[Illustration: His audience was fairly hanging on his words]

THE ROSE IN THE RING

By GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON

WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLORBY A. I. KELLER

CONTENTS

BOOK ONE

I THE FUGITIVE

II IN THE DRESSING TENT

III DAVID ENTERS THE SAWDUST RING

IV A STRANGER APPEARS ON THE SCENE

V SOMETHING ABOUT THE BRADDOCKS

VI DAVID JENISON'S STORY

VII THE BROTHERS CRONK

VIII AN INVITATION TO SUPPER

IX A THIEF IN THE NIGHT

X LOVE WINGS A TIMID DART

XI ARTFUL DICK GOES VISITING

XII IN WHICH MANY THINGS HAPPEN

XIII THE SALE

BOOK TWO

I THE DAUGHTER OF COLONEL GRAND

II THE STRANGER AT THE HALL

III THE MAN WHO SERVED HIS TIME

IV THE DELIVERY OF A TELEGRAM

V THE LOVE THAT WAS STAUNCH

VI DOOR-STEPS

VII TOM BRADDOCK'S PROMISE

VIII COLONEL GRAND AND THE CLONKS

IX IN THE LITTLE TRIANGULAR "SQUARE"

X THE BLACK HEADLINES

ILLUSTRATIONS

His audience was fairly hanging on his words.. _Frontispiece_

"It is my money!" cried David

Her lips parted in amazement, tremulously struggling into a smile ofwonder and unbelief. 

"This is the one, great, solitary hour in your life. "

BOOK ONE

CHAPTER I

THE FUGITIVE

The gaunt man led the way. At his heels, doggedly, came the two shortones, fagged, yet uncomplaining; all of them drenched to the skin bythe chill rain that swirled through the Gap, down into the night-ridden valley below. Sky was never so black. Days of incessant stormhad left it impenetrably overcast. 

These men trudged--or stumbled--along the slippery road which skirtedthe mountain's base. Soggy, unseen farm lands and gardens to theirleft, Stygian forests above and to their right. Ahead, the far-distantwill-o-the-wisp flicker of many lights, blinking in the foggy shroud. Three or four miles lay between the sullen travelers and the town thatcradled itself in the lower end of the valley. 

Night had stolen early upon the dour spring day. The tall man who ledcarried a rickety, ill-smelling lantern that sent its feeble rays nofarther ahead than a dozen paces; it served best to reveal the face ofthe huge silver watch which frequently was drawn from its owner's coatpocket. 

Eight o'clock, --no more, --and yet it seemed to these men that they hadplowed forever through the blackness of this evil night, through ahundred villainous shadows by unpointed paths. Mile after mile, theyhad traversed almost impassable roads, unwavering persistence incommand of their strength, heavy stoicism their burden. Few were thewords that had passed between them during all those weary miles. Anoccasional oath, muffled but impressive, fell from the lips of one orthe other of those who followed close behind the silent, imperturbableleader. The tall man was as silent as the unspeakable night itself. 

It was impossible to distinguish the faces of these dogged night-farers. The collars of their coats were turned up, their throats weremuffled, and the broad rims of their rain-soaked hats were far downover the eyes. There was that about them which suggested theunresented pressure of firearms inside the dry breast-pockets of longcoats. 

This was an evening in the spring of 1875, and these men were forgingtheir way along a treacherous mountain road in Southwestern Virginia. A word in passing may explain the exigency which forced the travelersto the present undertaking. The washing away of a bridge ten milesfarther down the valley had put an end to all thought of progress byrail, for the night, at least. Rigid necessity compelled them toproceed in the face of the direst hardships. Their mission was onewhich could not be stayed so long as they possessed legs and stouthearts. Checked by the misfortune at the bridge, there was nothingleft for them but to make the best of the situation: they set forth onfoot across the mountain, following the short but more arduous routefrom the lower to the upper valley. Since three o'clock in theafternoon they had been struggling along their way, at times by narrowwagon roads, not infrequently by trails and foot paths that made foreconomy in distance. 

The tall man strode onward with never decreasing strength andconfidence; his companions, on the contrary, were faint and sore andscowling. They were not to the mountains born; they came from thegentle lowlands by the sea, --from broad plantations and pleasantbyways, from the tidewater country. He was the leader on this uglynight, and yet they were the masters; they followed, but he led attheir bidding. They had known him for less than six hours, and yetthey put their lives in his hands; another sunrise would doubtless seehim pass out of their thoughts forever. He served the purpose of asingle night. They did not know his name--nor he theirs, for thatmatter; they took him on faith and for what he was worth--fivedollars. 

"Are those the lights of the town?" panted one of the masters, a throbof hope in his breast. The tall man paused; the others came up besidehim. He stretched a long arm in the direction of the twinkling lights, far ahead. 

"Yas, 'r, " was all that he said. 

"How far?" demanded the other laboriously. 

"'Bout fo'h mile. "

"Road get any better?"

"Yas, 'r. "

"Can we make it by nine, think?"

"Yas, 'r. "

"We'd better be moving along. It's half-past seven now. "

"Yas, 'r. "

Once more they set forward, descending the slope into the lesshazardous road that wound its way into the town of S----, then, asnow, a thriving place in the uplands. The ending of a deadly war notmore than ten years prior to the opening of this tale had left thispart of fair Virginia gasping for breath, yet too proud to cry forhelp. Virginia, the richest and fairest and proudest of all theseceding states, was but now finding her first moments of real hopeand relief. Her fortunes had gone for the cause; her hopes had sunkwith it. 

Both were now rising together from the slough into which they had beendriven by the ruthless Juggernaut of Conquest. The panic of '73 meantlittle to the people of this fair commonwealth; they had so littlethen to lose, and they had lost so much. The town of S---, towardwhich these weary travelers turned their steps, was stretching out itshands to clasp Opportunity and Prosperity as those fickle commoditiesrebounded from the vain-glorious North; the smile was creeping backinto the haggard face of the Southland; the dollars were jingling nowbecause they were no longer lonely. The bitterness of life was not sobitter; an ancient sweetness was providing the leaven. The Northernbrother was relaxing; he was even washing the blood from his hands andextending them to raise the sister he had ravished. There wasforgiveness in the heart of fair Virginia--but not yet the desire toforget. The South was coming into its own once more--not the oldSouth, but a new one that realized. 

Intermittent strains of music came dancing up into the hills from theheart of S--. The wayfarers looked at each other in the darkness andlistened in wonder to these sounds that rose above the swish of therestless rain. 

"It's a band, " murmured one of the two behind. 

"Yas, 'r; a circus band, " vouchsafed the guide, a sudden eagerness inhis voice. "Van Slye's Great and Only Mammoth Shows--"

"A circus?" interrupted one of the men gruffly. "Then the whole townis full of strangers. That's bad for us, Blake. "

"I don't see why. He's more than likely to be where the excitement'shighest, ain't he? He's not too old for that. We'll find him in thatcircus tent, Tom, if he's in the town at all. "

"First circus they've had in S---- in a dawg's age, " ventured theguide, with the irrelevancy of an excited boy. "Rice's was there once, I can't remember jest when, an' they was some talk of Barnum las'yeah, they say, but he done pass us by. He's got a Holy Beheemoth thatsweats blood this yeah, they say. Doggone, I'd like to see one. " Theguide had not ventured so much as this, all told, in the six hours oftheir acquaintanceship. 

"Well, let's be moving on. I'm wet clear through, " shivered Blake. 

Silence fell upon them once more. No word was spoken after that, except in relation to an oath of exasperation; they swung forward intothe lower road, their sullen eyes set on the lights ahead. Heavy feet, dragging like hundredweights, carried them over the last weary mile. Into the outskirts of the little town they slunk. The streets weredeserted, muddy, and lighted but meagerly from widely separated oillamps set at the tops of as many unstable posts. 

Some distance ahead there was a vast glow of light, lifting itselfabove the housetops and pressing against the black dome that hung lowover the earth. The rollicking quickstep of a circus band came dancingover the night to meet the footsore men. There were no pedestrians tokeep them company. The inhabitants of S---- were inside the tentsbeyond, or loitering near the sidewalls with singular disregard forthe drizzling rain that sifted down upon their unmindful backs or blewsoftly into the faces of the few who enjoyed the luxury of"umberells. " Despite the apparent solitude that kept pace with themdown the narrow street, --little more than a country lane, on the vergeof graduating into a thoroughfare, --the three travelers were keenlyalert; their squinting, eager eyes searched the shadows beside andbefore them; their feet no longer dragged through the slippery, glistening bed of the road; every movement, every glance signifiedextreme caution. 

Slowly they approached the vacant lots beyond the business section ofthe town, known year in and year out to the youth of S---- as "theshow grounds. " Now they began to encounter straggling, envious atomsof the populace, wanderers who could not produce the admission fee andwho were not permitted by the rough canvasmen to venture inside thecharmed circle laid down by the "guy-ropes. " At the corner of thetented common stood the "ticket wagon, " the muddy plaza in front of ittorn by the footprints of many human beings and lighted by a greatgasoline lamp swung from a pole hard by. Beyond was the main entranceof the animal tent, presided over by uniformed ticket takers. Here andthere, in the gloomy background, stood the canvas and pole wagons, shining in their wetness against the feeble light that oozed throughthe opening between the sidewall and the edge of the flapping maintop, or glistening with sudden brightness in response to the passinglantern or torch in the hand of a rubber-coated minion who "belongedto the circus, "--a vast honor, no matter how lowly his position mayhave been. Costume and baggage wagons, their white and gold gloryswallowed up in the maw of the night, stood backed up against thedressing-tent off to the right. The horse tent beyond was even nowbeing lowered by shadowy, mystic figures who swore and shouted to eachother across spaces wide and spaces small without regulating the voiceto either effort. Horses, with their clanking trace-chains, in twosand fours, slipped in and out of the shadows, drawing great vehicleswhich rumbled and jarred with the noise peculiar to circus wagons:tired, underfed horses that paid little heed to the curses or theblows of the men who handled them, so accustomed were they to theproddings of life. 

And inside the big tent the band played merrily, as only a circus bandcan play, jangling an accompaniment to the laughter and the shouts ofthe delighted multitude sitting in the blue-boarded tiers about thesingle ring with its earthen circumference, its sawdust carpet and itsdripping lights. 

The smell of the thing! Who has ever forgotten it? The smell of thesawdust, the smell of the gleaming lights, the smell of animals andthe smell of the canvas top! The smell of the damp handbills, theprograms and the bags of roasted peanuts! Incense! Never-to-be-forgotten incense of our beautiful days!

Warm and dry and bright under the spreading top with its two "centerpoles" and its row of "quarters"; cold, dreary and sordid outside inthe real world where man and beast worked while others seemed to play. 

Groups of canvasmen now began to tear down the animal tent--the"menagerie, " as it has always been known to the man who paysadmission. An hour later, when the big show is over, the spectatorswill stream forth, even as their own blue seats begin to clatter toearth behind them, and they will blink with amazement to findthemselves in the open air, instead of in the menagerie tent. As if bymagic it has disappeared, and with it the sideshow and its banners, the Punch and Judy show, the horse tent, the cook tent, the blacksmithshop. Where once stood a dripping white city, now stretches a barren, ugly waste of unhallowed, unfamiliar ground, flanked by the solitarytemple of tinsel and sawdust which they have just left behind, andwhich even now is being desolated by scowling men in overalls. Thecrowd oozes forth, to find itself completely lost in the night, allpoints of the compass at odds, no man knowing east from west or northfrom south in the strange surroundings. The "lot" they have known sowell and crossed so often has been transformed into a tracklesswilderness, through which strange objects rumble and creak, over whichqueer, ghastly lights play for the benefit of grumbling men fromanother world. 

Blake and his companion, standing apart from the lank, wide-eyedguide, were conversing in low tones. 

"We'd better make the circuit of the tents, " said Blake, evidently theleader. "You go to the right and I'll take the other way round. We'llmeet here. Keep your eye peeled. He may be hiding under the wagonswhere it's dry. Look out for these circus toughs. They're a nastycrowd. "

Then he turned to the guide. 

"We won't need you any longer, " he said. "This is as far as we go. Here is your pay. If I were you, I'd buy a ticket and go inside. "

"Yas, 'r, " said the smileless guide, accepting the greenback with noword of thanks. A brief "good night" to his employers, and the leanmountaineer strolled over to the ticket wagon. He purchased a ticketand hurried into the tent. We do not see him again. He has served hispurpose. 

His late employers made off on their circuit of the tents, sharp-eyedbut casual, doing nothing that might lead the circus men to suspectthat they were searching for one among them. In the good old days ofthe road circus there were thieves as well as giants; if a man was nota thief himself, he at least had a friend who was. There was honoramong them. 

A scant hour before the three men came to the "showgrounds" theirquarry arrived there. That Blake and his companion were man-huntersgoes without saying, but that the person for whom they searched shouldbe a hungry, wan-faced, terrified boy of eighteen seems hardly inkeeping with the relentless nature of the chase. 

The ring performance in the main tent had been in progress for fifteenor twenty minutes when the fugitive, exhausted, drenched andshivering, crept into the protected nook which marks the junction ofthe circus and dressing tops. Here it was comparatively dry; the winddid not send its thin mist into this canvas cranny. Not so dark as hemay have desired, if one were to judge by the expression in hisfeverish eyes as he peered back at the darkness out of which he hadslunk, but so cramped in shadow that only the eye of a ferret couldhave distinguished the figure huddled there. Chilled to the bone, wetthrough and through, this white-faced lad, with drooping lip andquickened breath, crouched there and waited for the heavy footstep andthe brutal command of the canvasman who was to drive him forth intothe darkness once more. 

He had watched his chance to creep into this coveted spot. When themen were called to work at the horse tent he found his chance. Itlooked warm in this corner; a pleasant light on the inside of the twotents glowed against the damp sidewalls: here and there it glimmeredinvitingly under the bottom of the canvas. He knew that his tenancymust end in an hour or two: the big top would be leveled to theground, rolled up and spirited away into the stretches that laybetween this city and the next one, twenty miles away. But an hour ortwo in this friendly corner, close to the glare of the circus lights, almost in touch with the joyous, bespangled world of his ambitions, even though he was a hated and hunted creature, was better than thesopping roadside or the fields. 

He knew that he was being hounded and that those who sought him wereclose behind. Once in the forest, far back in the hills, he had heardthem, he had seen them. Off in other parts of the country men werelooking for him. In the cities throughout Virginia and the adjoiningstates there were placards describing him ere this, and rewards werementioned. 

Resting in the bushes above the trail, late in the afternoon, he hadseen Blake and his men. They had stopped to rest, and he could heartheir conversation plainly. With all the wiliness of a hunted thing, he had slipped off into the forest, terrified to find that hispursuers were so close upon him. 

He had learned that they were making for S---- and it was easy to seethat their progress was slow and grueling. His feet were light, hislegs strong; peril gave wings to his courage. Something told him thathe must beat them by many miles into the town of S----. Once, when hewas much younger, he had gone to S---- with his grandfather to see thesoldiers encamped there. He remembered the railroad. It was imperativethat he should reach the railway as far in advance of his pursuers aslegs and a stout heart could carry him. 

A wide _detour_ through the sombre forest brought him to the roadonce more, fully a mile below his pursuers. He forgot his hunger andhis fatigue. For miles he ran with the fleetness of a scared thing, guided by the crude sign-boards which pointed the way and told thedistance to S----. Night fell, but he ran on, stumbling and faint withdread, tears rolling down his thin cheeks, sobs in his throat. Darkness hid the sign-boards from view; he reeled from one side of thenarrow, Stygian lane to the other, sustaining many falls and bruises, but always coming to his feet with the unflagging determination tofight his way onward. 

Half-dazed, gasping for breath and ready to drop in his tracks, hecame at last to the open valley. Far ahead and below were the lightsof a town--he could only hope that it was S----. Tortured by the vastoppressiveness of the solitude which lay behind him, peopled by athousand ghosts whose persistent footsteps had haunted him throughevery mile of his flight, he cried aloud as he stumbled down the rain-washed hill, --cried with the terror of one who sees collapse afterhuman valor has been done to death. 

He was never to know how he came, in the course of an hour, to theoutskirts of the town. His mind, distracted by the terror of pursuit, refused to record the physical exertions of that last bitter hour; hisbody labored mechanically, without cognizance of the strain put uponit. He had traversed fifteen miles of the blackest of forests and byway of the most tortuous of roads. A subconscious triumph now inspiredhim, born of the certainty that he had left his enemies far behind. Itwas this oddly jubilant spur that drove him safely, almostinstinctively, into the heart of S----. The music of a band bothattracted and bewildered him. It was some time before he could graspthe fact that a circus was holding forth in the lower end of the town. The subtle cunning that had become part of his nature within the pastforty-eight hours forbade an incautious approach to the circusgrounds. There, of all places, he might expect to encounter peril. Tohis bewildered mind every man who breathed of life was a sleuth sentforth to lay hold of him. 

He gave the circus--loved thing of tenderer days--a wide berth, finding his way to the railway station by outlying streets. His firstthought was to board an outbound train, to secrete himself in one ofthe freight cars. The sudden, overpowering pangs of hunger drove thisplan from his mind, combined with the discovery that no train wouldpass through the town before midnight. Disheartened, sick withdespair, he slunk off through the railway yards, taking a roundaboutway to the circus grounds. 

There was money in his purse, --plenty of it; but he was afraid toenter an eating-house, or to even approach the "snack-stand" on theedge of the circus lot. For a long time he stood afar off in thedarkness, his legs trembling, his mouth twitching, his eyes bent withpathetic intentness upon the single pie and hot sandwich stand thatremained near the sideshow tent, presided over by a kind-faced, sleepyold man in spectacles. 

A huge placard tacked to the board fence back of this stand attractedhis attention. Impelled by a strange curiosity, he ventured into thecircle of light, knowing full well, before he was near enough todistinguish more than the bold word "Reward, " that this sinister billhad to do with him and no other. 

Held by the same mysterious power that a serpent exercises in charmingits victim, the lad stared at the face of this ominous thing thatproclaimed him a fugitive for whom five hundred dollars would be paid, dead or alive. 

Stricken to the soul, he read and re-read the black words, unable, fora long time, to tear himself away from the spot. A quick alarm seizedhim. He slunk back into the shadows, his hunger forgotten. For manyminutes he stood in the grisly darkness, staring at the white patch onthe fence. Curses rose to his lips--lips that had never known an oathbefore; prayers and pleadings were forgotten in that bitterarraignment of fate. 

Then came the sudden revival of youthful spirits, carrying with themthe reckless bravado that all boys possess to the verge of folly. Theband was playing, the show had begun. In his mind's eye he could seethe "_grand entree. _" A fierce desire to brave detection and boldlyenter the charmed pavilion took possession of him. First, he would buyof the pieman's wares; then he would calmly present himself before theticket wagon window, after which--But he got no farther in his dream ofaudacity. The placard on the fence seemed to smite him in the face. Hedrew farther back into the darkness, shuddering. With his arms claspedtightly across his chest, shivering in the chill that had returnedtriumphant, he dragged himself wearily away from the place oftemptation. 

Circling the dressing-tent, he came upon men at work. They weredrawing stakes with the old-fashioned chains. For a while he dullywatched them. They passed on. He crept from his place of hiding and, attracted by the lights as a moth is drawn by the candle, made his wayto the sheltered spot at the joining of the tents. 

After a few moments of restless vigil an overpowering sense oflassitude fell upon him. His eyes closed in abrupt surrender toexhaustion. The rhythmic beat of the quickstep leaped off into greatdistances; the champing and snorting of horses in the dressing-tentdied away as if by magic; the subdued voices of the men and women whowaited their turn to bound into the merry ring faded intoindistinguishable whispers; the crack of the ring master's whip andthe responsive yelp of the clown trailed off into silence. His headfell back, his body relaxed, and he slipped off into sweetunconsciousness. 

A man in motley garb, with a face of scarlet and white, sitting on ablue half-barrel near the flap which indicated the entrance to themen's section of the dressing-tent, caught sight of an arm and handlying limp under the edge of the canvas. He stared hard for a momentand then, attracted by the slim, unfamiliar member, arose and advancedto the spot. As he stood there, looking down at the hand, a woman anda young girl approached. 

"Drunk, " observed the clown, with a grimace. 

They stopped beside him, looking down. The woman spoke. "How long andfine the fingers are. A boy's hand, not a man's. See who is there, Joey, do. "

And so it was that the fugitive was taken. 

The clown lifted the sidewall and bent over the form of the lad, peering into the white, mud-streaked face. 

"He's not drunk, " he said quickly. 

"He looks ill, poor fellow. How wet he is, --and _so_ muddy. Is heasleep? It isn't--it isn't something else?" She drew back in suddendread. 

"He's alive, right enough. I say, Mrs. Braddock, there's somethingqueer about this. He can't belong in this 'ere town, else he wouldn'tbe sleepin' 'ere in the mud. He's plain pegged out, ma'am. Like enough'e's some poor fool as wants to join the circus. Run away from 'ome, Idaresay. We've 'ad lots of 'em follow us up lately, you know. Onlythis 'un looks different. Shall I call Peterson? He'll wake 'im upright enough and conwince 'im that the show business is a good thingto stay out of while he can. "

"Don't call Peterson. He is a brute. Rouse him yourself, and tell himto come inside the tent. Poor boy, he's half drowned. Come, dearie, "to the girl, "go into the dressing-room. You must not see--"

"He is so white and ill-looking, mother, " said the girl, in pityingtones, her gaze fastened upon the face of the sleeper. The mother drewthe child aside, an arm about her shoulder. Together they watched theclown's efforts to arouse the boy. 

"He may be another Artful Dick, my child, " ventured the mother. "Yourfather says the pickpockets are uncommonly numerous this spring. "

"I'm sure he isn't a thief--I'm sure of it, " said the girl eagerly. 

She was a pretty, brown-haired creature, whose large, serious eyesseemed unnaturally dark and brilliant against the vivid coloring ofher cheeks and forehead. The blacks, whites and carmines of the make-up box had beautified her for the ring but not for closer observation. One who understood the secrets of the "make-up" could have told at aglance that underneath the thick layer of powder and paint there was asoft, white skin; even the rough, careless application of harmlesscosmetics could not, in any sense, deceive one as to the delicacy ofher features. The mouth, red with the carmine grease, was gentle, eventremulous; her nose, though streaked with a thin, white line, wasstraight and pure patrician in its modeling, with fine, quiveringnostrils, now gently distended by sharp exercise in the ring; her earswere small, her throat round and slim; right proudly her head rode thefirm, white neck; the warm, brown hair swept down in caresses for thebare shoulders. 

A long, red Shaker cloak enveloped the slim, straight body. Daintygolden slippers, protected by the ungainly ground shoes of the circusperformer, peeped from beneath the hem of the robe. A small, visorlesscap of red velvet fitted snugly over the crown of her head. 

Now the lips were parted and the eyes narrowed by interest in thestranger who slept against their walls. 

The mother was still a young woman; a pretty one, despite the carewornexpression in her eyes and the tired lines in her face. She wasdressed in the ordinary garments of the street, in no way suggestiveof the circus. There was an unmistakable air of gentle breeding abouther, patient under the strain of adverse circumstances, but strong andresolute in the power to meet them without flinching. This woman, youcould see at a glance, was not born to the circus and its hardships;she came of another world. Tall and slender and proud she was, endowedwith the poise of a thorough gentlewoman. Hers was a fine, brilliantface, crowned by dark hair that grew low and waved about her temples. Deep, tender brown eyes met yours steadily and with unwavering candor. There was strength and loyalty and purity in their depths. Nohardness, no callousness, no guile, no rancor there: only the clear, sweet eyes of a woman whose soul is white. There was an infinite pityin them now. 

The clown had shaken the boy into partial wakefulness. He was sittingup, leaning forward on his hands, his eyes blinking in the contestbetween sleep and amazement. 

"Get up, " said Grinaldi, the clown, shaking him by the shoulder. "Whatare you doing here, boy?"

The lad came quickly to his feet and would have rushed away into thedarkness behind him had it not been for the restraining grip on hisarm. He felt himself being dragged into the stuffy, mysteriousvestibule of the tent, into plain view of a half-dozen vividly attiredpersons, almost under the feet of stolid, gayly caparisoned horseswearing the great back-pads. 

And this creature who led him there--this grotesque object with thechalky face and coal-black eyebrows that ran up in tall triangles tomeet a still chalkier pate--this figure with the red and blackcrescents on his cheeks and the baggy, spotted suit of red and whiteand blue and the conical hat--who and what was he?

The clown!

He was not dreaming--he was in the dressing-tent of the circus, enveloped by the dull, magic atmosphere that comes in the smoke ofburning oils, --an atmosphere that is never to be found outside the lowwalls of a dressing-tent. He experienced a sudden feeling ofsuffocation. The whole world seemed to have closed in upon him; a drabsky almost touched his head; the horizon seemed to have rushed up towithin ten feet of where he stood. 

His bewildered gaze took in the horses, the boxes, the trunks, thering paraphernalia, the "properties, " the discarded uniforms ofattendants--cast in apparent confusion here, there and everywhere. Somehow, as he stared, this conglomerate mass of unfamiliar thingsseemed to creep away into the black shadows he had not perceivedbefore; the drab dome of the tent began to swirl above his head, likea merry-go-round; the lights danced and then went out. 

Grinaldi, the clown, caught him in his arms as he slipped forward in adead faint. 

CHAPTER II

IN THE DRESSING-TENT

When he regained consciousness, he was lying on a thick, dustymattress, his head pillowed on a bundle of cloth that smelled ofcotton and dyestuffs. Faces emerged from the gloom around him. Someone was holding a torch over his strange couch. That odd face inbismuth and lampblack was bending over him. 

"He's come 'round, Mrs. Braddock, " he heard this creature say, in afar-off voice. "Only a faint, nothing more. Poor lad, he looks ill andhungry. "

Then other figures, all gaudy and bright and glittering, crowded intohis vision. He tried to raise himself to his elbow, a fierce wave ofembarrassment rushing over him. Some one supported him from behind. Ashe came to a sitting position, he turned his head to thank thisperson. It was with difficulty that he repressed a cry of alarm. Thebeing who braced him with friendly arms was a glittering, shiny thingof green, with a human face that leered upon him. 

Observing the youth's bewilderment and uncertainty, Grinaldi laughed. 

"He's not a boa-constrictor, lad. He's the boneless wonder. He's asgentle as a spring lamb, and not hardly as tough. Signer Anaconda, theHuman Snake, that's what he's called on the bills. Ed Casey is hisreal name. "

"Aw, cheese it, Joey, " growled the amiable Signer. "Say, young feller, what's ailing you? Where'd you come from?"

The stranger in this curious world managed to turn his body so thathis legs hung over the side of the vaulter's mattress; he faced hisaudience, a sudden wariness in his eyes. Before venturing a word ofexplanation, he allowed his gaze to sweep the entire group. Theymistook his deliberateness for stupefaction. 

He saw perhaps a dozen people in the group before him. The colors ofthe rainbow were represented in the staring, curious company. Therewere men in tights and women in tights--in pink and red and green andblue--some of them still panting and breathless after their perilouswork in the ring. He took them all in at a glance, but his eyes restedat last on the one figure that seemed out-of-place in this motleycrowd: the tall, graceful figure of the woman in street clothes. Helooked long at the sweet, gentle, unpainted face of this woman, anddrew his first deep breath of relief and hope when she smiled. Shemoved quickly through the crowd of acrobats and riders, followed closebehind by the slim, wide-eyed girl in the long red cloak. An instantlater she was sitting beside him on the mattress, smiling withfriendly encouragement as she laid her hand upon his arm. The girlstood at her knee. For the first time the fugitive noticed the face ofthis slender girl--no, it was the eyes alone that he saw, for the facewas grossly covered with pigments. 

"What has happened?" asked the tall woman gently. "Have you--have yourun away from home, my boy?"

"How long have I been here?" There was a suggestion of alarm in theabrupt question. 

His voice, querulous through excitement, was quite strong and musical. The tone and his manner of addressing the questioner proved beyondcontradiction that he was no ordinary tramp, or show-follower, such asthey were in the habit of seeing in their travels. A dozen fine oldVirginia gentlemen, perhaps, one after another, had lived and diedbefore him; down that precious line of blood had come the strain thatmakes for the finished thoroughbred--the real Virginia aristocrat. Sixwords, spoken with the mild drawl of the cultured Southerner, weresufficient to prove his title. No amount of mud or tatters or physicaldistress could take away the inborn charm of blood. No haggardness orpain could detract from the fine, clean movement of the lips, or sullythe deep intelligence of the eyes. 

His audience at once found a new interest in him. He was not what theyhad expected him to be; this boy was no scatter-brained country lout, with the dream of the circus at the back of his folly. 

He, of course, could not have known that during the ten minutes inwhich he lay unconscious on the huge pad a score of these curious, sympathetic strollers, partially or wholly dressed, had come out togaze upon him, each delivering a characteristic opinion as to hispurpose, but all of them roughly compassionate. Without exception, they looked upon him as one of the show-sick youths who, in thosedays, as now, succumb too readily to the lure of sawdust and spangles. More than one scoffing jest was uttered over his unconscious head. 

Now they realized that he was not what they had thought him to be. Adeeper tragedy than this seemed to be stamped in his wan face. 

"You fainted ten minutes ago. Are you feeling better now? Give himsome brandy, one of you. We will put you on your feet again in a fewminutes, and then you may get on to the hotel. How wet you are! Youmust have come far. "

He watched her face all the time she was speaking. No sign of trust orconfidence came into his own as the result of her kindliness. Instead, the wariness grew. 

"Only across the mountain, " he said succinctly. A half smile, quizzical and almost grotesque by reason of the mud on his chin, cameto his lips. "I've been out in the rain, ma'am, " he vouchsafed. "Ishould say you had, " said the contortionist. "You're soppin' wet. Bygum, I'll bet the green runs in these tights of mine, too. " The wetbody had drenched them thoroughly. 

Whereupon the newcomer undertook to support himself, not without aword of thanks to the acrobat. Once more he surveyed the mystic circleof figures. He had never been so close to men and women in tightsbefore. Somehow they were not so alluring as when viewed from the blueseats of the circus tent. The fluffy, abbreviated tarletan skirts oftwo women bareback riders who stood not more than two yards awayseemed tawdry and flimsy at close range; the pink fleshings of theworld's greatest somersault artist looked rumpled and fuzzy; thezouave costume of the lady rope-walker lost its satiny sheen throughpropinquity; the clown was dusty and greasy and stuffy. An illusionwas being shattered in the flash of an eye. 

"I must be moving along, " he said, in quick return to apprehension. "Thank you for looking out for me. It was very kind of--" He swayed ashe tried to arise. The genial contortionist caught him. 

"He's hungry!" cried one of the bareback queens. He made a heroiceffort to pull himself together. The innate modesty of a gentlemanreproved him even as things went hazy: he was conscious that he wasstaring at the surprisingly large kneecaps of the speaker. He wasvaguely troubled because they were dirty. 

A flask of brandy was pressed to his lips. He gasped, caught hisbreath, and, as the tears came to his eyes, smiled apologetically. 

"It's pretty strong, " he choked out. 

"Puts snap and ginger into you, " said the clown, standing back towatch the effect of his ministrations. "It strikes me you're not acommon tramp. Wot were you doing 'angin' round this tent, son? Don'tyou know you might 'ave got clubbed to death by one of the canvasmenout there? They're never 'appy unless they're kickin' some poor rubeover the guy-ropes. You wasn't trying to peep into the dressing-tent, was you?"

A hot flush mounted to the boy's forehead. He arose unsteadily. 

"No, " he said quickly. "I was trying to find a dry spot. I was tiredout. Let me go now, please. I'm all right. " He started toward a flapin the tent wall. 

"Better not go that-a-way, " said the clown. "You'll go plump into thering. Wait a minute. Are you 'ungry?"

"No, " said the boy, but they knew he was not speaking the truth. Thegirl in the long red cloak, she of the wonderful eyes, stood beforehim. 

"Please wait, won't you?" she said, half timidly, half imperatively. "I will get something for you to eat. It's--it's right over there inmy corner. The cook always brings my father's supper here after theshow begins. He won't mind if I give it to you. He can get more. Myfather owns the show. "

"No, no, " he cried. "I can't take his supper. I am not hungry. "

But she smiled and flew away, disappearing behind the flap at hisleft: a fluttering red fairy she might have been. He never forgot thatfirst radiant, enveloping smile. 

"It is all right, my boy, " said the girl's mother, also smiling. "You_are_ hungry. We know what it is to be hungry--sometimes. "

"That we do, " said the contortionist, rubbing his narrow abdomen anddrawing a lugubrious mouth. 

"You must be quite frozen in those wet clothes, " observed Mrs. Braddock pityingly. 

"I can't stay here, ma'am, " he said abruptly. The hunted look cameback into his eyes. 

"He's no regular bum, " said the "strong man, " in the background, addressing the pink-limbed "lady juggler. "

"He's got a 'istory, that boy 'as, " said the lady addressed, deeplyinterested. "Makes me think o' that boy Dickens wrote about. What washis name?"

"How should I know?" demanded the strong man. "You Britishers arealways workin' off riddles about something somebody wrote. "

"What is your name?" asked the gentle-voiced woman at the boy's side. "Where do you come from?"

He hesitated, still uncertain of his standing among these strange, apparently friendly people. 

"I can't tell you my name, " he said in a low voice. "I hoped youwouldn't ask me. I have no home now--not since--Oh, a long time ago, it seems. More than a week, I reckon, ma'am. "

"You have been wandering about like this for a week?" she asked insurprise. He gulped. 

"Yes, ma'am. Since the eleventh of May. " He wanted to tell her that hehad been hunted from county to county for over a week, but somethingheld his tongue. He felt that she would understand and sympathize, buthe was not so sure of the others. 

Perhaps she suspected what was going on in that troubled brain, forshe laid her hand gently upon his arm and said: "Never mind, then. When you are stronger, you may go. I am sure you are a good boy. "

He thanked her with a look of mute gratitude. The girl with the longred cloak came tripping back with a tray. She placed it on his knees;then she whisked away the napkin which covered it. All he knew wasthat he smiled up into her eyes through his tears, and that the smellof warm food assailed his nostrils. As she straightened up, theneglected cloak slipped from her shoulders. She caught it on her arm, but did not attempt to replace it. He lowered his eyes, singularlyabashed. A trim, clean figure in red tights stood before him, absolutely without fear or shame or in the least conscious of herattire. 

He was in her world, that was all. In his, outside that canvascrucible and between performances, she would have died ofmortification if, by chance, there had been one-tenth of the exposure. Here, she was as fully dressed and as modestly as she would be an hourlater, clothed from head to foot in the conventional garments of hersex, rigidly observing the strictest laws of delicacy. 

A trim, straight figure she was, just rounding into young womanhood;turning fifteen, in truth. Lithe and graceful, with the sinuousdevelopment of a perfectly healthy young girl who has gone through theexpanding process without pausing at the awkward stage, due no doubtto her life and training. Firm, well-rounded hips; a small waist, fullchest and perfect shoulders, straight, exquisitely modeled limbs andhigh, arched insteps: perfect in girlhood, with promise of the divineat the height of full womanhood. 

The mother arose at once. She remembered that he was in their world. 

"Come, " she said to her daughter. They withdrew to the women's half ofthe dressing-tent, leaving him to devour his feast alone. Slowly theothers, taking their cue, edged away. When next the clown approachedhim, fresh from a merry whirl in the ring, the tray was on themattress at his side, every particle of food gone. The boy's face wasin his hands, his elbows on his knees. 

"Well, you _was_ 'ungry, " said the kindly voice. The boy looked up, hiseyelids heavy. 

"I reckon I was almost asleep, " he said. "I haven't slept much oflate. "

Suddenly it dawned on him that the clown was staring intently at hisface. With quick understanding he shrank back, but did not withdrawhis gaze from the eyes of the other. 

"By jingo!" muttered the motley one. "You--you are the one they're'unting for--all over the state. The reward bills! I remember now!"

The lad had risen. A look of abject misery and dread leaped in hiseyes. 

"Let me go!" he said, almost in a whisper, fiercely intense. "I'll getout. I haven't done any harm to you. Don't keep me here a minute--"

"Then you _are_ the Jenison boy!" in open-mouthed wonder. "Well, I'llbe jiggered! Here! Don't bolt like that!"

"Let go of me!" cried the boy, striking at the hand that clutched hisarm. "I won't let them catch me! Let me go!"

"Keep your shirt on, my son, " said the clown coolly. "Nobody's goingto 'urt you 'ere. Just you remember that. I am not going to give youup--leastwise, not just yet. So you murdered your grandfather, didyou? Well, I wouldn't 'ave took you to be that kind--"

"I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" There was piteous appeal in his wideeyes. "I swear I didn't. They're trying to put it on me to save someone else. Oh, please, don't keep me here. They--they are--they must behere by this time, looking for me. Oh, if you knew how I've tried tododge them. They had bloodhounds last Saturday. Oh!" He covered hisface with his hands and shuddered as with a mighty chill. 

Grinaldi eyed him speculatively. 

"You say they're 'ere now? So close as that?" he demanded in a lowvoice. 

"I passed them on the mountain. I tried to make the railroad ahead ofthem. There was a bridge down back there. There were two of them, officers from the county seat. They won't have any mercy if they findme. They'll take me back and I'll be hung. I can't prove anything--Ican't escape. " He had dropped helplessly to the edge of the mattress, and was staring hard at the sidewall beyond as if expecting hispursuers to burst in upon him at any moment. 

"And you didn't do it?" the clown asked, something like awe in hisvoice. 

"Before God, I did not. I--I loved my grandfather. I _couldn't_ havedone it. Why, he was the only father I had--the only mother. He waseverything to me. It was--" He caught himself up quickly in his wilddeclaration. "I know the man who did it. I heard them talking itover before it happened, but I didn't know what they were talkingabout. " His eyes grew almost glassy with the horror that surged upfrom behind them. 

"Then why don't you tell your story?" demanded the clown. "Let theother chap clear 'imself. "

"They've got the evidence against me. Oh, you don't know! You can'tknow how it looked to the world. There's a man who says he saw me witha gun at my grandfather's window. He did see me there and I had a gun, but not to kill poor old granddaddy. No, no! I heard some one walkingon the gallery--a thief, I thought. I crawled out of my window with myshotgun. I--but I oughtn't to tell you this. You must let me go. I'llnever tell on you, I swear--"

"Wait a minute, " interrupted the clown, laying his arm over the boy'sshoulder. "We'll talk it over with Mrs. Braddock. She can tell bylookin' in your eyes whether you're good or bad. As far as I'mconcerned, I don't believe you did it. Yes, yes, that's all right!Don't hug me, sonny. Here she is. She's the wife of the man wot ownsthe show. "

Mrs. Braddock crossed over to them, smiling. It was not until sheopened her lips to speak of the compliment his appetite had paid tothe cook tent that she perceived the look in his eyes. Then sheglanced at the serious face of the clown. 

"This 'ere chap, ma'am, " said Grinaldi, in low, level tones, "is DavidJenison, the boy wanted for that murder near Richmond last week. You've seen the reward bills. His grandfather, you remember--"

She drew back; her eyes dilated, her lips stiff. "You are the Jenisonboy?" she said slowly, even unbelievingly. "The one who killed hisgrandfa--" "But I didn't do it!" he almost wailed. "You--_you_ mustbelieve me, ma'am. I didn't do it!" He stood before her, lookingstraight into her eyes. 

"No, Mrs. Braddock, " said Grinaldi, "he didn't do it. " "How do youknow, Grinaldi? How can you--" "Because he says another person didit, " said Grinaldi calmly. 

The woman turned to the boy once more. She seemed to be searching hissoul with her intense gaze. 

"No, " she murmured, after a moment, breathing deeply, "I am sure youdid _not_ commit murder. You poor, poor boy!"

He would have dropped to his knees before her, had not the clownchecked him by means of a warning hiss. 

