Loe raamatut: «The Merry Anne», lehekülg 5

“Let him try. He can’t do much harm.”

“Well – ”

“Take my advice, Pink, and quit thinking about him. I don’t like this business any more than you do, but the worse it is the less I want to know about it. When we get back we ‘ll fire him, and that will end it.”

“Don’t you think we’d better tie him up, or somethin’?”

“That wouldn’t do any good. You’d better tumble below and get some sleep. There’s nothing like it when you’re a little worked up.”

Dick had indeed something else to think of than his rascal of a mate. Only four days of sailing, if the wind should hold, lay between the Merry Anne and the Annie for whom she had been named. These days would slip away before he knew it, and then? The uncertainty was hard, but still he dreaded the meeting – that might be harder still.

Off Waukegan on the last day the wind swung around to the south, nearly dead ahead; and as the schooner lost headway and was forced into beating to windward, the dread suddenly gave place to impatience. So variable were his thoughts indeed, as the miles slipped astern and the long green bluff that ends in Grosse Pointe grew nearer and plainer, that his courage oozed away.

Far down the Lake, between the Lake View crib and the horizon, was a speck of a sail. Dick’s heart sank – he knew as if he could make out the painted name that it was the Captain. He watched it hungrily as the Merry Anne, headed in close to the waterworks pier, swept easily around, and started on the last outward tack. Then he called to Pink, and had the sheets hauled close; and he laughed softly and nervously as the schooner responded with a list to port and a merry little fling of spray. He could at least come in with a rush, with all his colors flying.

He was waiting for the tiny sail to swing around and point northward. He was disappointed. He reached for the glass and took a long look – then lowered it, and smiled bitterly. There were two figures seated in the stern of the Captain.

The Schmidt was lying on the south side of the pier; and the wind enabled Dick to come easily up on the opposite side and make fast. It was late in the afternoon, and Dick released the two Swedes, both of whom had families on shore. Then he crossed the pier, between the high piles of lumber, and found Henry sitting quietly, as usual, in his cabin.

To the older man’s greeting Dick responded moodily. “I want to talk to you, Henry. What’s my reputation, anyhow, among the boys? Do they call me mean, or a driver, or hard to get along with?”

Henry looked at him curiously, and shook his head. “I never heard anything of that sort. Your row with Roche was the only thing, and I guess he was a poor stick.”

“Well, I’m through with McGlory, too.”

“Through with him?” Henry was startled. “You haven’t discharged him?”

“No, but I’m going to to-night. I’ve brought him back here, and he wants to stay, but I won’t have him aboard another minute.”

“What’s the trouble?”

Dick gave him the whole story, including the conversation between McGlory and Harper up in the straits.

“I don’t like the sound of it very well,” said Henry, when he had finished. “Couldn’t you get on with him a little longer?”

“After that?”

“I know – there is some deviltry behind it. But still he is a good man. You ‘ll have hard work finding a better. And honest, I would kind of hate to face Cap’n Stenzenberger myself with this story.”

“Why? I can’t have a man around that’s going to steal my schooner in my sleep.”

“Oh, well, he could never do that again. I can’t see what he was thinking of. Do you see into it at all?”

Dick had been staring at the cabin table. At this question he raised his eyes, for an instant, with an odd expression. “I know all I want to. The whole thing is so outrageous that I am not going to try to follow it up.”

“He talked to your man about a rake-off, didn’t he?”

Dick nodded.

“What do you suppose he was going to rake?”

Dick, whose eyes were lowered, and who was therefore unconscious of the pallor of his cousin’s face, said nothing.

“I know we don’t look at some things quite the same, Dick,” Henry went on. “But if anybody on my schooner is going to do any raking, he has got to see me first. A dollar’s a dollar, my boy. When you are my age, you will think so too.”

“I don’t mix in this business.”

“No more would I. But it seems to me, if McGlory’s got some way of his own of making a little pile, and if you could have your share for just letting him stay aboard, you’d be sort of a fool not to do it.”

