When Joe left Ariel at Judge Pike's gate she lingered there, her elbows
upon the uppermost cross-bar, like a village girl at twilight, watching
his thin figure vanish into the heavy shadow of the maples, then emerge
momentarily, ghost-gray and rapid, at the lighted crossing down the
street, to disappear again under the trees beyond, followed a second
later by a brownish streak as the mongrel heeled after him. When they
had passed the second corner she could no longer be certain of them,
although the street was straight, with flat, draughtsmanlike Western
directness: both figures and Joe's quick footsteps merging with the
night. Still she did not turn to go; did not alter her position, nor
cease to gaze down the dim street. Few lights shone; almost all the
windows of the houses were darkened, and, save for the summer murmurs,
the faint creak of upper branches, and the infinitesimal voices of
insects in the grass, there was silence: the pleasant and somnolent
hush, swathed in which that part of Canaan crosses to the far side of
the eleventh hour.
But Ariel, not soothed by this balm, sought beyond it, to see that
unquiet Canaan whither her old friend bent his steps and found his
labor and his dwelling: that other Canaan where peace did not fall
comfortably with the coming of night; a place as alien in habit, in
thought, and almost in speech as if it had been upon another continent.
And yet--so strange is the duality of towns--it lay but a few blocks
distant.
Here, about Ariel, as she stood at the gate of the Pike Mansion, the
houses of the good (secure of salvation and daily bread) were closed
and quiet, as safely shut and sound asleep as the churches; but deeper
in the town there was light and life and merry, evil
industry,--screened, but strong to last until morning; there were
haunts of haggard merriment in plenty: surreptitious chambers where
roulette-wheels swam beneath dizzied eyes; ill-favored bars, reached by
devious ways, where quavering voices offered song and were harshly
checked; and through the burdened air of this Canaan wandered heavy
smells of musk like that upon Happy Fear's wife, who must now be so
pale beneath her rouge. And above all this, and for all this, and
because of all this, was that one resort to which Joe now made his way;
that haven whose lights burn all night long, whose doors are never
closed, but are open from dawn until dawn--the jail.
There, in that desolate refuge, lay Happy Fear, surrendered sturdily by
himself at Joe's word. The picture of the little man was clear and
fresh in Ariel's eyes, and though she had seen him when he was newly
come from a thing so terrible that she could not realize it as a fact,
she felt only an overwhelming pity for him. She was not even
horror-stricken, though she had shuddered. The pathos of the shabby
little figure crossing the street toward the lighted doors had touched
her. Something about him had appealed to her, for he had not seemed
wicked; his face was not cruel, though it was desperate. Perhaps it
was partly his very desperation which had moved her. She had
understood Joe, when he told her, that this man was his friend; and
comprehended his great fear when he said: "I've got to clear him! I
promised him."
Over and over Joe had reiterated: "I've got to save him! I've got
to!" She had answered gently, "Yes, Joe," hurrying to keep up with
him. "He's a good man," he said. "I've known few better, given his
chances. And none of this would have happened except for his old-time
friendship for me. It was his loyalty--oh, the rarest and absurdest
loyalty!--that made the first trouble between him and the man he shot.
I've got to clear him!"
"Will it be hard?"
"They may make it so. I can only see part of it surely. When his wife
left the office, she met Cory on the street. You saw what a pitiful
kind of fool she was, irresponsible and helpless and feather-brained.