"Brace up!" he said sharply. Then to Mrs. Bradock: "We've got to finda way to 'ide 'im. The officers are right on his 'eels. "

She hesitated for a moment. Swift glances passed between her and theclown. 

"You must keep very quiet and do what we tell you to do, " she said tothe boy, who nodded his head eagerly. "You will be safe here. A circusis the safest harbor in all the world for the thief and thelawbreaker. Why should it not be so for one who is innocent?"

"Let me tell you all about it, madam, " began David Jenison, thehunted. She stopped him. 

"Not now. There is no time for that. We will take you on faith and wewill help you. My boy, I knew in the beginning that you were of gentlebirth--I saw it in your face, in the way you held yourself. But thatyou should be one of the Jenisons of Virginia--why, Grinaldi, theJenisons are the bluest--But, there, we'll talk of that another time, too. Sam!" She called to a ring attendant who stood near the entrance. The burly, rough-looking young man came up at once, respectful to adegree. 

"Go out in front and tell Mr. Braddock to hurry back here as soon ashe is through with the tickets!" The man slid out between the flappingwalls. "Now, Grinaldi, you must make it your business to tell everyone who this boy is, and what must be done for him. Don't be alarmed, David Jenison, " she said with a smile. He had opened his lips toprotest. "There isn't a soul in all this company, from feed-boy toproprietor, who will betray you to the officers of the law. We standtogether--the innocent and the guilty. If you are vouched for by JoeyGrinaldi and--me, or by any other in our little universe, that is theend of it. Even the basest ruffian in the canvas gang, even the vilestof the hostlers, will stand by you through thick and thin. And thereare real murderers among them, too. You must have faith in us. "

"I have faith in YOU" he said simply. Then, true Virginian that hewas, this tired, harassed boy bent low and lifted her hand to hisgallant lips. "I will give my life up for you any day, madam. It isyours. "

"Spoken like a gentleman, " said the clown, his eyes twinkling. 

A couple of horses came clattering into the tent from the ring. At theentrance they were seized by waiting attendants; one of the mysteriesthat had always puzzled the boy was solved. He had wondered where theplunging steeds raced to after their whirlwind exit from the ring. Amoment later, a swarm of men came rushing in with hoops, balloons andbanners and hurdle-poles, followed by the "Greatest Living BarebackRider of the Globe, the One and Only Mellburg. " After him came a tiredringmaster, lanky and not half so proud as he looked to be in hisspike-tailed coat. 

Some one in the big tent was making an announcement in stentoriantones. 

"It's time for me to go in, " said the clown. "My song comes now. Justyou go along with Casey 'ere, into the dressing-room. He'll get yousomething dry to wear out of my box. Don't forget one thing: we're allas thick as thieves 'ere, whether we're honest men or not. You'll findevery man, woman and child wot appears in the ring to be absolutelysquare and honest. They've got to be. The bad men are not theperformers. You'd find that out if you was with 'em a bit. I don'tmind tellin' of it to you, as a consolation, that there is two realmurderers among the canvasmen and a dozen or more pussons which arewanted for desp'rit things. Nobody peaches on 'em, mind you, andthat's the way it goes. We've just _got_ to stand together. Hi! Hi!"

He was off with a rush. A few minutes later he was heard singing hislay in the ring, the then popular and familiar ditty, "Whoa, Emma!"with a crude but vociferous chorus of male voices to "join in therefrain. " Casey, without further instructions, and asking noquestions, led the youth into the men's section. Here all wasconfusion. A dozen men were stripping themselves of one set of tightsto don another, for in those days the ordinary acrobat did many turnsin the process of earning his daily bread. 

By the time Grinaldi returned, young Jenison was completely arrayed inan extra costume of the clown's, a creation in red and white stripes, much too baggy in all directions, but dry as toast. The owner of thecostume put his hands to his sides and roared with laughter. 

"Casey, you serpent, " he gasped, "I didn't mean that kind of a suit. Imeant my Sunday togs--the ones I go to church in, when I goes. Which Idoesn't. 'Ere, boys, step right up and listen to an announcement. " Thecrowd gave attention. "This 'ere chap is wanted. There's a big rewardfor 'im. You've all seen the posters. He's the Jenison boy. Well, heain't guilty. Get the notion? We Ve got to 'elp 'im out of thecountry. Mum's the word, lads. Say!" He stood back to inspect hischarge. "If you're going to wear them togs, you've got to 'ave yourface done over to match. "

Whereupon he began to apply grease and bismuth to the countenance ofthe amazed young patrician. The others looked on and laughed good-naturedly. To his surprise, no one seemed to mind the fact that he wasa fugitive and an alleged slayer. They had stared at him curiously fora moment; two or three of them exchanged whispers, that was all. 

In a twinkling he was transformed into a real scaramouch. A conicalhat adorned the knit skullpiece that covered his black hair. 

"Don't peep in the lookin'-glass, " said Signor Anaconda, now in thepale blue tights of a "ground and lofty" tumbler. "You'll keel overagain, plumb dead. "

The flap at the entrance was jerked aside and a tall, black-mustachedman peered in upon the group. 

"Where's the kid?" he demanded sharply. "My wife said he was with you, Joey. Say, I don't like this business. They're out in front now, looking for him. Two of 'em. Have you let him get away?"

David, peering from behind the real clown, experienced aninstantaneous feeling of aversion for Braddock, the proprietor. Evenas he quailed beneath the new peril that asserted itself in no vaguemanner, he found himself wondering how this man could have come to bethe husband of his lovely benefactress. 

"He's here, Tom, " announced Grinaldi, shoving the boy forward. 

"What's he doing in that costume?" demanded the owner, dropping theflap and staring hard at the boy. 

"His clothes were wet. Besides, if they come botherin' around back'ere, Tom, they won't be so likely to reckernise him in these--"

"Say, do you suppose I'm going to get into a muss with these people byhiding a murderer?" snapped Braddock. "Bring him out here. Come along, bub. "

"You're getting blamed virtuous all of a sudden, Braddock, " said theclown angrily. "'Ow about these dogs you are protectin' all the time?What's more, this 'ere kid's innocent. "

"There's five hundred dollars reward for this fellow, " said Braddock, jamming his hands into his coat pockets. "That doesn't sound like he'sinnocent, does it? Besides, the officers are plumb certain he'shanging around this show some place. I'm not going to be pestered withconstables and detectives from here to Indiana, let me tell you that. It's bad business, monkeying with stray boys, ever since the CharleyRoss kidnapping job last year. So you lummixes have decided to protecthim, have you? Why, the whole pack of you ought to be in jail for eventhinkin' of it. Come out here, boy!"

Without a word, the boy shook himself free of Grinaldi's protectinggrasp, and stepped forward. 

"I'm not willing to see these men get into trouble, " he said steadily, addressing the boss. "Give me time to change my clothes again, andthen you can call in the officers. "

"Don't be a fool, " exclaimed the clown. A murmur of protest arose fromthe others. 

"Thomas!" A woman's voice was calling from the other side of the lowcanvas partition. 

"That's my wife, " growled Braddock. "I suppose she'll be beggin' foryou, too. What do you want?" The question was roared through thecanvas. 

"Come here, please. I must speak with you. "

"Change your clothes, boy, " he said, after a moment of indecision. "See that he don't get away, you fellows. If he gives you the slip, I'll have blood, and don't you forget it. "

The man had been drinking. His eyes were bloodshot and unsteady. Hisface was bloated from the effects of long and continued use ofalcohol. Once on a time he had been a dashing, boldly handsome fellow;there could be no doubt of that; the sort of youth that any romanticgirl might have fallen in love with. He was tall and straight andpowerful, despite the evidences of dissipation that his facepresented. A wonderfully vital constitution had protected his bodyfrom the ravages of self-indulgence; the constitution of a great, splendid human animal, in whom not the faintest sign of a onceattractive personality remained. There was no refinement there, nomark of good breeding; all of the mirage-like glamour that may havebewildered and deceived _her_, long years ago, was gone. What shehad evidently mistaken for the nobility of true manhood, in herinnocence and folly, was no more than the arrogance of splendidhealth. This man had been beautiful in his day, and frankly pleasing. That was long before the thing that was in his blood, and in the bloodof his fathers, perhaps, had claimed dominion: the mysterious thingwhich inevitably registers the curse of the base-born, so that no manmay be deceived. Blood always tells, but usually it tells too late. 

But of the Braddocks and their hateful history, more anon. Let us lookat this man as he now is, just as we have looked, perhaps toocasually, at the woman who called him husband. 

A heavy black mustache, lightly touched with gray, shaded a coarse, rather sinister mouth, from the corner of which protruded an unlightedbut thoroughly-chewed cigar. His hair and eyebrows were thick andblack. Thin red lines formed a network in his cheeks, telling of thehabits that had put them there; on his forehead there was a perpetualscowl, a line slashed between the eyes as if laid there by a knife. The features were not irregular, but they were of the strength thatdenotes cultivated weaknesses. His chin was square and strong, heavilystubbled with a two days' growth of beard. Eyes that were black andsullen, stood well out in their sockets; the lids were red and thick, and there were narrow pouches below them; the whites were bloodshotand indefinite. He was flashily dressed in the mode of the day, typical of his calling. A silk hat tilted rakishly over his brow. Hiswaistcoat was a loud brocade, his necktie a single black band, knottedonce. There was a great paste diamond in his soiled shirt-front. Along checked coat, with tails and sidepockets, trousers of the samematerial, completed his ordinary makeup. Tonight, on account of therain, he wore high gum boots outside of the trouser-legs. 

You could hardly have mistaken his calling in those days, unless youmight have suspected him of being a gambler. In which you would nothave been wrong. 

The line between his eyes seemed to deepen as he turned from the groupto join his wife in the "green room" of the tent. As the flap droppedbehind him, Grinaldi turned to the boy, who had started to unlace thestriped overshirt. 

"Wait a minute, " he said quickly. "Mebbe we can fix it with 'im. She'll put in a plea for you and so will Little Starbright, --that'swhat 'is daughter is called on the bills--if she gets a chance. Stayright 'ere, youngster. I've got to go in for my girl's act now. I wishyou could see my girl. She's the queen of the air, and don't youforget it. Ain't she, boys?"

There was a combined--apparently customary--chorus of approval. 

Outside, Braddock was glowering upon his wife, who faced himresolutely. There never had been a time when she was afraid of thisman; even though he had mistreated her shamefully, he had never foundthe courage to exercise his physical supremacy. As so often is thecase--almost invariably, it may be affirmed--with men of his type andorigin, Braddock recognized and respected the qualities that put herso far above him. Not that he admitted them, even to himself: thatwould have been fatal to his own sense of justice. He merely feltthem; he could not evade the conditions for the reason that he waspowerless to analyze the force which produced them. He only knew thatsomehow he merited the scorn in which she held him. There were timeswhen he hated her for the very beauty of her character. Then he cursedher in bleak, despairing rage, more against himself than against her;but never without afterward cringing in morbid contemplation of theshudder it brought to her sensitive face. 

If any one had been so bold as to accuse him of not loving her, hewould have been crushed to earth by the brute that was in him. On theother hand, if he were timorously charged with loving her, it wouldhave been like him to call the venturesome one a liar--and mean it, too, in his heart. 

"But five hundred is five hundred, " he was repeating doggedly inopposition to her argument in behalf of the boy. "You don't knowwhether he's guilty or not, Mary. So what's the use of all thisgabble? It makes me sick. Business is bad. We need every dollar we canscrape up. I won't be a party to--"

"You harbor pickpockets and thieves and--yes, murderers, I'm told, Tom. It is a shameful fact that more sneak thieves follow this showand share with its owner than any other concern in the business. Oh, Iknow all about it! Don't try to deny it. They pay a regular tribute toyou for privileges and protection. Artful Dick Cronk gave you half ofthe hundred he filched from the old man at Charlottesville last week. I--"

"Here, here!" he said in an angry whisper. "Don't talk so damned loud. Next thing you'll be telling that sort of stuff to the girl. That'd bea nice thing for her to think, wouldn't it? Say, don't you ever let mehear of you breathin' a word of that kind to her. I'd--I'd beat yourbrains out. Understand?"

"Oh, I'm not likely to tell her what kind of a man her father is, "said his wife bitterly. "Take care, Tom, that she doesn't find it outfor herself. Be quiet! She is coming. "

The girl, cleansed of her paint and powder, her lithe body clad in aprim, navy blue frock, the skirt of which came below the tops of herhigh-laced boots, approached hastily from the women's section. She wastying the strings of her quaint poke-bonnet under her chin, and hereyes were gleaming with excitement. 

"Where is that boy?" she asked, looking about in some anxiety. "Father, you should see him. He is so different from the boys whofollow--"

"We were just talking about him, " interrupted her father shortly. "He's wanted by the police, so you see he ain't so different from therest after all. He's a--"

"Don't, Tom, " cried his wife. 

"--a murderer, " completed Braddock, rolling his cigar from one side ofhis mouth to the other. 

The girl stared at him for a moment, dumbly, uncomprehendingly. Herlips parted and her eyes grew very wide. 

"Oh, father, " she cried, in low, hushed tones. Then she turned to hermother, almost imploringly. "Is--is it true, mother?"

"Well, see here, " broke in Braddock angrily. "Don't you believe me?Haven't I said so?"

"He is the Jenison boy we were talking about last night, dearie, " saidMrs. Braddock. "I don't believe he committed that horrid crime. Ican't believe it. "

"I am sure he didn't--I am sure he didn't, " cried the girlimpulsively. "He is a gentleman, father. He couldn't--"

Braddock took instant offense. He hated to hear any one spoken of as agentleman. 

"What's that got to do with it?" he demanded. "Gentleman, eh? You twoseem to think that these pretty gentlemen can't do anything wrong. Why, they're rottener than nine-tenths of the blokes that follow thisshow--every mother's son of 'em. I'm sick of having this gentlemanbusiness thrown up to me. That's all you two talk about. I suppose youthink you're better than the company you live with. Let me tell youthis, you're show people and nothin' more. I don't give a damn whoyour people are; you're my wife and my daughter, and that's all thereis to it. I won't stand this sort of--"

"Tom, you _must_ keep still, " said his wife firmly. He was intoxicated;she knew better than to argue with him, or to agree with him. "All thishas nothing to do with the boy. We must give him a chance, the same as--you understand?"

He glared at her warningly. 

"I don't protect thieves and murderers, " he said quickly. 

Then he whirled about and snatched aside the flap, calling to thegroup of acrobats. 

"Come out here, you! Step lively. I want to ask a few questions. Wherethe dev--Say, haven't you got out of that suit yet? Why, you littlescuttle, I'll rip it off your back if you're not out of it in twominutes. Hold on! Come out here first. "

As Jenison walked past him the proprietor gave him a violent cuff onthe side of the head. The boy, weak and faint, reeled away and wouldhave fallen but for the tent pole which he managed to clutch. His facewas convulsed by sudden rage. Even while his head swam, he pulledhimself together for a leap at the man who had struck the wanton, unexpected blow. 

Braddock was huge enough and strong enough to crush the infuriatedlad, but drink had made him a coward at heart. He stooped over andpicked up an iron-ringed stake from the ground. 

With a little cry of terror his daughter, recovering from her suddenstupefaction, sprang forward and frantically clutched the man's arm. Her mother was no less active in putting herself in front of the boy, staying him with resolute hands. The performers who had followed Davidfrom the room leaped in with clenched fists, glaring hatefully attheir employer. Others, in remote parts of the enclosure, hurried up, aroused from drowsy meditation by the sharp excitement. 

"Don't, father!" cried the girl in the agony of dread. 

"Damn him, he may have a gun, " exclaimed Braddock. "He's used onebefore. "

"Why did you strike me?" cried David hoarsely, his lips twitching, hiseyes glowing like coals. 

"Aw, none o' that, now, none o' that, " snarled Braddock, taking a stepforward. 

"Why did you strike me?" repeated the boy dully. 

"Calm yourself, my boy, " Mrs. Braddock kept repeating insistently, without raising her voice, always low, tense, impelling. 

The tears sprang to his eyes--tears of rage and helplessness. With asob he turned away and leaned his head against the pole. 

"Poor boy, " she whispered. 

"Don't you call me a brute, Casey, " roared Braddock, turning upon thecontortionist in a fury. Casey had not uttered a word, but Braddockinstinctively anticipated the charge. The contortionist was afraid ofhim. He drew back with a scared look in his eyes. 

Mrs. Braddock was speaking quietly, compassionately to the sufferingboy. "We must be careful, " she said, "not to oppose him too strongly. Those men are out in front. He will turn you over to them if youresort to violence. Calm yourself, do. There is still the chance thathe may change his mind. He is not really heartless. It is only hisway. "

"Why did he strike me?" again fell from the lips of the fugitive. 

At this moment Grinaldi came hurrying in from the ring. He took in thesituation at a glance. Behind him, peering over his shoulder, was ablack-haired young woman in pink tights and spangled trunks. 

David was afterward to know this handsome, black-haired girl as RubyNoakes, the daughter of Grinaldi, otherwise Joey Noakes, and known tothe gaping world as Mademoiselle Roxane, the Flying Queen of the Air. 

CHAPTER III

DAVID ENTERS THE SAWDUST RING

Braddock saw at once that the old clown was against him. With an uglyimprecation he directed one of the attendants to go to the mainentrance with instructions to bring Mr. Blake and his friend back tothe dressing-tent. 

"We'll see who's running this show, " he declared, taking a fresh gripon the stake, and rolling the dangling cigar over and over between histeeth. 

"Hold on, Camp, " said Grinaldi, checking the attendant with a gesture. "See 'ere, Tom, " he went on earnestly, "wot's the reason you won'tgive this one an even chance with the others?"

Stand aside, Christie, " Braddock said to his trembling daughter. "Don't get in the way. Oh, I'm not going to smash the cub, so don'tworry. Here! Come away from him, I say. Both of you. I won't stand forany petting of a rascal like him. Well, I'll tell you, Joey Noakes, "he went on, turning to the clown, "I don't mind saying I need themoney. This kid's going to be caught by somebody before long, and theman that does it gets five hundred. It might as well be me. Businessis business, and just now business is bad. You people all know whatthis infernal weather has done for us. We haven't had a paying daysince we opened, and here it is the middle of May--nearly six weeks, that's what it is. There's a lousy three hundred dollars in the bigtop to-night and half as much this afternoon. I tell you if theserains keep up I'll have to close. It takes more than five hundreddollars a day to run this show. I owe back salaries--all of you havegot something coming to you. Five hundred dollars velvet, that's whatthis boy means to me--not for myself, mind you, but for the treasury. That's why I'm going to turn him over, if you want to know. "

"But he ain't guilty, " said Grinaldi sharply. 

"How do you know?" snarled Braddock. "Go and do what I told you, " tothe wavering attendant. Mrs. Braddock and Christine were standingbeside the dejected boy, the former looking steadily at the face ofher husband, whose bloodshot eyes would not meet her gaze. Christine'seyes were wide with the bewildered stare of an intelligence that hassuddenly been aroused to new aspects: she was having a glimpse of aside to her father's character that had never been revealed to herbefore. 

She put forth a hand and drew Ruby Noakes close beside her, pressingher hand tightly in actual alarm. The Noakes girl's arm went aroundthe slender figure, but she continued to stare curiously at the faceof the stranger in their midst. She was half a head taller thanChristine, and at least three years her senior. 

"We ought to have a new clown to help out dad, Mr. Braddock, " venturedMiss Noakes coolly. 

Braddock stared at her. He was not in the habit of accepting feminineadvice. 

"What's that?" he barked. 

"Keep still, Ruby, " cautioned her father nervously. Ruby's lips partedquickly, and then, thinking better of it, she closed them. 

David's face took on a queer, uncertain expression while Braddock wasadvancing his dire need of money as an excuse for turning him over. The proprietor resumed his bitter harangue against the weather, prophesying bankruptcy and sheriff's sales. The boy's face began toclear. An eager, excited gleam came into his eyes. He looked about himas if searching for some sign of corroboration in the faces of theperformers. A certain evidence of dejection had crept into more thanone countenance. It began to dawn on him that the man was more or lesssincere in his argument; even the words of others, in conflict withhis purpose, served to convince him that the money was needed, veryseriously needed. 

"If he's innocent, he can prove it, " argued Braddock stubbornly. "Thecounty pays the five hundred. It's nothing out of his pocket. Why thedevil shouldn't I get it?"

David had opened his lips two or three times to utter the words thatsurged up from his anxious, despairing heart. A sense of guilt andshame had checked them on each occasion. Whatever it was that he feltimpelled to say, his honest pride rebelled against the impulse. 

Now he lifted his head resolutely, and addressed the proprietor, whosestand appeared to be immovable. 

"I will pay you the five hundred dollars, " said David clearly. 

Every eye was turned upon him, every tongue was stilled. The tumblerswho had started for the ring stopped in their tracks to gaze in open-mouthed wonder at the straight, grotesque figure that faced Braddock. 

The proprietor blinked unbelievingly. Then he gave vent to a short, derisive laugh. 

"You will, will you?"

David felt a hot wave of blood rush to his head. His offer had metwith the rebuke it deserved!

"I thought that if it was only the money, I could let you have it. Ididn't mean to try to buy you off, " he explained hastily. 

"Are you in earnest?" demanded Braddock, depositing the stake on theground, a curious glitter swimming across his eyes. 

"About the money?"

"Certainly. Where are you going to get it?"

"I've got it with me, " said David, feeling at his side. A look ofdismay spread over his face. It was quickly dispelled by therecollection that his own clothes were lying in the men's dressing-room. "It's in my vest. "

No one thought to oppose him as he passed hastily under the flap. Hewas back in a moment, carrying his rain-soaked waistcoat. With nervousfingers he drew a heavy pin from the mouth of the inside pocket, andextracted a long leather purse therefrom. It was tied up with a heavypiece of string. 

"Do you mean to tell me that you've got five hundred dollars inthere?" demanded Braddock incredulously. 

David felt without seeing the look that went through the crowd. Heknew, by some strange mental process, that they were condemning him, that they were drawing away from him. He was bewildered. Then suddenlyhe understood. It came like a blow. Something rushed up into histhroat and choked him. 

They took this money to be the profits of murder! The spoils of adreadful sin!

Speechless, he turned to Mrs. Braddock. There was no mistaking thelook of pain and distress in her dark eyes. There were doubt andwonder there, too. It seemed to him that she shrank back a step;although, as a matter of fact, she remained as motionless as a statue. Christine was glowing upon him in grateful amazement, unutterablerelief in her gaze. To her, it meant only that he was rich and couldsave himself. It did not occur to her that he had come by the richesdishonestly, nor was she at once conscious of a feeling that herfather would do wrong to accept the tribute. It was not until laterthat she felt the shock of revulsion. 

"It is my money!" cried David, speaking to Mrs. Braddock. "Every centof it! I--I know what you are thinking. You think I stole it. " Hiseyes were flashing and his chin was held high now. "I'll kill any onewho says I steal. I'd sooner commit murder a thousand times than tosteal. "

"How did you--come by all that money?" asked Mrs. Braddock, more thanhalf convinced by his fervor. 

"That's what I'd like to know, " added her husband. "Here! Lemme takethat pocket-book. "

David jerked his hand loose and abruptly thrust the purse into thehand of the astonished Mrs. Braddock. 

"Look at it, " he cried passionately. "Open the purse. It's still inthe sealed envelope, just as my father left it when he went off to thewar the second time--after he was wounded. He left it with my motherfor me. No one has ever opened the package. It was in my mother'strunk until she died. She wouldn't put it in a bank. My uncle Franknever knew that she had it; he doesn't know that I have it now. But itis mine. My father gave it to me when I was six years old. See what itsays on the envelope. It's his own writing. 'For my son David. To beused in the acquiring of an education if I should fall in this dear, beloved cause, which now seems lost. God defend us all!' See! 'ArthurBrodalbin Jenison. ' My father's signature. Here is the seal of hisring. It is my money. "

Even Thomas Braddock was swayed, convinced by the eloquence of thatfierce appeal. He stared at the boy, his lips apart, his cigar hanginglimply from one corner of his mouth. 

"By thunder!" he murmured, frankly surprised in himself. "I believethe tale, hang me if I don't!"

But David was waiting only for the verdict of the woman. Mrs. Braddockhad not glanced at the envelope that she now clutched in her tensefingers; her eyes were only for the eager, chalk-colored face of theboy. Tears welled up in her warm eyes as he paused for breath. 

"I believe you, too--yes, yes, my boy, we all believe you, " she cried, putting out her hand to him. He snatched it up and kissed it. 

At that instant the ringmaster, white with rage, dashed in from thebig tent. 

"Say, what's the matter with you loafers?"

The crowd of tumblers jumped out of the trance as if shot. 

"The show's been held up for ten minutes! Get in there all of you!"Here followed a violent explosion of appropriate profanity. "Theaudience is gettin' wild. They'll be wantin' their money back unlessthe performance goes on purty blamed--"

Braddock reached the man's side in three steps. He delivered aresounding slap on the ringmaster's cheek, almost knocking him down. The tall hat went spinning away on the ground. Tears of pain andterror flew to the fellow's eyes. He began to blubber. 

"Don't you swear in the presence of my wife and daughter, --you!"snarled Braddock, his own blasphemy ten times as venomous as theother's. 

"I--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Braddock, " stammered the ringmaster ingreat haste. If the gaping, respectful hundreds could see the despotof the ring now!

Braddock's daughter uttered a low moan of horror and amazement. Herheart swelled with pity for the poor wretch who dared not to defendhimself. Ruby Noakes felt the quiver that ran through the girl's body. She promptly led her away from the spot. 

"Come with me while I change, " she said quickly. 

Together they passed into the women's dressing-room. Christine's lookof mute surprise and shame rested on David's face as the flap droppedbehind her. 

A minute later, the humiliated ringmaster, Briggs by name, wascracking his whip in the middle of the ring, mighty lord of all hesurveyed, although, to his chagrin, there was no clown present toreceive the attention. In those good old days the circus carried butone clown. He was the most overworked man in the ring, but he had thesatisfaction of knowing that he was the solitary idol of thousands. 

Grinaldi did not accompany the tumblers to the ring. The lone elephantthat graced the show and the horses had been led out for the "loftysomersault men" to vault over after the run down the "spring board";that part of the dressing-tent in which Braddock stood was now clearof humanity, except for his wife, the clown and David Jenison. 

"Well, he knows I don't permit swearing in front of my daughter, " saidBraddock, resenting the unspoken scorn in his wife's face. "Let's seethat envelope, " he added roughly. 

She held the coveted package behind her back, shaking her headresolutely. 

"How do I know there's five hundred in it?" he demanded. 

"There's more than that, " said David nervously. 

"How do you know? It's never been opened. "

Mrs. Braddock glanced at the writing on the face of the staunch, yellow envelope. She started violently. In plain figures, in onecorner, she saw: "$3, 000. " She realized, with a flash of shame, thatit would be fatal to the boy's interests if her husband should come toknow of the actual value of the package. She opened her lips to uttera word of caution to David, but he was too eager and too quick forher. 

"There's three thousand dollars in it, " he said. 

Braddock started. For the first time he removed the chewed cigar fromhis lips, all the while fixedly regarding the youth with narrowingeyes. He was thinking fast and hard. Three thousand dollars!

"You are not to break this seal, David Jenison, " said Mrs. Braddockfirmly, her face very white. "Take it and go. It is your money, notours. "

"Hold on there, " objected her husband. His befuddled brain was solvinga certain problem to his own eminent satisfaction. "These officershave got to be convinced that you are not with this show. I can'tafford to lie to 'em. There's only one way out of it. I can hire youunder another name and you can travel with us till we get out of thispart of the country. Five hundred is the reward. If I get it from you, most of it can be paid back in wages. If I turn you over to them andtake their coin, I'd be doing the best thing for myself, but I'mwilling to run the risk of--"

"Thomas Braddock, you are _not_ to take this boy's money, " cried hiswife. "It would be infamous!"

"Now, you keep out of this, " he growled, fearful for his plans. "It'sone or the other, Mary. Either he antes up or they do. "

"I will not allow it!"

David broke in, with a rare show of dignity. "I said I would pay it, Mrs. Braddock. I can't break my word. If Mr. Braddock will send themaway, I will pay the amount they offer. "

"Give him the envelope, Mary, " commanded Braddock. 

She looked about her as if seeking means of escape with the preciouspackage. Then, with a deep sigh, and a look of unutterable scorn forthe man, she handed the envelope to David. 

He broke the seal. 

"Maybe it's Confederate money, " said Braddock, a sudden chill in hisheart. But it was not Confederate money. There was exposed to view aneat package of United States treasury notes of large denomination, brand-new and uncrumpled, just as they had come from the treasurydepartment. 

Without hesitation, young Jenison counted off five hundred dollars. Mrs. Braddock closed her eyes in pain as he laid the notes in herhusband's hand. Grinaldi turned away, suppressing the bitterimprecation that rose to his lips. 

"I'll tell those scoundrels that you haven't been near the show. " Hedid not count the money. He had counted it with greedy eyes as Davidtold off the bills in his nervous, clumsy fingers. "Now, you lay low. Stick close to me. Don't let anybody see much of you till we're overin Ohio. I'll guarantee to get you off safe. Don't you worry. Just laylow. I'll find work for you to do. We're headed for Indiana andIllinois. They'll never get you out there. By thunder! I've got anidea, Joey, that girl of yours is right. You _do_ need a bit ofhelp. We'll make a clown of him. We'll have two clowns. How is that, Mary?"

She did not reply. He looked away hastily. 

"I couldn't be a clown, " began David in consternation. 

"Sure you can, " interrupted the boss. "It's as easy as fallin' off alog. Joey can tell you all the tricks. He's the best in the world, Joey Grinaldi is. That's what I've got him for. We've got the bestshow in the world, too. Barnum ain't in the same class with us. Forepaugh and Van Amberg? They are second rate aggre--But, say, I'dbetter go out and steer those fellows away. " He started off, butstopped suddenly as if struck by a serious doubt. 

"Perhaps you'd better let me take the rest of that money and put it inthe safe in the ticket-wagon, " he said encouragingly. "It's likely tobe nipped by some of these crooks that follow the show. 'T ain't safewith you, let me tell you that. "

"No!" cried his wife, her voice shrill with decision. 

Braddock did not insist. He was too wise for that. 

"Well, if it's stolen, don't blame me, " he said. "Remember, I told youso. I don't give a damn personally. It's your money, kid. "

"I reckon I'll keep it, " said David, suddenly acute. He began wrappingthe string around the broken package, which he had kept sacredlyinviolate for so long. "I'll stay with the show and do anything I can, if you'll only help me to get away. I--I don't want to be taken backthere. Some day, I expect to go back, but not right now. I'm notafraid. But I can't go back until I've found the man that_knows_. "

"There _is_ a man who--knows?" murmured Mrs. Braddock. 

"Yes. I must find him. He--he doesn't want to be found. That's why itis going to be so hard. But I will find him!" His eyes were flashing, his teeth were set. 

"So much the better, " said Braddock. "You can throw 'em off the trackfor awhile, then take your money and go to New York. You'll find himthere, all right. They all go there. "

"He is a nigger, " said David. 

"Umph!" grunted Braddock. "That's bad. You mustn't expect any jury inVirginia to believe a nigger in these days. "

"Oh, yes, they will. They'll have to, " declared David firmly. 

"Say, " said the proprietor, his voice sinking to tones of caution. Headdressed the three of them. "Better keep this quiet about the fivehundred. It won't help any of us if it gets out that you've beenbribing me, boy. I'll just say that I refused to take the wad. Thatwill go, too. Don't let _anybody_ know. Understand, Mary?" He lookedat her with lowering eyes. 

"I will not tell Christine, Tom, " she said evenly, meeting the lookwith a gaze so steady that he bristled for a moment, but gave waybefore it. He felt the scorn and laughed shortly in his attempt toconvince himself, at least, that he did not deserve it. 

"And just to show you that I'm honest in this business, " he went onhurriedly, "I'm going to begin by paying you the fifty I still owe onyour salary, Joey. That's the kind of a man I am. I do what I say I'lldo. Here's your fifty, Joey. "

"Not that kind of money for me, thank you, " said Grinaldi, with ascowl that brought his painted eyebrows together. He turned on hisheel and hurried into the dressing-room, unable to restrain the wordsthat would have cut the heart of the man's wife to shreds. 

An attendant came in from the circus tent just as Christine Braddockemerged from the dressing-room alone. David was stuffing the purseinside the loose shirt that he wore. The girl hurried to her mother'sside. 

"Are they going to--to take him?" she whispered fearfully. 

David saw the sweet, clean lips tremble. Her eyes were wide and drywith trouble. Somehow his heart swelled with a strange new emotion: hecould not have ascribed it to joy, or to self-pity, or to gratitude. It was something new and pleasant and warm; a glow, a light, anuplifting. This sweet, wonderfully pretty girl was his friend! Shebelieved in him. 

"No, dear, " replied Mrs. Braddock, lowering her eyes in suddenhumiliation. 

The attendant was speaking. "Mr. Braddock, that feller out at the doorhas got tired waitin'. He says he's comin' back yere to see you. What'll I say to 'im? He's got a warrant an' he's got some of the townmarshal's men with 'im now. "

"I'll go out and see him right away. The boy ain't with this show. "

With a slow, meaning look at his wife, he turned to follow the man. Over his shoulder he called to David:

"Go in there with Joey. He'll tell you where to hide if you have to. Be quick about it. "

He was gone. The tumblers began to pour in from the main tent. 

Christine clutched her mother's arm in the agony of desperation. 

"Did--did he take the money from--_him_?" she demanded tremulously. 

Mrs. Braddock looked at David, an abject appeal in her eyes. He smiledblandly and lied nobly, like a true Virginia gentleman. 

"No, Miss Braddock. Instead of that, he has hired me to go with theshow. "

"Oh, I am so glad, " she cried. "I knew he would not take your money. "

David swallowed hard; and then, fearing to speak again or to meet herradiant eyes, he hastened after Grinaldi. 

A moment later he was in the center of an excited, whispering group ofperformers, in various conditions of attire, but singularly alike intheir state of mind. They were softly but impressively consigningThomas Braddock to the most remote corner in purgatory. They pliedDavid with questions. He reported the impatience of the officers, andBraddock's decision to protect him for the time being. 

"I saw them chaps out there, standin' by the menagerie doors, " saidthe contortionist. "Spotted 'em right away, I did. "

A bareback rider looked in. His horse already had started for thering. 

"Lay low!" he whispered. "One of the boys says they won't be put offby Brad. They're going to search the tent with the town marshal. "

Grinaldi, who had been deep in thought, suddenly slapped his knee anduttered a cackle of satisfaction. 

"I've got it! We'll pull the wool over their eyes, by Jinks! Followme, boy, and do just wot I tells you. I'm--I'm going to take you intothe ring with me. By Jupiter, they won't think of looking for youthere. "

Attended by a chorus of approval, he shoved the stupefied David outbefore him and hustled him across the space that lay between them andthe main top, all the while whispering eager instructions in his ear. 

"You just follow behind me, keeping step all the time--about threesteps behind me. Don't look to right or left. Keep your eyes on themiddle of my back. Nobody knows you, so don't go into a funk, my lad. It's life or death for you, mebby. I'll get a word to Briggs, theringmaster. He'll help you out, too. Just follow me around the ring, three steps behind. Stop when I stop, walk when I do. Look silly, that's all. I'll think of something else to tell you to do after we'reout there. And _we'll stay out there till the show's over_. "

Trembling in every joint, David paused at the entrance. Mrs. Braddockcame running up from behind. 

"I've just heard, " she whispered. "Do as Joey tells you. Don't beafraid. "

"I'll try, " chattered David, pathetic figure of Momus. 

"Wait, " she whispered, as much to Joey Grinaldi as to the novice. "David, will you trust me to take care of your money until to-morrow?"

Without a word he slipped his hand into his shirt front and producedthe flat purse. He handed it to her. 

"Good!" exclaimed Joey Grinaldi. 

The next instant David Jenison, aristocrat, was trudging dizzilytoward the sawdust ring, his heart beating like mad, his kneestrembling. 

Thomas Braddock, detaining the officers on the opposite side of thering, saw the strange figure and for a moment was near to losing hiscomposure. Then he grasped the situation and exulted. He boldlyescorted Blake and the town authorities to the dressing-tent, where heassisted in the search and the questioning. 

Before the expiration of half an hour's time every man, woman andchild connected with Van Slye's Great and Only Mammoth Shows knew thatDavid Jenison, the murderer, was among them and that he was to beprotected. The word went slyly, by whisper, from car to ear, down tothe lowliest canvasman. It spread to the throng of crooks, pickpocketsand fakirs that followed the show; it reached to the freaks in thesideshow. And not one among them all would have betrayed him by signor deed. They stuck together like leeches, these good and bad nomads, and they asked few questions. And so it was that David Jenison madehis first appearance as a clown in the sawdust ring. 

CHAPTER IV

A STKANGER APPEAES ON THE SCENE

An hour after the conclusion of the performance David was on the roadonce more; not, as before, afoot and weary, but safely ensconced inone of the huge, lumbering "tableau" wagons used for thetransportation of canvas and perishable properties. The bosscanvasman, not the hardened brute that he appeared to be, had storedhim away in the damp interior of the ponderous wagon, first providinghim with dry blankets on which he could sleep with some security andno comfort. There was little space between his mountainous, shiftingbed and the roof of the van; and there would have been no air had notthe driver of the four-horse team obligingly opened a narrow windowbeneath the seat on which he rode. 

With considerable caution the fugitive had been smuggled into the van, under the very noses of his pursuers, so to speak. Somewhat dazed andhalf sick with anxiety, he obeyed every instruction of his friend theclown. 

Blake and his men had watched the tearing down of the tent, theloading of the entire concern and its subsequent departure down thenight-shrouded country pike. That Blake was not fully satisfied withthe story told to him by Thomas Braddock, and somewhat doubtfullysupported by his own investigations, is proved by the fact that hedecided to follow the show until he was positively assured that hisquarry was not being shielded by the circus people. With no littleastuteness he and his companion resolved that they could accomplishnothing by working openly: their only chance lay in the ability tokeep the circus people from knowing that they were following them. Inthis they counted without their hosts. At no time during the nextthree days were their movements unknown to the clever band of rascalswho followed the show for evil purposes, and who, with perfectintegrity, kept the proprietor advised of every step taken and ofevery disguise affected. Blake was not the first nor the lastconfident officer of the law to more than meet his match in the effortto outwit an old-time road circus. He was butting his head against astone wall. Consummate rascality on one hand, unwavering loyalty onthe other: he had but little chance against the combination. Thelowliest peanut-vender was laughing in his sleeve at the sleuth; andthe lowliest peanut-vender kept the vigil as resolutely as any oneelse. 

Despite his uncomfortable position and the natural thrills ofexcitement and peril, David was sound asleep before the wagon wasfairly under way. Complete exhaustion surmounted all other conditions. He was vaguely conscious of the sombre rumbling of the huge wagon andof the regular clicking of the wheel-hubs, so characteristic of thecircus caravan and so dear to the heart of every boy. His bones ached, his stomach was crying out for food, and his body was chilled; butnone of these could withstand the assault of slumber. He would haveslept if Blake's hand had been on his shoulder. 

Out into the country rolled the big wagon, at two o'clock in themorning, following as closely as possible the flickering rear lanternof the vehicle ahead. The rain had ceased falling, but there was amist in the air, blown from the trees that lined the road. Those ofthe circus men who were compelled to ride outside the wagons wereclothed in their rubber coats; their more fortunate companions sleptunder cover on the pole wagons, on top of the seat wagons, or instretchers swung beneath the property wagons or cages. Others, stillmore fortunate, slept in property or trunk vans, or in the bandchariots. The leading performers and officials, including all of thewomen, traveled by train. The gamblers, pickpockets and fakirs gotalong as best they could from town to town by stealing passage on thefreight trains. Times there were, however, when the entire aggregationtraveled with the caravan. On such occasions the luckless roustaboutgave up his precarious bedroom to the "ladies" and sat all night indubious solitude atop of his lodging house. These emergencies wereinfrequent: they arose only when railroad facilities were not to behad, or--alas! when the exchequer was depleted. 