“Excuse me!”

Henry smiled indulgently. “There’s nothing very bad in what you have told me. Of course, if there are things you haven’’t told me, it might make a difference.”

“You have the whole story.”

“Do you know, Dick, you make me think of the folks up at the college here. You know that brewer that died repentant and left five hundred thousand dollars to the Biblical School? Well, a lot of the old preachers got stirred up over it and made them refuse the money – made ‘em refuse five hundred thousand cash! Good Lord! if these particular folks would look into the private history of all the dollars in the country, they’d never touch one of them, – not one. There isn’t a dollar of the lot that hasn’t got a bad spot somewhere, like the rest of us. The main thing is, are your own hands clean when you take it? If they are, the dollar can’t hurt you.”

“But look here, Henry, my mind’s made up about this. I won’t have that fellow on my schooner.”

“Going to turn him off to-night?”

“Yes, right now.”

“All right. You can send him over here. I ‘ll give him a bunk till morning. But what are you going to do for a mate?”

“Pink is all right. I could go farther and do worse.”

“All right. Tell Joe to bring his things along.”

CHAPTER VI – THE RED SEAL LABEL

IT was on Friday morning that the Merry Anne had sailed away from Lakeville for her first trip to Spencer’s. On this same Friday another set of persons were passing through a series of events which concern this story.

Dick had sailed out at daybreak. A few hours later, when the morning was still young, Roche, who had come down by train from Manistee, was hanging about near “The Teamster’s Friend.” now standing on the corner by the lumber office looking stealthily up and down the street, now passing by on the opposite sidewalk, closely watching the screened windows. Finally he crossed over and entered the saloon to ask for McGlory. Murphy, the senior partner in the business, who lived a few blocks away, came in for his day’s work and found Roche there. “McGlory,” said Murphy, “won’t be back for a week or so.” At this, with an angry exclamation, Roche went out. The quantity of bad whiskey he had taken in since his discharge from the Merry Anne at the Manistee pier, had not worked to change his humor or to calm his faculties. He was plunging around the lumber office into a side street when Beveridge, who had been watching his every movement, accosted him.

“Beg pardon, have you got a match?”

“Hey? What’s that?”

“Have you got a match?”

“A match? Why, sure.”

“Much obliged. I’ve got the cigars. Better make a fair trade. You ‘ll find ‘em a good smoke.”

“Well, don’t care ‘f I do. Here, you can’t light in this wind.”

“Oh, yes, I’m Irish. Say, haven’t I seen you somewhere?”

“Couldn’t say.”

“Why, sure I have. Isn’t your name Roche?”

“That’s what it is.”

“And you’re mate of the Merry Anne, sailing out of Lakeville?”

“You’re wrong there.”

“No, I’m sure of it. I’ve seen you too many times.”

“Why, do you b’long out there?”

“Yes, I live at Lakeville.”

“Well, look here; I ‘ll tell you how it is. I was on the Merry Anne, but I ain’t any more.”

“Oh, you quit Smiley?”

“You’re right, I quit him. No more Smiley for me.”

“What’s the trouble?”

“What ain’t the trouble, you’d better say. But I ain’t tellin’. Smiley’s done me dirt, an’ I know ‘im for just what he is, but I ain’t tellin’.”

They were passing another saloon, and Roche accepted an invitation to step in.

“I’ve seen Smiley a good deal around the piers,” said the young fellow, when they were seated. “Likes to swagger some, doesn’t he?”

“Oh, he’s no good.”

“Mean to work for? Those conceited fellows generally are.”

“He’s mean, yes. But that ain’t the worst thing about him.” Roche paused guardedly, and glanced around the empty room.

“I don’t know much about him myself, just seen him now and then. But of course I’ve heard things.

“I ‘ll tell you right here, you arn’t the only one that ‘ll be hearin’ things before much longer.” Another cautious glance around. “You don’t happen to know anythin’ about law, do you?”

“I’ve studied it some.”