There are thousands of women like that everywhere--some of them are
'Court Beauties,' I dare say--and they always mix things up; but they
are most dangerous when they're like Claudine, because then they live
among men of action like Cory and Fear. Cory was artful: he spent the
day about town telling people that he had always liked Happy; that his
ill feeling of yesterday was all gone; he wanted to find him and shake
his hand, bury past troubles and be friends. I think he told Claudine
the same thing when they met, and convinced the tiny brainlet of his
sincerity. Cory was a man who 'had a way with him,' and I can see
Claudine flattered at the idea of being peace-maker between 'two such
nice gen'lemen as Mr. Cory and Mr. Fear.' Her commonest
asseveration--quite genuine, too--is that she doesn't like to have the
gen'lemen making trouble about her! So the poor imbecile led him to
where her husband was waiting. All that Happy knew of this was in her
cry afterwards. He was sitting alone, when Cory threw open the door
and said, 'I've got you this time, Happy!' His pistol was raised but
never fired. He waited too long, meaning to establish his case of
'self-defence,' and Fear is the quickest man I know. Cory fell just
inside the door. Claudine stumbled upon him as she came running after
him, crying out to her husband that she 'never meant no trouble,' that
Cory had sworn to her that he only wanted to shake hands and 'make up.'
Other people heard the shot and broke into the room, but they did not
try to stop Fear; he warned them off and walked out without hindrance,
and came to me. I've got to clear him."
Ariel knew what he meant: she realized the actual thing as it was, and,
though possessed by a strange feeling that it must all be medieval and
not possibly of to-day, understood that he would have to fight to keep
his friend from being killed; that the unhappy creature who had run
into the office out of the dark stood in high danger of having his neck
broken, unless Joe could help him. He made it clear to her that the
State would kill Happy if it could; that it would be a point of pride
with certain deliberate men holding office to take the life of the
little man; that if they did secure his death it would be set down to
their efficiency, and was even competent as campaign material. "I wish
to point out," Joe had heard a candidate for re-election vehemently
orate, "that in addition to the other successful convictions I have
named, I and my assistants have achieved the sending of three men to
the gallows during my term of office!"
"I can't tell yet," said Joe, at parting. "It may be hard. I'm so
sorry you saw all this. I--"
"Oh NO!" she cried. "I want to UNDERSTAND!"
She was still there, at the gate, her elbows resting upon the
cross-bar, when, a long time after Joe had gone, there came from the
alley behind the big back yard the minor chordings of a quartette of
those dark strollers who never seem to go to bed, who play by night and
playfully pretend to work by day:
"You know my soul is a-full o' them-a-trub-bils,
Ev-ry mawn!
I cain' a-walk withouten I stum-bils!
Then le'ss go on--
Keep walkin' on!
These times is sow'owful, an' I am pow'owful
Sick an' fo'lawn!"
She heard a step upon the path behind her, and, turning, saw a
white-wrapped figure coming toward her.
"Mamie?" she called.
"Hush!" Mamie lifted a warning hand. "The windows are open," she
whispered. "They might hear you!"
"Why haven't you gone to bed?"
"Oh, don't you see?" Mamie answered, in deep distress,--"I've been
sitting up for you. We all thought you were writing letters in your
room, but after papa and mamma had gone to bed I went in to tell you
good night, and you weren't there, nor anywhere else; so I knew you
must have gone out. I've been sitting by the front window, waiting to
let you in, but I went to sleep until a little while ago, when the
telephone-bell rang and he got up and answered it. He kept talking a
long time; it was something about the Tocsin, and I'm afraid there's
been a murder down-town. When he went back to bed I fell asleep again,
and then those darkies woke me up. How on earth did you expect to get
in? Don't you know he always locks up the house?"
"I could have rung," said Ariel.
"Oh--oh!" gasped Miss Pike; and, after she had recovered somewhat,
asked: "Do you mind telling me where you've been? I won't tell
him--nor mamma, either. I think, after all, I was wrong yesterday to
follow Eugene's advice. He meant for the best, but I--"
"Don't think that. You weren't wrong." Ariel put her arm round the
other's waist. "I went to talk over some things with Mr. Louden."
"I think," whispered Mamie, trembling, "that you are the bravest girl I
ever knew--and--and--I could almost believe there's some good in him,
since you like him so. I know there is. And I--I think he's had a
hard time. I want you to know I won't even tell Eugene!"
"You can tell everybody in the world," said Ariel, and kissed her.