On this murky night the performers remained over in S--, to take anearly train for the next stand. The railroad show was then an untriedexperiment. Barnum and Coup and others were planning the greatinnovation, but there was a grave question as to its practicability. Later on Coup made the venture, transporting his show by rail. Suchmen as Yankee Robinson, Cole and even P. T. Barnum traveled by wagonroad until that brave attempt was made. The railroad was soon to solvethe "bad roads" problem for all of them. Short jumps would no longerbe necessary; profitable cities could be substituted for the smalltowns that every circus had to make on account of the distances andthe laborious mode of transportation. Still, if you were to chatawhile with an old-time showman, you would soon discover that the"road circus" of early days was the real one, and that thescientifically handled concern of to-day is as utterly devoid of thetrue flavor as the night is without sunshine. 

Three times during the long, dark hours before dawn the chariot wasstalled in the mud of the mountain road; as many times it was moved bythe united efforts of five or six teams and the combined blasphemy ofa dozen drivers. Through all of this, David slept as if drugged. Daybreak came; the ghostly wagon train slipped from darkness into themisty light of a new "day. " Cocks were crowing afar and near, andbirds were chirping in the bushes at the roadside. Out of the sombre, crinkling night rolled the red, and white, and golden juggernauts, gradually taking shape in the gray dawn, crawling with sardonicindifference past toll-gate and farmhouse, creaking and groaning andsnapping in weird, uncanny chorus. 

Early risers were up to see the "circus" pass. It was something of anepoch in the lives of those who dwelt afar from the madding crowd. 

The elephant, the cages of wild beasts, the horses, the toweringchariots, the amazing pole wagons--all slipped down the road and overthe hill, strange, unusual objects that came but once a year andseemed to leave the countryside smaller and more narrow than it hadbeen before. 

Hunched-up drivers, sleepily handling a half-dozen reins, lookedneither to right nor left, but swore mechanically for the benefit ofthe tired horses, and without compunction in the presence of roadsidespectators, male or female. Wet, sour, unfriendly minions were they, but they sent up no lamentations; their lives may have been hard andunpromising, but lightly in their hearts swam the blissful convictionthat they were superior to the envious yokels who gaped at them fromfence corners and barnyards since the first dreary streak of dawncrept into the skies. A shadowy, ungainly, mysterious caravan ofsecrets, cherished but unblest, it straggled through the dawn, resolute in its promise of splendor at midday. Wild beasts were abroadin the land, and mighty serpents, too; but they slept and were scornedby the men who slumbered above or below them. 

The country people looked on and wondered, and shuddered at thethought of the terrific creatures at their very door-yards. Then theyhitched up their teams and flocked to town in the wake of the peril, there to marvel and delight in the very things that had awed them intheir own province. And all through the land people locked their doorsand put away their treasures. The circus had come to town!

It was eight o'clock before David was routed from his strange bed bythe boss canvasman. They were in a new town. He rubbed his eyes as hestood beside the wagon wheel and looked upon the amazing scene beforehim. Dozens of huge wagons were spread over the show-grounds; amultitude of men and horses swarmed in and about them; curious crowdsof early risers stood afar off and gazed. The rhythmic pounding ofiron stakes, driven down by four precise sledge-men came to his earsfrom all sides; the jangling of trace-chains; the creaking of wagonsand the whine of pulleys. Here, there, everywhere were signs of amighty activity, systematic in its every phase. Men toiled and sworeand were cursed with the regularity of a single well-balanced mind. Already the horse tent and the cook tent were up. A blacksmith shopwas clanging out its busy greetings. 

For a moment David forgot his own predicament. He stared in utterbewilderment, vastly interested in the great transformation. Under hisvery eyes a city of white was about to spring into existence. 

Some one touched his shoulder, not ungently. He started in suddenalarm. A rough-looking fellow in a soiled red undershirt was standingat his elbow. 

"The boss says you'd better come to the cook-top and get somethin' toeat, young feller. " That was all. He jerked his head in the directionof the long, low tent in the corner of the lot and started off. Davidfollowed, sharply conscious of a revived hunger. 

A score of men were seated at the long tables, gulping hot coffee andbolting their food. From the kitchen beyond came the crackling offats, the odor of frying things and the aroma of strong coffee. Theclatter of tin pans and cups, the rattle of pewter knives and forksand the commands of hungry men to the surly lads who served themassailed the refined ears of the young Virginian as he stoppedirresolutely at the mouth of the tent. 

"Set down here, kid, " said his escort, pointing to a place on theplank, stepping over it himself to take his seat at the board. If thestranger expected a greeting or comment on his appearance among thesemen, he was happily disappointed. They looked at him with sullen, indifferent eyes and went on bolting the breakfast. Some of them werehalf naked; all of them were dirty and reeking with perspiration. There was no effort at general conversation. David had the feelingthat they hated each other and were ready to hurl things at theslightest provocation, such as the passing of the time of day. 

A half-grown boy placed a huge tin cup full of steaming coffee on tothe table and said in a husky, consumptive voice: "'Ere's your slop, kid. "

Another boy jammed a panful of bacon and corn-bread across hisshoulder and advised him to hurry up and "grab it, you. "

David ate in shocked silence. The man at his left laughed at hisgenteel use of the knife and fork and the dainty handling of thebacon. Sugar and cream were not served. He was hungry. The coarse butwell-cooked food pleased his palate more than he could have believed. He ate his fill of the "chuck, " as his neighbor called it. Then he washurried back to the wagon in which he had slept. It was empty now, cavernous and reeking with the odor of damp canvas lately removed. 

"Git in there, kid, " said his guide briskly. "You gotta keep undercover fer a spell. Stay in there 'tel Joey Grinaldi says the word. Them's Braddock's orders. "

David hesitated a moment. "Where is Mrs. Braddock?" he asked. 

"Train ain't in yet. You don't suppose the highlights travel thisaway, do you? Well, nix, I should say not. Say, are you goin' to learnthe business? If you are, I got some fishworm oil that's jest thething to limber up yer joints. In two weeks, if you rub this oil ofmine all over you reg'lar, you c'n bend double three ways. " It was anold game. David stared but shook his head. 

"I'm not going to be a performer, " he said, with a wry smile at thethought of "fishworm oil. "

"Well, that bein' the case, have you got any chewin' about yerclothes?"

"Chewing?" murmured David. 

"Fine cut er plug, I don't care. "

"I don't chew tobacco, " said David stiffly. 

"Oh, " said the man in amaze. "A reg'lar little Robert Reed, eh? Well, hop inside there. I gotta shut the door. Don't you cry if it's dark, kid. "

David crawled into the chariot and the door was closed after him. Athin stream of daylight came down through the narrow slit beneath thedriver's seat. For a while he sat with his back against the wall, pondering the situation. Then, almost without warning, sleep returnedto claim his senses. He slipped over on his side, mechanicallystretched out his legs and forgot his doubts and troubles. 

He was aroused by the jostling and bouncing of the huge, empty wagon. With a start of alarm he leaped to his feet, striking his head againstthe roof of his abiding place, and hurried to the end of the wagon topeer out through the slit. Bands were playing, whips were cracking andchildren were shrieking joyously. It was a long time before he graspedthe situation. The "Grand free street parade" was in progress; he wasriding, like a caged beast, through the principal streets of the town!

From the security of his position he could look out upon the throngthat lined the sidewalks, without danger of being seen in return. After the first great wave of mortification and shame, he was able toconsider his situation to be quite as amusing as it was fortunate. Hefound himself laughing at the country people and their scarcely moresophisticated city brethren with something of the worldly scorn thatdominated the "profession. " Even the horses that drew the "Gorgeouschariots of gold" eyed the gaping crowds with profound pity. There isnothing in all this world so incredibly haughty as a circus, fromtent-peg to proprietor. Perhaps you who read this have felt your owninsignificance while gazing at an imperial tent-peg that happened tolie in your path as you wandered about the grounds; or you havecertainly felt mean and lowly in the presence of a program-peddler, and positively servile in contact with a boss canvasman. It is in theair; and the very air is the property of the circus. 

In time the twenty wagons, with their double and quadruple teams, attended fore and aft by cavaliers and court-ladies, _papier mache_grotesques, trick mules and "calico ponies, " came once more to thegrounds, still pursued by the excited crowd. Far ahead of the paradea loud-voiced "barker" rode, warning all people to look out fortheir horses: "The elephant is coming!" Just to show their utter lackof poise, at least fifty farm nags, in super-equine terror, leaped outof their harness and into their own vehicles when "Goliath, " thedecrepit old elephant, shuffled by, too tired to lift his proboscis, thus exemplifying the vast distinction between themselves and thecircus horses which only noticed Goliath when he got in the way. 

David had a long wait in the dark, stuffy chariot. Finally the doorwas opened and Braddock looked in. Directly behind the proprietor wasthe dirty sidewall of a tent. David blinked afresh in the light ofday, --although, alas, the sun was not shining. 

"Hello, " said Braddock shortly. His cigar bobbed up and down with themovement of his lips. "Come out. You can duck under the canvas righthere. Lift it up, Bill. "

The boy slid from the chariot to the ground and made haste to passunder the wall which had been raised by a canvasman. Braddock followedhim into the huge tent. A small army of men were erecting the seatsfor the afternoon performance. David realized that he was in the "maintop. "

A stocky, bow-legged man, his hands in his pockets and a short briarpipe in his lips, advanced to meet them. 

"Well, 'ow are you?" asked this merry-eyed stranger, his face goinginto a hundred wrinkles by way of friendly greeting. "Oh, I say, David, don't you know your old pal and playmate? Hi, there! 'Ere weare!"

David stared in astonishment. It was Grinaldi, the clown, without hismake-up or his wig! Never was there such a change in human face. 

They clasped hands, David laughing outright in the ecstasy of reliefat finding this whilom friend. 

"Keep shady, you, " said Braddock, finding no pleasure in the boy'schange of manner. "Those pinchers came over on the train with us. Andsay, we might just as well settle what's to be done about you. I'vethought it over seriously. I'm taking a risk in havin' you around, understand that. But if you want a job with the show, I'll give youone. Tell you what I'll do: I'll give you two and a half a week andyour board. That's good pay for a beginner. You to do clown work and--"

"But I can't be a clown--" began David. 

"Well, what do you want?" roared Braddock, apparently aghast. "Do youexpect to ride around in carriages and live on goose liver? Say, wheredo you think you are? In society? Well, you can get that out of yourhead, lemme tell you that, you--"

"'Ere, 'ere, Brad, " put in Joey sharply, noting the look in the boy'spale face. "Don't talk like that. 'E's not used to that sort o' gaff. Let me talk it over with 'im. "

"Well, the offer don't stand long. He either takes it or he don't. Ifhe don't, out he goes. Say, you, where's all that money you had lastnight? I'm not going to have anybody carryin' a wad around like thatand gettin' it nabbed and then settin' up a roar against the show, gettin' us pulled or something worse. I insist on taking care of thatstuff, for my own protection, just so long as you stay with thisshow. "

David looked helplessly to Joey Noakes for succor. 

"I'll talk that over with 'im, too, Brad, " announced the clownbriefly. 

"And let me add something else, " resumed Braddock, with an unnecessaryoath. "I'm not going to have you hangin' around my wife and daughterif you _do_ stay with us. Remember one thing: you're a cheap clown, andyou've got to know your place. My daughter's a decent girl. She's gotgood blood in her, understand that. _Damn' fine blood. _ I'm not goingto have her associatin' with a--"

"'Old on, Brad!" interrupted the old clown, glaring at him. "Cheeseit, will you? I won't stand for it. You got five 'undred from this boyand you ought to treat 'im decent. He's got just as good blood in 'imas Christie's got--and better, blow me, because it's probably good onboth sides--which is more than you can say for her, poor girl. ThankGod, she don't show that she's got your blood in 'er veins. "

"Here! Do you mean to insinuate that she's not _mine_?" gaspedBraddock, suddenly a-tremble. Much as he trusted to the virtue of hiswife, he was never able to comprehend the miracle that gave himChristine for a daughter. There was no trace of him to be seen in her. 

"You know better than that, " said the clown coldly. 

"Well, " said Braddock, nervously shifting his cigar and lowering hisgaze. If he had intended to say more, he changed his mind and walkedoff toward the center of the tent where men were throwing up acircular bank about the ring. 

"He's a drunken dog, " said the clown, glaring after him. "She's thefinest woman in the world. And to think of 'er bein' the wife of thatbounder. "

David had been thinking of it and puzzling his tired brain for hours. 

"How did she happen to marry--"

"No time for that now, " said Grinaldi briskly. "Mebby I'll tell youabout her some other time, not now. You'd better keep away from herand Christine for a couple of days. Brad will forget it in no time, 'specially if he thinks he can scrape some more o' that money out ofyou. Oh, he's a slick one. He's got 'is eye on that wad. Now, let'sget down to business. I advise you to stick to the show for awhile--atleast until we're a good ways off. Take up 'is offer. It ain't bad. You can 'ave chuck with me and Ruby. I'll look out for that. You justdo wot I tell you, and you'll be a clown. Not a real one, but goodenough to earn two and a 'arf. I'm not doin' this for you, my boy, because I think I need an assistant. Joey Grinaldi has been a fav'ritclown in two hemispheres for forty years. Some day I'll show you themedals I got in London and Paris and--but never mind now. You startright in this afternoon, doin' just wot I tells you. You'll be allright and them blokes as is 'untin' for you won't be able to twig youfrom sole leather. Wot say?"

"I'll do just as you say, " said David simply. 

"Good! Now come over 'ere by the band section and I'll tell how we'llwork it out. Of course, we'll improve it every day. All you needs isconfidence. We 'ave dinner at twelve-thirty in the performer's end ofthe cook-tent. It's all right there. I'll fetch yours into thedressin'-tent for you, so's you won't be seen. There's my daughterover there. Ain't she a stunner? Say, she's a gal as is a gal. Besttrapeze worker in the business, if I do say it myself. And 'er motherwas the best columbine that ever appeared in a Drury Lane pantomime, poor lass. " He abruptly passed his hand across his eyes. 

"The columbine?" said David, his eyes beaming. "I remember thecolumbine and the harlequin and the pantaloon in Drury Lane one boxingweek when I was in London with my grandfather. Was a columbine reallyyour wife?"

"She was, " said Joey proudly. "But, " he added hastily, "it ain'tlikely you saw _her_. She died when Ruby was born. "

That afternoon David appeared in the ring, once more clad in thestriped suit and besmeared with bismuth. He was even more frightenedthan at his first appearance, when he was driven by another fear. RubyNoakes, black-eyed and dashing, winked at him saucily from her perchon the high trapeze, having caught his eye. When she slid down thestout lacing and wafted kisses to the multitude, he was near enough tocatch her merry undertone:

"You have no idea how funny you are, " she said, passing him by with askip. 

"There's your friend, the detective, " remarked Joey, later on, jerkinghis head in the direction of the animal tent. Sure enough, Blake wasstanding at the end of the tier of seats, talking with ThomasBraddock. "But he doesn't reckernize you, David, so don't turn anypaler than you are already. "

The new clown, wretchedly unsuited to his new occupation, managed toget through the performance without mishap. He followed instructionsblindly but faithfully, barking his shins twice and tripping over anequestrian banner once with almost direful results. The audiencelaughed with glee, and Grinaldi congratulated him on the hit he wasmaking. 

"Hit?" moaned David, rubbing his elbow in earnest. "Good heaven! Wasthat a hit?"

"My boy, they'd laugh if you were to break your neck, " said the clowngravely. 

Christine Braddock came on for her turn early in the program. Davidwas told that her mother, who persistently though vainly opposed aring career for her loved one, compromised with Braddock on thecondition that she was to appear early in the performance. 

"Brad was a circus rider in his younger days, before he took todrink, " explained Joey, as he and David sat together at the edge ofthe ring while Briggs, the ringmaster, announced the approach of "theworld-famed child marvel, Little Starbright, and Monseer Dupont, inthe great-est eques-trian feats evah attempted by mor-tal crea-tuah!"

"When Christie was a wee bit of a thing he took 'er into the ring with'im. She sat on 'is shoulder and the crowd thought it wonnerful. Arterthat he took 'er in reg'lar. Mrs. Braddock almos' lost 'er mind, butBrad coaxed 'er into seein' it 'is way. It was before he took todrinking steady. That gal 'as no more business being a circus riderthan nothink. But you can't make Brad see it that way now. He saysshe's got to earn 'er bread and keep, and that she's no better thanwot 'er father is. If circus riding is good enough for 'im, it's goodenough for 'is offspring, says he. Her mother just had to give in to'im. Well, when she was about ten, Brad took to drinking. That wasbefore he bought old Van Slye out. One day he fell off the 'oss with'er and broke 'is arm. Fort'nitly, the younker wasn't 'urt. So, thenhe had sense enough to listen to 'is wife. He quit riding 'isself, buthe put big Tom Sacks into the act in 'is place. Tom is the presentMons. Dupont--a fine feller and as steady as can be. He's powerfulstrong and a fairish sort of rider--but nothink like wot Brad used tobe in his best day. Christine's getting a bit biggish for 'im to'andle; I daresay this is the last season for their double act. Butfor four seasons she's been doing amazing fine work with old Tom. Sheseems to like it, and she's as daring as the very old Nick. Don't knowwot fear is, I might say. She's so fairy-like and so purty that thecrowds just naterally love 'er to death. She's going to be a wonnerful'ansome woman, David, that gal is, take it from me. 'Ere she is!"

"She's like a rose, " said David, following the slim, scarlet creaturewith his eyes. 

"And a rose she is, my heartie, " said Joey. "When I was a lad at 'ome, there was a chap named Thackeray writing wonderful clever tales. Iremembers one of them particular. It was called 'The Rose and theRing. ' I never see Christine in them togs without thinking of the nameof that book--The Rose and the Ring, d' ye get my idea? Mr. Thackeraywas a well-known writer when I was a boy. That was thirty year ago. Idaresay he's dead and forgotten now. "

David smiled. "He'll never die, Mr. Noakes. He's more alive now thanever. 'The Rose and the Ring. ' Why not 'The Rose _in_ the Ring'?"

"Hi! Hi!" cried Joey approvingly, "Right you are. "

During the entire act of Little Starbright and Monsieur Dupont Davidgazed entranced. He followed Grinaldi, but his eyes were not alwaysleveled against the spotted back of his mentor; they were for thelithe, graceful figure in scarlet riding atop of the sturdy Tom Sacks, sometimes standing upright on his shoulders, again leaning far outfrom his thigh, or even more daringly dancing on his broad back whilehe squatted on the pad. First on one foot, then the other, then clearof his back with both of them twinkling in merry time to the quickstepof the band, her dark hair fluttering from beneath the saucy cap, herhands waving and her eyes sparkling. Kisses went wafting to everysection of the tent, and with them smiles such as David had never seenbefore. 

He was standing near when she leaped from the horse's back and skippedto the center of the ring to blow her final kisses to the multitude. It occurred to him all at once that he was staring at this wonderfullygraceful, fairy-like little creature with the eyes of a delightedspectator and not as a clown. He guiltily looked for a reprimand fromGrinaldi. To his surprise and disappointment she passed him by withouta sign of recognition, slipping her tiny feet into the ground shoesand shuffling off to the dressing-tent with the stride peculiar toring performers. For a moment he felt as if she had struck him in theface, so quick was his pride to resent the slight. 

"This ain't a parlor, my lad, " said Joey, shrewdly analyzing thefeelings of his _protege_. "You mustn't expect the ladies to stopand chat with you in the ring. It ain't reg'lar. She didn't meannothink--nothink at all, bless 'er 'eart. "

When the performance was over, David was whisked into the men'ssection of the dressing-tent and told to stay there until furtherorders. He changed his clothes and "washed up, " listening meanwhile tothe congratulations and the good-natured chaffing of the performerswho were there with him. Despite their ribald scoffing, he knew theywere his friends: there was something about these careless, inconsequent knights of the sawdust ring, in spangles or out, thatwarmed the cockles of his sore, despairing heart. 

He came before long to laugh with them and to take their jibes as theywere meant--good-naturedly. Joey Grinaldi beamed with congratulation. He laid himself out to make the going easy for his "gentlemanpardner, " appreciating the vast distinction that lay between these menand the kind David had known all of his life. And David saw that hewas trying to make it easy for him. His heart swelled with a strangegratitude; he unbent suddenly and met the rough kindnesses more thanhalf way. They were not the kind of men he was used to, --they were notgentlemen; but they stood ready to be his friends, and something toldhim that they would ring true to the very end if he met them half way. 

They had their own undeviating regard for what they called honor:honor meant loyalty and fairness, nothing more. Simple, genial, unpolished braggarts were they, but their word was as good or betterthan a gentleman's bond. David was soon to fall under the spell ofthis bland comradeship: he was to see these men in a light so brightthat it blinded him to their vulgarities, their quaint blasphemy andtheir prodigious lack of veracity as applied to personal achievements. He was to find in them a splendid chivalry, almost unbelievable atfirst: their regard for the women in the troupe was in the nature of arevelation to him, who came from the land of gallantry itself. 

"Say, kid, " said Signor Anaconda, "the human snake, " suddenly adoptinga serious mien, --which did not become him, --"you gotta change yourname. What'll we call him, fellers? Now, le' 's give him a reg'larstory-book name. Prince Something-or-other. What say to--"

"That's all settled, " said old Joey, his eyes full of soap and waterand squeezed so tightly together that they looked like wrinkles. "Christine Braddock named 'im this morning. I forgot to tell you, David. Your name is Snipe--Jack Snipe. "

David flushed. "Why did she call me _that_?" he asked. 

"Because you were lonesome, and there is nothink so lonesome as ajack-snipe. Leastwise, that's wot she says. She asked me if I'd everseen a jack-snipe on a wet, dreary day, a-standing on a sandbar, allalone like and forlorn. She said she always felt so sorry for the poorlittle cuss--no, she didn't say cuss either. What was it she said, Casey? You was there. "

"She said 'thing, '" said Casey briefly. 

"Right, my lad. Thing it was. Well, wot she says goes in this 'ereaggergation, so from now on you are just Jack Snipe. " He lowered hisvoice. "There won't nobody call you David or Jenison after this, myboy. It's too dangerous. "

David was thoughtful. "Do you mean to say, " he said, after a pause, "that every person in this show knows who I really am?"

"You bet your life they do, " said Casey. 

"And what I am wanted for?"

"Certain. Wot's that got to do with it?"

"Do they think I'm--I'm guilty?"

"Well, I reckon most of 'em do, " said the contortionist blandly. "But, " he added in some haste, "they don't give a dang for a littlething like that. "

"But, " said David fiercely, "I don't want them to think I am guilty. Ican't bear to think that every one is looking upon me as a criminal. Why--why, what must the ladies of the--of the show think of me? I--I--"

Joey Grinaldi put his hand on the young fellow's shoulder: "They don'tthink you done it, Jack--not one of 'em. I heard 'em speaking of youlast night as if you was a reg'lar angel. For the fust time since I'veknowed all of them women, they are all agreed on one thing: they_all_ agree that you are the sweetest kid they've ever seen andthat you never done anything naughty in your life. Come on, now. Mrs. Braddock wants to see you a minute. "

David's heart leaped. He followed the old clown into the open tent, his eyes bright with the eagerness to look once more upon the strange, lovely friend of the night before, --his true guardian angel. 

She was standing near the entrance to the main tent, talking with halfa dozen of the women performers, all of whom were in street attire. Assoon as she saw him she smiled and motioned for him to join the group. He was not slow to obey the summons. To the amazement of theinterested group the young Virginian lifted her hand to his lips. Mrs. Braddock flushed warmly, an exquisite smile of appreciation leaping toher rather sombre eyes. 

"You must let me introduce you to these ladies, " she said, after a fewlow words of greeting. "This is Jack Snipe, our new clown, " she said, naming for his benefit the riders, the ropewalker, the snake-charmerand the boneless wonder. David was profoundly polite, almost old-fashioned in his acknowledgment of the introduction. The women weresuddenly conscious of a new-found glory in themselves. The "bonelesswonder" talked of his elegance for weeks, and always without resortingto slang. 

"Where is Miss Christine?" asked David, turning to Mrs. Braddock witha shy smile. 

She did not answer at once. When she did, it was with palpableuneasiness. "My daughter usually takes her sleep at this time, Dav--Jack. "

David's cheek slowly turned red. He remembered what Braddock had saidto him. 

"You are all very good to me, " he murmured, for want of anythingbetter to say. His sensitive heart was thumping quickly, driven byhumiliation. She looked steadily into his eyes without speaking andthen walked away from the group, directing him to follow. They satdown upon the tumbler's pad, just where they had been seated the nightbefore. 

"My husband is hard sometimes, David, " she said gently. "It will lastfor a few days, that is all. We must not aggravate him now. In alittle while he will forget that he has--has said certain things. Then, I hope that you and Christine will be good friends. I--I wanther to know you well, David. I want her to be with--with some one whois different from the people here. You understand, don't you?"

"Yes, " said David, suddenly enlightened. "I know what you mean. Ishall be very happy, too. "

"Ah, how gently you did that, " she cried, a wistful gleam in her darkeyes. "How the blood tells its story! Yes, David, I want her to knowyou; I want her to--to be with her own kind. " Her face flamed withsudden fervor; he was struck by the almost pathetic eagerness thatleaped into her eyes, transfiguring them. "I have tried so hard togive her something of what I had myself, David, when I was a girl. Everything depends on the next year or two. She is thinking forherself now. It is the turning-point. You must know, David, you mustsee that she is not like the others here. "

"She is like you, " he said, very simply. 

The blood surged once more to her cheeks; her lips parted with thequick breath of joy and gratitude. She thanked him very gently, verygravely. No word was uttered against the man who was Christine'sfather. 

"I prayed last night, David, that you might stay with the show untilthe end of this season. I am determined that it shall be her last, nomatter what it may cost both of us. "

"Cost both of us, " thought he, and at once knew what she meant. Thecost, if necessary, would be the husband and father. 

Then she told him, in hurried sentences, that she had watched him inthe ring, and that her daughter had come back to her with glowingreports of his composure and cleverness. David's pride, at least, wasappeased. She _had_ looked at him, after all, and was interested. 

He was struck by the sudden, curious change that came over Mrs. Braddock's face. She was looking past him toward the entrance to thecircus tent. All the color, all the eagerness left her face in aflash; the warmth died out in her big brown eyes and in its steadappeared a look of positive dread and uneasiness--it might have beenrepugnance. Her lips grew tense, and he could see that she startedever so slightly, as if in surprise. 

He glanced over his shoulder. Thomas Braddock was approaching, hisface red with anger and drink. At his side walked a tall, exceedinglywell-dressed stranger, who carried his silk hat in his hand and wassmiling blandly upon the proprietor's wife. 

"Oh, that man again!" he heard her say between her stiff lips. Therewas a world of loathing in the half-whispered sentence, which was solow that it barely reached his ears. He looked up quickly, and saw herface go darkly red again--the red of humiliation, he could have sworn. 

"Go!" she said to David, quietly but firmly. 

He turned away, vaguely conscious that the newcomer was more to befeared than Thomas Braddock himself. Instinctively the boy experienceda singular, instantaneous aversion to this immaculate intruder. 

"Get out!" he heard Braddock roar after him as he paused at thepartition to look once more at the stranger. 

The man was bowing low before the straight, motionless figure of MaryBraddock. Her chin was high in the air, and David could almost havesworn that he saw her nostrils dilate. 

From a place beyond the flap in the partition he surveyed thisdisturbing visitor. 

CHAPTER V

SOMETHING ABOUT THE BRADDOCKS

He was not long in supplying a reason for the sudden antipathy he felttoward this man whom he had never seen before. 

A somewhat prolonged study from the security of the dressing-room hadthe effect of settling the aversion more firmly in his mind. In thefirst place, the man's face was a peculiarly evil one. His dark eyeswere set quite close together under a bulging forehead. His eyebrowswere straw-colored, and so thin that they were almost invisible. Abroad, flat nose, with spreading nostrils, not unlike that of anEthiopian, gave to the upper part of his face a sheep-like expression. His lower lip, thick and blue and loose, protruded with flabbyinsistence beyond its mate, which was short and straight. The chinreceded, but was of surprising length and breadth. His ears sat verylow on his head and were ludicrously small. Above them rose a massivedome, covered with thick, well-brushed hair of a yellowish hue, partedexactly in the middle. His cheeks were white and flaccid, and therewas a fullness in front of the jaw-point that suggested approachingbagginess. He smiled with his lips closed, and broadly at that. Thepicture was even less alluring than when his face was in repose. Inthe subdued, gray light of the tent his complexion was singularlycolorless; David thought of a very sick man he had once seen. 

But this man was apparently in the best of health. He was spare, andhis sloping shoulders did not suggest breadth or strength; yet therewas that about him which made for force and virility. His hands werelong and slim and very white. A huge diamond glittered on one of thefingers of the left hand; another quite as large adorned the bosom ofhis shirt. It required no clever mind to see that he was not an out-of-doors man. One would say, guessing, that he was thirty six or eightyears of age. As a matter of fact, he was fifty-five. 

David noticed that he never allowed his gaze to leave the face of MaryBraddock, except to occasionally traverse her figure from crown tofoot. The boy's dislike grew to actual resentment. He experienced afierce desire to rush out and strike the man across the eyes. 

He could not hear what they were talking about. Broddock, tipsy asusual, was urging something on her in low, insistent tones. His mannerwas that of one who espouses a forlorn hope; he argued with theinsinuating, doubting earnestness so characteristic of the man whoknows that he is operating against his own best interests in the faceof one who fully understands the weakness that impels him. Mrs. Braddock stood before him, cold, passive, unconvinced. Her greetingfor the newcomer had been most unfriendly. She deliberately turned herback on him, after the first short "good afternoon. " As for thestranger, he did not take part in the conversation. He stood close toher elbow, the trace of a smile on his lips. 

Suddenly her tense body relaxed. Her chin dropped forward and shenodded her head dejectedly. Braddock's next remark, uttered withconsiderable gusto, came to David's ears. 

"Good!" he said, biting his cigar with approving energy. "We can talkit over there. I think you will see it my way, Mary. You'll see if I'mnot right! Come on, Bob. This is no place to talk. "

She preceded them without another word, an air of utter wearinesscharacterizing her movements. The stranger smiled his bland, hatefulsmile. When Braddock, in genial relief, essayed to take his arm, thetall man coldly withdrew himself from the contact, displaying a farfrom mild aversion to the advances of the tipsy showman. Braddockdropped back, like a cowed dog, permitting the other to pass throughthe sidewall ahead of him, a step or two behind the unhappy MaryBraddock on whose back his steady gaze was leveled with unswervingintentness. 

David hurried to a rent in the canvas and peered out into the sunlightof the waning day. The stranger had come up beside Mrs. Braddock, talking to her as they crossed the lot in the direction of the street. She apparently paid no heed to his remarks. Braddock made no effort tokeep up with them, but loafed behind, simulating interest in the mostconveniently propinquitous of his possessions, with now and then afurtive glance at the couple a half-dozen paces ahead. 

David was sorely puzzled and distressed. He knew that something wasgoing cruelly wrong with his friend and supporter, but what it was hecould not even venture a guess, knowing so little about the people andconditions attached to his new world. 

"So, he's 'ere again, is he?"

He whirled quickly to find Grinaldi peering over his shoulder, hiserstwhile merry face as black as a thunder cloud. 

"Who is he?" demanded David. 

The clown did not answer at once. His eyes were glittering. It was notuntil the trio passed from view beyond a "snack-stand" that he sighedmightily and jammed his hands into his coat pockets, still clenched. Even then, he stared long at David before replying. 

"That man?" he said harshly. "That's Colonel Bob Grand. "

"What has he got to do with the show, Mr. Noakes?"

"Call me Joey. Everybody does, my lad. " He looked around cautiously. No one was near them. Nevertheless, he lowered his voice. "That's justwot all of us would like to know ourselves, Jacky. He's a race-horseman and a gambler. Oh, don't you get it into your 'ead that he followsthe show in _them_ capacities. Not he. He's too big a guy for that. No, sirree. He pinches the dollars by the thousands, that chap does. Noten-dollar rube games for 'im. But I'll tell you all about 'im atsupper. There's Ruby waiting for us at the door. I'm 'aving supperbrought over 'ere for us three and Casey. He's a nice chap, Casey is. Brad says you are not to go to the cook-top until we're out of thewoods. " Before starting off to join his daughter, Grinaldi looked againthrough the hole in the canvas, muttering a dejected oath. 

Ruby Noakes, very pretty and quite demure in a simple frock of brown, without the prevailing bustle and paniers, was directing thecontortionist in his efforts to construct a table out of three "blueseats" and a couple of property trunks, or "keesters, " as they werecalled. 

"I insist on having a table that I can put my legs under, " she saidwhen he argued that the trunks alone would make an "elegant" table. "We can sit on the boxes. Here, dad, you and Jack get the boxes up. The boys will be here with supper in a minute or two. Oh, I say, isn'tit going to be fun? Just like a supper party in Delmonico's--only I'venever been to one there. Goodness, how I'd love to eat atDelmonico's!"

"You wouldn't like it a bit, Ruby, " announced Casey. "You got tounderstand French to eat what they have there. If you can't understandFrench, you're sure to eat something that won't agree with you, notbein' able to tell soup from pickled pigs' feet. "

"How do you know? You've never been there. "

Casey gave her a cool stare. "I haven't, eh? My dear, I'd have you toknow that I've et there a hundred times. "

Her eyes popped wide open. 

"Of course, " he explained, "I allus had to wake up and find I'd beendreamin'. But, by ginger, them was great dreams. I allus had 'em aftermy wife's cousin had been up to our shack of a Sunday to get a goodsquare meal. He was a waiter at Delmonico's. He was allus tellin' whatgorgeous things he had to eat at Del's, and then, blow me, I'd dreamabout 'em the livelong night. "

Presently the food came in from the cook-tent. The four sat down, David beside the girl, who generously took him in hand at this unusualbanquet. In the menagerie tent beyond wild beasts were growling androaring and snarling a weird interlude for the benefit of thebanqueters, sounds so strange and menacing that David looked oftenwith uneasy interest in the direction from which they came. 

"I like this, don't you, dad? I wish we could have a runaway boy withus every night or so. " She gave David a warm, enveloping smile. 

But Joey was not listening to the idle chatter of his daughter. He atein silence, his brow corrugated with the intensity of his thoughts. 

"Say, Casey, 'ave you seen 'im?" he asked at last, interrupting a talethat Ruby was telling for David's especial benefit. 

"I like that!" she exclaimed indignantly. 

"Seen who?" from Casey, also ignoring her. 

"Grand. "

"Is that skunk here again?"

"Big as life, dang 'is bloody 'eart. He's bothering 'er, too. Makeslove to 'er right afore 'er 'us-band's eyes. It's--it's _out-rage-ious_"

Miss Noakes forgot her story and her resentment. She leaned forward, her black eyes fairly snapping, her fingers clenched. David recalledthe muscular bare arms he had seen during the trapeze act, andwondered how so slight a person as she now seemed to be could be sopowerfully developed. 

"I _knew_ something awful was going to happen, " she said. "I saw across-eyed man in the blues to-day. It never fails. "

Circus people, from the beginning of history, have been superstitious. Not one, but all of them, carry charms, amulets or lucky pieces, andthey recognize more signs than the sailors themselves. 

"Some of these fine days I'm going to paste that guy on the nose, "said the contortionist heatedly. 

"You'll get a bullet in your gizzard if you do, " said the clowngloomily. "He carries a gun, and he'll use it, too. And if he didn't, Tom Braddock would beat you to jelly for insulting 'is best friend. "

"Do you mean that Mrs. Braddock is in love with that man?" demandedDavid, his heart sinking. 

The three of them glared at him--positively glared. 

"Nobody said that, sir, " said old Joey angrily. "She despises 'im. Isaid as 'ow he was in love with 'er. There's a big difference in that, my friend. "

"I knew she wasn't that kind of a woman, " cried David joyously. 

"What do you know about women?" demanded Casey

"I'll tell you about 'im and 'er and all of them, " said Joey, lookingabout to see that they were quite alone in their corner. "You can tellby looking at 'er, Jacky, that she ain't no common pusson. She'squality, as you Virginians would say. And for that matter, so isColonel Grand, after a fashion. That is to say, he comes of a verygood old New Orleans family. He spoilt it all by being a colonel inthe Union army during the war. He wasn't for the North because he waspatriotic, but because he knowed the North would win and he saw 'ischance to get rich. He's just a nateral-born gambler. Of course, heain't been back to New Orleans since the war. I understand 'is ownbrothers intend to shoot 'im if he does go back. He went to Washingtonto live, and he made a pile of money promoting carpet-bagging schemesthrough the south. He's got a big gambling-house in Baltimore atpresent, and an interest in one in New York, besides 'aving a stringo' race-horses. 

"Well, Tom Braddock comes from Baltimore. His father was a hosstrainer and trader there for a good many years afore he died--w'ichwas about two years ago. I've 'eard it said by them as knows, that hesometimes traded hosses in the dead of night and forgot to leave onein exchange for the one he took away. However that may be, he nevergot caught at it and so died an honest man. It seems that he borrowedone of Colonel Grand's riding hosses to go after a doctor one night, some years ago, and didn't return it for nearly eighteen months. Hewouldn't 'ave returned it then if the Colonel 'adn't seen 'im ridingit in Van Slye's street parade out in a little Indiana town duringcounty fair week. I was with the show at the time, w'ich was afore oldVan Slye sold out to Tom Braddock. Well, Tom and Mrs. Braddock beggedso 'ard for the old scamp that the Colonel not only let 'im off buttook 'im back to Baltimore to train hosses for him. That was aboutfive seasons ago, and it was the first time any of us ever laid eyeson the Colonel. 

"Tom Braddock and 'is wife lived in Baltimore in the winter time, where she kept little Christine in school from November to March. Therest of the year she teaches 'er 'erself. I might say that Christineis a specially well-edicated child and well brought up. You can seethat for yourself. Tom wanted 'er to learn 'ow to sing and dance so'sshe could be earning money all winter, but 'er mother said nix tothat, very proper like. In course o' time, Tom's father worked it so'sTom could practice 'is bareback acts at Colonel Grand's stables. Hewas the best rider in the country at that time. The Colonel got 'im todrinking and gambling. That was the beginning. The poor cuss 'adn'tbeen such a bad lot up to that time. Him and Mary had always got onfairly well until he got to drinking. It wasn't long afore the Coloneltook a notion to Tom's wife. He 'as a wife of 'is own, but that didn'tstop 'im. He just went plumb crazy about Mary Braddock, who was thepurtiest, loveliest woman he'd ever seen--or any of us, for thatmatter. I'll never forget how nice she's allus been to my gal 'ere, and to every gal in the show, for that matter. She's an angel if thereever was one. Don't interrupt, Casey. I've said it. You keep still, too, Ruby--and don't sniffle like that, either. 