“Well, look here. I know some things about Dick Smiley, and if it was worth my while, I’d tell ‘em. But you see, I am an honest man, an’ I’ve got my livin’ to make, an’ he’s just cute enough to lie about me an’ try to drag me down with ‘im. Folks might say I didn’t quit him the first minute I found ‘im out. I can’t run no risks, you see.”

“I can tell you this much – but, of course, it’s none of my business.”

“Go on.”

“Well, it depends on the case. But if he has done anything serious, and if the authorities find it hard to get evidence against him, you probably wouldn’t have any trouble, even if you were right in with him. A man can turn state’s evidence, you know.”

“But I wasn’t in with ‘im. When I’d found him out, I quit him – the first good chance I got.”

“Yes, of course. But it all depends. I couldn’t tell you anything more, because I don’t know the case. It all depends on how bad they want him.”

“They want him bad enough.” He dropped his voice, and leaned across the table. “Did you ever hear o’ Whiskey Jim?”

“You don’t mean to say – ”

Roche nodded.

“Why, man, you’re rich.”

“How do you make that out?”

“Haven’t you seen the papers?”

Roche shook his head.

“There’s a reward of five thousand up for Whiskey Jim.”

“Who ‘ll give it?”

“The Consolidated Dealers. You see, there has been a counterfeit label, of the Red Seal brand, on the market; and I understand the liquor men have been running it down and putting the Treasury Agents on the track to protect their business.”

“Fi’ thousand, eh? An’ do you think we could make it?”

“If you have the evidence to convict this Whiskey Jim, we can. But now, before we go into this, what sort of an arrangement will you make with me if I steer it through for you?”

“What would you want?”

“Well – I should go at it something like this. I should go to the United States Treasury officials and tell them I could get them the evidence they want if they would agree not to prosecute us. It would take some managing, but it can be done. But I can’t do it for nothing.”

“What do you want?”

“Say one thousand. That’s twenty per cent.”

“Too much.”

“Not for the work to be done. Remember, I agree to get you off without any more trouble than just giving in your evidence.”

“But I don’t need to get off. I ain’t done nothin’.”

“No, I understand. Of course not.”

“Say five hundred, and it’s a go.”

“No, sir. I can’t do it for that. I might take seven hundred and fifty, but – ”

“It’s too much, a – sight too much. You’d ought to do it for less.”

“Couldn’t think of it.”

“Well – ”

“Is it a go?”

“I suppose so.”

“All right. That’s understood. If I can get the five thousand for you, you will hand me seven hundred and fifty. Now, I suppose the sooner we get at this, the better for both of us. When can I see you and talk it over?”

“You might come around this afternoon.”

“Say two o’clock?”

“That’s all right.”

“Where do you live?”

“I’m stoppin’ over on North Clark. Forty-two-seventy-two an’ a half, third floor. You ‘ll be around, then, will you, Mr. – Mr. – ”

“Bedloe’s my name. Yes, I ‘ll be there at two sharp.”

But at two o’clock, when Beveridge called at the boarding-house on North Clark Street he found that Roche was gone. “He only stopped here a day,” said the landlady. “This noon he paid me and said he was called out of town by a telegram.”

“Did he say when he would be back?”

“He didn’t know.”

“Did he leave his things?”

“No. What little he had he took along.” Beveridge turned thoughtfully away and walked around the corner, where Wilson was awaiting him. He had no means of knowing that Roche was already well on the way to Spencer, where Smiley saw him a few days later.

“Not there, Bill?” asked Wilson.

“No, – skipped.”

“Lost his nerve, eh?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, what now?”

“Nothing, until I see Madge to-night.”

“Do you really expect anything there?”

“I don’t know. It’s a chance, that’s all.”

“Do you think she ‘ll keep her promise?”

“Couldn’t say. I ‘ll give her a chance, anyhow.”

She did keep it. Very shortly after five, while Beveridge was riding slowly up and down near the meeting-place, he saw her coming, and his eyes lighted up with surprise. He could not know how much thought had been given to the effect which pleased him so; he only observed that she looked like a young girl in her short wheeling skirt and leggings, and with her natty little cap and well-arranged hair.

