open suddenly, as it might at any moment.
He crossed the street and standing under the shadow of a small tenement,
waited.
It was not long before the door opened, and the light from within showed
him the tall form of Clifford Heath, clearly outlined against the
darkness.
Out strode Heath, walking so rapidly, that the not yet quite sober, John
Burrill, found himself compelled to exercise care, and expend some
breath, in keeping him within sight.
On and on, went the pursued and the pursuer, and presently, out of the
darkness, came a third form, gliding shadow-like; as if every step of
the way were too familiar to render caution necessary; this third form,
drew nearer and nearer to Burrill, who, all unconscious of its
proximity, labored on after Doctor Heath.
Straight to his own cottage went the doubly shadowed young physician; he
opened the door with a latch key, and the followers lost him in the
darkness of the unlighted vestibule. Presently, however, a light was
seen to glimmer through the partially closed blinds, and then John
Burrill crept cautiously nearer, and feeling his way carefully, lest
some obstacle at his feet should cause him to stumble; he gained the
window, pressed his face close to the shutters and peered through.
Clifford Heath was pacing up and down his cosy sitting room, seemingly
lost in perplexed thought, and, as again and again his face was turned
to the light, the watcher studied it closely; finally he seemed
satisfied with his scrutiny, for he turned away and groped back to the
street once more.
"It's the other one," he muttered, drawing a long breath of relief. "I
might have known it from the first; so he is the young Doctor they tell
of! Well, it's a rum game that brings him here, and it's certain he
don't want to be known. He can't know me, and--Jove, I'd like to pay him
for the hits he gave me," and he fell to pondering as he turned his
steps, not the way he had come, nor yet toward Mapleton, but in the
direction of "Old Forty Rods." But long before he reached his
destination, the creeping, stealthy shadow, had ceased to follow, and
had vanished down a side street.
[Illustration: "It's the other one," he muttered.]
A few lights were glimmering, here and there, as he turned down the, not
very elegant, street on which was located the haven of "Forty Rods," and
when he was within a block of the place, a man, coming suddenly around
the corner, ran square against him.
Burrill uttered an oath, as he with difficulty regained his balance, but
the new-comer called out in a voice, a little unsteady from some cause:
"Helloa! B--Burrill, that yer, ole feller? Didn't mean ter knock against
yer, give-ye my word I didn'. Give us a tiss, ole man, an' come-long to
Forty's!"
"Brooks," said Burrill, taking him sociably by the arm, and facing
toward the saloon in question. "Brooks, you're drunk; you're beastly
drunk; drunk as a sailor by all that's sober." And together they entered
"Old Forty Rods."