"I won't go into the 'istory of 'ow the Colonel tried to get 'er awayfrom Tom. I daresay that's the very thing that makes 'er stick to Tomso loyal-like in spite of wot he is now. Just principle, that's all. Well, for more 'n two year the Colonel 'as been pestering 'er almostto death, and she 'as to stand it because he's got such a terrible'old on 'er 'usband. You see, the Colonel lent Tom a good bit of moneywhen he bought old Van Slye out season afore last. I will say this forTom, he paid 'im back dollar for dollar. We 'ad a good season and hegot the show cheap. Tom give up riding because he was tight all thetime, nearly killing Christine once or twice. Every once in awhile, come so the Colonel would turn up and travel with the show for a weekor so, inducing Tom to play poker and drink. Tom allus lost and thenthe Colonel'd stake 'im for a month or so to run the show on. This 'asgone on for two years, Tom getting wuss all the time and the Colonelmore persistent. Tom 'as lost all sense of honor and decency. He knowsthe Colonel is trying to get 'is wife away from 'im, and he ain't gotspunk enough left to object to it. He don't even try to protect 'erfrom the old villain. They say Grand 'as promised 'er a fine 'ome inWashington and will edicate Christine abroad, besides offering enoughdiamonds to fill a 'at. But she just despises 'im more and more everyweek. He'll never get 'er--no sirree! Why, she just _couldn't_ doit! 'T ain't in 'er!

"Early this season he lent Tom five or six thousand, and Tom can't payit back, I know, business 'as been so bad. He's come on this time, Idaresay, to bulldoze 'em into 'is way of thinking. He's wonderfulpersistent. Like as not he'll help Tom out some more afore he leaves, just to draw the web closer. He'll stay a few days, 'anging around 'erlike a vulture, paying no attention to 'er rebukes, and then he'll gooff to return another day. He's wrecked Tom Braddock, just as astepping-stone. Some day he'll be through with Tom for good and all, and you'll see what 'appens to Thomas. "

Grinaldi's voice was hoarse with emotion; his brow was damp withperspiration. Casey was the only one who ate; he ate sullenly. 

"What beasts!" cried David, his fine nature in revolt. 

"Brad 'as got to this point in 'is love for drink and cards, " saidJoey. "He'll sacrifice anything for whiskey. He's got to have it. We've all talked to 'im. No good. I--I don't like to say it, Dav--Jacky, but he's slapped 'is wife more 'n once when she's tried toplead with--"

David sprang to his feet, his face quivering with rage and horror. 

"I'll kill him!" he cried shrilly. "If the rest of you are afraid tostand up for her, I will show you how a Virginia gentleman acts insuch matters. I'll--"

"My boy, " said Joey, very much gratified by his _protege's_ attitude. "I like to hear you talk that way. But don't you go 'round gabbingabout killing people. A word to the wise, my lad. You see wot I mean?"

David turned perfectly livid and then sank back to his seat with agroan of despair. 

"You mean that my--that I've got a bad name already?"

"So far as the law is concerned, yes, " said Joey gently. "You see, youare David Jenison and--well, it's a fine old name, my 'eartie, butthese ain't very gallant days. It's too soon after the war, I takeit. "

The boy looked from one to the other, his eyes dark with the pain ofunderstanding. 

"But, " he said bravely, "he must not be allowed to strike her. Whydoesn't she leave him? Why not get a divorce? No woman should livewith a man who strikes her. God doesn't intend that to be. He--"

"God put us all into the world and he'll take us all out of it, " saidthe clown, philosophizing. "That's about all we ought to expect 'im todo. I don't think God 'as anything to do with matrimony. He says, 'youtakes your choice and you trusts to luck, not to me. If it turns outall right, ' says he, 'you can thank me, but if it goes wrong, don'tblame me. ' So there you are. It strikes me that God don't intend agood many things, but they 'appen just the same. As for 'er getting adivorce, she's too proud. She made 'er bed, as the feller says, andshe's going to lie in it as long as there's room. She made 'er bedsixteen years ago, she did, against 'er father's wishes, and she ain'tthe kind to go back and say it's too 'ard for 'er to sleep in andshe'd like to come 'ome and sleep in one of 'is for a change. Nosirree, my lad. "

"How did she come to marry such a beast as Braddock?"

"Well, that's another story. I 'ope, Casey, I'm not boring you. "

"I wasn't gaping, " said Casey testily. "I was coolin' my mouth. Trythat coffee yourself if you don't think it's hot. "

"I wish she would leave him, " said Ruby, more to herself than to theothers. 

"She's got some of 'er own money in the show--all of it, I daresay. Money 'er grandmother left 'er a couple of years ago. Brad promisedhe'd buy 'er share in a year or two and let 'er put the money away forChristine. But he'll never do it, not 'im. You see, Da--Jacky, it all'appened this way. She was going to a young ladies' boarding-school upin Connecticut w'en she fust saw Tom Braddock. Her father lived in NewYork City and he was a very wealthy guy. She was 'is only child and'er mother was dead. The old man, whose name was Portman, --AlbertPortman, the banker, --was considering a second venture into matrimonyat the time. Mary was eighteen and she didn't want a stepmother. Sheraised such a row that he sent 'er off to school so as he could do 'iscourting in peace and plenty. She was a wayward gal, --leastwise shesays so 'erself--and very impetuous-like. One day a circus comes tothe town where she was attending school. The young ladies were took tothe afternoon performance by the--er--school-ma'ams. They allperceeded to fall in love at first sight with a 'andsome youngequestrian. He was very good-looking, I can tell you that, and he 'ada fine figger. As clean a looking young chap as ever you see. Well doI remember Tommy Braddock in them days. He was twenty-two and he rodelike a A-_rab_. Well, wot should 'appen but 'is hoss, a greenone, must bolt suddenlike, scairt by one of the balloons that 'it 'imon the nose. Brad fell off as the brute leaped out of the ring, terrified by the shouts of the ring-men. The hoss started right forthe seats where the school misses was setting. Up jumps Brad and sailsafter 'im. The hoss got tangled in some ropes and stumbled, just as hewas about to leap into the place where Mary Portman sat. Brad grabs'im by the bit and jerks 'im around, but in the plunging thatfollowed, the hoss fell over on 'im, breaking 'is leg--I mean Brad's. Of course, there was a great stew about it. He was took to a 'ospitaland the papers was full of 'ow he saved the life of the rich MissPortman. Well, she used to go to see 'im a lot. When he got so's hecould 'obble around, she took 'im out driving and so on. He was afair-spoken chap in them days and he 'ad a good face. So she felldesperit in love with 'im. He was an 'ero. She told 'er father she wasgoing to marry 'im. As the old gentleman was about to be married'imself, he 'ated to share the prominence with 'er. So he said he'ddisown 'er if she even thought of marrying a low-down circus rider. That was enough for Mary. She up and run off with Tom and got marriedto 'im in a jiffy, beating 'er father to the altar by about two weeks. 

"As soon as Tom was able to ride again, they joined the show. Herfather disowned 'er, as he said he would. He said he'd 'ave the butlershut the door in 'er face if she ever come to the 'ouse. They went upto ask for forgiveness, and the butler _did_ shut the door in 'erface. So she turned 'er back on 'er father's 'ome and went to thelittle one Tom made for 'er in Baltimore. She never even wrote to 'erfather after that, and she won't ever go back, no matter wot 'appens. Not even if he sends for and forgives 'er, I believe. She's stood itthis long, she'll stick it out. Mr. Portman got married right enoughand I understand he's 'ad a 'ell of a time of it ever since. Married areg'lar tartar, thank God. 

"Well, in a year Christine came. After a couple of years they went toEngland and the Continent, where Brad rode for several seasons verysuccessful. When Christine was seven, he insisted that she should workwith 'im in the ring. He 'ad 'is way. They made a sensation with VanSlye's show and stuck to 'im for six years straight, allus drawinggood pay. Mary went with them everywhere, never missing a performance, allus scairt to death on account of the gal. I think nearly all of thelast five years of her life 'ave been spent in wishing that Tom wouldfall off and break 'is own neck, but he couldn't do it very wellwithout breakin' the kid's, too, so she didn't know wot to do. Then hegot to drinking so 'ard that he did fall off, 'urting 'imself purtybad. After that he give it up, buying a share in Van Slye's show, andletting Christine do 'er work with Tom Sacks. Mrs. Braddock would giveanything she's got in the world if she could get Christine out of thebusiness and settled down in their own 'ome in Baltimore. Just to showyou wot drink does for Brad, he pays Christine a good salary everyweek for riding and then insists on taking it back so's he can put itin the savings bank for 'er. He spends every penny of it for drink andhe--"

"Sh!" came in a warning hiss from Ruby Noakes, whose quick, black eyeshad caught sight of a figure approaching from the big top. "Mrs. Braddock is coming, dad. My, how white she is. "

The proprietor's wife moved slowly, even listlessly. Something vitalhad gone out of her face, it seemed to David, who knew her only as astrong, courageous defender. A wan smile crept into her tired eyes asshe carne up to them and asked if she might sit down at their board. The hand she laid caressingly on Ruby's shoulder shook as if withague. 

"Jerk up a keester for Mrs. Braddock, Casey, " cried old Joey withalacrity. The contortionist found a small trunk and placed it betweenRuby Noakes and David. Mrs. Braddock thanked him and sat down. 

"Have you had your supper, Mrs. Braddock?" asked Ruby. 

"I am not hungry, " said the other quietly. "A cup of coffee, though, if you have enough for me without robbing yourselves. You work sohard, you know, my dears, while I am utterly without an occupation. Idon't need much, do I?"

"You need a snifter of brandy, " announced Joey conclusively. He wentoff to get it. 

Ruby rinsed her own tin-cup and poured out some hot coffee. Caseycalled up a boy and sent off to the performer's cook top for a pitcherof soup, some corned beef and potatoes, ignoring her protests. 

"And how is the new clown faring?" she asked, turning to the silentDavid with a smile. 

"Very well, thank you, " he replied. "I have been very hungry, youknow. I have never known food to taste so good. "

"The hotels in these towns are atrocious. I can't eat the food, " sheexplained listlessly. 

Joey handed her a drink from his flask. She swallowed it obedientlybut with evident distaste. There was a long, somewhat painful silence. 

"I think it's started to sprinkle again, " ventured the contortionist, looking at the top with uneasy eyes. 

"Yes, " she said appreciatively, "it means another wretched night forus. " She toyed with the tin-cup with nervous fingers for a moment andthen turned to the expectant Grinaldi. "We have been obliged to borrowmore money, Joey. "

"So?" he said, nodding his head dumbly. 

"Five thousand dollars. I--I signed the note with Tom. Oh, if we couldonly have a spell of good weather!" It was an actual wail of despair. 

"It's bound to come, " said the clown. "It can't rain allus, Mrs. Braddock. "

Again there was silence. The three performers were absolutely dumb inthe presence of her unspoken misery. 

"Would my money be of any service to you?" asked David at last, timidly. 

"You dear boy, no!" she cried warmly. "You do not understand. This isour affair, David. You are very, very good, but--" She checked thewords resolutely. "We can lift the notes handily if the weather helpsus just a little bit. "

"I don't like that man, " announced the boy, his dark eyes gleaming. 

The others coughed uncomfortably. Mrs. Braddock hesitated for asecond, and then laid her hand on his. 

"He is a very bad man, David, " was all that she said. He would haveblurted out an additional expression of hatred had she not lifted herfinger imperatively. "You must not say indiscreet things, my friend. "It was a warning and he understood. 

"Come on, Jacky, " put in Grinaldi hastily. "I've got to rehearse you abit. You've got to learn 'ow to tumble and you've got to--"

"Just a moment, Joey, " said Mrs. Braddock nervously. "David, I can'tkeep your money for you. Do you object to Mr. Noakes taking it forawhile? Until we can get to a town where you can deposit it in a bank. It isn't safe with me. I--"

"It _is_ safe with you, " he cried eagerly. 

"No! If anything were to happen to me you would never see it again. "He was struck by the increased pallor of her face. "It's quite safewith Joey. "

He waited a moment before replying. "I know that, Mrs. Braddock. Youmay give it to him. But--but I want you to know that if _you_ ever needany of it, or all of it--_for yourself or Christine_, you are more thanwelcome to it. "

Her eyes were flooded. "Thank you, David, " she said softly. Then shequickly withdrew the flat purse from the bosom of her dress and handedit to Joey, not without a cautious look in all directions. 

The clown put it in his inside coat pocket without a word. 

"You must deposit it in a bank at N--, " she went on hurriedly. "Allbut an amount sufficient to help you if you are obliged to suddenlyfly from arrest. You understand. Joey will attend to it for you. Youmay depend on him and Casey to stand by you. In a few days we will bein Ohio. The danger will be small after that, Dav--I mean, Jack Snipe. I--I have worried about this money ever since--well, ever since lastnight. You _must_ not have it about you, nor is it safe with me. It is too large a sum to be placed in jeopardy. Perhaps, my boy, it isyour entire fortune, who knows. The Jenison estate seems lost to you, cruelly enough. I am so very sorry. "

"I only want to think that none of you believe I committed the crime Iam accused of, " said David simply. "The money isn't anything. "

"We are not accusers, " she said gravely. 

"Where is Brad?" demanded Grinaldi, his patience and diplomacyexhausted. 

"He is up in Colonel Grand's room at the hotel, " she answered, as ifthat explained everything. 

"Talking business, I suppose, " he said sarcastically. 

"Yes, they are settling certain details. " She spoke in such a way thatJoey looked up in alarm. 

"You don't mean to say you are--you are going to--"

"No, not that, my friend, " she said, quite calmly. 

"I didn't think so, " said Joey fervently. 

Mrs. Braddock arose abruptly. 

"I must go to Christine. Will you come, Ruby?"

Ruby followed her out of the tent, exchanging a quick glance with herfather as she left the improvised table. 

"Come on, Jacky, " said Joey. "Strip them clothes off and get to work. You've got a lot to learn. Ta, ta, Casey. Don't stay out in the rain. You'll melt your bones, if you've got any. "

David, somewhat depressed and very thoughtful, got into a portion ofhis clown's dress under the direction of his instructor, who wasunusually cross and taciturn. 

As they started for the deserted ring, Joey took the boy's arm andsaid, with a diffidence that was almost pathetic:

"Jacky, I--I want you to be nice to my gal. She's never 'ad no chanceto associate with a real toff. It ain't 'er fault, poor gal; it's thelife we leads. These 'ere circus people are as good as gold, Jacky;I'm not complaining about that. But they ain't just exactly wot I wantmy gal to grow up like. Not but wot she's growed up already so far assize is concerned. But she's not quite eighteen. She's been in theshow business since she was two. Her mother and 'er grandmother afore'er, too. But the business ain't wot it used to be. I want 'er to getout of it. I don't want 'er marrying some wuthless 'Kinker' or even adecent 'Joy. ' Mrs. Braddock 'as done worlds for 'er, mind you, butit's the men she's associated with that I objects to. They're--they'retoo much like me. That's wot I mean, Jacky. Would you mind justconversing with 'er friendly like from time to time? Just give 'er atouch of wot a real gentleman is, sir. It ain't asking too much ofyou, is it, Dav--Jacky? I ain't ashamed to ask it of you, and I--Ikind of hoped you wouldn't be ashamed to 'elp tone 'er up a bit, in away. She's more like 'er mother than she is like me. And 'er motherwas as fine a columbine as ever lived, she was that refined andsteadfast. "

David gave his promise, strangely touched by this second appeal to thebirthright that placed him, though helpless and dependent, on a planeso far above that of his present associates that even the mostscornful of them felt the distinction. He recalled the profanerespectfulness of the boss canvasman earlier in the day--a conditionwhich would have astonished that worthy beyond description if he hadhad the least idea that he _was_ respectful. 

CHAPTER VI

DAVID JENISON'S STORY

David's first week with the show was a trying one. In the first place, he was kept so carefully under cover, literally as well asfiguratively, that he seldom saw the light of day except at dawn orthrough the space between sidewall and top. At night he rode overrough, muddy roads in the tableau wagon, stiff and sore from theviolent exercise of the day, --for he was training in earnest to becomea clown. He was learning the clown's songs, and singing with thechorus in such pieces as "I'll never Kiss my Love again behind theKitchen Door, " "Paddle your own Canoe, " and others in Joey'srepertory. 

Throughout the forlorn, disquieting days he stayed close to thedressing-tent, always in dread of the moment when Blake or some otherminion of the law would clap him on the shoulder and end the agony ofsuspense. Blake, as a matter of fact, more than once came near tofinding his quarry. Twice, at least, David was smuggled out of sightjust in time to avoid an encounter with his stubborn pursuer. 

At last, after five days, Blake gave it up and turned back toVirginia, hastened somewhat by the cleverly exploited newspaperstrategy of George Simms, the show's press agent. Simms managed it sothat a press dispatch came out of Richmond in which it was said onexcellent authority that the boy had been seen in the neighborhood ofhis old home within the week, and that posses were now engaged in aneighborhood hunt for him. Blake was fooled by it. 

After it became definitely known to Simms that Blake was back inRichmond with his assistant, David was permitted to emerge graduallyfrom his seclusion. The first thing he did was to go with JoeyGrinaldi to a savings bank where, under the name of John Snipe, hedeposited two thousand dollars, retaining five hundred foremergencies. Part of this he turned over to the clown, part to Rubyand the rest to the trusty contortionist. Twice during the weekBraddock bullied him into giving up twenty-five dollars to "fix it"with town officials. At least once a day he was importuned to deliverthe "leather" into the safe keeping of the proprietor, who solemnlypromised that it would be returned. Moreover, in drunken magnanimity, he guaranteed to pay three per cent interest while the money was inhis ticket-wagon safe, sealed and inviolate if needs be. On the subtleadvice of Joey Noakes David did not tell Braddock that he haddeposited the money; it would have been like the "boss" to fly into arage and deliver him up to the authorities. 

Braddock drank hard during the days following the departure of ColonelGrand, who stayed with the show no longer than twenty-four hours--anunusually brief visit, according to Joey. 

The rainy weather continued and business got worse and worse. Therewas an air of downright gloom about the circus. Men, women andchildren were in the "dumps, " a most unnatural condition to existamong these whilom, light-hearted adventurers. When they lifted uptheir heads, it was to deliver continuous anathemas to the leadenskies; when they allowed them to droop, it was to curse the soggyearth. 

The new clown saw but little of Mrs. Braddock and Christine. Braddock's failure to extract money from him made that worthy sodisagreeable that his wife and daughter were in mortal terror of histhreats to turn the boy adrift if he caught them "coddling" him. 

David's close associates were the Noakeses, the contortionist and twoor three rather engaging acrobats. As for the women of the company, hehad but little to do with them, except in the most perfunctory way. Hewas always polite, gallant and agreeable, and they made much over himwhen the opportunity presented itself. They were warm-hearted anddemonstrative, sometimes to such an exaggerated degree that he wasembarrassed. He was some time in getting accustomed to their effusivefriendliness; it dawned on him at last that they were not graceless, flippant creatures, but big-hearted, honest women, in whom traditionhad planted the value of virtue. He was not long in forming anunqualified respect for them; it was not necessary for Joey Grinaldito tell him over and over again that they were good women. 

If Christine saw him while she was in the ring, David was never ableto determine the fact for himself. He tried to catch her eye a hundredtimes a day; he looked for a single smile that he might have claimedfor his own. Once he caught her in his arms when she stumbled afterleaping from the horse at the end of her act. It was very gracefullydone on his part. She whispered "Thank you, " but did not smile, andtherein he was exalted. There was no day in which he failed to performsome simple act of gallantry for her and Mrs. Braddock, always with anunobtrusive modesty that pleased them. Sometimes he left springflowers for them; on other occasions he bought sweetmeats and pastryin the towns and smuggled them into their hands, not without aconscious glow of embarrassment and guilt. He was ever ready to seizeupon the slightest excuse to be of service to them, despite the factthat they resolutely held aloof from him. The entire company ofperformers understood the situation and cultivated a rather maliciousdelight in abetting his clandestine courtesies. 

It was no other than the queen of equestrians, Mademoiselle Denise (inreality an Irish woman with three children who attended school and ahusband who never had attended one, although he was an exceptionallybrilliant man when it came to head balancing)--it was Denise who, onerainy evening, brought Christine and David together betweenperformances in a most satisfying manner by taking the former to visita fortune-teller whose home was quite a distance from the show lot, first having sent David there on a perfectly plausible pretext. Theyoung people met on the sidewalk in front of the house bearing thenumber Mademoiselle Denise had given to David. To say that he wassurprised at seeing Christine under the same umbrella with the olderwoman would be putting it very tamely; to add that both of them wereshy and uneasy is certainly superfluous. Moreover, when I say thatDavid was obliged to inform Mademoiselle Denise that she had given himthe wrong number; that a hod-carrier instead of a sorceress dweltwithin, --when I say this, you may have an idea that there was nofortune-teller in the beginning. And then, when the head-balancinghusband suddenly appeared and walked off with Denise, leaving theembarrassed youngsters to follow at any pace they chose, you may bequite certain that there was a conspiracy afoot. 

Christine walked demurely beside David, under a rigid umbrella. Theywere seven blocks from the circus lot; it was quite dark and drizzly. For the first two blocks they had nothing to say to each other, exceptto venture the information that it was raining. In the second block, avery lonely stretch indeed, David, whose eyes had not left the backsof the wily couple ahead, regained his composure and with it hisnatural gallantry. 

"Perhaps you had better take my arm, Miss--Miss Christine, " he saidstiffly. 

She took it, rather awkwardly perhaps but very resolutely. 

"I thought I heard something in the bushes back there, " she said inextenuation. 

"It was the wind, " he vouchsafed, but his thoughts went at once toBlake. Involuntarily he looked over his shoulder and quickened hispace. She felt his arm stiffen. 

"I'm quite sure it was a cow, " she said. 

"Are you afraid of cows?"

"Dreadfully. "

"And you're not afraid of elephants or camels?"

"Oh, dear, no; they're tame. " She seemed in doubt as to the wisdom ofexpressing aloud the thoughts that troubled her. Twice she peered upinto the face of her companion. Then she resolutely delivered herself. "I _do_ hope father won't see us, David. "

"You poor girl, " he cried gently. "I'm sorry if this gets you intotrouble. Denise didn't tell me. She--"

"Oh, Denise did it on purpose, " she said, quite glibly. "I suppose shethinks we're going to fall in love with each other. "

David was grateful to the darkness. It hid his blush of confusion. 

"But that's perfectly silly, " went on the soft voice at his elbow. "Ijust want to be your friend, David. My mother adores you. So do I, butin just the same way that she does. I--I couldn't think of being soridiculous as to fall in love with you. "

He resented this. "I don't see why you say that, " he said, ratherstiffly. "But, " very hastily, "I'm not asking you to do it. Pleasedon't misunderstand me. I--"

"Mother and I are so sorry for you, David, " she went on earnestly. "We--we don't believe a word of--of--well, you know. " She was suddenlydistressed. 

"How do you know that I'm not guilty?" he cried bitterly. "You haveonly my word for it. Of course, I'd deny it. Anybody would, even if hewas as guilty as sin. I--I might have done it, for all you know. "

"Oh, don't--don't talk like that, David!"

"Nearly every one with the show thinks I did it. It doesn't matter tothem, either. They like me just as well. It's--it's as if I were afriendless, homeless dog. They're tender-hearted. They'd do as muchfor the dog, every time. I like them for it. I'll not forgeteverybody's kindness to me and--and their indifference. "

"Indifference, David?"

"Yes. That's the word. It doesn't make any difference what I am, theyjust say it's all right and--and--that's all. "

She caught the intensely bitter note in his voice. Christine wasyoung, but she had fine perceptions. Her lip trembled. 

"_Nobody_ thinks you did it, " she cried in a vehement undertone. "Evenfather--" She stopped abruptly, a quick catch of compunction in herbreath. 

"If he thinks I'm innocent, why is he so set on keeping me fromtalking to you or your mother?" he demanded quickly, a sudden fireentering his brain. "That doesn't look as if he thinks I'm all right, does it? I'm--I'm not a low-down person. If I was, I could see areason. But I'm a gentleman. Every man in my family has been agentleman since--oh, you'll think I'm boasting. I didn't mean to saythis to you. It sounds snobbish. No, Christine, your father thinks I'mguilty. "

"He does not!" she whispered. "I know he doesn't. I've heard him arguewith mother about you. He has told her that he does not believe thatyou killed your grandfather. I've heard him say it, David. He--he isonly thinking of--must I say it? Of the disgrace to us if you shouldbe caught and it came out we were your friends. That's it. He'sthinking of us, David. It is so foolish of him. We both have told himso. But--but you don't know my father. " There was a world of meaningin that declaration--and it was not disrespectful, either. 

David was discreetly silent. He was quelling the rage that always rosein his heart when he thought of Thomas Braddock's attitude, not onlytoward him but toward his wife. 

"I wish he wouldn't look at it in that way, David, " she resumedplaintively. "We--we would be so happy if you could be with us, --thatis, more than you are. " She was stammering, but not fromembarrassment. It was in the fear of saying something that might touchhis sensitive pride. 

"I--I love your mother, " he cried intensely. "She's the best womanI've ever known--except my own mother. She's better than my aunts--yes, she is! Better than all of them. I could die for her. "

She clutched his arm tightly but said nothing. The words could notbreak through the sobs that were in her throat. Neither spoke for amatter of a hundred feet or more. Then he said to her, ratherdrearily:

"Did you read what the papers said about the--the murder, and aboutme?"

"No. Mother will not let me read the things about crime. But, " shesaid quickly, "she has told me all about it since you came. "

"They made me out to be a vicious degenerate and an ingrate, " he said. "Oh, it was horrible, --the things they said about me. Just as if theyknew I was guilty. But, Christine, I am going to make them take it allback. I'm going to make them apologize some day, see if I don't. " Thefierce agony in his voice moved her greatly. 

"Oh, if I could help you!" she cried tremulously. 

He apparently did not hear the eager words. 

"It all looked so black against me, " he went on, looking straightahead unseeingly. "Perhaps I shouldn't blame them. I have thought itall out, lots of times, Christine, and I've tried to put myself intheir place. Sometimes I think that if I were not myself I shouldcertainly believe myself guilty. It _did_ point to me, every bitof it, Christine. And I am as innocent as a little baby. If--if theycatch me they'll hang me!"

"No, no!" she shuddered. 

"Doesn't it look to you as if I really had done it?" he demanded. "Tell the truth, Christine. From what you have heard, wouldn't you sayit _looked_ as if I were guilty?"

She hesitated, frightened, distressed. "The papers did not tell thetruth, David, " she said loyally. 

"They hunted for me with bloodhounds, " he went on vaguely. "If theyhad caught me then, I would have been strung up and shot to pieces. You see, " turning to her with a gentle note in his voice, "mygrandfather was very much beloved. He was the very finest man in allthe state. I have sworn to avenge his death. I swear it every night--every night, Christine. First, I'm going to clear myself of the--thehideous thing. And then!" There was a world of promise in those twowords. 

"You have said that there is a man who can clear you, " she ventured. "Who is he, David? Where is he to be found? Why doesn't he stepforward and clear you?"

"I--I don't know where he is. In New York, I think. He--he was sentout of the country by--by some one. Do you want to hear my side, Christine?"

"Do you--care to speak of it, David?"

"Yes. You will understand. You are good. I want you to tell yourmother, too. " He slackened his pace. Both forgot that the hour for the"tournament" was drawing perilously near. "I lived with mygrandfather, Colonel Jenison. My father was killed at Shiloh. Mymother died when I was nine years old. I had one uncle, my father'syounger brother. He was an officer in the Southern army, just as myfather was. He gave my grandfather trouble all of his life. They sayit was his wild habits that drove my grandmother to her grave. I knewhim but slightly. When the war was two years old, he was court-martialed for treason to the cause. The story was that he had beencaught trying to sell some plans to the enemy. He was sentenced to beshot. It was very clear against him, my mother told me on one of therare occasions when his name was mentioned. But he escaped during asudden, overwhelming attack by the Yanks. They never caught him. Mygrandfather, who had been a colonel in the war with Mexico and hadlost an arm, disowned him as a son. He disinherited him, leavingeverything to my father. When my father was killed I became the heirto Jenison Hall and all that went with it, --a vast estate. 

"A year ago my uncle Frank turned up. He came to Richmond with proofthat cleared him of the charge of treason in the minds of his oldcomrades. Three men on their deathbeds had signed affidavits, showingthat they were guilty of the very thing of which he was accused, hebeing an innocent dupe in the transaction. I don't know just how itall came about, but he was exonerated completely. With this to backhim up, he came to the Hall to plead for my grandfather's forgiveness. He came many times, and finally it seems that grandfather believed hisstory. Uncle Frank took up his residence at the Hall. I hated him fromthe beginning. He was a wicked man and always had been. I don'tbelieve what the affidavits said. 

"Well, he soon learned that I was to be the heir. Everybody knew it. Iwas at the University. Grandfather had sent me there. It was my secondyear, for I had gone in very young. When I went home for the Christmasholidays, Uncle Frank was practically running the place. Grandfatherdidn't really trust him, I'm sure of that. They had a couple ofviolent scenes New Year's week up in the library. It was somethingabout money. Grandfather told me a little about it, but not much. Hesaid Uncle Frank wanted him to change his will, claiming it was notfair to him, who had been so wrongfully accused. My grandfather toldme that he would never change it. He might leave a certain amount intrust for Uncle Frank, but Jenison Hall was not to go to any Jenisonwhose name had ever been blackened. 

"One day I went up to Richmond to spend the night with some collegefriends. My uncle Frank was already there, on business he said. Well, I found out what his business was--accidentally, of course. He wasthere to see a nigger lawyer! Think of that, Christine. A Jenisonhaving dealings with a nigger lawyer. This lawyer had once been aslave on the Jenison place, a yellow boy whose name was Isaac--IsaacPerry. When the war broke out he went with my uncle as his body-servant. He was a smart, thieving fellow, --always too smart to becaught, but always under suspicion. My grandfather had given him someschooling because Isaac's father was _his_ body-servant and hewould have done anything for old Abraham. After the war Isaac was madea lawyer, 'way down in South Carolina. The judges were darkies, theysay. Later on he went to Richmond and did some business for thedarkies there, besides conducting a barber shop. 

"Well, I happened to go into his shop the evening I reached Richmond. He was shaving Uncle Frank. They did not observe me as I sat backalong the wall. I heard him tell Uncle Frank he would surely come tothe hotel that night to see him. Uncle Frank said it was important andasked him to be sure and bring the papers. He left the shop withoutseeing me, and Isaac had forgotten me, I reckon. I wondered whatbusiness he and my uncle could have to discuss. That night I made it apoint to be at the hotel. I saw Uncle Frank standing out in front. When Isaac came up he took him off down the street. I heard him say toIsaac that the hotel was not a good place for a nigger to be seen, except as a servant, even if he did come as a lawyer. So they wentback to the barber shop, which was closed. Isaac opened the doors andthey went in. The blinds were shut. I waited until Uncle Frank cameout, an hour later. He said to Isaac, who came no farther than thedoor, that he would be up again in about ten days to see how he was'getting on with it. ' Isaac said he'd have it fixed up 'so slick thatit would fool the old man hisself. '

"When I went back to Jenison Hall I tried to tell grandfather aboutall this, but I didn't do it. I couldn't bear the thought of carryingtales. I went back to school, but I couldn't get the thing out of myhead. "

Christine interrupted him, intense almost to breathlessness. 

"They--they were fixing up a new will!" she whispered, vastly excited. 

He smiled wanly. "I wish I could prove that. About three weeks ago Ihad a message from Uncle Frank, saying that grandfather was quite ill. I was to come home. When I got to the Hall grandfather was muchbetter, and seemed annoyed because my uncle had brought me homeunnecessarily. That very night he was murdered. "

"Oh!" she whispered. 

"He was shot by some one who fired through the parlor window. Ithappened at half-past eleven o'clock, a most unusual time forgrandfather to be about. He was fully dressed when they found him afew minutes after the shooting. A heavy charge of buckshot had struckhim in the breast. I--I can't tell you any more about that. It was toohorrible. "

"I know, I know! Poor David!"

"I was studying in my room up to a short time before the shot wasfired. The house was very still. Uncle Frank was downstairs withgranddaddy. I couldn't imagine what kept them up so long, talking. Finally I heard Uncle Frank go upstairs to his room. Grandfather waspacing the parlor floor; I could hear the stumping. Finally he cameout in the hall and called to me. I hurried downstairs. He was verymuch agitated. 'David, ' he said, 'do you remember a darky we used tohave named Isaac?' I was startled. 'Well, he has become a lawyer up inRichmond. He has done very well, and I want you to know what I havedone for him. You are to own this place some day--soon, I fear. I havesigned a paper to-night, deeding over to Isaac the little five-acrepatch on the creek where he was born and where his father andgrandfather were born. He saw your uncle Frank in Richmond recentlyand asked him if it would be possible for him to buy the ground. Hewants to put up a building to be known as the Old Negroes' Home. Ihave thought it over. I did not sell it to him, David. I _gave_it to him. It is all quite regular and legal. The paper is in thatdrawer there. You are taking the law course at the university. I wantyou to look over the agreement to-night or to-morrow morning, beforeit is taken over to the county seat. It is just as well that you, whoare to be the next master of Jenison Hall, should understand all thatthere is in it. '

"'Has Isaac Perry been here?' I asked, for I was strangely troubled. 'He has, ' said granddaddy, 'he brought the document over this evening. Isaac seems likely to make something of himself, after all. ' 'I willread it in the morning, ' I said, and then I told him that I was gladthat he had given the ground. 'Your uncle Frank advised me to tell youof it to-night, ' said he. 

"I went upstairs to my work, leaving him below. Soon afterwards I wentdown again to get the paper, feeling that I might as well read itbefore going to bed. He was reading in the back parlor. I got theenvelope out of the drawer in the front room and went back upstairswithout disturbing him. A minute afterwards I heard the shot. My owngun was standing in the corner. I grabbed it up and crawled through awindow on to the gallery, running down the back steps. As I reachedthe bottom I saw a man climbing over the fence to the right. Notdreaming that a tragedy had occurred, I rushed after him. He easilygot away in the darkness. Then I returned to the house. As I came nearI saw Isaac Perry--unmistakably Isaac Perry--at the corner. He turnedand ran the instant he saw me. When he crossed in front of the lightedparlor windows I distinctly saw that he did not carry a gun. The man Ichased had one. Just then a great cry came from the parlor. I rushedup to the window to look within. One of the panes of glass had beenbroken. 

"My grandfather was lying on the floor. Two of the servants werestanding near, looking at him as if paralyzed. There was blood on hiswhite shirt front. Oh! I can't tell you how it--"

He could not continue for a full minute or more. The girl was scarcelybreathing. 

"I just stood there and stared, the gun in my hand. Suddenly some oneleaped upon me from behind. It was my uncle Frank and he was out ofbreath, very much excited. 'You little devil!' he yelled two or threetimes. Then he called for help. Servants came running from alldirections. I didn't know what he meant. Soon I was to learn. "

"He--he thought you killed him?" whispered Christine. 

"He _said_ I killed him. I was dazed--I was crazy. It was a long timebefore I realized what was happening to me. The--the servants and theneighbors who came in wanted to lynch me--but Judge Gainsborough, whorode over in his night-clothes from his plantation, prevailed upon themto wait--to give me a hearing. My uncle Frank would have let them hangme. I began at last to realize how badly it looked for me. They laughedat my story of the man who ran away. My uncle Frank deliberately deniedthat Isaac Perry had been there. I was stupefied. It came over mesuddenly that--that Uncle Frank had done the shooting. He had killedhis own father!"

"The monster!"

"How wonderfully everything worked out against me. The gun, with onebarrel empty, for I had fired it that very day in the woods; mypresence at the window; the servants who saw me looking in; my uncleFrank's tale of how he came out on the gallery above and saw me hidingin the dead lilac bushes, and afterwards creep up to the window tolook in upon the thing I had done. He told of my attempt to run and ofhis straggle to hold me. One of the servants had seen me go down whengranddaddy called to me, and again he had seen me go down quietly tothe library after the paper. I did go quietly, it is true, so as notto disturb the old gentleman. 

"They all rushed upstairs to search my room. Lying on my table was thelong envelope. Judge Gainsborough opened it, so he says. They camedownstairs and I shall never forget the look of horror in the Judge'seyes as he stood there staring at me. 'David, ' he said, 'this is aterrible, terrible thing you have done. ' I couldn't speak. 'How didyou know that your grandfather had made this new will?' Christine, the--the paper was a new will, giving everything to my uncle Frank, excepting a small bequest in money and a house and lot in Richmond, which, however, was to go to Uncle Frank in case of my death. The willlooked genuine--everybody said so--even Judge Gainsborough. It hadbeen drawn three weeks before and had been witnessed by GeorgeWhitman, who died ten days after signing, and Mortimer Simms, who, strangely enough, died three days later. "

"It was a forgery--a false will?" she cried, trembling violently inher excitement. 

"I know it was--I know it. My grandfather had told me of the deed. This was the envelope and the paper. There was no such deed to befound. That makes me half believe that he did sign the will, thinkingit was something else. My story about the deed was not believed. Asfor Isaac Perry, my uncle said that he left for New York soon after mygrandfather's visit to Richmond, doubtless when the will was drawn andsigned. He could not have been near Jenison Hall at the time of theshooting. Uncle Frank produced a letter from Isaac, received that veryday from New York, in which he said that he was going to Europe as thebody-servant of a New York gentleman who had helped him to secure aneducation. 

"They locked me in the cellar and put a guard over me until thesheriff could come up in the morning. Christine, there wasn't a singlechance for me to prove my innocence. I knew that Uncle Frank and IsaacPerry had arranged the whole devilish plot--how nicely they arrangedit, too! It worked out even better than they expected, for Iunwittingly damned myself. I never can tell you of my feelings whenthe whole thing became clear to me. I must leave that to yourimagination. I was as innocent as a babe, and yet, in the eyes ofevery one, as guilty as ever any murderer has been in this world. Myonly chance to escape certain hanging lay in escape. It was afterthree o'clock in the morning when I began to think of flight. I madeup my mind that I could never hope for acquittal. I thought only ofgetting away from them and then devoting my whole life to finding theproof of my innocence. Isaac Perry can prove it--or my uncle. But, myuncle will not do it--and Isaac is not to be found. I discovered thatwhen I reached Richmond two nights afterwards. He had left nearlythree weeks before, never to return, it was said. 

"Well, to make it short, I hit my darky guard over the head with achunk of stove-wood. I hated to do it, but it was the only chance. Youcan't kill a nigger by hitting him on the head. Then I crawled througha small hole in the cellar wall into the potato bins beyond. Fromthere I could easily get into the back yard, provided no one waswatching. They were all on the other side of the wing, discussing themurder--and me. They said I'd surely be lynched the next night. Oh, itwas awful. I crawled out of the window hole and sneaked off toward thehen-houses, below the old slave building. I don't know when theymissed me. I only know that I reached the woods and ran and ran till Ithought I should drop. Some other time I will tell you of all I wentthrough during the next week. You won't believe a lot of it, I know, --it was so dreadful. There were a good many times when I was ready togive up, and a good many times when they almost had me. God helped me, though. He heard my prayers. I'll never again think there is no God, as a lot of us used to think at the University. You don't know theagony of dread and fear in which I'm living now. Something tells methat they will get me and that I'll never have the chance to findIsaac Perry, to force him to tell the truth. "

"I am sure you will find him, David, " she said, but her heart was verycold. 

The circus tents were just ahead of them now. The band was playing andpeople were hurrying along the poorly lighted streets, sheltered byumbrellas, all bound for the "grounds. "

David's lips were rigid; his eyes saw nothing of the scene ahead, norwere his ears conscious of the music. 

"Christine, I am going to kill my uncle Frank, " he said, quite calmly. 

"Oh, David!"

"If I find I can't clear myself, I am going back there and shoot himdown like a dog--just as he shot his poor old fa--father. " His bodyshook with the racking sobs that choked him. 

"You must not do that, " she implored, terrified. "Then they wouldsurely hang you. "

"Ah, but I wouldn't mind it then, " he said between his teeth. 

"David, you must let mother talk with you. She can tell you what todo. Don't think of--of that, please, please don't. "

He turned upon her, amazed. "Don't you think that he _ought_ to bekilled?" he demanded. 

"Can't a judge order him to be hung?" she asked encouragingly. 