They found St. Paul’s Park gay with lights and music when they arrived. Dancing had been going on all the afternoon on the open-air platform. The ring-the-cane booth, the every-time-you-knock-the-baby-down-you-get-a-five-cent-cigar booth, were surrounded by uproarious country folk, with only here and there a city face among them. A little way down the slope, through the grove, ran the sluggish North Branch, a really inviting spot in the twilight; and to this spot it was that Beveridge led the way after checking the wheels.

“The boats don’t amount to much,” he said to Madge, as he helped her down the bank, “but I guess we can have a good time, anyhow.”

She did not reply to this, but there was a sparkle in her eyes and a flush on her cheek, as she stepped lightly into the boat, that drew an admiring glance from Beveridge.

He took the clumsy oars, and pulled upstream, under the railroad bridge, past all the other boats, on into the farming country, where the banks were green and shaded.

“Pretty nice, isn’t it?” said he.

She nodded. They could hear the music in the distance, and occasionally the voices; but around them was nothing but the cool depths of an oak copse. She was half reclining in the stern, looking lazily at the dim muscular outlines of her oarsman. “You row well,” she said.

“I ought to. I was brought up on water.”

“You don’t know how this takes me back,” said Madge, dreamily. “I couldn’t tell you how long it is since I have been out in the country like this.”

He pulled a few strokes before replying, “Didn’t McGlory ever take you out?”

“I don’t like to think about him now. Let’s talk of something else.”

“I’m glad you don’t like to. That’s the only thing that bothers me.”

“What – Joe?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, he needn’t bother you.”

“I can’t help it. You see, you’re – ”

“His wife? Yes, so I am. But I’m – ”

“What, Madge?”

“I don’t know what you would think if I said it.”

“Say it, please.”

She glanced into his face. He saw with surprise that her eyes were shining. “Well – I was – going to say – that – that – I’m about through with him.”

“Do you mean that, Madge?”

She was silent; perhaps she had not meant to say so much.

“Has he been ugly to you?”

“It isn’t his meanness altogether. If that were all, I could have stood it. I have tried hard enough to love him all the while. Even after he first struck me – ”

“You don’t mean – ”

She smiled, half bitterly, and rolled her sleeve up above her elbow. Even in that faint light he could see the discoloration on her forearm. “He meant it for my head,” she said.

“Why, he’s a brute.”

She smiled again. “Didn’t you know that a woman can love a brute? It wasn’t that. Even when he made me live in the saloon, and when I found out what his business really was – ” she paused. “I was brought up a little better than this, you know.”

“Yes, I have always thought that.”

“And when I learned that he wasn’t – well, honest, I don’t believe I should have cared very much.”

“Oh, I guess he is not dishonest, is he?”

“He is bad enough, I’m afraid. He – I don’t know – I don’t believe it would do any good to tell you – ”

“No, don’t, if you’d rather not, Madge.”

“I don’t care – I’d just as soon. You don’t know what a relief it is to have somebody I can talk out with. I have guarded my tongue so long. And I suppose, even after all that is past, that if he hadn’t left me – ”

“You don’t mean that he has gone?”

She nodded. “It comes to the same thing. He will drop in once in a while, I suppose. But he has gone back to the Lake with Captain Smiley, and that means that he wants to see – ” she turned toward the shadow of the oaks – “there’s somebody up in Michigan that – that he – ”

“Oh,” said Beveridge.

“Yes, I have known it a long while.” She turned, looked at him, and spoke impetuously: “Do you think I haven’t been fair to him? Do you think he – anybody – could say I hadn’t stood all a woman ought to stand?”

Her real emotion caught Beveridge off his guard. For an instant he hesitated; then he said gently: “Don’t let it disturb you now, Madge. I don’t think he can bother you much more. There is no reason why that shouldn’t all slip into the past.”

“I wish it could.”