"But they'd never be able to prove it on him. Christine, I--I wouldn'tbe surprised if he has also killed Isaac Perry. I've thought of that, too. Isaac is too dangerous to be left alive, don't you see. He drewthe will and perhaps forged granddaddy's name, and also that of GeorgeWhitman, after Whitman's death. Maybe granddaddy really signed thewill, thinking it was the transfer. I--"

"Do you think your uncle wanted you to be hanged for something youdidn't do, --for a murder he committed himself?"

"Why not? I was in the way. If they lynched me at once, he could feelvery secure. Besides, he knew of the other will, dated years ago, which is in the bank at Richmond. Of course, the fraudulent will takesthe place of the old one. "

David did not then tell her of his stealthy return to Jenison Hall twonights after his flight and before the funeral. On this occasion henot only secured the envelope containing the three thousand dollars, hidden in his mother's black leather trunk, but from a place ofconcealment he was forced to hear such damning talk regarding himselfthat he again stole away, fully convinced that his wild design tocharge his uncle with the crime would be absolutely suicidal. 

A sharp exclamation from the girl brought him out of his last fit ofabstraction. They were quite near to the tents. 

"We are late, " she cried nervously. "I didn't think of the time. Theband is playing the waltz--that's the second piece before thetournament. We must hurry. Oh, I _do_ hope father has not missed us!"

There was abject terror in her voice. 

"I'm so sorry, " he murmured, apprehending the outcome for her alone. "We must make for the rear of the dressing-tent. Hurry, Christine. "

They broke into a run, intending to make a wide circuit of the main-tops. She was breathless with anxiety. He grasped her arm to help heracross the rough ground. 

"If he knew, he would drive you away, " she cried. She was not thinkingof herself. 

Near the dressing-tent they were met by Mrs. Braddock, who had startedout to look for them. 

"Hurry, " she whispered. "Go in on the other side, Jack--quickly. Comethis way, Christine. Your father is coming back through the main-top. Mr. Briggs and Professor Hanson are detaining him near the bandsection--talking of a change in the music. Oh, I've been so nervous!"

"Good-by, David, " whispered Christine, as she flew to the sidewall. Aninstant later she disappeared, casting a quick glance up into his faceas he gallantly lifted the canvas for her to pass under. 

"I'm sorry, " he murmured impulsively to Mrs. Braddock as she followed. Then he raced around the tent and bolted under the wall into the men'ssection. 

Joey Grinaldi simply glared at him. 

In two minutes he was out of his clothes and beginning to slip intothe stripes. 

"Here's Brad, " hissed a friendly "Courtier, " calling in through theflap, beyond which a dozen men and women were waiting to make the_grand entree_, or "tournament. "

Braddock came in, his cigar wallowing in the throes of a vacuous butconciliatory smile. Every one stood ready for a shocking display ofprofanity. 

"Jacky, " he said, with amiable disregard for the novice's tardiness, "would you mind letting me take fifty dollars until to-morrow? There'sa guy out here that threatens to attach us if I don't settle anoutrageous bill for feed and provisions. I'm just forty-eight fiftyshort. "

No one spoke. David did not even glance at Grinaldi or the others. Heknew and they knew that there was no such claim against Braddock. Hehesitated for an instant only. Then it was borne in upon him thatBraddock may have heard of his walk with Christine and was demandingtribute. 

He picked up his coat and deliberately drew from the lining a thin, folded bit of paper. It contained all the money that was in hispossession at the time. He counted off five ten-dollar bills, replacedthe remaining thirty dollars inside his striped shirt, and handed thetribute to Braddock. 

"You're a damn' fine boy, Jacky, " said the man. "I'll not forgetthis. "

Later on he demonstrated the sincerity of the remark. 

He came back when the show was half over, and with vast good naturetook David over to where Mrs. Braddock and Christine were standingwith wonder and doubt in their faces. 

"I guess it's all right for us four to see a little more of eachother, " he said, but he did not look at his wife. "Jacky, you rascal, you _are_ a gentleman, and as such I introduce you to my family. Let'sall be friends. "

Mrs. Braddock's face went white. She understood the motive of the man. He meant to follow new methods in the effort to secure possession ofDavid's money. 

Christine beamed with delight. She kissed her father's stubbly cheekand called him a darling!

CHAPTER VII

THE BROTHERS CRONK

"Don't you tell 'im you've stuck that money away in a bank, " was allthat Joey Grinaldi said when David told him of Braddock's suddenchange of front. It was a sentient bit of advice, showing that thewool was not to be pulled over Joey's eyes. 

"I think I understand, " said David gloomily. "But what am I to say tohim?"

"Don't peep. Leave it to me. I'll tell 'im that you're talking ofputting most of it into the business after you get safely over intoIndiana or Illinois. That'll stave 'im off. But he's going to 'avethat money, one way or another, my lad. That's wot's on 'is mind. "

The next morning, just after the parade, David went off for a walk inthe town. His thoughts were of the evening before and the half-hour hehad spent with Christine. He was thinking of her wonderfullysympathetic eyes, of the live touch of her hand on his arm, of thesoft music in her voice, of the delicious words of faith andconfidence she had whispered. He could still feel the tight clasp ofher fingers on his arm; he could still hear the tremulous note in hervoice. 

And how gravely she had smiled at him in the ring! What a professionof deep loyalty there was in the glance she gave him when he passedher in the dressing-tent! The world seemed to have grown brighter forhim all of a sudden. For the first time in weeks he whistled, --and itwas a blithe air that he lilted, for, by nature, he was a blithe lad. 

His reverie was abruptly disturbed. Turning a corner he came upon agroup of town boys. They were making faces and hooting at a strangefigure that crouched against a high board fence. David recalled thisfigure at once: a squat, hunchback lad who was to be seen at timesbehind the counter of the "snack stand. " More than once had thestrong, straight Virginian gazed with a certain pity upon the pale-faced cripple. He had been struck by the look of patient suffering inthe boy's face. 

But now that look was gone. The hunchback, who could have been no morethan fifteen, was convulsed by rage. He was showing his teeth like avicious dog. The most appalling flow of profanity came shriekingthrough his white lips. David was shocked. Never in all his life hadhe heard such unspeakable names as those which the tormented boy wasscreaming back at his tantalizers. 

Suddenly he spat upon the biggest of his scoffers, following the actwith a name so vile that the other leaped forward and struck him aheavy blow in the face. 

This was too much for David. He dashed in and planted a stingingright-hander on the jaw of the enraged bully, sending him to theground beside the hunchback, who was writhing there with blood on hislips. 

For a second or two the fellow's companions, four in number, stoodundecided. Then, with one accord, they rushed at David Jenison. 

The Virginian was not skilled in the art of self-defense, but he wasbrave and cool and strong. He met the rush staunchly. To his ownsurprise his wild swings landed with amazing precision and the mostgratifying effect. Two of his assailants reeled away under the savageimpact of his blows. A stone, hurled by one of the young ruffians, struck him on the shoulder; another reached his face with a cuttingblow of the fist. He felt the hot blood trickling down his cheek. Buthe stood squarely in front of the hunchback, his fists swinging likemad, half of his blows failing to land on the person of any one of hiscrowding, cursing adversaries. 

Suddenly a new element entered into the one-sided conflict. Awhirlwind figure dashed out of an alley hard by and came crashing intothe thick of the fray. 

"Dick! Dick!" shrieked the cowering cripple, the fiercest glee in hisshrill voice. 

"Always on hand, " sang out the newcomer, slashing out right and left. "Old Nick-o'-time, my lads. So you'd jump on a cripple, would you?Here's a Christmas gift for you, you hayseed!"

Singing glibly after this fashion, the tall recruit laid about himwith devastating effect. Three of the surprised town boys weresprawling on the ground; another was trying to scale the fence aheadof an expected boot-toe; the fifth was being soundly polished off bythe exhilarated David. In less time than it takes to tell it, fiveterrified hoodlums were "streaking it" in as many directions, theirchins high with a mighty resolve, their legs working like pinwheels, their eyes popping and their mouths spread in speechless endeavor. Five seconds later you couldn't have found one of them with atelescope. 

The hunchback had leaped forward and was clasping a leg of the tall, angry rescuer, whining petulantly: "Why didn't you come sooner, Dick!You never look out for me. One of them struck me. See!"

"Struck you, did he? I'd--I'd have killed him if I'd knowed that, Ernie. But, say, who's your friend? Looked as if he was doing businessall right when I came up. Hello! They got to you, did they? Bleedinglike a pig, you are. Say, young feller, never--_never_ put your nosewhere it can be hit. I hates the sight of blood, and always did. "

David was wiping the blood from his cheek. The tall young man cameover and inspected the break in the cuticle. 

"Just peeled it off a little, " he announced. "No harm done. Oh, I say, you're the new clown, ain't you? I saw you last night. Put it there, kid. You're a brick. I'll not forget what you did for Ernie. "

The two shook hands. The satirical grin had left the stranger's face. He was regarding David with keen gray eyes, narrowed by the oddintentness of his gaze. David had the feeling that his innermost soulwas being searched by the shrewdest eyes he had ever looked into. 

"I came up just in time, " explained the Virginian, still somewhat outof breath. "They were teasing him, and then one of the brutes struckhim. I like fair play. I couldn't help taking a hand. They might havehurt him severely. "

"He's my brother, " said the other, putting his hand on Ernie'smisshapen shoulder. "No, I won't forget this, " he went on. "You didn'thave to interfere, but you did. Plucky thing to do. They say you comefrom Virginia. Well, you've proved it. Thank you for doing this. Myname's Dick Cronk. I'm from New York. Ernest, I haven't heard you sayanything that sounds like 'much obliged. ' Speak up!"

The hunchback looked sullenly at the ground, his black eyebrows almostmeeting in a straight line above his nose. 

"He couldn't have licked 'em if you hadn't come, Dick, " he protested. 

"See here, Ernie, " said Dick, "that's no way to act. Mr. --er--thisyoung gentleman defended you until I--"

"I saw him looking at my--my hump yesterday. He laughed at me, " criedthe boy fiercely. 

David's hand fell from his bloody cheek. "Laughed at you?" he cried. "I _never_ did such a thing. You are mistaken. "

"What were you laughing at, then?" demanded the unfortunate boy, madeover-sensitive by his dread of ridicule. 

"I don't remember that I laughed, " said David, perplexed anddistressed. 

"Well, you did, " defiantly. 

David caught the look of profound embarrassment in Dick Cronk's face. He felt a sharp pity for him, though he could not have explained why. 

"I'm sorry you think that of me, " he said. "And I am happy to havecome to your assistance just now. Let's be friends. "

Dick pushed Ernie forward, gently but firmly. The hunchback extendedhis hand grudgingly. 

"All right, " he said sulkily. 

"Come on!" said Dick, suddenly alert. "The cops will be along heredirectly. Let's get back to the lot. I'm not particularly anxious toget pinched just now. "

He winked at David in a most mysterious way, and then grinned broadly. David looked puzzled. Then a deep flush spread over his unstainedcheek. 

"You mean because you are with me?" he demanded. 

Dick Cronk stared. "What's that got to do with me? Oh!" He appeared torecall something to mind. "I didn't mean anything like that, " hehastened to explain. "As far as that goes, I guess you're in worsecompany than I am at the present moment. "

With this enigmatic rejoinder he proceeded to collect three trophiesof the battle and toss them over the high board fence. Three of theirlate enemies had neglected to pick up their hats as they scuttled offthe field of carnage. 

"None of them worth keeping, " was his contemptuous remark as hestarted off briskly in the direction of the circus lot. 

For the first time in many days the sun was shining. David announcedthat he would proceed on his walk toward the distant hills. 

"Better come along with me, " advised Dick, halting abruptly. "The copswill get wind of this. They jerk up a circus man on the slightestexcuse. It's something of an honor, I believe, to land one of us injail. The darned rubes talk about it for weeks afterwards, telling howthey nailed a desperate character. Everybody connected with a show isa regular devil in their eyes. And that reminds me. I had my lamps ona couple of blue boys down the street as I came up. We'd better go upthis alley. "

The three of them turned into the narrow alley and walked brisklyalong, Dick Cronk regaling the perplexed David with airy comments onthe methods employed by rustic police in their efforts to preserve thecity from the depredations of circus followers and scalawags. He was arevelation to the young Virginian. 

Despite his jaunty, casual manner, there was a certain keenwatchfulness in his face, an alert gleam in his lively eyes. He seemedto be taking in everything as they ambled through the alley. When theyapproached the intersecting street his gaze seemed to project itselffar ahead, even to the scouring of the thoroughfare in bothdirections. 

"I think those two cops are still at the corner below, " he remarked. "We'll turn to the left without looking to the right. "

They turned to the left. 

"Yes, " said Dick, who, so far as David could see, had not glanced tothe right, "they're still there. Let me tell you one thing, pardner. If a cop ever stops you and begins asking questions, just you tell himyou're a performer. You can always prove it, whether you are one ornot. " He drew forth a short black pipe. "Heigho! I'm glad to be backwith the show. " There was a world of satisfaction in the way he saidit. 

"Are you a performer?" asked David, glancing out of the corner of hiseye at the long, supple figure. The fellow was filling his pipe. 

Dick Cronk laughed softly. "Yes. I've been performing on theperpendicular bars for the past two weeks. Not the horizontal bars, mind you. Banks and Davis do that act. Climbing up and down the barshas been my job lately. "

"You mean?"

"Even the innocent must suffer sometimes, " quoth the nonchalantphilosopher. It was sharply revealed to David that he had been injail. 

Three abreast they moved down the main street of the town, soonmingling with the throngs of country people in the neighborhood of thepublic square. Dick Cronk's hands were in his trouser pockets; hisshoulders were thrown back, his chin elevated, his long legs steppingout freely, confidently. His stiff black hat was cocked airily overhis right ear. He was rather flashily dressed, but he had the ease ofmanner that enabled him to carry his clothed with peculiarunobtrusiveness. They were threadbare and untidy, if you took thepains to look closely; but you never thought of looking closely; youmerely took in the general effect, which was rather pleasing thanotherwise. 

The face of this debonair knight of Vagabondia was curiouslyattractive, though not what you would call handsome. The features weretoo pronounced, the lips too prone to twist into satirical grimaces. His dark hair grew rather low on his wide forehead; it always lookedstraight and damp. The nose was long and pointed. When he whistled--which was almost incessantly--the tip of it appeared to protrude atleast half an inch farther out from his face and to assume a newelevation. His chin was square and his neck was long. Swift-movinggray eyes twinkled good-humoredly under a frank, open brow. 

"Are you going to be with the show the rest of the summer?" askedDavid hesitatingly, at one stage of their conversation. 

"I don't know, " said the other, pursing his lips. "I can't say that Ilike Braddock's greedy ways. He wants too much in the divvy. There'splenty of shows nowadays that don't ask anything off of us. But Brad'sgot to have a slice of it. See? I've been thinking a little of Barnumor Van Amberg. "

Ernie spoke up shrilly. "You bet your life he ain't going to leave theshow. " Dick turned pink about the ears. 

"Never mind that, kid, " he said uneasily. David instinctively knewthat there was a girl in the balance. 

Dick had the wonderful knack of "spotting" a policeman two blocksaway. At times this quality in him was positively uncanny. 

"I can see 'em through a brick wall, " he said to David. "I guess itmust be second sight. "

"It's second smell, " said Ernie briefly. 

They came at length to the show grounds. Here, to David's amazement, every one they met greeted the tall youth with a shout of joy. Heshook hands with all of them, from the hostler to the manager, fromthe "butcher" to the highest-priced performer, without any apparentdistinction. 

"Hello, Dick, old boy!" was the universal greeting. 

"Hello, kid!" was his genial response, to young and old alike. Women, sunning themselves, waved their hands gayly at him; some of themwafted kisses--which he gallantly returned. Old Joey Noakes took hispipe out of his mouth, crinkled his face up into a mighty smile, andexclaimed:

"It's good for sore eyes to see you again, Dicky. How was it thistime?"

"I liked the stone pile better than the chuck they gave us. Gee whiz, I'll never get pinched in that burg again. "

David turned away for a moment to speak to some one. When he lookedagain, Dick Cronk had disappeared. 

"Where is he?" he asked of old Joey. 

"He's 'arf-way uptown by this time, " said the clown quizzically. 

"Who is he, Joey?"

Joey looked surprised. "Don't you know Artful Dick Cronk?" hedemanded. "Why, Jacky, he's the slickest dip--that's short forpickpocket--in the United States. He's the king of all the glue-fingers, that boy is. My eye, 'ow he can do wot he does, I can't forthe life of me see. " He then went into a long dissertation on theastonishing accomplishments of Artful Dick Cronk. 

"And you all associate with him?" cried David, openly surprised. 

"Certain sure. Why not? He's the most honest dip I ever see. Hewouldn't touch a thing belonging to one of us--not a thing. He worksonly on these 'ere rich blokes wot thinks we're scum and vermin. But, I say, Jacky, " he interrupted himself to say sagely, "I wouldn't beseen with 'im too often if I was you. He _does_ have to make somevery sudden escapes sometimes, unexpected like, and I doubt if you candodge as well as he can. If that feller was to give up lifting pocket-books, he could be the grandest lawyer in ten states. Wot he don'tknow about the law nobody else does. Experience is a wonderfulteacher. He comes by 'is name rightly, he does, --Artful Dick. I'velarfed myself sick many a time listening to 'ow he lifted things. Oncehe actually took a feller's pocket-book out of 'is inside westcutpocket, removed the bills, signed a little receipt for 'em, and thenreturned the leather to the gent's westcut. Later on he 'eard the chapwas going to use the money to pay off a morgidge and that he 'ad asick wife. Wot did Dick do but 'unt him up again and put the moneyback, removing the receipt and substituting a fifty-dollar bill be'dfilched from a wise guy in a bank, all wrapped up in a little notetelling the chap to give it to 'is wife with the compliments of OldNick. I've larfed myself to sleep wondering wot the feller thoughtwhen he found the note!" "I've never seen any one just like him. He'sa very odd person, " said David. "I think I should like him in spite ofwhat he is. "

"Everybody likes him. He's so light-'earted he almost bursts with joy. He's followed us for two seasons, and I've never knowed 'im to do amean or dishonorable thing, " said Joey with perfect complacency. Andyet Joey Noakes was the soul of integrity! David could not helplaughing; whereupon the clown hastened to add: "Except to steal. "

"I'm sorry he's that kind, " deplored David. 

"He's about twenty-one, " said Joey, a retrospective light in his eye. "He first joined us as a sleight-o'-hand man in the side-show. Thatcussed little brother of 'is got a job taking tickets. Dick 'ad beenin jail a couple of times and he decided to turn over a new leaf. He'd'a' been all right if it 'adn't been for Ernie. Ernie didn't think hewas making enough money by being honest, so he just naturally drove'im to picking again. That boy is a little devil. You see, the troublewith poor Dick is, that he's set 'imself up to protect and provide forErnie all 'is life. It seems that he's responsible for the deformity. When Ernie was five years old, Dick, who 'ad a wery disagreeabletemper in them days, kicked the little cuss downstairs. The kid waslaid up for months and he came out of it all twisted up--just as yousee 'im now. Well, Dick never got mad at anybody after that. He weryproperly swore he'd take care of Ernie and try to make up for wot he'ddone to 'im. He said he'd beg or steal or kill if he 'ad to, toprovide for 'im. He's never 'ad to beg or kill, I'm thankful to say. So, you see, he ain't altogether to blame for 'is occupation. Ernie'sa miser. He wouldn't be satisfied with 'arf of a decent man's wages, if Dick minded to go to honest work; he must have 'arf of all Dick cansteal, and he sets up a 'orrible rumpus if Dick don't make some goodpulls. Ernie's excuse for 'is greediness is this: he says he wants to'ave plenty to fall back on if Dick 'appens to get a long term in thepen. Who's going to support 'im, says he, while Dick's doing time? Wotdo you think of that for brotherly love?"

"It's unbelievable!"

"He curses Dick in one breath and sweeties 'im in the next, " went onJoey. "Wheedles 'im, don't you see. Once Dick was in the jug for twomonths. Ernie wanted to kill 'im afore he got out, he was that enragedat 'im for being so inconsiderate as to get caught. They say Ernie hasseveral thousand dollars in a bank in New York, every nickel of whichDick stole for 'im. Dick spends 'is own share freely, or gives it awayfor charity, or--ahem! lends it to needy persons as 'appens to know'im. "

"Poor fellow! What a life! What is to become of him?" cried David, genuinely concerned. 

"Oh, he's got all that set down in 'is book of fate, as he calls it. He says he's going to be 'anged some day. He's just as sure of it ashe's sure he's alive. "

"Just a morbid notion. "

"Well, it's his antecedents, as the feller would say. In the family, so to speak. His father was 'anged for murder when Dick was elevenyears old. I daresay it's got on 'is mind, poor lad. "

"His father was hanged?" cried David, in a lowered tone. A swiftshudder swept over him. 

"He was, " said Joey, refilling his pipe and preparing to scratch asulphur match on his bandy leg. "And a good job it was, too. He was a'ousebreaker, and he 'ad a wery gentle wife who prayed for 'im everynight and tried to get 'im to give up the life on account of thechildren. One night he got drunk and shot a perfectly 'elpless old manwhose 'ouse he was robbing. That's wot they swung 'im for. I daresaythat's why Dick 'as never took to drink. He says it takes the polishoff from a chap's ambition. "

All this time, at the back of the "snack-stand" across the lot theCronk brothers were engaged in earnest conversation, low-toned andserious, irascible on the part of the one, conciliatory on the part ofthe other. 

"You know I give you half _always_, Ernie, " said tall Dick, almostplaintively. "I never hold out on you. "

"You say you don't, " snarled the other between his teeth. "You gotmore than twenty dollars out of that guy last night, didn't you? Iknow you did. "

"S' help me God, Ernie, I didn't get a--"

"He had nearly fifty dollars in the saloon. "

"I don't know where it got to, then. I nipped only two tens, I swear, Ernie. Why, I wouldn't do you a dirty trick like that for the world. "

"You done me a dirty trick once, " grated the misshapen lad. "If ithadn't been for you I'd be as straight as anybody and I--"

"Don't begin on that again, Ernie, " pleaded Dick. "Ain't you evergoing to give me a rest on that? Ain't I trying to make up for it, thebest I know how?"

"Yes, and didn't you let 'em catch you back there in Staunton? Is thatthe way you make it up? Letting me starve--almost. " He glared at theground. "Yes, if I was straight she'd look at me, too. She wouldn'tlook the other way every time I come around. Oh, you don't know how itfeels! She'd go out walking with me instead of that Virginian smartaleck who killed his grandpa. But just see how it is, though! Shewon't look at me! She won't even look at me!"

A whole world of bitterness dwelt in that cry of despair. 

"If I was straight like you, she'd--she might love me. She might marryme. Just think of it, Dick! I might get her. " With the inconsistencyof the selfishly irrational he added: "I've got plenty of money. Icould give her fine clothes and--But, oh, what's the use? She hates tolook at me. I--I hurt her eyes--yes, I hurt her eyes!"

It was pitiful. Greed and avarice had made a hateful little monster ofhim, and yet a heart of stone would have been touched by the misery inhis eyes, the anguish on his lips. Dick murmured helplessly:

"May--maybe you can get her anyhow, Ernie. Maybe you can. Maybe--maybe. "

But Ernie's emotion underwent a sudden change. Spitefulness leapedinto his eyes; the wail of misery left his voice and in its place cameshrill blasphemy. After he had cursed Dick and David Jenison to hisheart's content he came to a standstill in front of his unhappybrother. Sticking out his lower jaw angrily he snapped:

"Where's the sapphire ring you got from the feller inCharlottesville?"

"I--I still got it. "

"Oh, I see!" sneered Ernie, drawing back. "You're saving it to give toRuby Noakes, eh? That's it, is it? Cheating me out of it to give toher. An engagement ring, eh? Say, you--"

"Hold on, Ernie, " said Dick sternly. "I'm not going to do anything ofthe sort. Why--why, I couldn't give Ruby anything I'd stole. Icouldn't!"

"Aw, but you don't mind giving me things you've stole. I'm different, am I? I'm not as good as she is, am I? Well, say, lemme tell you onething: Ruby Noakes ain't going to hook up with a sneak thief. "

"Ernie, " said Dick, going very white and speaking very slowly, "yousometimes make me wish you'd 'a' died that time. "

"I wish I had! Then they'd 'a' hung you. "

"I was only nine, " murmured Dick, trying to put his arm around hisbrother, only to have it struck away with violence. 

"And I was only four, " scoffed the other. "Say, let's see that ring. "

Dick produced the sapphire. It was most unusual in him to carry thesmallest part of his gains on his person. The circumstance struckErnie at once. 

"So you _were_ going to give it to her, " snapped he. 

"She wouldn't take it if I were fool enough to offer it, " said Dickquietly, dropping the ring into his brother's hand. It immediatelyfound a new resting place in the latter's pocket. 

"Maybe the other one will take it from me, " he grinned. 

"You'd better not try it, Braddock would kick you to death. "

"Everybody wants to kick me, " whined the other, taking a new turn. "But, say, he didn't offer to kick me last night when I told him she'dbeen out walking with that guy. I seen 'em--I seen 'em sneaking in. Itold Brad. I bet he raised thunder with 'em. "

Dick was looking out past the stand in the direction of the big tents. 

"I'm not so sure, " he said dryly. "I see Brad and Christine and theguy you mean talking over there by the entrance. They seem to be in aspecially good humor. "

Ernie sprang forward, his eyes dilated. He stared for a full minutewithout blinking. Then his grip on Dick's arm suddenly relaxed. 

"Oh, God, how I wish I was straight and handsome like him!" he criedbrokenly. 

Dick did not look down, but he knew that the tears were standing inthe boy's eyes. 

"Don't think about it, Ernie, " he began. 

Ernie shook off his hand and angrily rubbed his eyes with his bonyknuckles. He sobbed twice, and then burst forth in a shrill tirade ofabuse. Quivering with ungovernable rage, he called Dick every vilename he could lay his proficient tongue to. 

Poor Dick offered up no word of protest, no sign of resentment. WhenErnie stopped for sheer exhaustion, not only of his lung power but inthe matter of epithets, the tall martyr took his hands out of hispockets, stretched himself lazily, and announced, as if it wereexpected of him as a duty:

"Well, the crowd is beginning to gather at the ticket-wagon. I guessI'd better be strolling among 'em, Ernie. So long. "

Ernie looked up eagerly, his mood changing like a flash. 

"Good luck, Dick, " he said, his eyes sparkling. 

CHAPTER VIII

AN INVITATION TO SUPPER

That same night Artful Dick Cronk had a long conversation with ThomasBraddock. David was the principal subject of discussion. The airyscalawag was not long in getting to the bottom of the fugitive'shistory, so far as it could be obtained from the rather disconnectedutterances of the convivial Thomas. They had come upon each other in abar-room, but Dick had succeeded in getting the showman away from theplace before he reached the maudlin stage. The day's business had beengood. Braddock was cheerful, almost optimistic in consequence. Hevociferously thanked his lucky sun, not his stars. Convinced that thiswas an uncommonly clever bit of paraphrasing, he repeated it at leasta dozen times with great unction, always appending a carefulexplanation so that Dick would be sure to catch the point--or, youmight say, the twist. 

"If we only had sunshine like this, " he announced with a comprehensivewave of his hand, regardless of the fact that it was ten o'clock atnight, "I'd clear a million dollars this season. We've got nearlyfifteen hundred dollars in that tent to-night, Dick. Twenty-onehundred on the day. A week of this beautiful sunshine and we'd bedoing three thousand a day. I'd make old Barnum look like a two-spot. Did you ever see more beautiful sunshine, Dick? Now, did you?"

"That's not the sun, Brad, " said Dick, removing his pipe from hislips. "That's a canvasman with a torch. " They had arrived at the lot. 

Braddock swore a mighty oath, and with jovial good-humor chucked Dickin the ribs, not very gently, it may be supposed. Dick, withresponsive good-humor, seized the opportunity to deliver a resoundingthump on Braddock's back, almost knocking the breath out of him. Ifone could have looked into the brain of the grinning pickpocket, hemight have detected a vast regret that policy made it inadvisable tothump the showman on the jaw instead of the back. He had thesatisfaction, however, of hearing the other cough violently for somelittle time. 

"Don't be so rough, " growled Braddock, taking a fresh cigar from hispocket to replace the one that had been expelled by the force of theblow. 

"Excuse me, " apologized Dick promptly. "Say, " he went on, withoutwaiting for or expecting forgiveness, "tell me something about thisnew clown of yours. "

Whereupon Braddock lowered his voice and told him as much as he knewof the story. They sat on a wagon tongue at some distance from wherethe men were tearing down the menagerie tent. Dick Cronk puffed hispipe thoughtfully during the recital. One might have imagined that hewas not listening. 

"I don't believe he killed him, " said he at the end of the story. 

"Neither do I, " said Braddock. "But it won't hurt to let him thinkthat we're all still a leetle bit doubtful. "

"I heard all about the murder in Staunton. The sheriff was trying tohead the kid off if he came through that county. We were expectin' tosee him landed in jail any day. They had bloodhounds after him, Ihear. " Dick Cronk's body quivered in a sharp spasm of dread. 

"Say, Dick, listen here, " said Braddock, leaning closer and droppinghis voice to a half-whisper. "I've been wantin' you to turn up eversince he joined us. What will you say when I tell you he's got more 'ntwo thousand dollars with him?"

Dick started. "What!"

"He has. I've seen it. He's lousy with it. "

"Well, he came by it honestly, " said Dick after a moment. 

"How do you know?" demanded the other insinuatingly. 

 "Honest men are so blamed scarce, Brad, that I can always tell onewhen I see him. "

Braddock rolled his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other andback again before venturing the next remark. 

"It would be no trick at all to get it away from him. "

Dick Cronk looked at his averted face. "What do you mean?"

"Think of what a haul it would be. "

"I suppose you want me to lift the pile. Is that it?"

"Not unless we come to a thorough understanding beforehand, " saidBraddock quickly. "It's my plan, so I get the bulk of it, understandthat. "

"I do the job and you get the stuff, " sneered Dick, still looking athis companion. Braddock felt that look and moved uncomfortably. 

"It's too much money to let get away, " he explained somewhatirrelevantly. 

"Then why don't you pinch it yourself? Why ask me to do it?"

Braddock turned upon him angrily. "Why, I'm no thief! I'll break yourneck if you make another crack like that. "

Artful Dick arose. "I'm not so easily insulted, " he said with a queerlittle laugh. "But, say, Braddock, let me tell you one thing. I'm notgoing to touch that kid's wad, and you ain't either. I'm a friend ofhis'n, after what happened to-day. Put that in your pipe, Brad, andsmoke it. "

Braddock gulped painfully. "See here, Dick, don't be a fool. We canclean up a--"

"You'd take the pennies off a dead nigger's eyes, " interrupted thepickpocket scathingly. 

"I'd do anything to keep the show from busting, " said the other withthe air of a martyr. "Anything to save my wife's little fortune, andanything to keep my performers from going broke. "

"I suppose your wife thinks it's all right to get this kid's moneyaway from him, " said Dick sarcastically. 

"She--why, of course, she wouldn't know anything about it. She's soblamed finicky. "

"Of course!" scoffed Dick. 

"But she'd stand for it, if she ever did find it out. She needs themoney just as much as I do, only she likes to appear sanctimo--"

"I hate a liar, Brad, " said Dick coolly. 

Braddock arose unsteadily. "You mean ME?"

"I do, " said the thief to the liar. "You know you lie when you sayshe'd back you up in a game like that. "

"I've a notion to smash you one. "

"Here's your watch, Brad, and your pocketbook. I nipped 'em just nowto see if I'm in practice. Oh, yes, and your revolver, too. " Helaughed noiselessly as he laid the three articles on the footrest ofthe wagon and turned away. 

Braddock blinked his eyes. As he replaced the articles in theirplaces, he said admiringly: "Well, you do beat the devil!"

When he turned, the pickpocket was nowhere to be seen. It was as ifthe earth had swallowed him. 

Five minutes later Dick appeared quite mysteriously in the dressing-tent, coming from the skies, it seemed to David, who found him fillinga space that had been absolutely empty when he stooped over an instantbefore to adjust his shoe-lacing. 

"Hello, kid, " said Dick easily. "Say, do you know there's a warrantfor your arrest right now in the hands of the town marshal of thisburg?"

David's heart almost stopped beating. 

"How do you know?" he demanded. 

"I just piped him and a Pinkerton guy I know by sight hunting upBraddock. Not three minutes ago. They were talking it over between 'emout there by the road. The detective's got a picture of you, he says. Somehow they've dropped on to it that the new clown is you. Evening, Mrs. Braddock. "

The proprietor's wife came up, followed closely by Christine and Ruby, dressed for the street. In an instant David repeated the startlingnews. 

"What is to be done?" cried Mrs. Braddock, aghast. 

"They sha'n't take you, David, " cried Christine. 

"Where is my father?" fell from Ruby's frightened lips. 

"Not a second to be lost, " said Dick. "I've got a scheme. Come inhere, kid, and let me get into the tights you've got on. Tell Joey, and put the rest of the crowd on to the game, " he added to Ruby. 

When the town marshal and the detective deliberately stalked into thedressing-tent a few minutes later, a nonchalant group of performersgreeted them, apparently without interest. 

The new clown was partly dressed, but he had not washed the bismuthand carmine from his lean face. Braddock, perspiring freely, came inbehind the officers. He saw in a glance what had transpired. His cigaralmost dropped from his lips. 

"We want you, " said the marshal, pushed forward by the detective. Thenew clown looked up, amazed, as the hand fell on his shoulder. "Notrouble now, " added the local officer, nervously glancing around him. He knew the perils attending the arrest of a circus performer in hisown domain. 

"What's the matter with you?" exclaimed Dick Cronk, jerking his armaway. 

"I want you, David Jenison, for murder in--"

There was a roar of laughter from the assembled crowd of performers. 

"Come off!" grinned Dick Cronk. "You're off your base, you rube. Letgo my arm!"

"None of that now, " said the detective. "I've got your picture here. The jig's up, young feller. It's no--"

"My picture?" ejaculated Dick in surprise. "Let's have a look at it. Inever had my picture taken in my life. "

The man held out a small solar print of a daguerreotype that DavidJenison sat for the year before at college. While the marshal, in sometrepidation, regained his grip on the prisoner's arm, the crowd ofperformers looked at the picture with broad grins on their faces. 

"Wash up, Jacky, " said Grinaldi, stifling a laugh. 

"Let the rubes see what you really look like, " added Signor Anaconda. 

Dick Cronk proceeded to scrub away the make-up. When he lifted hisface for inspection, the two officers glared at him in positiveconsternation. 

"I guess I'm not the guy you're after, " said Dick coolly. "A blind mancould see that I don't look like that picture. My, what a nice-lookingboy he is! A reg'lar lady-killer. "

"You're not the man, that's dead sure, " said the Pinkerton operative, perplexity written all over his face. "We've had a job put up on us, "he explained, turning to Braddock. "Some smart aleck sent word to ourbranch that the real Jenison boy was a clown in this show. We got anote from some one who said he belonged to the show. They sent me uphere on a chance that it was true. We had this picture in the office. The note says David Jenison joined the show three weeks ago. How longhave you been with it?"

Dick Cronk was very cunning. "That's funny. I've been with it justthree weeks. Say, I bet I know who put up this job on you. " He turnedto his friends. "It was that darned Jim Hopkins. He's always up to agag of some sort. "

"Where is he?" demanded the detective. 

"The Lord knows, " said Dick. "He ducked a couple of days ago. Gone toCincinnati, I think he said. He works the shell game, and it gotpretty hot for him after we left Cumberland. Well, say, this IS great!I guess the drinks are on the Pinkerton office. Thaw out, mister. Charge it to the Molly McGuires. "

In the mean time David Jenison, attired in a street gown belonging toMadam Bolivar, the strong lady, was on his way to the hotel, accompanied by Mrs. Braddock, Christine and others of the sex herepresented for the time being. 

An hour later he stole away from the hotel, in his own clothes, andboarded a rumbling tableau wagon at the edge of the town, considerablyshaken by his narrow escape, but full of gratitude to the resourcefulpickpocket. 

In the railroad yards Dick Cronk hunted out his brother Ernie, and, standing over him in a manner so threatening that the astonishedhunchback shrank down in fear, he bluntly accused him of informing onDavid Jenison. 

"I know you did it, Ernie, " he said, when the other began to whimperhis denials. "You've done a lot of sneakin' things, but this is thesneakin'est. If you ever peach on anybody again, I'll--well, I won'tsay just what I'll do. It'll be good and plenty, you can be I onthat. "

"What'll you do?" sneered Ernie, but cravenly. 

"Something I didn't do the first time, " announced Dick with deadlylevelness. Ernie turned very cold. 

"You wouldn't hurt me?" he whined. 

"I'm through talkin' about it, " said Dick, turning away. "Just youremember, that's all. "

Colonel Bob Grand descended upon the show the following afternoon. Hiscustomary advent was always somewhat in the nature of a hawk'svisitation among a brood of chickens: it was quite as disturbing andequally as hateful. Moreover, like the hawk, he came when leastexpected. 

"Oh, how I loathe that man, " whispered Christine to David. She waswaiting for her turn in the ring, just inside the great red and goldcurtains at the entrance of the dressing-tent. Tom Sacks was peepingthrough the curtains at the haze-enveloped crowd in the main tent. David and the slim girl in red were standing at the big gray horse'shead and she was feeding sugar to the animal. The youth in the stripedtights was a head taller than his companion--for David was then but aninch or two short of six feet and broadening into manhood. 

Colonel Grand had just entered the dressing-tent with Christine'sfather, and was paying his most suave devotions to Mrs. Braddockacross the way. 

"When did he come?" asked David, filled with a sharp pity for thegirl, who, as yet, could hardly have suspected the real object of hisvisits. 

"An hour ago. David, why does he come so often?"

"I--I suppose he has business in these towns, " he floundereduncomfortably. 

"My mother hates him, --oh, how she hates him. I don't see why he can'tsee it and stay away from us. Of course, he's very rich, and he's a--agreat friend of father's. They say Colonel Grand gambles and--and heleaves his wife alone at home for weeks at a time. I can't bear thesight of his face. It is like an animal's to me. Have you seen thatAfrican gazelle out in the animal top? The one with the eyes so closetogether and the long white nose? Well, that's how Colonel Grand looksto me. I've always hated that horrid deer, David. I see it in mydreams, over and over again, and it is always trying to butt me in theface with that awful white nose. Isn't it odd that I should dream ofit so much?"

"It's just a fancy, Christine. You'll--you'll outgrow it. All childrenhave funny dreams, " he said with a lame attempt at humor. 

"I'm fifteen, David, " she said severely. "I don't like you to say suchthings to me. But, " and she beamed a smile upon him that fairlydazzled, "I do love the way you pronounce my name. No one says it justas you do. I hate being called Christie. Don't you ever begin callingme Christie. Do you hear?"

"I've always loved Christine, " he said frankly. Then he felt himselfblush under the paint. 

She hesitated, suddenly shy. "I've never liked David until now, " shesaid. "I've always liked Absalom better. Reginald is my favoritename, --or Ethelbert. Still, as you say, I will doubtless outgrow them. Besides, you are not David. You are poor little Jack Snipe. "

Her warm smile faded as she turned her eyes in the direction ofColonel Grand. The troubled look came back to them at once; there wasa subtle spreading of her dainty nostrils. 

"How I hate his smile, " she said in very low tones. 

Without looking at David again she passed through the curtains afterTom Sacks and made her way to the ring, a jaunty figure that gave nosign of the uneasiness that lurked beneath the joyous spangles. 

David looked after her for a moment. He became suddenly conscious ofthe fact that Colonel Grand was staring at him across the interveningspace. Turning, he met the combined gaze of the three persons whoformed the little group. There was a comprehensive leer on the face ofthe Colonel. 