Beveridge was silent for a moment. He wished to lead her into telling all she knew about McGlory and his ways, yet he hesitated to abuse the confidence so frankly offered. But, however – “There is one thing about it, though, Madge,” he said quietly. “If he is on the Lake, he will have to go where his boat goes, and there isn’t much chance for him to get into bad ways. Even if, as you think, he is dishonest, he will have to behave himself until he gets back to town.”

“You don’t understand,” she cried. “It is just there, on the water, that he can do the most harm. I’m going to tell you, anyway. I don’t care. He is a smuggler, or a moonshiner, or something, – I don’t know what you would call it.”

“A moonshiner – here in Chicago!”

She nodded nervously. “He is only one of them. I have known it for a long time, and sometimes I have thought I ought to speak out, but then he – oh, you don’t know what a place he has put me into – what he has dragged me to! There is one thing I will say for Joe, – he is not the worst of them. The rest are smarter than he is, and I believe they have used him for a cat’s-paw. But he is bad enough.”

“You don’t know how hard this is to believe, Madge. That a man sailing on a decent lumber schooner can manage to do enough moonshining – or even smuggling – to hurt anybody – ”

“But that is just it! It is in the lumber.”

“In the lumber!” He had stopped rowing, and was leaning forward. Had her own excitement been less, she could hardly have failed to observe the eager note in his voice.

“Yes – oh, I know about it. But it’s no use saying anything. They will never catch the head man – he is too smart for them – ” Beveridge took her hand, and held it gently in both his own. “Don’t let’s think any more about any of them, Madge. I don’t wonder it excites you – it would anybody. But you are through with them all now.” She sat up, rigid, and looked at him. “Are you sure I am?”

“Yes.”

“But how? Joe is my husband. Tell me what you mean. What am I to think? You see what I have done. I have let you bring me out here; I have – I have told you things that could put Joe in prison. Do you – do you mean that you can help me – that I can get free from him?”

For a moment Beveridge thought of turning and rowing back. But he was not yet through. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, but he would not retreat now.

“You are willing to be free?” he whispered. “Oh – yes.”

“To leave him forever?”

“Yes.”

“Then we understand each other, Madge. It may take some time.”

“I don’t care – I don’t care for anything now.”

“I shall have to do some thinking.”

“Do you think it will be hard?”

“No, but we shall see. Shall we start back – I’m afraid you won’t get home till pretty late, now.”

“It doesn’t matter; I’m alone there now, you know. But still, perhaps we’d better.” As they rowed down the stream, and later, on the ride back to the city, Beveridge could not but be fascinated by Madge, in the flow of spirits that had come with the freedom of this evening. She liked to look at him and to laugh at his little jokes. She caressed him in a hundred ways with her voice and her eyes. She rode her wheel with the lightness of youth, and led the way flying down the paved streets of the city. And when at last she dismounted at “The Teamster’s Friend,” and unlocked the side door, she was in a merry glow.

“Come in,” she said.

“Don’t you want to get to sleep? It is late.”

“I’m not tired. We must have something to eat after that ride. Wasn’t it fine?”

So he went in with her, and they sat down to a cold lunch in the dining room.

When he rose to go, and they were both lingering in the dining-room door, he said, smiling, “By the way, Madge, while I think of it, I want an empty bottle.”

“Come out into the bar-room. You can help yourself.”

She lighted the gas for him, and he went in behind the bar and rummaged among some bottles and flasks that stood on the floor. At length he found one that seemed to suit him, and stood a moment looking intently at the label.

“Do you find what you want?”

“Yes, this will do first-rate.”

She followed him to the door, and said, as he stood on the step, “When am I to see you again?”

“In a few days.”

“Not to-morrow?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I expect to be out of the city over Sunday. I have to go where I’m sent, you know.”

“Do you know,” she said, with a smile, “you have not told me anything about your business? Why, I hardly think I know anything about you.”

“You will soon know enough.”