In that instant there flashed through David's mind the conviction thatColonel Bob Grand was to play an ugly and an important part in hislife. Again there came over him, as once before, the insensate desireto strike that gray, puttyish face with all his might. 

He had been kept out of the ring during the early part of theperformance, while Artful Dick and other cunning scouts weresatisfying themselves that the Pinkerton man actually had given up thechase. As a matter of fact, the disgusted operative had beencompletely fooled, and was well on his way to Philadelphia, cherishingthe prospect of a laugh at the expense of the superintendent who hadsent him on the wild-goose chase. 

David kept a wary eye open for the danger signal, which, however, wasnot to come. He saw the Braddocks and Colonel Grand leave thedressing-tent and pass into the open air. This time Braddock walkedahead with his unyielding wife. Apparently he was expostulating withher. She looked neither to right nor left, but walked on with her faceset and her eyes narrowed as if in pain. Colonel Grand, the picture ofinsolent assurance, sauntered behind them, a beatific smile on hislips. 

The Virginian was sitting on a property trunk, dejectedly staring atthe ground when Christine returned from the ring. Thunders of applausehad told him when the act was over; the change of tune by the bandannounced the beginning of the next act--that of the strong man andhis wife. How well David remembered these sudden transitions. Healmost longed to be out there now, in the thick of it, with good oldJoey Grinaldi at his side, dodging the ringmaster's lash and grinningat the jokes of the veteran. 

The girl came straight up to him, her anxious gaze sweeping theinterior. She was about to speak to him, but changed her mind andhurried on to her dressing-room. An instant later she was back, greatly agitated. "Where is my mother?" she asked. 

"They went away a few minutes ago, " replied David, as unconcernedly aspossible. 

"Where? Where did they go, David?" she cried, her voice low withalarm. 

"To the side-show, I think, " prevaricated he. 

He saw the look of relief struggling into her face. 

"She--she always cries when she goes out with them together, " shemurmured piteously. "Oh, David, I'm so worried. I don't know why--Idon't know what it is that causes me to feel this way. But I amfrightened--always frightened. "

He took her little hand between his own; it was trembling perceptibly. Very gently he sought to reassure her, his heart so full that hisvoice was husky with the emotion that crowded up from it. 

"Nothing ever can happen to your mother, Christine--nothing. Pleasedon't worry, little girl. Colonel Grand can't--won't do anything tohurt her. Your father won't let that happen. He won't--"

"David, I am not so sure of that, " she said slowly, looking straightinto his eyes and speaking almost in a monotone. He started. For amoment he was speechless. 

"You must not say that, Christine, " he said. 

"I don't know why I said it, " she responded, nervously biting hernether lip. Then she smiled, her white teeth gleaming against thecarmine. "She'll be back presently, I know. I'm so silly. "

"You are very young, you'll have to admit, after this display, " hechided. She left him. 

Joey Grinaldi came in a few minutes later and took his _protege_off to the ring, with the assurance that "the coast" was clear. Allthe rest of the afternoon David's heart ached with a dull pain. Hecould hardly wait for the time to come when he could return to thedressing-tent. At last, he raced from the ring, pursued by theinflated bladder in the hand of Joey Grinaldi, their joint mummeryover for the afternoon. 

Christine was sitting on the trunk that he had occupied so recently;Mrs. Braddock was nowhere in sight. 

"David, " she said slowly, as he drew up panting, "they did not go tothe side-show. "

He was spared the necessity of an answer by the providential return ofthe girl's mother. She came in alone from the main tent. A glanceshowed them both that she had been crying. Christine sprang forwardwith a little cry and slipped her arm through her mother's. 

As they passed by David the mother's stiff, tense lips were movingpainfully. He heard her say, as if to herself:

"I cannot--I will not endure it any longer. I cannot, my child. "

David stood before her the next instant, his face writhing with fury, his hands clenched. 

"Is--is there anything I can do, Mrs. Braddock? Tell me! Can I doanything for you?" he cried. 

She stared for a moment, as if bewildered. Then her face lightened. The tears sprang afresh to her eyes. 

"No, David, " she said gently. "There is nothing you can do. "

"But if there should be anything I can do--" he went on imploringly. She shook her head and smiled. 

As soon as he could change his clothes David hurried out to themenagerie tent. For many minutes he stood before the cage containingthe African gazelle, fascinated by the nose and eyes of the lachrymosebeast. He stared for a long time before becoming aware that the animalwas looking at him just as intently from the other side of the bars. It was as if the creature with the broad white muzzle and limpid eyeswas studying him with all the intentness of a human being. An uncannyfeeling took possession of the boy. He laughed nervously, halfexpecting the solemn starer to smile in return--with the smile ofColonel Grand. But the deer's eyes did not blink or waver, nor wasthere the slightest deviation of its melancholy gaze. 

A voice from behind addressed the lone spectator. 

"Attractive brute, isn't he?"

David turned. Colonel Grand was standing a few feet away, gazing withno little interest at the occupant of the cage. 

Young Jenison did not reply at once. He was momentarily occupied in amental comparison of the two faces. 

"It is our latest curiosity from the wilds of Africa, " he said, hiseyes hardening. A Jenison could not look with complacency on a manwho, first of all, had fought against his own people, even though oneJenison had been a traitor to the cause. 

"The only one in captivity, " quoted the Colonel. He had the smooth, dry voice of a practiced man of the world. 

"That's what they say on the bills, sir. " He was walking away when theother, with some acerbity, called to him. 

"What's your name?"

"Snipe, sir, " said David, after a second's hesitation. 

"I've seen you back there in the dressing-tent. You don't look like acircus performer. "

"I am a clown, " observed David coolly. 

Colonel Grand came up beside him. They strolled past several cagesbefore either spoke again. 

"You are new at the business, " remarked the older man. David felt thatthe Colonel was looking at him, notwithstanding the fact that theyseemed to be engaged in a close inspection of the cages. 

"I am a beginner. Joey Grinaldi is training me. "

Thomas Braddock was watching them from beyond the camel pen. 

"It may interest you to know that I am accustomed to civility in allpeople employed by this show, " said Colonel Grand levelly. 

"Do you always get what you expect?" asked David, stopping short. 

The Colonel faced him. 

"Young man, " said he, after a deliberate pause, "let me add to myoriginal remark, I _always_ get what I expect. "

"Then I suppose you expect me to sever my connection with this show, "said David, looking straight into his eyes. 

The Colonel smiled. "Your real name is Jenison, isn't it?"

"Yes, " said David defiantly. The Colonel was startled. He had notexpected this, at any rate. 

"And you are wanted for murder, I understand. "

"Yes. "

"By George, you take it coolly, " exclaimed the other, not without atrace of admiration in his voice. 

"Why should I equivocate?" demanded David coldly. "You are inpossession of all the facts. What do you intend to do about it?"

The Colonel's eyes narrowed. There was not the slightest trace ofanger in his manner, however. 

"I intend to have your wages increased, " he said quietly. 

David could not conceal his surprise, nor could he suppress the gleamof relief that leaped to his eyes. 

"I don't understand, " he muttered. 

"I expect you to remain with this show until the end of the season, "said the Colonel grimly. 

David pondered this remark for a moment. 

"I may not care to stay so long as that--" he began, puzzled by theColonel's attitude toward him. 

"But you _will_ stay, " said the other, fastening his gaze on David'schin--doubtless in the hope of seeing it quiver. "If you attempt toleave this show, I will--Well, a word to the wise, young man. "

"You don't own this show!" flared David. "And you can't bully me!"

Not a muscle moved in the face of the tall Colonel. In slow, eventones he remarked: "I am not cowardly enough to bully a wretch whom Ican hang. "

In spite of himself, David shrank from this cold-blooded rejoinder. 

"See here, Jenison, " went on Colonel Grand, noting the effect of hiswords, "I have a certain amount of respect for your feelings, becauseyou are a Southerner, as I am. You have pride and you have courage. You are a gentleman. You are the only gentleman at present engaged inthis profession, I'll say that for you. There is a probability thatyou may not be so unique in the course of a week or two. I am alreadya part owner of this concern. You know that, of course. It is prettygenerally known among the performers that I have a creditor's lien onthe business. I wish you would oblige me by announcing to your friendsthat I have taken over a third interest in the show in lieu of certainnotes and mortgages. From to-day I am to be recognized as one of theproprietors of Van Slye's Circus. Do you grasp it?"

David, a great lump in his throat, merely nodded. 

"Considerable of my time henceforth will be spent with the show. Iintend to elevate you to better associations. You are of my own class. I'm going to give you the society that you, as a Jenison of theVirginia Jenisons, deserve. It won't be necessary for you to minglewith pickpockets and roustabouts and common ring performers. Therewill be a select little coterie. I fancy you can guess who willcomprise our little circle--our set, as you might call it. There arebetter times ahead for you, Jenison. Your days of riding in a tableauwagon are over. I shall expect you to join our exclusive littlecircle--where may be found representatives of the best families in theSouth and North. Portman, Jenison and Grand. Splendid names, my boy. Ah, I see Mr. Braddock over there. We are dining this evening at thebest restaurant in town. Will you join us? Good! I shall expect you atsix. "

He had not removed his eyes from the paling face of his auditor at anytime during this extraordinary speech. He saw surprise, dismay, perplexity and indignation flit across that face, and in the endsomething akin to stupefaction. Without waiting for David's responseto the invitation--which was a command--he smiled blandly and walkedaway in the direction of the camel pen. 

For a full minute Jenison stood there, staring after him, his heart ascold as ice, his arms hanging nerveless at his sides. The real, underlying motive of the man was slow in forcing itself into hisbrain. 

He was to be used! He was to be made a part of the ugly web ColonelGrand was weaving about the unhappy Braddocks!

All the innate chivalry in the boy's nature sprang up in rebellionagainst this calm devilry. A blind rage assailed his senses. For themoment there was real murder in his heart; his vision was red andunsteady; his whole body shook with the tumult of blood that surged tohis brain. Impelled by an irresistible force, his legs carried him tenpaces or more toward the object of his loathing before his betterjudgment revived sufficiently to put a check on the mad impulse. Instead of rushing on to certain disaster, he conquered the desire tostrike for his own pride and for the honor of the woman in the case;he had the good sense to see that he could gain no lastingsatisfaction by physical assault upon the man nor could he expect tohelp matters by reproaching Thomas Braddock for the miserable part hewas playing in the affair. 

Covered with shame and anger, he abruptly hurried away from the sceneof temptation, making his way to the dressing-tent, where he hoped tofind Joey Grinaldi. 

The clown met him at the entrance to the main tent. It was apparentthat he had been waiting there for his _protege_. 

"Joey!" cried David, all the bitterness in his soul leaping to hislips, "do you know what has happened?"

Joey's quaint old visage was never so solemn. His pipe was out; ithung rather limply in his mouth. 

"Mrs. Braddock 'as told me, " he said. "They 'ad to do it. They owed'im nearly seventeen thousand dollars. "

"What is to become of her--and Christine?" cried the boy, his faceworking. 

"The good God may take care of 'em, " returned the clown slowly. Hepuffed hard at his cold pipe. "I'm not surprised at wot's 'appened, Jacky. It's part of 'is game. Some day afore long he'll kick Braddockout of the business altogether. That's the next step. She can't doanything, either. All she's got in the world is in this 'ere show. If--if she'd only go back home to her father! But, dang it, she swearsshe won't do that. She'll work in the streets first. "

"She can have all I've got, " announced David eagerly. 

"She ain't the kind to give up this 'ere property without a fight, Jacky. They'll 'ave to make it absolutely impossible for her to stayafore she'll knuckle to 'em. She's got pluck, Mary Braddock 'as. Iknow positive she 'as more 'n twenty thousand in this show. She putmost of it in a couple of years ago when Brad swung over the deal withVan Slye. Since then she's put the rest in to save the shebang. I say, Jacky, I observed you a-talking to _him_. Wot is he going to do withyou? Give you the bounce?"

"No, " said David, clenching his hands. Then he repeated all that hadtaken place in the menagerie tent. 

"I will not sit at table with that beast, " he exclaimed in conclusion. 

Joey led him off to a less conspicuous part of the tent. He appearedto be turning something over in his mind as they walked along. 

"Jacky, I know it goes 'ard with a gentleman like you to sit down witha rascal like 'im, but I fancy you'll 'ave to lump your pride and dowot he arsks. "

"I'm--I'm hanged if I do!" cried the other. 

"Well, now, just look at it from another point, " said Joey earnestly. "You can't afford to oppose 'im right now. Besides, there's others asneeds you. There's got to be some one in the party to look out forMrs. Braddock and Christine. Brad won't, so you're the one. Stick to'em, Jacky, and if needs be, the whole show will back you up. You justgo to supper with 'em. "

"You're right, Joey, " said David, his face flushing. "They stood byme, I'll stand by them. "

"The restaurant is down the main street near the 'otel, " explained theold clown. "Ruby and me will walk down with you. And, by the way, I'vebeen talking with Dick Cronk about you. He arsked me to tell you to bemighty careful of that wad o' money. " Joey winked his left eye. "He'sa terrible honest sort of chap, Dick is, so I told 'im you'd put it ina bank. Which relieved 'im tremendous. He's took a fancy to you, andhe says he's working on a scheme to get you out of all your troublesat 'ome. "

"Oh, if there is only a way to do it!" cried David fervently. "If Icould go back to dear old Jenison Hall, Joey! I could give them ahome--for all their lives. I would do it. And you could come there, Joey--you and Ruby. Oh, you don't know how I long to be there. My oldhome! I--I--"

"Don't get excited now, laddie, " warned old Joey. He spent a minute incalculation. "That there Dick Cronk is a mighty cute chap. You nevercan tell wot he's got in that noddle of 'is. No, sir, you never cantell. "

CHAPTER IX

A THIEF IN THE NIGHT

That supper was one of the incidents in David Jenison's life always tostand out clear and undimmed. The party of five sat at a table in aremote corner of the dingy little eating-house. At no time were theyfree from the curious gaze of the people who filled the place, a noisybumptious crowd of country people making the most of a holiday. Theglamour was over them. Some one had recognized "Little Starbright" inthe simply clad, demure young girl; the word was passed from table totable. She was stared at and whispered about from the time she enteredthe place until she left. 

David, alert and dogged, soon forgot the boorishness of the country-folk, however, in the painful study of conditions near at hand. Colonel Grand, the host, was most affable. More than that, he wastactful. While there was an unmistakable air of proprietorship in hismanner, he had the delicacy or the cleverness not to allow it tobecome even remotely oppressive. He managed it so that theconversation was carried on almost entirely by the two men. Now andthen the three palpably unwilling guests were drawn into it, but withsuch subtlety on the part of their host that they were surprised intoa momentarily active participation. Thomas Braddock, cleanly shavenand rather uncomfortably neat as to the matter of linen, was garrulousto the point of noisiness. He confined his remarks to the Colonel, or, in a general way, to the tables near by, with an occasional furtiveglance at his wife's set, unsmiling face by way of noting the effecton her. The topics were commonplace enough: the weather, the prospectsahead, the improvements to be made in the show as business got better. 

Mrs. Braddock, who sat at the Colonel's left, was so noticeably paleand repressed that David wondered if she would be able to go to theend of the wretched travesty without fainting. Unutterable despairhung over her lowered eyelids; it stood out plainly in the lines atthe corners of her mouth. Christine seldom looked up from her plate. She sat next to David. He felt the restraint and embarrassment underwhich the girl suffered. Her cheek went red on more than one occasionwhen her father's coarse humor offended her delicate sensibilities;she paled under the veiled, insinuating compliments of the other. OnceDavid's hand accidentally touched hers, below the edge of the table. His strong fingers at once closed over hers and for many minutes heheld them tight, unknown to any but themselves. The dark lashesdrooped lower on her cheeks; he could almost detect the flutter in herthroat. 

The ghastly meal drew to a close. The Colonel, leaning forward, wasgazing through half-closed lids at the profile of the woman besidehim. His long, white fingers fumbled with an unused spoon beside herplate. Once she had hitched her chair a little farther away from his, --an abrupt proceeding that had not failed to attract David'sattention. 

"Well, we will have many of these jolly little spreads, " he was sayingin his oiliest tones. "Birds of a feather, you know. Ha, ha! That'srather a clever way of putting it, eh, Jack?"

Braddock laughed boisterously. He had lighted a cigar regardless ofthe waiter's polite announcement that smoking was not allowed. 

"Yes, we will dine together frequently. I like these gay littleaffairs, " went on the Colonel, not even attempting to conceal hisshrug of disgust for Braddock. "I am leaving for home to-night, but Iexpect to return in two or three days. You must all join hands inbreaking me into the circus business. Don't let me be a--what is ityou call it? A rube, that's it. We'll be the show's happy family. Every circus has a 'happy family. ' Yes, 'pon my soul, I like the life. I _do_ enjoy these quiet, impromptu little suppers. "'

David was suddenly conscious that Braddock's eyes were upon him. Hemet the gaze, curiously impelled. The man's face was almost purple;the look in his eyes was not of anger, but of a shame that sprung fromwhat little there was of manhood left in him. Braddock looked awayquickly, and an instant later announced that it was time to get backto the "lot. "

In front of the restaurant they came upon Artful Dick Cronk. Thepickpocket made no attempt to speak to them, but when his eye caughtDavid's, he closed it slowly in a very expressive wink. 

Braddock hurried on ahead, explaining that he was obliged to lookafter something at the grounds. 

"I'll look after them, " said the Colonel affably. "With Jack'sassistance, " he supplemented. Christine clutched her mother's arm. TheColonel and David dropped behind, for the narrow sidewalk was crowded. In this fashion they made their way to the show grounds. Mrs. Braddockand Christine did not once look behind. Colonel Grand chatted amiablywith his young companion, but never for an instant was his gazediverted from the straight, proud figure of the woman ahead. 

He entered the dressing-tent with them. There he quietly said good-byto the three of them. The tears of indignation were still standing inChristine's eyes. He willfully misinterpreted their significance. Ahateful tenderness came into his voice, but it did not disturb thesneer on his lips. 

"Don't cry, little one; it is only for a few days, " he said. 

Christine's face flamed. 

"It's--it's not because you are going away!" she cried in angryastonishment. "I wish you would never come back! Never!"

He smiled broadly. "Dear me! And I thought we were getting on sonicely. Pray control yourself, my dear. I had no idea you could be soferocious. Who does she get it from, Mary?"

Mrs. Braddock started as if stung. Her eyes dilated. It was the firsttime he had called her by her Christian name. 

"How dare you?" she cried, her breast heaving with suppressed anger. 

He shook his head dejectedly. "I have much to learn, it seems. "

She opened her lips to say more, but reconsidered, and abruptly turnedaway, drawing Christine after her into the women's section. 

Colonel Grand turned to David. "Young man, " he said sharply, "I don'tlike the way you look at me. Stop! Not a word, sir! I have taken upthe show business seriously. I find that our animal tamers areentirely competent. What we need here is a tamer for vicious andungentle bipeds. There is a way to tame them, just as there is a wayto break the spirit of the lion or the tiger. It shall be my specialduty to deal with these unruly human beings. I hope you grasp mymeaning. It would not be to my liking to begin my experiments on ayoung gentleman of Virginia. "

"Sir, you've already begun!" cried David in a choking voice. "You maydo what you like with me, but you've just got to let _her_ alone. You--"

Colonel Grand held up his hand. David seemed to be gasping for breath. 

"That's the very thing I like about you, Jack, " said his late hostderisively. "I can always depend upon you to look after the ladies. They will be absolutely safe while you are with them. There is adistinct advantage in having a real gentleman about. You see, I can'talways be on hand to--to protect them from such bullies as ThomasBraddock. "

His allusion to Braddock was strikingly impersonal. 

"I am making you my first lieutenant--no, my aide-de-camp, Jack. Allyou are required to do is to obey orders. Don't run the risk of acourt-martial, my lad. It occurs to me that an uncle of yours has hadan experience of that--but, never mind. Your first duty, sir, is toconvince the ladies that I shall expect them to be in better humorwhen I return from the East. "

The words came from his lips with biting emphasis; the smooth oilytone was gone. There was no pretense now; he was showing his fangs. 

David could only glare at him, white to the lips. He could not speak. He could only look the hatred that welled in his heart. But down inthat heart he was telling himself that some day he would crush thismonster. 

Colonel Grand studied the clean-cut, aristocratic face for a moment. Aconciliatory smile came to his lips. 

"Don't forget that I am doing you a good turn, " he said. "Christie isa very pretty girl. She's fond of you. If you're smart, you'll makethe most of her. You ought to thank me instead of--ah, but I see youdo thank me. " He willfully misjudged the expression on David's face. "I see no reason why you can't spend a most agreeable season with us. Jack. "

"Colonel Grand, " said David very slowly, controlling himselfadmirably, "if it were not that I now regard it as my sacred duty tostay with this show, I would defy you, sir, and denounce you, let theconsequences be as disastrous to me as you like. I am not afraid ofyou. I _can_ go back home--to jail--with my head up and my heartclean, if you choose to send me there. I am not afraid of even that. But I _am_ afraid of something else. That is why I am ready tobear your insults, to humble myself, to submit to your--your commands. Not for my own safety, but for the safety of others. Permit me, sir, as a gentleman, to assure you that you can depend on me to carry outat least a part of your instructions as faithfully as God will let me. I mean by that, sir, your instructions to _protect the ladies!_"

He turned on his heel and left the Colonel standing there, a flushmounting to his flabby cheek. 

"Braddock, " he said, a few minutes later, " I'm going to break thatJenison boy if it takes me a year--yes, ten years. "

"What's up?" demanded Braddock, rolling his cigar over uneasily. "Beensassing you?"

"People of his class do not sass, as you call it, " said Colonel Grandshortly. 

"Well, shall I kick him out of the show?" asked the other, perplexed. Remembering David's money, he supplemented quickly: "Say in a week ortwo?"

"No. That is just what I don't want you to do. He stays, Braddock. Understand?"

"All right, " agreed the other hastily. "I like the kid. He's goodcompany for Christie, too. _Tony_ sort of a chap, ain't he? I cantell 'em every pop. I said to my wife that first night--"

"Yes, yes, you you've told me that, " interrupted Grand impatiently. "You keep him here, that's all. When I'm through with him you may kickhim out. There won't be much left to kick. "

For a long time after the departure of his new partner, ThomasBraddock's attitude of extreme thoughtfulness puzzled those who tookthe trouble to observe him. At last, when his cigar was chewed to apulp and the night's performance was half over, light broke in uponhim. He fancied that he had solved the Colonel's designs regardingDavid Jenison. His face cleared, but again clouded ominously; heconversed with himself, aloud. 

"By thunder, if he thinks I'm going to let him gobble up that kid'smoney, he's mistaken. Why didn't I think of this before? I might haveknown. It's the long green he's after. I wonder who told him about thetwo thousand. " He scratched his head in sudden perplexity. "I wonderwhat's got into Dick Cronk. He's too blamed good, all of a sudden. That brother of his might try the job, but--no, he'd bungle it. Besides, he'd probably stick a knife into Davy if the kid made amotion. " He began chewing a fresh cigar; his pop-eyes were leveledwith unseeing fierceness at a certain patch in the "main top"; hisbrain was seeing nothing but that packet of banknotes. How to get itinto his possession: that was the question that produced theundiverted stare and the lowering droop at the corners of his mouth. 

"I've got to get that wad, " he was saying to himself, over and overagain, with almost tearful insistence. Driven by the value ofpropinquity, he finally made his way to the dressing-tent. Theperformers were surprised to find him unnaturally sober and quitejovial. A certain nervousness marked his manner. He chatted amiablywith the leading men and women in his company; the fact that heremoved the cigar from his lips while conversing with Ruby Noakes andthe Iron-jawed Woman, created no little amazement in them. He wasespecially gentle with his wife, and superlatively so with hisdaughter, both of whom were slow to show the slightest sense ofresponsive warmth. He proudly, almost belligerently, proclaimedChristine to be the loveliest creature that ever stepped into thesawdust ring. In spite of that fact, however, it was his plan to haveher retire at the end of the season, when, if all went well, she wasto go to a splendid school for young ladies. 

Mrs. Braddock eyed him narrowly. She was searching for the cause ofthis sudden ebullience, this astounding surrender to her own viewsregarding their daughter. As for Christine, she was more afraid of himthan she had been in all her life. This new mood suggested some vague, undefinable trouble for her mother. The girl's rapidly developingestimate of her father was taking away all the illusions she had beeninnocently cherishing up to the last few weeks. To her horror, she wasbeginning to look for something sinister in all that he undertook todo or say. 

Unable to face the speculative anxiety in the eyes of his wife andchild, Braddock edged off to the men's section of the tent. Hisfurtive, nervous glances about the small apartment escaped the noticeof the men who were changing their apparel. To his own disgust, a coldperspiration began to ooze out all over his body--the moisture ofextreme nervousness and indecision. He took a stiff pull at his brandyflask. 

His shifting gaze ultimately rested on David Jenison's neatlydeposited clothing. The boy was in the ring. His "street-wear" lay ona "keester" somewhat apart from the heterogeneous pile of men'sapparel on the adjacent boxes. David's "pile" was close to the outsidewall of the tent. Braddock marked its location in respect to a certainside pole. He began to tremble; a weakness fell upon him; theresolution partly formed in the big tent, and which had drawn himresistlessly to this very spot, gained strength as his blinking eyesswerved their gaze from time to time in the direction of the "pile. "All the while he was talking volubly and without a sentient purpose. 

After fifteen minutes he sauntered from the section, cold withapprehension but absolutely determined on the action which was tofollow. Leaving the tent, he strolled off toward the ticket wagon, carefully noting the position of the men who were loading themenagerie tent for the trip ahead. A cautious _detour_ broughthim back to the dressing-tent, and directly in front of the spot whereDavid's clothing was deposited. 

The trembling increased. His mouth filled with saliva. He felt of hishair. It was wet. As he stood there shivering and irresolute, the bandstruck up the tune that signified much to his present venture, --thetune heralding the approach of the entire company of male performersin the "ground and lofty tumbling act. " It meant that the men'ssection would be entirely deserted for five or ten minutes. 

Thomas Braddock was not a thief. He never had stolen anything in hislife. He did not intend to steal now. Before he entered the dressing-tent, half an hour ago, he had justified himself unto himself: he wasnot going to steal David's money. His purpose was an honest one, or sohis conscience had been resolutely convinced. He meant tosurreptitiously borrow the idle money, that was all. Toward the end ofthe season, when he was vastly prosperous--as he was sure to be--hewould go to David and restore the money, with interest; whereupon thegrateful young man would fall upon his neck and rejoice. He needed themoney. David did not need it. 

What would his wife say if she came to know of this? What wouldChristine think of him? They were harsh questions and they troubledhim. But above these questions throbbed a still greater one--the onethat made his body damp with fear: was the money still in the boy'spocket, or was he carrying it with him in the ring?

Of one thing he was sure: David trusted to the integrity of his fellowperformers. As for that, so did Thomas Braddock. In all his experiencewith circus performers he had never known one of them to steal;somewhat irrelevantly he reminded himself that circus women werenotably chaste. No; David's money was quite safe in that dressing-tent. 

Two full minutes passed before he could whip the conscience intosubmission. It was, as it afterwards turned out to be, the last standof the thing called honor as it applied to whiskey-soaked TomBraddock. Then he shot forward across the black shadows to the sidepole he had been glaring at for a quarter of an hour. Through thelacings in the sidewall he saw that the section was empty. 

When David put his hand inside the lining of his waistcoat an hourlater, he turned pale and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. For aninstant he permitted them to sweep the laughing, unconscious group ofmen surrounding him. 

"Joey, " he said a moment later, taking the clown aside, "my pocketbookis gone. "

"Wot!" gasped Joey. "'Ave you lost it?"

"It has been stolen. "

Joey's face grew very sober. "Don't say that, Jacky. It was in yourves'cut--as usual?"

"Yes. The lining is slashed with a knife. "

"Jacky, are you sure?" almost groaned the clown. "Why--why, thereain't nobody 'ere as would steal a pin. No, sir, not one of--"

"I know that, Joey, " said David. He was very white and his eyes wereheavy with pain. "I know who stole it. "

Grinaldi looked up sharply. Something darted into his mind like aflash of lightning. 

"You--you don't mean--"

"I won't say the name. And you mustn't say it either, Joey. But I amas sure of it as I am sure my heart beats. Casey said he--the man camein here for half an hour--I can't believe he is a thief! Joey, _they_must never know. We must not mention this thing to any one. I don'tmind the money. It is nothing--"

Joey wiped the perspiration from his forehead. 

"Right-o! Not a blooming word. I see your meaning. By Gripes, he'ssinking pretty low. But, " hopefully, " mebby he didn't do it. "

"I hope he didn't, but--" The boy shuddered. "Joey, I passed him as Icame from the ring awhile ago. He was leaning against a quarter pole. The look he gave me was so queer, so ferocious, that I turned away; Icouldn't understand it. But I do now, Joey. It's as clear as day tome. He had discovered that instead of twenty-five hundred dollars, there were but six ten-dollar notes in that pocketbook. Do youunderstand? He was black with rage and disappointment--"

"I see! Well, blow me, I--I--" Here Joey began to chuckle. "He'swondering where the balance of it is. He was trying to look throughyour shirt, Jacky. He--"

"Do you remember that he followed us in here and watched us changeclothes? Well, I noticed that he never took his eyes off me. He waswatching to see if I had anything hidden about me--a belt, a package, or--anything. Joey, it's as plain as day. "

"And he did kick that little property boy a minute ago. I rememberthat. He is mad! He's crazy mad, Jacky, we've got to keep our eyespeeled, you and me--and another pusson, too. We got to stand bytonight to protect 'er. He probably thinks that pusson can tell 'imwhere it is. "

But Thomas Braddock was not thinking of his wife in connection withthe disappointment that had come to him in that last hour ofdegradation. He was thinking of Colonel Bob Grand and wondering whatmagic influence he had exercised over the boy to compel him to deliverso much money into his hands. Down in the darkest corner of his soulhe was cursing Bob Grand for a scheming thief, and David Jenison for ahopeless imbecile. 

Before the wagons were well under way for the next stand he was deaddrunk in the alley back of the hotel bar, having first thrashed aporter who undertook to eject him from the place. 

Mrs. Braddock and Christine waited for him at the lot until the menbegan to pull down the dressing-tent. David was with them. Not faraway was Joey Noakes, the center of a group of performers, heldtogether by his wonderful tale concerning the sensational bit ofpocketpicking that had occurred early in the evening. A congressmanhad been "touched" for his purse and three hundred dollars whilewaiting for a train at the depot. The town was wild over the theft. 

In the midst of the narrative, Artful Dick sauntered up to the group, coming, it seemed, from nowhere. The gossiper abruptly stopped histale. 

"They say it's going to rain before morning, " said Dick airily. "Youguys will get rust on your joints if you stay out in it. Ta-ta! I'mlooking for my brother. Seen him?"

He strolled on, as if he owned the earth. 

"That feller'll be as rich as the devil some day, if he keeps on, "said one of the group. 

That was the mild form of opprobrium that followed Artful Dick intothe shadows. As he passed by the Braddocks and David, he doffed hisderby gallantly. To this knowing chap there was something significantin the dreary, half-hearted smile that the mother and daughter gavehim. At any rate, he took a second look at them out of the corner ofhis eye. 

"Brad's up to something, " he thought. 

The smile he bestowed upon Ruby Noakes, who stood near by with severalof the women, was all-enveloping. Ruby's dark eyes looked after himuntil his long, jaunty figure disappeared in the darkness. 

"Too bad he's a thie--what he is, " ventured the Iron-jawed Womanpityingly. She addressed the reflection to Ruby, who started and thenpositively glared at the speaker. 

David escorted Mrs. Braddock and Christine to the hotel, where he alsowas to "put up" under the new dispensation. They had but little to sayto each other. A deep sense of restraint had fallen upon them. Heunderstood and appreciated their lack of interest in anything buttheir own unexpressed thoughts. As for himself, he was sick at heartover the discovery he had made. Not for all the world would he haveadded to their unhappiness by voicing the thoughts that were uppermostin his mind, rioting there with an insistent clamor that almostdeafened him. 

Christine's father was a thief!

From time to time, as they walked down the dark, still street, heglanced at her face, half fearing that his thoughts might have reachedher by means of some mysterious telepathic agency. Even in the shadowsher face was adorable. He could not see her dark eyes, but he knewthey were troubled and afraid. He would have given worlds to havetaken her in his arms, then and there, to pour into her little soreheart all the comfort of his new-found adoration. 

For days it had been growing upon him, this delicious realization ofwhat she had come to stand for in his life. She had crept into hisheart and he was glad. Innate gallantry and a sense of the fitness ofthings had kept him from uttering one word of love to this young, trusting, unconscious girl. He was very young--stupidly young, hefelt--but he was old enough to know that she would not understand. Hewas content to wait, content to watch. The time would come when hecould tell her of the love that was in his heart; but it was not to bethought of now. 

He walked between them, carrying Mrs. Braddock's handbag. Christinerefused to burden him with hers. As they neared the business sectionof the town--one of the Ohio River towns--they encountered drunken menand merry-makers. A particularly noisy but amiable group approachedthem from the opposite direction. Christine nervously clutched David'sarm. She came very close to him. He was thrilled by the contact. Afterthe revelers had lurched by them, she gave an odd little laugh andwould have removed her hand. He pressed his arm close to his side, imprisoning it. She looked up quickly, a sharp catch in her breath. Then she allowed her hand to rest there passively. 

They were nearing the hotel when David impulsively gave utterance tothe hungry cry that was struggling in his throat:

"Oh, Mrs. Braddock, if I were free to go back to Jenison Hall! I couldask you and Christine to come there and stay. You'd love it there. It's the finest old place in--"

"Why, David!" cried Mrs. Braddock in surprise. 

"Forgive me!" he cried abjectly. 

"Oh, I should love it--I should love it, David, " cried Christine in alow, wistful voice. It seemed to him that there was a strange, mysterious wail at the back of the words. 

Mrs. Braddock uttered a short, bitter laugh. "How good you are, David. What would your friends think if you took circus people there to visityou?"

He replied with grave dignity. "My friends, Mrs. Braddock, include thecircus people you mention. I am not likely to forget that you took mein and--"

"And made a clown of you, " she interrupted. He was gratified to see asmile on her lips. The light from a window shone in her face. Her eyeswere wet and glistening. 

He held his tongue for a moment, wavering between impulse anddelicacy. His gaze went to Christine's half-averted face. He was movedby sudden apprehension. Was she beginning to suspect the real attitudeof Colonel Bob Grand toward her mother? Was it something more thanmere antipathy that filled her heart?

"See here, Mrs. Braddock, " he began hastily, "I'm right young to besaying this to you, but I want you to know that I am terriblydistressed by what has taken place in--in your life. I know you hateColonel Grand. I know he is a bad man. His new interest in this showis the outgrowth of an old one. "

She started. Her eyes were full upon his face. 

"You are not likely to know any more peace or happiness here. Whydon't you give it up? Why don't you leave the show? Why--"

"David, " she said, laying her hand on his arm, "you don't know whatyou are saying. "

"You could go back to your father, " he went on ruthlessly. "I know itwould be all right. He would not--"

She interrupted him quickly. 

"Who has been talking to you of my affairs?"

He bit his lip. "Why, I--well, Joey Grinaldi. He is your best, truestfriend. He told me all--"

Christine was leaning forward, peering past him at her mother'saverted face. The girl's clutch on his arm tightened perceptibly. 

"Mother, " she said wonderingly, "what does he mean? Isn't--isn't yourfather dead? What is it that Joey Noakes has told you, David?"

David realized and was dumb with a sort of consternation. Mrs. Braddock hesitated for a moment, and then said to him, drear despairin her voice:

"Poor David! You don't know what you have done. No, Christine, myfather is not dead. Be patient, my darling; I will tell you all thereis to tell. "

"To-night?" half whispered Christine, dropping David's arm, moved bythe horrid fear that there was some dark secret in her life which wasto put a barrier between him and her forever. 

"Yes, my dear. "

CHAPTER X

LOVE WINGS A TIMID DART

The circus encountered vile weather from that time on. Day after day, night after night, during the last two weeks in June, there was rain, with raw winds that chilled and depressed the strollers. The route ofthe show ran through the Ohio River valley, ordinarily a profitableterritory at that time of the year. July would see the show wellstarted for the northern circuit, where the floods were lesstroublesome and the weather bade fair to turn favorable. So bad werethe floods in one particular region that the concern was obliged tocancel dates in three towns, lying idle in a God-forsaken river-placefor two wretched days and traveling as if pursued by devils on thethird. The horses, overworked and half starved, obtained a much-neededrest. 

Performers and employees alike grew taciturn and absorbed inspeculation as to the immediate future. No one believed that the showcould continue against such distressing odds. At no performance werethe receipts half adequate to the requirements; each clay saw theenterprise sink deeper into a mire of debt from which there was noapparent prospect of escape. The characteristically ebullient spiritsof the performers surrendered at last to the superstitions thatpersistently obtruded themselves upon the notice of individuals. Allmanner of "bad luck" signs cropped out to sustain this multitude ofbeliefs. Every one was resorting to his luck stone or an amulet. EvenDavid Jenison, sensible lad that he was, fell under the spell ofsuperstition. He carried a "luck piece" given him by Ruby Noakes, andnot once but many times was he guilty of calling upon it for relieffrom the general misfortune. 

A bloody fight on the circus grounds between the showmen and anorganized band of town ruffians came near to bringing the concern to adisastrous end. The riot happened in one of the hill towns along theriver, and was due to the ugly humor of the unpaid canvasmen and theroustabouts who went searching for trouble as an outlet for theirfeelings. Guy ropes were cut by an attacking force of half-drunkenrowdies; the canvases were slashed and wagons overturned. The oldtimeyell of "Hey, Rube!" marshaled the circus forces. There was a battleroyal, in which the local contingent was badly used up, more than oneman being seriously injured. 

David Jenison fought beside his fellow performers, who rallied toprotect the dressing-tent and the terrified women. In the darkness andrain, after the night performance, the opposing forces mingled andfought like wild beasts. The young Virginian, vigorous as a colt, wasa hero among his comrades. For days afterwards, every one talked ofthe stubborn stand he made at the rear of the dressing-tent, where heswung a stake with savage effectiveness in combat with half a dozenrioters who had cut the ropes, allowing the sidewalls to drop whilemany of the women were dressing. 

He was fighting for Christine Braddock, who was waiting in the tentfor him, instead of going to the hotel with her mother earlier in theevening. He glorified himself forever in the eyes of the terrifiedgirl; he was never to forget the soft, tremulous words of lovinganxiety she used, quite unconsciously, while she went about the taskof bandaging the cuts on his face half an hour later in her mother'sroom, where many of their intimates had gathered for attention. 

"We must find Dick Cronk and attend to his wounds, " protested David, addressing the others who were there. "He came to my assistance beforeany one else arrived. I think he dropped from the sky. "

Ruby Noakes closed her eyes suddenly to hide the telltale gleam thathad leaped into them. She knew that Dick Cronk was fighting for her, and her alone. 

"I saw him just now, " she said after a moment. "He didn't have ascratch and he is perfectly mad with joy over the whole thing. "

"He could fall out of a balloon and not even get a lump on his head, that feller could, " grumbled the contortionist, who had two very blackeyes and several "lumps. "

Braddock, partially sobered by the serious consequences likely toarise from the riot, spent an uncomfortable day in the town. Thecircus manager succeeded in half-way convincing the authorities thathis people had been set upon and were in no way responsible for theaffray. Threats of suit against the town for damages had the desiredeffect: the authorities were eager to let the aggregation depart. 

But in that sanguinary conflict David Jenison had won more than hisspurs; these volatile, impressionable people, in disdain for their ownpositions in life, were saying, "Blood will tell. " Down to thelowliest menial the sentiment regarding him underwent a subtle butnoticeable change. He was no longer the guileless outsider: he wasexalted even among those who once had scoffed. 