She smiled again. “Wait, you will have to be a little careful about coming. Mr. Murphy goes away about ten o’clock every night. You might come a little later, and then if Joe isn’t here, I will be down. If you don’t see me, you mustn’t ask any questions.”

“I won’t.”

“And you will be thinking about – ”

“Yes. We ‘ll talk it over next time. Good night.”

“Good night,” she replied. And when he had walked a little way, he heard her humming a tune to herself in the doorway.

Wilson was sitting in the shadow on the steps of the lumber office. He rose and came forward.

“Hello, Bill!”

“That you, Bert?”

“What’s left of me. If I’d known you were going to be gone half the night, I’d have brought a blanket.”

“Couldn’t help it.”

“I suppose not. Not even if she’d been fifty-five, with red hair and a squint, eh?” Beveridge, instead of laughing, made an impatient gesture. “Come out here in the light, Bert. Nobody around, is there?”

“No. Our friend the policeman went by ten minutes ago. Just as well he didn’t see you with your friend. They say he’s a chum of McGlory’s.”

“See what you think of this,” said Bedloe, drawing the bottle from under his coat.

“Hello, you don’t mean to say you’ve got it?”

“Take a good look.”

“Yes, sir. Well, I ‘ll be – ! There’s the red seal, and the left foot a little out of drawing, and the right hand turned out instead of in, and – is it? – yes, an imperfection in the capital C. Yes, sir, you’ve got it! I won’t say another word, Bill. You’re a wizard. You must have hypnotized her.”

“Well, I got it. No matter how. And I got something else, too. Here, step into the lumber yard before we’re seen. Stenzenberger doesn’t keep a private watchman, does he?”

“No. He doesn’t need it, with his friendly hold on the police.”

A board was loose in the rear fence. Within a very few minutes the two men were stepping cautiously between the piles of lumber, Beveridge peering eagerly into the shadows, his companion watching him and following close behind.

“Wish we’d brought a lantern, Bill.”

“I thought of it. But it would hardly be safe.”

“Come this way – over by the Murphy and McGlory shed. That’s where it would have to be handled.”

Silently they tiptoed forward, reaching out with their hands, to avoid a collision with the projecting timbers. Once Beveridge tripped and would have fallen if Wilson had not caught his arm. “Wait – keep still, Bert!”

“It’s all right. We’re way back from the street here.”

“It isn’t the street I’m watching. See that light?” He pointed up to a second-story window in the adjoining building. “She’s still up; and it’s awful quiet around here.”

A moment later Beveridge stopped and sniffed.

“What is it, Bill?”

“Don’t you smell anything?”

“Ye-yes, guess I do, a little. But there are a lot of old kegs and bottles on the other side of the fence.”

“There are no old kegs about this.” He moved forward, feeling and sniffing his way along a pile of twelve-by-twelve timbers. “Here, have you that big jack-knife on you, Bert?”

“Yes; here it is.”

Cautiously, very cautiously, Beveridge began prying at the end of one of the big sticks.

“Shall I lend a hand, Bill?”

“No; it’s got to be done without leaving any signs of our being here. It may take time – the thing is in for keeps, all right.”

During fully a quarter of an hour they stood there, Beveridge prying with the long blade of the knife, his companion watching him without a word. Finally Beveridge gave a suppressed exclamation.

“Fetched her?”

“Yes. Take hold – easy now.”

Together they pulled a long, circular plug from the end of the timber, and set it on the ground.

“Just put your arm in there, Bert.”

“Well, I ‘ll be – ! Did she tell you about this?”

“She certainly did.”

“But how did you do it, man, without letting on?”

“Never mind about that,” replied Beveridge, shortly.

“Yes, sir. It’s all there – no end of it.”

“All right now; that’s enough. Let’s put the plug back. Now’s the time for us to go slow.”

“You’re right there. Even with this it will be awful hard to bring it home. The next thing to get is the man. I wish we knew where that fellow Roche went. What do you think?”

“I’d be willing to buy him a new hat if he isn’t on the train for northern Michigan just about now. But we don’t need him very bad. We want a bigger man than him.”