Anxiety, worry and a mighty craving for exoneration, with a gloriousreturn to the land of his people, triumphant in his innocence, weretelling on the proud, high-spirited youth. A gauntness settled in hisface; there was a hungry, wistful look in his eyes; his ever-winningsmile responded less readily than before; sharp lines began to revealthemselves, flanking his nostrils. His heart was bitter. The weeks hadbrought him to a fuller realization of the horrid blight upon his fairname; he had come to see the wreck in all its cold, brutal aspects. The realization that he was a hunted, branded thing, with a price onhis head, sank deeper and deeper into his soul. Hunted! Chased as acriminal! He, a Jenison of Virginia!

Nor was he permitted at any time to feel that he was safe from arrest. Thomas Braddock, savagely disappointed on that shameful night, madelife miserable for the young clown. Only a sodden hope that there wasstill a chance to secure the treasure kept him from actually doingbodily harm to David, to such an extent that he might be forced toleave the show. That hope, and the ever-present dread of the stillabsent Colonel Grand, moved Braddock to tactics so ugly that aconstant watch was being observed by those who sought to shield notonly the Virginian but the man's wife and child. 

The proprietor was sinking lower and lower in the mire ofdissoluteness. There was no longer any pretense of sobriety. He drankwith vicious disregard for the common aspects of decency. He was ugly, quarrelsome, resentful of any effort on the part of his friends toguide him out of the slough in which he was losing himself. More thanone kindly disposed person had been knocked down for his"interference, " as Braddock called it. David Jenison shrank fromcontact with him, revolting against the language he used, despisinghim for the threats he held over him, distressed by the snarlingrequests for money. No day passed that did not bring to David analmost irresistible impulse to escape this loathsome man by desertingthe show. A single magnet held him: Christine. He endured torment andobloquy that he might always be there to defend her and the sad-eyed, broken woman who had defended him. 

If it had not been for the plight of these loved ones he might havepersuaded himself to go back to Virginia and give himself up fortrial. Time had encouraged him in the belief that his innocence wouldprevail. He had talked it over with Joey and Dick Cronk. Both of themhad advised him to stand to his original determination to find IsaacPerry before putting himself in jeopardy. 

Colonel Grand's prolonged absence was the cause of much speculationand uneasiness. The entire company lived in dread of his return, yeteach individual was eager to have it over with. No man liked the newpartner; every one knew where his real interest lay. Thomas Braddockcursed him in secret for remaining away while the show was totteringon its last legs. Mrs. Braddock never spoke of the man, but it was notdifficult to interpret the anxious, daunted expression in her eyes as, day after day, she appeared at the tent; nor was the temporary gleamof relief less plain when she convinced herself that he was not on thegrounds. 

There was method in Colonel Grand's aloofness. He held off resolutely, with almost satanic cruelty, while Thomas Braddock and the weatherbrought the show to the last stages of desperation. At thepsychological moment he would present himself and exact his pound offlesh. 

Christine's attitude toward her father changed forever on the night ofDavid's luckless appeal. She had the whole story of her mother's lifebefore she went to bed that night. From that unhappy hour of truth shegave all of her love to the abused gentlewoman whose willfulness andfolly had resulted in her own appearance in the world. The knowledgethat David knew the story, with all others, at first raised a sombrebarrier between them, which was broken down by the young man's tenderconsideration and devotion. 

She was no longer the gay, sprightly creature he had known at first. Now she lived well within herself, a curb on her spirits that seldomrelaxed except when she was happily alone with her mother and David. Then she breathed freely and cast off the weight that oppressed her. 

There was no mistaking David's attitude toward this dainty, bewitchingcomrade of those troublous, trying days. The whole company saw, approved, and was delighted. 

Joey alone spoke to him of what was in the minds of all. "Jacky, " hesaid one blustering evening, "I see how it is with you now; but is itgoing to endure? Don't blush, my lad, and don't flare up. We all knowyou're terrible took with 'er. It's nothink to be ashamed of. Wot I'mgoing to say is this. She's a puffect child yet and you are still aschoolboy. Are you going to be man enough when you gets older and moremature-like to stick by this 'ere puppy love that means so much to 'ernow? Are you going to love 'er allus, just as I dessay you'll find shewill do by you?"

"But--but Joey, " stammered David in confusion--"she doesn't care forme in that way. "

Joey closed one eye and puffed thrice at his pipe. 

"Jacky, it's not to your credit as a gentleman to be so bloomingstupid. "

"She's so very young, " murmured David. 

"Well, love grows up, my lad, just the same as folks does, " said theold clown wisely. 

"If--if I thought she'd love me when she's old enough to--" beganDavid, his eyes gleaming. 

He stopped there, confused and awkward. 

Joey eyed him. "You mean by that, that you'd go so far as to marry'er?"

David flushed. Then his eyes flashed with resentment: "See here, Joey, that's not the way to speak of her. She's a lady. She's not a--"He checked himself suddenly. 

"Virginians are very 'igh and mighty pussons, I've been told, " saidJoey, leading him on with considerable adroitness. 

"Perhaps you have also been told that we require no lessons inchivalry, " announced David, somewhat pompously. 

Joey chuckled softly. "Don't get 'uffy, Jacky. Let's get back to thefust subject. 'Ow is it going to be with you two when you've reallygrowed up? You're a couple of babes in the woods just now. "

David was silent for a moment. Then he faced the old clown proudly. "She's perfect, Joey; she's wonderful. I expect to love her always. When she's old enough, I am going to ask her to be my wife. "

"Provided you escape the gallows, " remarked Joey sententiously. 

"Yes, " said the boy, setting his jaw, but turning very white. "But sheknows I am innocent. Even though I should always live under thisshadow, and under another name, I would not feel that I was doing hera wrong in asking her to share my lot with me. Nothing could be worsethan what she has to bear now. But, Joey, " he concluded firmly, "I amgoing to clear my name, as sure as I live. "

The old clown nodded his head, eyed his _protege_ furtively andlovingly, and lapsed into silence. For a long time neither spoke. Itwas David who broke the strain. 

"Joey, I wonder if you know how much Dick Cronk loves Ruby?" He putthe question tentatively. 

"I do, " responded Joey promptly. "He loves her so much and so honestlythat he won't tell 'er about it. "

"I feel very sorry for him. "

"So do I. He's often told me that he's mad in love with 'er. But hesays she can't haf--afford to 'ave anything to do with a pickpocket. He says it wouldn't be right. So he's just going on loving 'er andsaying nothink. That's the way it'll be to the end. "

"And Ruby?"

"Well, she knows 'ow it is with 'im. I daresay that's why she's allustrying to get 'im to give up wot he's doing now and go out West wherehe could begin all over again. "

"If he did that, would you let her--"

"That's the question, my lad, " interrupted Joey very soberly. "I don'tthink I could let 'er marry a chap as 'ad been a thief. I--I, well, you see, Jacky, I want my gal to marry a gentleman. "

His lip twitched and he fell to studying the ground. David did notsmile. He looked away, for he understood the longing that was in theheart of this lowly-born jester who did not even pretend to be agentleman. 

"No, " said Joey after a long time, "he won't even ask 'er, 'Ow can he, feeling as he does about hisself? You see, he says he's going to be'anged some day afore he gets through. He's that positive about it Ican't talk 'im out of the idee. He says it won't do no good to reformif he's sure to be 'ung in the end. He says it's destiny, wotever thatis. "

He got up and strolled away, saying it was time to dress for theperformance, adding lugubriously that there'd be more people in theband-stand than there'd be in the "blues. "

When the night's performance was over, Thomas Braddock came back toannounce to the performers that they would have to travel by wagonfrom that time on, unless they chose to pay their own railroad fare. 

"What's good enough for me and my wife and daughter is good enough forthe rest of you, I reckon, " he said. "We travel by wagon to-night. Mary, you and Christie take the car of Juggernaut. You can takeanybody else in with you that you like. I've noticed you don't want mearound any more. Maybe you'll take this Jacky boy in with you. "

He left the tent, laughing boisterously. 

"Now is the time for me to use some of my money, " said David, hastening to Mrs. Braddock's side. "I'll get back what Joey and Caseyhave. You shall not travel in those wagons. I protest against it. Therest of the performers have some of their wages left. They can tideover these bad times. But you have nothing. You are at his mercy. Don't say no, Mrs. Braddock. I mean to do it. "

He had his way. Joey and Casey and Ruby produced, between them, nearlyfour hundred of his precious dollars. The generous boy promptly putthe entire amount in Mrs. Braddock's hands. 

"It is a loan, " she murmured. 

"Certainly, " he said gravely. 

"Ruby, you will go with us, " she went on. "My husband must be made tounderstand that we are to thank you and Joey for this bit of luxury. "

Joey Grinaldi sought out Braddock and told him of his determination toshare his little store of savings with Mrs. Braddock and Christine. There was a scene, but the clown stood his ground. 

"I suppose I can sleep in the gutter, " raved Braddock. 

"I don't give a 'ang where you sleep, Tom Braddock, " shouted Joey, angry for the first time in years. 

"Where's that Snipe kid? "demanded the other. 

"He's to stay with me, " announced Joey. 

"The damned little sneak, he could save us a lot of trouble if he'dthaw out and hand over some of the money he's hiding. I'm going tohave it out with him. He can't stay on here and let--"

"I wouldn't talk so much, Brad. Better keep a close tongue in that'ead of yours, " said the clown meaningly. Braddock looked at him insudden apprehension. He began to wonder what the old clown suspected. 

He changed his tactics. "If Dick Cronk was only here, I could borrowenough from him to get a place to sleep, " he growled petulantly. "But, curse him, he hasn't been near us since that job in Granville, tendays ago. "

When Joey left him he was cursing everything and everybody. On the wayto the hotel Christine and David walked together. She clung verytightly to his arm. Leaving the grounds, she had whispered in his ear:

"David, I adore you--I just adore you. "

"I'd die for you, Christine. That's how I feel toward you, " heresponded passionately. 

A sweet shyness fell upon her. The chrysalis of girlish ignorance wasdropping away; she was being exposed to herself in a new and glowingform. Something sweet and strange and grateful flashed hot in herblood; the glow of it amazed and bewildered her. 

"Oh, David, " she murmured timorously. 

"My little Christine, " he breathed, laying his hand upon hers. Shesighed; her red lips parted in the soft, luxurious ecstasy ofdiscovery; she breathed of a curiously light and buoyant atmosphere;she was walking on air. Little bells tinkled softly, but she knew notwhence came the mysterious sound. 

An amazing contentment came over them. They were very young, and themalady that had revealed itself so painlessly was an old one--as oldas the world itself. Their hearts sang, but their lips were mute; theywere drunk with wonder. 

They lagged behind. Far ahead hurried the others, driven to haste bylow rumbles of thunder and the warning splashes of raindrops. Thedrizzle of the gray, lowering afternoon had ceased, but in its placecame ominous skies and crooning winds. Back on the circus lot men wereworking frantically to complete the task of loading before the stormbroke over them. Everywhere people were scurrying to shelter. Davidand Christine loitered on the way, with delicious disdain for all thethings of earth or sky. 

A vivid flash of lightning, followed by a deafening roar of thunder inthe angry sky, brought them back to earth. The raindrops began to beatagainst their faces. Sharp, hysterical laughter rose to their lips, and they set out on a run for the still distant hotel. The deluge camejust as they reached the shelter of a friendly awning in front of agrocery store. The wide, old-fashioned covering afforded safe retreat. Panting, they drew up and ensconced themselves as far back as possiblein the doorway. 

She was not afraid of the storm. Life with the circus had made herquite impervious to the crash of thunder; the philosophy of Vagabondiahad taught her that lightning is not dangerous unless it strikes. Thecircus man is a fatalist. A person dies when his time comes, notbefore. It is all marked down for him. 

Of the two, David was certainly the more nervous. His arm was abouther shoulders; her firm, slender body was drawn close to his. Hisclasp tightened as the timidity of inexperience gave way toconfidence; an amazing sense of conquest, of possession took hold ofhim. He could have shouted defiance to the storm. He held her! Thisbeautiful, warm, alive creature belonged to him!

"Are you afraid, --dearest?" he called, his lips close to her ear. 

"Not a bit, David, " she cried rapturously. "I love it. Isn't itwonderful?"

She turned her head on his shoulder. His lips swept her cheek. Beforeeither of them knew what had happened their lips met--a frightened, hasty, timorous kiss that was not even prophetic of the joys that wereto grow out of it. 

"Oh, David, you must not do that!" cried the very maiden in her. 

"Has any one ever kissed you before?" he demanded, fiercely jealous ona sudden. 

She drew back, hurt, aghast. 

"Why, David!" she cried. 

He mumbled an apology. 

"Christine, " he announced resolutely, "I am going to marry you whenyou are old enough. "

She gasped. "But, David--" she began, tremulous with doubt andperplexity. 

"I know, " he said as she hesitated; "you are afraid I'll not becleared of this charge. But I am sure to be--as sure as there is aGod. Then, when you are nineteen or twenty, I mean to ask you to be mywife. You are my sweetheart now--oh, my dearest sweet-heart!Christine, you won't let any one else come in and take my place?You'll be just as you are now until we are older and--"

"Wait, David! Let me think. I--I _could_ be your wife, couldn't I? I ama Portman. I _am_ good enough to--to be what you want me to be, am Inot, David? You understand, don't you? Mother says I am a Portman. I amnot common and vulgar, am I, David? I--"

"I couldn't love you if you were that, Christine. You are fit to bethe wife of a--a king, " he concluded eagerly. 

"I have learned so much from you, " she said, so softly he could barelyhear the words. 

"It's the other way round. You've taught me a thousand times more thanyou ever could learn from me, " he protested. "I'm nobody. I've neverseen anything of life. "

"You are the most wonderful person in all this world--not evenexcepting the princes in the Arabian Nights. "

"I'm only a boy, " he said. 

"I wouldn't love you if you were a man, " she announced promptly. "David, I must tell mother that--that you have kissed me. You won'tmind, will you?"

"We'll tell her together, " he said readily. 

"We--perhaps we'd better not tell father, " she said with an effort. 

The words had scarcely left her lips when a startling interruptioncame. A heavy body dropped from above, landing in the middle of thesidewalk not more than six feet from the doorway. Vivid flashes oflightning revealed to the couple the figure of a man standing uprightbefore them, but looking in quite another direction. Christine's sharplittle cry came as the first flash died away, but another followed ina second's time. The man was now facing the doorway, his body bentforward, his white face gleaming in the unnatural light. David hadwithdrawn his arms from about Christine and had planted himself infront of her. Pitchy darkness returned in the fraction of a second. 

Distinctly they heard a laugh. Then out of the clatter and swish ofdriven water came the cheerful cry:

"Hello, Jack Snipe!"

"Who are you?" called out David. 

"Ha! Who goes there, you mean. Always use the correct question, kid. How can I give the secret password unless you put it up to me right?Oh, I say! I didn't see you, Miss Christine. Geminy! Ain't this apelter?"

"Why, it's Dick, " cried David. "Where in the world did you drop from?The sky?"

The pickpocket laughed gleefully. 

"Did I scare you? I guess it must have surprised you, me popping inhere like a Punch and Judy figure, eh? You kind o' surprised me, too, I'll say that for you. Gee whiz, I didn't know anybody was here. Say, do you mind if I get back in there out o' the wind to light my pipe?I'm perishin' for a smoke. "

They drew back into the corner, and the jovial rascal proceeded tostrike match after match in the futile attempt to light his pipe, allthe while standing directly in front of David and facing the streetinstead of sensibly turning his back toward it. With the flare of eachmatch his face was illuminated briefly but clearly. 

A more experienced observer than David would have grasped thesignificance of these maneuvers. But how was he to know that ErnieCronk had been crouching in a sheltered doorway across the street, standing guard while his artful brother entered and ransacked thestore whose awning now afforded him a comfortable refuge? And how washe to know that Ernie had glared out upon their tender love scene witheyes in which there was the most pitiable jealousy, the mostimplacable hatred? Dick Cronk, however, knew that his brother was overthere and that he must have seen these two together in the flashes. Moreover, he knew that Ernie had been carrying a small derringer eversince his experience with the hoodlums earlier in the season. 

That is why he stood before David and vainly tried to light his pipe. 

"Why, you are perfectly dry, " exclaimed Christine, touching his coatsleeve. 

"Have you been here all the time?" demanded David indignantly. 

"What do you call all the time? I was here before you came, if that'llhelp you any. But, " he hastened to say, "I reckon I went away beforeyou dropped in. Now don't ask questions. If you axes no questions I'lltell you no lies. "

With the next flash of lightning he cast a furtive glance in thedirection of the show window to their left. The heavy shutter wasstill open and banging noisily against the casing. A particularlybrilliant flash a few moments later revealed to this sharp-eyed youngman a huddled, black thing with a ghastly patch of white that he knewto be a face, in the doorway opposite. 

"Where have you been for the past ten days, Dick? We've missed you. I've asked your brother time and again--"

"Do you no good to ask Ernie, Jack, " said the pickpocket grimly. "Heain't his brother's keeper, remember that. I've been taking myvacation, that's all. My work was likely to become too confining, so Itook a notion for a change of air. "

A curious note of nervousness sounded in his voice. They wereconscious of the fact that he was peering up and down the drenched, black street with quick, apprehensive eyes. Far below there was alonely street lamp; another stood quite as far away in the oppositedirection. 

"The rain's lettin' up a bit, Jacky, " he said in hurried tones. "You've got an umbrell'. Say, if I was you and Miss Christine I'd digout for the hotel. It's only a block and a half. "

"We'll wait a few minutes--"

Dick pressed his arm instantly and said: "Better go now, kid; betterdig. "

Christine's sharper wits grasped his meaning. The secret of his suddenappearance was revealed to her in a twinkling. She clutched David'sarm once more. 

"Yes, come, Dav--Jack. I don't mind the rain. Mother will be soanxious. "

And then David understood. 

"Why, Dick, you haven't been in--"

"Sh! You'll wake the guy that sleeps up there and he'll throw a bucketof water out on us for disturbin' him, " said the other with quietsarcasm. "Besides, this is no place for a young lady. "

"You're right, " cried David in no little trepidation. "Come, Christine!" He had looked uneasily down the street. "We can't stayhere. If some one should happen to shout from the windows upstairs, we'd be mixed up in--"

"Say, Jack, " said Dick, detaining him an instant, "come to Joey's roomin half an hour. I've got something important to tell you. Good-night, Miss Christine. Sleep tight. "

"Do be careful, Dick, " she cried anxiously, over her shoulder. 

He laughed jerkily. "The devil takes care of his deputies. Look toyourself. God don't always take such excellent care of his angels. "

David and Christine hurried off down the street. They looked back onceduring a faint glow of lightning. Dick had disappeared. 

While they were explaining their plight to Mrs. Braddock at the hotelentrance, Dick Cronk was leading his frenzied brother by back streetsto the railroad yards. He had rushed across the street just in time torestrain Ernie in his blind rage. The hunchback, sobbing withjealousy, had started out to follow David, his pistol clutched to hismisshapen breast. 

All the way through the dark streets the cripple was moaning: "I'dhave shot him only I was afraid of hittin' her. I couldn't stand it, Dick. He's got her. "

"Don't be a fool, Ernie, " his brother kept on repeating, greatlydisturbed. "He'll be leaving the show before long. He won't stay afterthe truth comes out about that murder. Then maybe you'll--"

"Oh, she'll never look at me! Don't lie to me. I wish I'd 'a' shotwhen I had the chance. "

"You'd ha' got me in a nice mess by doing that, Ernie. The policewould ha' nabbed me coming out of the store and they'd ha' said Ipinked him. "

"I don't care. They couldn't ha' proved it on me, " raged the hunchbacktriumphantly. "I'll get him some time, and don't you forget it. Say, "with a sudden change of manner, "what did you pick up in there?"

CHAPTER XI

ARTFUL DICK GOES VISITING

Half an hour later, Dick Cronk was admitted to Joey Noakes' room atthe Imperial Hotel. He came in jauntily, care-free and amiable, as ifthere was no such thing in the world as trouble. 

Joey and Ruby Noakes and the faithful Casey were there. Mrs. Braddockand Christine had just gone to their room, David accompanying themdown the hall for a private word with the mother. 

He returned a few minutes after Dick's arrival, his eyes gleaming witha light they had never seen in them before. His voice trembled with anexaltation that would have betrayed him to even less observing peoplethan these. 

"Sit down, Jacky, " said Joey, putting down his mug of beer on thewindow sill. "I understand you've met Dick to-night afore this. Well, he's got something important to tell you--and all of us, for thatmatter. "

David, in no little wonder and apprehension, tossed his hat on the bedand sat down upon its edge. Ruby was sitting at the little table inthe center of the room, her elbows upon it, her chin in her hands. Shewas gazing fixedly at the nonchalant outsider who leaned back in theonly rocking-chair and puffed at his pipe. He had declined the mug ofbeer that had been tendered by the opulent Joey. 

A big, greasy kerosene lamp hung from the ceiling almost directlyabove Ruby's head. She had removed her hat. Her hair gleamed black inthe glow from above. Casey sprawled ungracefully on a couch near by. 

"I've seen that precious uncle of yours, " announced Dick, in his most_degage_ manner. 

David started up. "My uncle?"

"Yep, " replied Dick, enjoying the situation. 

"Where? Is--is he in town?" cried the other. 

"Squat, Jacky. Don't flop off your base like that. Always keep a coolhead. Look at me. If the ghost of my own dad was to pop out of thatlamp chimbley there, noose and all, I wouldn't bat an eye. "

"Tell me! What has happened?" demanded David, sitting down. Heobserved that the others wore very serious expressions. Joey wasfrowning. 

"Well, 't is a bitter tale, " observed Dick, in his most theatricdrawl. "Don't look so solemn, Ruby. It's all going to turn outbeautiful, like the story-books do. No, kid, he ain't in town, --leastwise he's not in this rotten burg. Gawd knows where he is rightnow. Last I saw of him was in Richmond four days ago. "

"Go on, Dick. For heaven's sake, don't you see--"

"You're anxious to know how your dear relative is, I twig, as Joeywould say. Well, you can take it from me, he's very poorly. If I washim I'd--"

"Get to the point, Dick, " growled Joey. 

"Don't be kidding, " added Ruby eagerly. 

"All right, " said he resignedly. "Well, I've been to Jenison Hall, Jacky. It's quite a place. If you ever want to sell it give me thefirst chance at it. "

The others drew up to the table, David and Casey standing. Thepickpocket had lowered his voice. 

"I got an idea into my nut a couple of weeks ago, " went on Dick, squinting at the lamp reflectively. "I let it soak in deep and then Iproceeded to act on it. I hopped on a freight one night about ten daysago, and lit out for Richmond, without sayin' a word to anybody. Youhad told me a good bit of your own story, David, and Joey had told methe rest, adding his confidential opinions as to what really happenedon the night of the murder. Thinks I, if I can get my hooks on thatuncle of his, I can make him squeal. Well, I went out and hung aroundJenison Hall for a night or two, gettin' the lay o' the land. To beperfectly honest with you, I inspected the interior from top to bottomone night. That's a very nice, comfortable room of yours, David. 

"Next day I walked up, bold as you please, to the front door and askedfor Mr. Jenison. I had found out in the village that he was drunkthree-fourths of the time and raisin' he--Cain with everybody on theplace. Gawd, how they hate him down there! Up I walks, as I saidbefore. He was having a mint julep in the gallery, the nigger said. SoI walked right around where he was and introduced myself as RobertGreen, of New York. He said he didn't know me and didn't want to. Whata mean thing drink is! He ain't a bad lookin' feller, as fellers go. The only thing against him, I'd say, is that he looks about halfcrazy--sorter dippy, off his nut, batty. 

"To make the story short, seeing's it's so late, I up and told him Iwasn't there to be monkeyed with. I wanted five thousand dollars outo' him mighty quick or I'd tell all I knowed about the murder of hisfather. Well, you's orter seen him set up! I thought he was going todie on the spot. He upset his glass. Say, is there anything thatsmells nicer than a mint julep? There's the most appealin' odor to it. If I was a drinkin' man I'd surely go daft over--but, excuse me. Inotice you are yawning, Jack, and Ruby's half asleep. "

"Go on, " said she, her bright eyes glistening. 

"Then he said he'd have me kicked off'n the place. But I justmentioned having seen that nigger lawyer on the night of the murder, right out in front of the house. What's more, said I, I heard the shotthat was fired. Being at that time unfortunately engaged in walkin'from Richmond to Washington, I was makin' for the nearest town whennight came on. So I had to sleep in that barn down the road. I had allthe dates right in my mind, and the hour, and the whole businesspictured out puffect, as Joey'd say. I didn't give him a chance to domuch talkin'. I sees I had him guessin', so I just sailed in and toldhim just how it happened, claimin' that the nigger told it to me afterI had jumped out and grabbed him as he run past me in the road, thinkin', says I, there had been some skullduggery goin' on or hewouldn't be chasin' his legs off. Well, sir, that uncle o' your'n, forall his bluff, was sweatin' like a horse. Somehow, he forgot to haveme kicked out. 

"My story was, that after I'd grabbed the nigger he told me he hadn'tdone the shootin', and begged me to let him go. He said the shootin'had been done by the old man's son, and a lot more stuff like that. Toclinch the business, I said the nigger, scared half to death, told meabout getting a deed signed that night and about a will that had beensubstituted, and so on and so forth. I was just repeatin' what yousaid, David. Well, by gum, he was knocked silly. He saw that I didknow all about everything. I could tell that by the way he swallowedwithout having anything to swallow. 

"He kind o' got control of himself after a while, though, and began toquestion me sarcastic-like. First, he wanted to know where the niggerwas now, and what woodpile he was in. I told him I didn't knowanything about the rascal, except that he'd promised to give me fivehundred dollars if I'd let him off and on condition I was never totell his employer of what had passed between us. 'Well, ' says youruncle, 'did he give you the five hundred?' 'No, ' says I, 'he said hecouldn't do it until you had got control of the old boy's money. ' Thenyour uncle laughed. He said I was a fool. 'But, ' says I, 'he gave mesome valuable trinkets he'd stolen from a cabinet in the house whenyou were not looking. He said they were heirlooms and would easilybring a thousand. ' 'You infernal liar, ' said your uncle, but he got alittle paler. 'Would you like to take a peek at what's in this littlebag?' says I, pulling a leather pouch from my inside pocket. He sortof nodded, so I took out a wonderful gold snuff-box with the pictureof a gorgeous French lady and a big letter 'N' engraved on it and heldit up. His eyes almost popped out, but he managed to sit still. Then Ishowed him a magnificent gold watch, a couple of rings set with rubiesand diamonds and--"

"How did you get them?" cried David, his eyes wide with amazement. "Iremember them. They once belonged to my father. My grandfather gavethem to me a few weeks before he was killed. But--but I did not havetime to get them that night. They were left--"

"Right where you put 'em, " said Dick coolly. " In the secret drawer ofthat old wardrobe in your room. Kid, you've got an awful memory. Don'tyou recollect tellin' me they were there and that you'd give anythingin the world to have your father's watch, your mother's rings and yourgreat grandfather's snuff-box that had belonged to Napoleon Bonaparte?Well, I just went in and got 'em for you, that's all. "

"A regular magician, by cricky!" gasped Joey. 

"Don't interrupt, Joey, " commanded Dick, vastly pleased with himself. His audience was fairly hanging on his words. "Well, sir, you'd orterseen him then. I thought he'd bust. He said something about hisbrother and his brother's watch. I didn't wait for him to getcollected. I then proceeded, with a great deal of caution, to take outof another pocket a long, frayed, yellow envelope. 'This, ' said I, 'was given to me by the nigger that night. It had once contained alarge sum of money, he said, but you had taken most of it, leaving himjust fifty dollars. Do you recognize the envelope?'

"I held it out, but beyond his reach. He sat there for three minutesgazin' at the handwritin' on the thing, his lips moving as if hedidn't know they were doing it. 'My God, ' he says, 'it is Arthur'shandwriting. I'd know it among a million. ' Then he jumped up and beganto curse. 'Three thousand dollars!' he yelled, forgettin' himself. 'Did that black scoundrel say I had taken it? He lied. He took ithimself. I've never seen this before. I didn't know it existed!'Suddenly he sees that he was giving himself away, so he flops down andpants like a horse with the heaves. 

"I put the things back in my pocket, and calmly says, 'I reckon you'llpony up the five thousand, won't you?' Well, sir, what do you think hedoes? He pulls himself together and politely asks me to have a julep. I never did see such nerve. He says he'll go and ask the servant tomake it. He has an old darky named Monroe on the place, says he, whomakes the best julep in Virginia. 'No, ' says I, putting my hand on myhip pocket in a suspicious manner, 'I guess not. You fork over thefive first. ' Well, he gets to thinking hard. Finally he says he'll behanged if he'll be blackmailed. 'All right, ' says I, 'you'll find meat the tavern in the town over there if you want to change your mind. Think it over. I'll give you two days to get the coin together. '

"With that I got up and walked away, just as calm as you please. Iknowed he was done for. He killed your grandpa sure, David, and heknowed he was found out. I walked right pertly, though, so's hecouldn't have a chance to go in and get a gun before I was safely downthe road to where my saddle horse was tied. I went back to the tavern, paid my bill, and took a train out of town. But I got off at the firststation and doubled back, sleeping that night in a barn. The next day, up he comes to town. He was a sight, he was so pale and shaky. I couldsee he'd been drinkin' all night most. They told him at the tavern I'dgone away, up to Washington to consult the President about something, but that I'd be back in two days. I never saw a man look so white ashe did when he rode past the place where I was hiding, on his way backhome. I hung around the post-office all day, knowing just as sure asshootin' that he'd write to the nigger, wherever he was. Sure enough, about two o'clock up comes the darky that had admitted me the daybefore, bringing a couple of letters. 

"He stuck 'em in his pocket while he hitched his horse to the rack. Ibumped into him accidental-like. 'Nough said. A minute later he waslookin' everywhere on the ground for his letters, and he was scairt, too, I'll tell you that. I went back and asked him if he was lookin'for his letters. He said he was. I said 'you dropped 'em in thewagon. ' I reached in and made believe to pick 'em up. I'd had 'em longenough to see that one was addressed to I. Perry, 212 Clark Street, Chicago. "

"Chicago, " cried David excitedly. "You must give me that address, Dick. "

"The other was to John Brainard, Richmond, " went on Dickimperturbably. "Know him?"

"He runs a gambling house there. "

"I'm not fool enough to monkey with Uncle Sam, so I didn't attempt toopen the letters. It's a bad game, fooling with the government. Theyalways get you. Anyway, I had found out all I wanted, so I let himdrop 'em in the office. I took the first train to Richmond and hungaround Brainard's place for a day and a half, playing a little butwatchin' the boss most of the time. The second day, your uncle camein, loaded for keeps. Him and Brainard went into a side room. Whenthey came out later on, I was standin' close by. Your uncle says thisto him: 'Let me know the minute he gets here, that's all. He's sure tocome, sooner or later, curse him. ' Then he went away. My job was over. I'd laid the fuse. Nothing more for me to do but to take a train forthe 'great and only' Van Slye's. Here I am, and, Joey, here's thatenvelope you took from David and hid so carefully in the lining ofyour satchel. Also, David, permit me to restore to you your father'swatch and your mother's--Hey, don't blubber like that!"

The tears were streaming down David's cheeks. He had snatched up andwas kissing the precious bits of metal the narrator had dropped uponthe table. 

Ruby looked up into the face of the audacious Richard. Their eyes metand his fell, after a long encounter. 

"You are perfectly wonderful, Dick, " she said. "Shake hands!"

"It wasn't anything much, " he muttered, as he clasped her hand. "Humph!" was an added bit of contempt for his prowess. 

"But, Dick you blooming idiot, don't you see wot you've done?" criedJoey in perplexity. "You've put the villain on 'is guard--you'vequeered everything for David. He'll--"

"Sure, " put in Casey, kicking the leg of the table viciously. "He'llget hold of that nigger and find out you've lied like a sailor, that'swhat he'll do. Then he can tell you to go to the devil. Dick, I didn'tthink you was so foolish. "

"I must go to Isaac Perry in Chicago before it is too late, " saidDavid. 

"Now, just hold your horses, all of you. I know more about thisparticular line of business than you do. In the first place, FrankJenison is scairt stiff. I bet he's been lookin' for me to drop in onhim every day, to claim the swag, or fetch an officer from Washington. He don't know just where he stands. If I'd ha' stayed around there, he'd have a chance to get me. He could even go so far as to give methe money. Or he'd probably put a bullet in me. But don't you see myidea? I'm lettin' him worry. Worry is the greatest thing the guiltyman has to fight against, lemme tell you that. It nearly always breaks'em down. He finds I'm gone. He waits for me to come back. I don'tcome. He goes nearly crazy with anxiety and dread. See? Well, in time, his nerves go kerflop. He'll see ghosts and he'll see scaffolds. 'Cause why: _he knows there's a feller wandering around somewherethat's on to him_. See?"

"By cricky, you're right, " cried Joey, leaping to his feet. "I canjust see 'im now. "

"But when he sees Perry and finds out, " protested Ruby, twisting herfingers. 

"I'll leave it to David, who knows Isaac Perry in and out, and ask ifhe thinks his uncle Frank will believe a word the nigger tells him, after all I've laid up before him. Isaac Perry can tell the truth fromnow to doomsday and Jenison won't believe him. I've fixed Isaacproper. What Jenison wants now is to get hold of Ikey and beat hisbrains out. And, lemme tell you this, on the word of an experiencedgentleman, that is just about what is going to happen. You let twoskunks like that get wise to each other and something desperate isbound to come off. Yes, sirree, I've fixed Isaac. It's in the air. Ifhe escapes alive he'll be lucky. "

"But I need him to establish my innocence, " cried David. 

"You just trust to your uncle Frank to do that, sooner or later. I'llbet my neck, he's actin' so queer these days, and sayin' so manyfoolish things that everybody in the township is wonderin' what ailshim. Here's a little piece of rogue's philosophy for you all toremember: A guilty man is never so guilty as when he realizes thatsomebody is dead sure and certain he _is_ guilty. That's why theyconfess. "

"Dang me, I believe you, " said Joey, puffing at his empty pipe. 

"Now put it this way, " went on the philosopher, turning to David:"supposin' you actually had killed your grandfather. Would your eyesbe bright and your lips moist? Would you be sleepin' well? Would yoube thinkin' about a gal? Now, just put yourself in that position. No, sirree, David: you'd be a wreck--a mental, physical wreck, becauseyou'd know that your uncle knowed that you killed his father. I tellyou it makes a terrible difference when you know that some one elseknows. Your uncle Frank understands now that two men know--me andPerry. He knows I'm hangin' around somewhere in this world, ready tospring on him. Yep; there's no more peace for him, no more sleep. He'll blow his brains out, perhaps. But he'll also do this first:he'll write a confession. They never fail to do that, these guys thathave remorse. "

David Jenison placed his hands on the other's shoulders as he arosefrom the chair. The Virginian's eyes were glowing with a light thatdazzled the pickpocket. "Dick Cronk, " said he, hoarse with the emotionwhich moved him, "I would do anything in the world for you. You arethe best fellow I know. I don't care what you are, I want to be yourfriend as long as we live. I mean that. Some day I may be able to dosomething half as great for you. I'll do it, no matter what it costs. "

Dick was abashed. He was not used to this. His eyes wavered. 

"Oh, thunder, " he said in a futile attempt to sneer. "Let's say nomore about it. It was just fun for me. Besides, David, " he continued, meeting the other's gaze fairly, "you stood by Ernie that day. Don'tforget that, kid. You didn't have to, you know. "

"You chaps can settle all this some other time, " said Joey sharply. "Wot we want to get at now is this: Wot's to be done next? Is David toset down and wait or is he to go back there and wait?"

"Go back there?" gasped Dick. "Why, Joey Noakes, ain't you got a miteo' sense? You old noodle! Of course, he ain't to go back there. Youmark my words, purty soon his neighbors will be advertisin' for him tocome home and forgive 'em. No, sir! Wait here until something drops. Read the _Cincinnati Enquirer_ every day, kid. You'll find something tointerest you every little while about the Jenison murder case. You see, my buck, they're still lookin' for you. "

"I hope it all turns out as you think, Dick, " cried David fervently. He was weak with excitement. "Oh, how I long to be cleared of thisawful thing! How I long for the sight of Jenison Hall! And, say, Dick!If I should go back there as master, I want you and Ernie to comethere and stay--all the rest of your lives. I--"

But Dick raised his hand; his eyes had narrowed. "I couldn't do that, David, " he said, a harsh note in his usually pleasant voice. "Thankyou, just the same. Ernie and me are not cut out for places likeJenison Hall. We--we'd have all the silver inside of a week--and maybethe furniture. " His face flushed as he made this banal excuse forjest. 

Ruby cried out in protest. "Don't say that, Dick Cronk! You_could_ be different. Oh, why don't you try it, Dick?"

He looked down. His lips worked in the effort to force a grin ofderision. His hand was trembling. No one spoke; somehow they felt thestruggle that was going on within him. At last he lifted his eyes tohers. 

"Can't do it, Ruby, " he said quietly. "I don't think I'm naturally athief, but it's got hold of me. If I thought there was a chance, maybeI'd--oh, but what's the use! Let's change the subject. Jacky, beforewe part for the night, I want to say something more to you. It hurtslike the devil to say it, but I got to. You said you'd like me andErnie to--to come down there. Well, I may as well tell you right herein front of these friends of our'n that Ernie--my brother, don't likeyou. Now, don't say anything! You can't understand. He's terriblebitter against you. You'll excuse me if I say there's a--a girl at thebottom of it. "

"A girl?" fell from David's lips. "You--Great heaven, Dick, you don'tmean--Christine!"

Dick nodded, a rueful smile flickering about his lips. "Poor boy, " hesaid apologetically, "he can't help it. But it's so, just the same. And I want to ask you to be on the lookout for him always, kid. He'sliable to get you some time if he can. It's dirt mean of me to saythis about my brother, but I don't want him to do anything like that. He--he might get desperate, don't you see; and--well, just keep youreye skinned, that's all. You--you got to remember, David, that his dadswung for killin' a man. Mebby it's in Ernie's system, too. He's hadsuch a horrible, unhappy life, I--I somehow can't blame him for havingit in for us fellers that are strong and straight. "

David had sunk into a chair, appalled by his words. 

"But he must know that Christine doesn't care for him, " he saidmechanically, his eyes on Dick's face. 

"Sure he does. That's the hard part of it. He's bitter jealous of you. Course she wouldn't think of a cripple like him. But he's got it intohis nut that she wouldn't look at you either if you was disfigured oryour back was smashed or something like that. I keep arguing with himand he's sensible when he takes time to think. But, just the same, Iwish you'd keep your eye peeled. "

"I am very sorry he feels as he does about--"

"Oh, I'm not asking you to give her up, kid--not for a minute. Cop herout if you can. She's a little Jim-dandy. And, say, " he said, turningto the others, who had listened to him with grave uneasiness, "speaking of her reminds me that you may expect the new partner to-morrow. "

"Bob Grand?" growled Joey. 

"Yep. " Dick had cast off his repressed air and was grinning once more, with all the delight of a teasing boy. "Old skeezicks was on the trainwith me this evening, but he's gone on to the next stand. He looksmore than ever like a fat, satisfied slug. "

"Well, " said Joey reflectively, "we don't need him, but we do need 'ismoney. I 'ope, Dicky, you didn't deprive 'im of it. "

"Joey, " said Dick reproachfully, "do you think I'd take the breadright out of your throat?"

David lay awake until nearly dawn, his mind whirling with thedisclosures of the night. That sweet encounter in love still lingereduppermost in his thoughts, its fires fed afresh by the brand of hopethat Dick had tossed upon them, but disagreeably chilled by theprospect of new trouble in the shape of Ernie Cronk. He fell asleep, thinking of those blissful moments under the awning when he held herslim, unresisting body close to his own and they were all alone in theblackest of nights with a tempest about them. In the background of histhoughts lurked Ernie Cronk and still farther back was the ominousfigure of Colonel Bob Grand. 

For the first time in many weeks he did not think of the detectives--and the bloodhounds!

CHAPTER XII

IN WHICH MANY THINGS HAPPEN

With all the irony of luck, Colonel Grand brought fair weather. It wasas if he had ordered the sun to shine and it obeyed him. 

When the mud-covered wagons rumbled into town after their tortuoustwenty-mile journey, the sun was high and the skies were clear and allthe world seemed to be singing with the birds. 

David had prepared Mrs. Braddock and Christine; they looked for theColonel on the station platform as the train rolled in. He was there, waiting, as if directed by Providence, at the foot of the steps whichMrs. Braddock was to descend. He had eyes for no one until sheappeared in the car door. Then his ugly smile projected itself; hissilk hat came off and he bowed low. One knowing the innermost workingsof Colonel Grand's mind would have understood the profoundness of thatbow. He was giving her time to collect herself; he was, on his ownpart, deliberately evading the look of repugnance he knew so wellwould leap into her eyes at the first glimpse of him. 

She did not see the hand he extended, but with a cool nod of her head, stepped unaided to the platform. Another man would have felt therebuke. Colonel Grand, with the utmost deference in his manner, quietly relieved her of the traveling bag, his hat still in his hand. He sent a smile of greeting up to David and the angry-eyed Christine. 

"Bring Christine's bag, Jack, " he called out. "I have a hack waitingon the other side of the depot. It is too muddy for walking. "

Mary Braddock drew herself up, her eyes flashed and her lips parted toresent this easy proprietorship. But she saw that a group ofperformers were staring at them in plain curiosity. She closed herlips in bitter determination, and walked off at his side. Close behindcame her daughter and the young Virginian. 

Joey Grinaldi addressed himself to the little knot of strollers. 

"I never did see such a look as she gave 'im, " said he. "My eye! Itwas a stinger. Take my word for it, she's going to take the bit in 'ermouth afore you know it, and show that hyena wot she's made of. "

"Hyena, dad?" scoffed his daughter. "He's not even that. He's a rep-_tile_. "

"Well, he brought the sunshine, " said one of the women half-heartedly. 

"But it's still muddy, " retorted Joey with dogged pessimism. Theytrooped off after him, each one lighter hearted in spite of a dullreluctance, simply because Colonel Grand had brought not only thesunshine but a life-saving opulence. 

Thomas Braddock, muddy, unkempt and sour, had managed to sleep offsome of the effects of the liquor he had poured into himself the nightbefore. True to his word, he had traveled by wagon. The treasurer ofthe circus had seen to it that he was tossed like a bundle of ragsinto the ticket wagon, there to roll and jostle from wall to wall overtwenty miles of oblivion. 

He was waiting at the show grounds for the return of the street paradewhen he saw his wife and Christine approaching, followed at somedistance by Colonel Grand and the faithful David. 

"Well, " said he harshly, as the women came up to him, "you were toogood to travel as I did, eh? Had to borrow money to ride in palacecars, eh? Fine thing for you to do, you two, --setting an example likethat. I suppose Bob Grand put up for you. I notice you didn't mentionhis name to me, you--"

Christine and her mother had talked long and earnestly together on thetrain coming down. The girl's cheeks had burnt during that seriousconference, to which no outsider was admitted. Her mother had listenedto an eager, piteous appeal from the lips of the girl; it was the cryof a maiden who suddenly realizes that she is conscious of a modestyheretofore dormant. Together they were now taking up a very portentousquestion with Thomas Braddock, with small hope of having him see thematter from their point of view. 

Mary Braddock had no retort ready for his ruffianly insinuation. "Areyou too busy, Tom, to come over to the cook-tent with us for a fewmoments? I want to speak very seriously about something that has beenon my mind for some time. "

Colonel Grand and David were sauntering off in the direction of theanimal tent. 

"Why ain't that loafer in the parade where he belongs?" demandedBraddock, glaring red-eyed at the retreating David. 

"How should I know? Ask Colonel Grand. He appears to be givingdirections nowadays, " said his wife bitterly. 

"Well, what do you want of me? Let's have it, please. I'm busy. "

"Not out here, Tom. Come over to the cook-tent. "

Braddock glanced at her sharply. It occurred to him that she wasunusually calm and serious. He turned after a moment and led the wayto the cook-tent, which was always unoccupied at this time. 

There, in sullen amazement, he listened to the plea of his wife anddaughter. He raged back at them as they pleaded; he met Mary's calm, patient arguments with sneers and brutal laughter; he put a stop toChristine's supplications with an oath that shocked and distressed hermore than anything that ever had happened to her in all her life. 

"What do you take me for?" he roared, time and again, for want ofbetter weapons to meet his wife's determined assault. In the end, hestruck the table a mighty blow with his clenched fist, but he was verycareful to have the table between them. More than once he had followedthe impulsive movement of her hand in a sort of craven alarm, born ofthe conviction that he might have driven her at last to the pointwhere a pistol would put an end to his wretched dominion. "Now, thisends it, " he shouted. "I won't hear anything more about it. She's gotto wear tights as long as I say so. What the devil's got into you twoall of a sudden? Lookee here, Christine, don't ever let me hear youmake such a fuss as this again. By thunder, I'll--I'll lick you, that's what I'll do. I've never laid a rough hand on you yet. I'veallus treated you as a kind father should. But don't drive me toforget myself. You got to wear tights and do this act as long as werun this show. We--"

"But, father, please, I--I am getting too big, " sobbed Christine. 

"Too big!" he roared. "Great Scot! Why, you little whipper-snapper, you're just beginning to get big enough to look well in 'em. Too big!Say, you're just getting a shape that's worth noticin'. I suppose thatpeanut aristocrat friend of yours has told you it ain't swell orproper to wear tights. He'll get his back broke some of these days, ifhe puts ideas into that silly head of yours. Too big! Say what's thematter with you, Christine? Why, they're just beginning to talk aboutwhat a fine shape--"

"Thomas Braddock!" exclaimed his wife furiously. The girl had droppeddown on one of the seats, burying her flushed face in her arms. 

"Well, confound it, " he mumbled, vaguely conscious of a shamed senseof the old manhood. "I didn't mean to upset her like that. But, lookeehere, Mary, I don't want no more of this nonsense about her doing aside-saddle menage act. She's a world beater at the other thing. Iwon't listen to this guff. That ends it. You go on doing this workwith Tom Sacks, Christie. I don't give a rap whether the Jenison 'Joy'likes it or not. "

Christine sprang to her feet, her face convulsed. 

"I shall ask Colonel Grand to help me. He owns part of the show. Hisinterest and mother's together are greater than yours--"

"Christine!" cried her mother, stunned. 

His face went grayish white; the cigar hung loosely in his partedlips, and a thin stream of saliva oozed from the opposite corner. Hetried to speak but could not. She unconsciously had struck a blow thathurt to his innermost, neglected soul. 

"I'll show you who's boss of this show, " he managed to articulate atlast. Suddenly his knees gave way under him. He sagged heavilyforward, dropping to the board seat. With one last desperate, strickenglare in his eyes, he lowered his head to his arms. A mighty sob ofutter humiliation rent his body. 

Mary Braddock hesitated for an instant, then impulsively laid her handon her husband's shoulder. A wave of pity for this wretch surged intoher heart. 

"Don't, Thomas! Be a man! Everything will be well again, boy, ifyou'll only make a stand for yourself. I will help you--I will alwayshelp you, Tom. You know I--"

He shook off her pitying hand and struggled to his feet. Without aglance at her or at their terrified daughter, he flung himself fromthe tent and tore across the lot as though pursued by demons. By thetime he found Colonel Grand and David in the animal tent, however, hisblind rage had dwindled to ugly resentment; the overwhelming shame hisown child had brought to the surface shrank back into the narrowselfishness from which, perhaps, it had sprung. 

Five minutes before, he had wanted to kill. Now he was ready tocompromise. 

"Grand, " he said hoarsely, "I'm going to sell out--I'm going to getout of this. I'm going to Cincinnati to-night and look up Barnum'sman. He's ready to buy. "

Colonel Grand eyed him shrewdly. He could see that something hadshaken the man tremendously. The Colonel believed in strong measures. He knew precisely how to meet this man's impulses. In his time he hadseen hundreds of desperate men. 

"Tom, you're drunk, " he announced coldly. "When you are sober you'llkick yourself for the thought. Go and lie down awhile. I won't talkwith you while you're in this condition. "

"Drunk?" gasped Braddock. "Bob, so help me, I'm not drunk, " he almostwhined. 

"Then you must be crazy, " observed the other, walking away. 

David saw an opportunity to escape the company of both. He was edgingaway when Braddock stopped him. 

"Say, you! I want to give you a bit of advice. If you go to puttinghigh-sounding notions in Christie's head, I'll break every bone inyour body. If you don't like the way she dresses in the ring, why doyou look at her all the time?"

Further utterance on his part, or any effort David may havecontemplated in resenting his attack, was prevented by the appearanceof Ruby Noakes, who came running up from the main-top, waving anewspaper in her hand and crying out in the wildest excitement:

"David! David! Have you heard? Have you seen it? We've been lookingfor you everywhere. Here! Look! It's to-day's _Enquirer!_ See what'shappened! Your uncle!"

The vanguard of the "parade" had reached the lot. Cages came creakingthrough the wide aperture at the end, and were wheeled skillfully intoplace by expert drivers. Gayly dressed horsemen trotted through. Everyone was shouting to David. 

His ears rang, everything went black before him. He could not seizethe paper that Ruby held before his eyes, nor were his eyes quitecapable of reading the sharp, characteristic headlines that stood outbefore him in the first column of the _Enquirer. _ The lettersdanced impishly, as if to confuse him further. Jenison--Jenison--Jenison everywhere! That was all he could see, all he could grasp. 

Dick Cronk's prophecy had been fulfilled. 

His uncle Frank Jenison was dead. Some one was shouting it in his ear. There had been a deathbed confession. He was no longer a fugitive! Hewas exonerated--he was free!

He laughed hysterically and pressed the damp sheet to his lips. RubyNoakes threw her arms about his neck and kissed him for joy. Thevoices of the half hundred people crowding about him buzzed in hisears. They were shaking hands with him, slapping his back and laughingwith him, although he did not know that he laughed. 

Above the hum of eager voices rose one that was discordant, hoarsewith passion. 

"Clear out! Skip, I say! All of you!"

Thomas Braddock was shoving the glad performers about as if they weretenpins, raging like the lions which roared their surprise at thisunseemly hubbub in front of the cages. 

From sheer excitement, David's head was reeling; his senses began toslip away; his legs were tottering. 

Suddenly the crowd fell away. One man was facing him. The unconscioussmile was still on the boy's lips as he looked into the convulsed faceof Braddock. The power to dodge the blow aimed at his face had gonewith his wits. He only knew that Christine's father was striking; hecould only wait, with hazy indifference, for the blow to land. 

"I won't have any disobedience here, " roared the frantic manager, ashe struck out in his bestial rage. 

"I guess that'll stop it. "

David was lying at his feet, stunned by the savage blow. 

"When I say a thing I mean it, " shouted Braddock, turning to thestupefied crowd. "He can't hold a jubilee in this here animal tent. Who owns this show, anyway?"

He drew back his foot to kick the prostrate boy. Half a dozen womenscreamed in terror. 

"Don't do that, Braddock!" cried a level voice in his ear. 

He whirled to face Colonel Bob Grand. 

"If you kick that boy I'll shoot you, " said the Colonel almostimpassively. 

"Do I own this show or not?" was all that Braddock could howl. 

"Get him out of here, " said Grand, turning to the angry circle of men. "Sober him up or turn him over to the police. "

"What!" choked out Tom Braddock, his eyes bulging. "You say this tome!"

"See here, Braddock, I kept your wife and daughter outside. Theydidn't see this cowardly trick of yours. You may have to explain tothem why you did it. You can't explain to the rest of these people. Wedon't like brutes. "

A dozen men crowded forward with threatening mien. Tom Braddock shrankback in mortal terror. 

"Don't jump on me, boys--don't! I--I'll go out. I'll go peaceable. Letme get out where there's air. I must have been crazy. "

He almost ran to the sidewall and crept into the open air. As he slunkoff among the wagons, he felt himself overwhelmed by a sudden sense ofdesolation, a sickening realization that he had no friends, and, worsethan all this, --that no one feared him!

A curious acknowledgment of his own degradation came with the stealthyimpulse to go back later on and search for the stub of cigar that haddropped from his mouth during the encounter. 

In the dressing-tent, a few minutes after the proprietor's brutalexhibition, David Jenison sat in the center of a wondering, superstitious group. Not one, but nearly all of them attributed hisgood fortune to the working of some spell peculiarly brought about bythe influence of certain "signs. " The champion bareback rider recalledthat David had found a horseshoe no longer ago than ten days. TheIron-jawed woman substituted the black cat charm, while MademoiselleDenise held out for the virtues of occasional encounters with ErnieCronk, the hunchback, whose hump he must have touched surreptitiously, no doubt. 

Only Joey and Ruby and Casey looked wise and said nothing. Dick wasthe luck-piece that brought it all about. 

David sat on a trunk, holding a wet towel to his red, swollen cheek. He had been steadied by the advice of these good friends, all of whomurged him for the sake of others to attempt no violent return for theblow Braddock had given him. Never was mortal so sore at heart as he, but he read wisdom in their argument. 

"He ain't responsible, " said Joey, putting the whole of his summing upin a single phrase. 

The great news had finally found a clear lodgment in David's brain. Hehad listened to the reading of the newspaper story by Ruby Noakes. Itwas now very plain to him that his present vicissitudes were at anend. The joy and relief that filled his soul were counterbalanced tosome extent by the fact that Mrs. Braddock and Christine had not comeup to congratulate him. He could not understand this and was hurt. 

It is not necessary to repeat the newspaper account in full. Thesensational story took up columns in the paper; the history of thecase was repeated from the murder of old Mr. Jenison to the finaltragedy. Considerable space and speculation were given to the unhappyaccusation of the grandson, who had disappeared as if from the face ofthe earth. It was the opinion of the paper, as well as of the officersof the law, that the proud young man, unable to face the crueldisgrace and injustice, had made way with himself. 

It was announced in heavy black type that his county would not restuntil the body of the last of the Jenisons was found and laid awaywith the greatest ceremony. David laughed with the others at thislaudable but tardy appreciation. 

As for the story of Frank Jenison's death, it was, according to thenewspaper, "so strange that fiction paled by contrast. " Jenison andhis negro accomplice, Isaac Perry, had quarreled in one of the privatecard-rooms at Brainard's place in Richmond, where they had met byappointment. The negro, driven desperate and in great fear of thewhite man, finally drew a revolver and began firing wildly at hisemployer, who returned the shots. Perry was killed by a bullet whichfound his heart. One of the negro's shots, however, had penetrated theabdomen of Frank Jenison. He was mortally wounded. On being informedby the surgeons that he had but a few hours to live, the miserablewretch directed that his confession be written out at his dictation, that he might put his signature to it and thereby set his unhappynephew straight in the eyes of a condemning world. 

The full text of this confession was printed. The reader of this talehas heard enough of it, in one way or another, to determine forhimself the chief facts in connection with the murder of old Mr. Jenison. It was Frank Jenison who shot him, deliberately laying hisplans so as to direct suspicion to David. The nephew played into hishands in a most startling manner. A more convincing set ofcircumstances could not have been imagined, much less prepared. 

Isaac Perry was the first to propose the plan of substituting a forgedwill, but at the time neither of them contemplated the assassinationof the old gentleman. It was not until it became known to them thatMr. Jenison intended to deed over a great part of his estate to Davidbefore his own death that they saw the necessity for hastening theend. The will was prepared in Perry's room at Richmond. The names ofthe witnesses belonged to men who were dead and could not repudiatethe signatures. Then came the signing of the quitclaim deed whichprovided an opportunity to substitute the will, and which, as far asIsaac Perry was concerned, was a _bona fide_ transaction. The littleplot of ground was in truth a portion of his own compensation exactedin advance of the murder. 

Perry was to have done the shooting. At the last minute his nervefailed him. Frank Jenison then coolly directed his henchman to standguard while he committed the diabolical deed. To use his dying words, his father "was ready to die anyway, so it was a kindness to end lifesuddenly for him. "

We know how David walked into the trap, and how he crept out of itonly to become an outlaw, hunted and execrated. Perry went to Chicago, where he was to remain for a few months before coming back to receivehis promised share of the money which Jenison was to realize on thesale of certain properties as soon as he was clearly established asheir to the estate. 

Remorse began to gnaw at the heart of the murderer. He could not sleepwithout dreaming of his slain father, nor could he spend a waking hourthat was free from thoughts of the innocent boy who would be hanged ifthe law laid its hands upon him. 

Then, one day, there came a stranger who told him of Isaac Perry'streachery. The thing he feared had come to pass--Perry's defection. Hemade up his mind to kill this dreaded stranger, and to follow thatdeed with another of the same sort which would deliver him of IsaacPerry. But the stranger disappeared. He did not come to claim hisblood money. The terror which fell upon Frank Jenison wasoverpowering. He sent for Isaac Perry, hoping against hope that thestranger had lied and that with the negro's support he could defy him. Perry came to Richmond, expecting to receive his promised reward incoin of the realm. The half-crazed white man accused him of treachery. The negro lawyer vehemently denied every allegation, but, becomingalarmed by the other's manner, fell into a panic of fear and beganshooting. 

At the end of his confession, Frank Jenison said:

"My soul is black. It is already charred by the fires of hell. I was atraitor to our beloved cause, although acquitted of the charge byfraud and deception. I killed my own father. I would have killedothers. My nephew has long borne the stain of guilt that is going withme to a dishonored grave. I go with the brand of Cain on my soul. There will be no rest for me in the hereafter. I have not the courageto ask God to be merciful. But I believe in God. I have tried not tobelieve in him. I have denied him all my life. To-day, for the firsttime in memory, I can say--and it is with my last breath--I can saythat I thank God for one great act of mercy. He has permitted me tolive long enough, with this bullet in me, to say to the world that mynephew, David Jenison, is as innocent as I am guilty. "

"Well, " said Grinaldi the clown, his voice doleful in contrast to thecheery smile he assumed, when it came time for all to go to the cook-tent for dinner, "I dessay we'll 'ave to stop calling you Jack Snipe. Wot's more, David, you'll be going back to Virginia at once andsettling down to be a genuine gentleman. Afore you think of going, mylad, let it be fully impressed in your 'eart that we all love you andwe all wish you the greatest 'appiness in the world. You 'ave been avery poor clown, but I dessay 't is more the fault of your bringing upthan anything else. A clown 'as to be born, David, just the same asany other genius. I suppose it's too soon yet to talk about yourplans--wot you intend to do fust. "

"First of all, Joey, " said David, his face aglow with the fervor thatwas crowding up from the depths of his grateful soul, "I want to sayto you and to all of you, that if I live to be a thousand years old Ishall never forget how good and how kind you have been to me. My homewill always be yours, my friends, just as your home has been mine. Jenison Hall will bid you welcome, come what may. You will find JoeyGrinaldi there. My home is his, when he chooses to forsake the ring. And Ruby's, too. God bless and reward all of you!"

"When are you going to leave us, David?" asked one of the women. 

David put his finger to the bruised spot on his cheek. 

"My career as a clown in Van Slye's show ended when that blow wasstruck. You know quite well that I could not have stayed after that, even though other conditions were unchanged. I cannot eat of thatman's bread; I cannot serve him. I have no trunk to pack, you know. Just that old satchel of Joey's, in which my linen is carried. So I amwalking out of this tent now, free in more ways than one. When I comeagain I shall pay my way at the main entrance. No! Don't ask me to goto the cook-tent! It is impossible. As for my plans, I--"

He stopped, stilled by a sudden, overwhelming sense of desolation. Allthis meant that he would have to leave Christine! His days with theshow were over. His sweet, throbbing hours with her were at an end. Life for him had changed as with the blinking of an eye. Nothing couldbe the same. All the loneliness of despair he had known during thoseweeks of fear and trembling was as naught compared to the outlook thatnow confronted him, so bleak and so barren that his young soulsickened. For the moment it seemed to him that she was about to go outof his life forever. 

His heart revolted. There surged up the fierce impulse to cast awayhis patrimony, his name, his pride and honor. He would not desert her, even for a day. 

"As for my plans, " he began once more, and again stopped. 

Joey understood the struggle that was going on within him. The oldclown, in his own capricious life, had been called upon a hundredtimes to give up the things he loved, the associations he cherished. 

"We'll talk 'em over later on, David, " he said, putting his arm overthe boy's shoulder. "Come along with me and Ruby. We'll go to arestaurant and 'ave a bite together. I--I suppose you'll be sayinggood-by to them striped tights and the spotted trunks. "

"I should like to buy them, Joey, " cried David eagerly. 

"They are yours, my lad; take 'em. They belong to me. Now, let's getout of this. I don't think it's best for Brad to find you 'ere. "

As they left the lot, David carrying all of his possessions in theunwieldy satchel, they were met by Colonel Grand. 

"David, " said he, falling in beside them, "have you sufficient fundsto carry you back to old Virginia? If you need money, I will gladlylet you have it--as a loan. "

They were surprised by the offer. 

David hated him. "No, Colonel Grand, I can't take your money, even asa loan. It will be easy for me to raise the amount. "

The Colonel gave him an ugly smile. 

"As you like, " he said. He lifted his hat to Ruby and abruptly turnedback. 

Far ahead were two figures that they knew well. Mrs. Braddock andChristine were hurrying away from the grounds as if desirous ofavoiding a meeting with the young man. 

David urged his companions to a more rapid walk. They overtook theBraddocks at the corner of an avenue which led off to the residencesection of the town. 

"You have heard?" asked David, as they turned in response to his call. "You know what has happened?"

He could see that the girl had been crying. Mrs. Braddock's face waswhite and set. 

"Yes, " said the older woman. "And you are going home, David?" Shespoke quietly. 

"I--I don't know yet, " he stammered. Christine's face had beenaverted. Now she looked at him. 

"You--oh, David, you don't really think of staying with us?" shecried, her eyes glowing. 

"You must not think of it, David, " whispered her mother hastily. "Yourplace is at Jenison Hall. You belong there. Lose no time, my dear boy, in returning to your home. "

They had come to a little park adjoining a church-yard where therewere benches. He led them to one of the seats farthest removed fromthe pavement. Joey and Ruby strolled into the churchyard. 

"I suppose I shall have to go back, " said David gloomily. "For a fewdays, at least. They will be expecting me. And the property is minenow--and all that. But, Mrs. Braddock, " he went on feverishly, "I amcoming back. In a week, yes, or less than that. I am coming back to bewith you--to help you. I can't stay away now, Mrs. Braddock. It wouldmake me too unhappy. I must be near Christine. She's more to me nowthan anything else in all this world. "

Mrs. Braddock smiled wanly. "You are very young, " she said, "and veryimpulsive. Do you think it would be kind to Christine if you were tofollow the show for no other reason than to be near her? Would that bethe act of a sincere friend? She would be compromised, I think youwill admit. It was different before. You were one of us. Now you arean outsider. Even the easiest-going of the performers would resentyour attitude if you were to follow us now. It is an unwritten lawamong us that an outsider is always an outsider. We are like gypsies. Even you, who have been one of us, can have no future standing in ourtribe--for that is what we are, David. You must take your place amongthose who look on from afar. As individuals we will always greet youand give you the best of our love; collectively we cannot take youamong us. That is over. You are--"

"But I may still be a performer, " he cried insistently. He had takenChristine's hand in his, only to have it gently withdrawn by the girl. 

"No, David, " said Mary Braddock firmly, "it is out of the question. You are no longer a soldier of fortune. You are a Jenison of JenisonHall. We can't build a bridge for that. "

"But I won't stand it!" he exclaimed passionately. "I _will_ comeback. "

"As a clown?" said she, smiling. 

"I'll buy a part interest in the show, " he said stubbornly. 

"You are not of age, " she reminded him. "The courts will name aguardian for you, I fancy. No, my boy, we must face the thingsquarely. We shall be glad to see you if you happen to be where we maymeet naturally. "

"But I love Christine, " he protested. "You told me last night that youwould put no obstacle in our way to--"

"I told you last night that I would put no obstacle in your way, David, if you came to me in five years and still could say that youlove her and would make her your wife. "

"But we thought then that I might always be near her--with the show, perhaps, " he argued. 

"Quite true. But all that is blotted out, don't you see. "

Christine was weeping silently. 

"You think I'll forget her!" he cried angrily. 

"Oh, David!" moaned Christine. 

"You think I'll not care for her always--"

"Listen, David, " said the mother patiently. "I can think of no greaterjoy that could come to me than to see Christine your wife--some day. But we must face the true conditions. She may always be a circusrider. I hope to take her away from this life--yes, soon, may itplease God. You think now that you will always care. But I know theworld. I know youth too well. I--"

"But you were not much older than Christine when you were married, " heblurted out. He regretted the unhappy remark almost before it left hislips. She turned away her face, and no word came in response for afull minute. Then she ignored the tactless announcement. 

"You must go your way, David. We will go ours. If God is good to us, we may come together again, and we may still be happy. You areeighteen, Christine is fifteen. You do not know your minds, mychildren. I have thought it all out. You must be content to wait. Christine must come to you from a different sphere, David. It is notas it was. She must not be of the circus. "

"Mrs. Braddock, " said he, rising to his full height, "I only ask youto believe that I love her, and that I, at least, will not change. Will you change, Christine?"

"No, " said the girl, giving him her hand as she rose to look into hiseyes with the whole of her young heart glowing in hers. "I will notchange, David. "

"Then, Mrs. Braddock, as a Jenison of Jenison Hall I formally ask youfor the hand of your daughter. A gentleman may keep his word of honorfor five years--for a hundred years. I pledge my love, my name, myfortune to her. "

"David, " cried the mother, twisting her fingers in the agony of adespair that could no longer be concealed, "how can we know what thenext five years may bring to us? What will they be to my darlingchild? Oh, if I only knew the way to save her--to preserve her, togive her what belongs to her by all the laws of nature!"

"You must leave the show, " he cried. "Give up everything. It is noplace for either of you. Let me help you. Mrs. Braddock, give it upbefore it is too late. I know that harm will come to you here. "

He pleaded long and earnestly with the silent, depressed woman. In theend she held up her hand, and he waited. 

"Time will tell, David, " she said. "When it becomes too heavy to bearI will cast off my yoke. That is all I will say. " She hesitated for amoment, and then went on, holding out her hand: "Good-by, David. Youare going to-night?" "I suppose so, " he said dejectedly. "But, listen;I am coming back very shortly for a few days. I insist on that. If allis not going well with you and Christine, I shall know it. I mean towatch over her in spite of everything. "

"We will see you again before you leave, " said the mother. "I am surewe understand each other. Come back, David, if you will, but only fora day. Let us walk home. You may walk with Christine. Say your good-bys now. Joey! Are you coming?"

When the train for the East pulled out at eleven o'clock that nightDavid was aboard. He positively had refused to take back any of themoney he had lent to Mrs. Braddock, preferring to borrow from Joey andCasey. Christine kissed him good-by at the station. 

"I know that my father struck you, David, " she whispered, as she puther hand to his cheek. "That won't prevent your coming back, will it?You will come, won't you?"

"As surely as I am alive, " he said fervently. 

There were tears in his eyes as the train rolled away. He had saidgood-by to all of them--to Joey and Ruby and Casey, and they hadwished him good luck with that complaisant philosophy which was theirsby nature. 

Some one sat down beside him in the seat. He looked up. 

"I guess I'll go part ways with you, " said Artful Dick Cronkcomfortably. "I want you to do me a favor. Take this money and stepinto the little inn there in your town and pay the woman what I oweher. I forgot to settle when I left. She was a very good woman. Inever trim a woman, good or bad. "

Primarily, Dick Cronk was traveling with David because his brother haddisappeared from the snack stand early in the evening. The watchfulpickpocket scented trouble. Before joining David in the coach, hetraversed the length of the train to assure himself that Ernie had notslipped aboard in the darkness for the purpose of doing evil to theVirginia boy when least expected. He was satisfied that Ernie was notaboard, but it was now necessary for him to go on to the next stationbefore leaving the train. 

"I owe her five dollars and sixty cents. Tell her to keep the change. I hear you're coming back soon to visit the--er--show. Let me put youonto Colonel Grand. He's a good loser, that old boy is. He's terribledisappointed because you've squared yourself with the law. He hadsomething up his sleeve for you, but this spoils it all. But younoticed that he took it very pleasantly--polite and agreeable cuss, heis, when he has to be. Maybe you'd like to know what his game was. "

"I think I know, Dick. "

"Nix. I guess not. You were to do him a great favor before long. Youwere going to run away with Christie Braddock!"

David started. "You are mistaken, " he cried indignantly. "I wouldn'tthink of such a thing. "

"Just the same, kid, that's what he had it fixed for you to do, andyou couldn't ha' got out of it. He's a wonder, he is. That's the onlyway he could get rid of Christie; and, with Christie gone, Mrs. Braddock's spirit would be smashed. He's going to get rid of TomBraddock purty soon. Tom don't know it, but his days with this showare numbered. "

"What a cold-blooded devil he is!" cried David. 

"Hot-blooded's what I'd call him. "

CHAPTER XIII

THE SALE

We will forsake David Jenison for the time being. He is well startedon his journey to the home of his forefathers, where completerestoration and the newspaper reporters await him. Let the imaginationpicture the welcome he is to receive; if possible, let it alsodescribe the attitude of the community which had hunted him with dogsand deadly weapons, but which now stood ready to cast itself withoutreserve at the feet of the boy who had been so cruelly wronged. 

Picture Mr. Blake's disgust at learning from David's own lips how hehad been outwitted by the circus people, and contrast it with hissincere relief in contemplation of the fact that he had not capturedthe boy in those days of prejudice. 

We leave all these details to the generous intelligence of the reader, for he knows that the heir to Jenison Hall has come unto his ownagain; and he also knows that in spite of all that can be done to makelife bright and cheerful for David, there is still a shadow in thebackground that turns the world into a bleak and desolate waste forhim. 

Two weeks passed over his head before he was able to turn away fromthe bewildering mass of legal requirements and look once more to theWest, whither his heart was forever journeying. Not all the excitementthat filled the fortnight to overflowing, nor all the homage that cameto him, could ease the dull, insistent pain of separation frominterests so vital to his young heart. 

He stole away one night, accompanied by a single servant--for now hewas "lord of the manor" and traveled only as a true gentleman of theSouth should travel. Half-way to his destination he stopped off todraw from the savings bank the money he had placed there. With thissmall fortune in his possession he resumed the journey, now closelyguarded by old Jeff, who always had been a slave to the Jenisons andwould be till he died, Abraham Lincoln to the contrary. 

David's constant prayer was that he might not be too late. 

He was destined to find many changes in Van Slye's Great and OnlyMammoth Shows. 

Let us go back to the night after the one which saw David's departurefrom the show. For two days Thomas Braddock had slunk about the showgrounds, morose, ugly, taciturn. He avoided every one except thosewith whom he was obliged to consult. His wife and daughter caughtfleeting glimpses of him; Colonel Grand and the others saw him butlittle more. He held aloof, brooding over his wrongs, accumulating avast resentment against the world and all of its inhabitants, obsessedby the single desire to make some one else suffer for the ignominythat had come to him. 

Strangely enough, his most bitter resentment was lodged against thewife who had stood by him all these years, through thick and thin, through incessant storm and hardship, with a staunchness that nowmaddened him, because, down in his heart, he could see no guile inher. She was too good for him; she held herself above him; she madehim to feel that he was not of her world--from the beginning. She wasloyal because it would have put her in his class if she had lifted hervoice in public complaint. He knew that she loathed him; he hated herfor the virtue which gave her the right to despise him and yet toremain loyal to him. His sodden, debased soul resented the odiouscomparison that his own flesh and blood justly could make. There hadbeen bitter moments when this maudlin wretch almost convinced himselfthat he could rejoice in the discovery that Christine was not of hisflesh and blood, that this too virtuous woman was not pure, after all. 

His sullen despair brought him to even lower depths. In half-sobermoments he began to realize that his daughter feared and despised him. She had come to feel the distinction between her parents, and she haddone the perfectly obvious thing in following the instincts of thegentle blood that was in her: she had cast her lot with her mother. Heforgot his own aspirations and hopes for her in this bitter hour. Hewanted to hurt her, so that she might cry out with him in ugly rageagainst the smug, serene paragon. If he only could bring Mary to hislevel, so that Christine might no longer be so arrogantly proud of theblood that came through the Portmans. 

He drove himself at last into such a condition of hatred for all thatwas good and noble that he would have hailed with joy the positiveproof that his wife had been untrue to him!

All day long he had been singularly abstemious. His brooding hadcaused him to forget or to neglect the appetite that mastered him. Toward evening he resumed his drinking, however, mainly for thepurpose of restoring his courage, which had slumped terribly in thisestimate of himself. 

When the time came to go over the receipts with the ticket-sellers hepulled himself together and prepared to assert his authority. Hetossed away the empty bottle and advanced upon the wagon, his faceblanched by self-pity. He was confounded by the sight of ColonelGrand, sitting inside and going over the cash with Hanks, the seller. 

"What do you want?" demanded Colonel Grand, when Braddock, aftertrying the locked door, showed his convulsed face at the littlewindow. Hanks looked uncomfortable. 

"Let me in there, Grand!" grated the man outside. 

"I'll attend to this. We can't have you bothering with the finances--"

"I'll kick that door in, " roared Braddock; "and I'll kill somebody!"

Colonel Grand picked up the treasurer's revolver. He smiledindulgently. 

"I'm taking care of the money after this, Brad. "

"I own this show, damn you! I-I-I'll fix you!" sputtered the other. Hebegan to cry. 

"Get away from that window!" snapped Grand, his eyes glittering. 

"Oh, say now Bob, treat me fair, treat me right, " pleaded Braddock, all at once abject. 

"I'll talk to you later on. Get away!"

"Don't throw me down, Bob. I've always done the square thing by you. Didn't I pay up everything I owed you by--"

"Are you going to leave that window?" demanded Grand. 

The miserable wretch looked into the deadly eyes of the man inside, and realized. A great sob arose in his throat. He held it back for amoment, but it grew and grew as he saw no pity in the steely eyesbeyond. 

"My soul!" he groaned, with the bursting of the sob. He withdrew hisghastly face and rushed away in the night, stumbling over ropes andpegs, creating no end of havoc among the men who happened to toil inhis path. They ran from him, thinking him mad. 

Half an hour later Ernie Cronk came upon him. He was sitting on thecurb across the street from the circus lot, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands--staring, staring through dry, hot eyes at thetented city that was slipping away from him. 

"What's the matter?" asked the hunchback, in his high, querulousvoice. 

The older man did not respond. He did not alter his position when thequestioner spoke to him. 

"What are you looking at?" asked the other. 

"Ernie, " began Braddock in a voice that sent a shiver across the boy'scrooked back, it was so sepulchral, "let me take your pistol asecond. "

Ernie Cronk drew back a step. He eyed Braddock narrowly. 

"Who are you going to kill?" he asked after a moment. 

"Myself, " said Braddock, lifting his haggard face. 

Again the hunchback looked long at the man. Then, without a word, hehanded a new revolver to Thomas Braddock. It was not the smallderringer he was wont to carry. 

Braddock seemed surprised by the boy's readiness. He received theweapon gingerly. A sudden spasm shook his big frame. 

"Is--is it loaded?" he inquired, less lugubrious than he had beenbefore. 

"No, " said Ernie shortly. Braddock's chest swelled suddenly. "Isuppose you think I'm fool enough to let you kill yourself with my gunand me right here where they could nab me. It's got blank ca'tridges, that's all. Somebody changed 'em on me last night--just before that--that sneak went away on the train. "

Volumes could not have told more than that single sentence. 

Braddock handed the weapon back to him. 

"But if you really want to shoot yourself, " went on Ernie maliciously, "I've got a round of real ca'tridges here. While you're loadin' thegun I can make a sneak. If I was you, though, I'd go up that alleythere, Brad. It's terrible public here. "

"You wicked little brute, you!" cried Braddock in horror, coming tohis feet and drawing away as if from a viper. "You cold-blooded whelp!I--I never heard of such--"

"Ain't you going to kill yourself?" demanded Ernie, grinning. 

Braddock appeared to ponder. "No, " he said with eager finality; "notjust now. I've changed my mind. I'm going to have it out with herfirst. Then, maybe I won't do it at all. "

Without another glance at the hunchback he swung off toward thedressing-tent. Ernie's scoffing laugh followed him into the shadows. It was the last straw. He was an object of derision to this thing ofjibes and sneers. 

The flush of anger had come back into his bloated cheeks by the timehe had slipped under the sidewall into the dressing-tent. A sense ofloneliness struck him with the force of a blow as he paused to surveythe conglomerate mass of gaudy trappings: the men, the women, thehorses, the dye-scented paraphernalia of the ring. The very spangleson the costumes of these one-time friends seemed to twinkle withmerriment at the sight of him; the tarletan skirts appeared to flauntscorn in his face. There was mockery in everything. His humiliationwas complete when this motley array of people disdained to greet himwith the eager concern that heretofore had marked their demeanor. Noone appeared to notice him, further than to offer a curt nod or toexchange sly grins with the others. 

Christine was in the ring. Mrs. Braddock stood over by the tatteredred curtains, peering out into the "big top. " He knew just where tolook for her; she always stood there while her daughter was performingwith old Tom Sacks. Not Tom Braddock, but all the others, noted theweary droop of her shoulders. 

She started violently when he came up from behind and spoke to her. 

"Well, how does it look without the gentleman in stripes?" he askedcoarsely. "It ain't so refined, eh?"

She faced him, hesitated an instant, and then said, without a trace ofemotion in her voice:

"Tom, do you think Colonel Grand would be willing to buy out my sharein the show?"

He stared. Then he laughed sardonically. 

"What are you givin' us? Buy out your share? I should say not. Hemight buy you, but not your share. "

"You are a beast, Tom Braddock, " she said, the red mounting slowly toher pale cheek. "Why do you say that to me?"

"Say, don't you suppose I know how it stands with you and him?" heretorted. "Come off, Mary. You're both trying to freeze me out. I'm onto the little game. "

"Don't speak so loudly, " she implored, clasping her hands. 

"Oh, I'm not tellin' any secrets, " he snarled. "It's common property. Everybody's on. I should think you'd be ashamed to look Christine inthe face. "

"God forgive you, Tom Braddock, " she cried, abject horror in her eyes. 

"Say, I've got to have an understanding with you, " he went onruthlessly. "I'm going to find out just how I stand in this herearrangement. Grand's taken charge of the money box. He says it's youand him against me. He's going to--"

"He lies! He lies!"

"Oh, let up--let up! I'm no fool. "

"Tom Braddock, are you--are you _accusing me?_" she cried, all a-tremble. 

He opened his lips to utter the words which would have endedeverything between them. His eyes met hers and the words slipped backinto his throat. The spark of manhood that was left in him revoltedagainst this wanton assault upon the pure soul that looked out uponhim. 

His gaze was lowered. He began fumbling in his pocket for a cigar. 

"Course not, " he said reluctantly. He peered hard at the opaquesidewall uncomfortably conscious of the scornful look she bent uponhim. Neither spoke for a long time. 

"How much lower can you sink?" she asked in low tones. 

"Don't you turn against me like this, " he returned sullenly. 

"I have endured too long--too long, " she said lifelessly. 

"Now, shut up, Mary. Shut up your trap. I'm sick of having you whiningall the time--"

"Whining!" she cried. "God in heaven!"

"Well, belly-achin', then. " Her bitter laugh irritated him. "Say, Igot to talk this business over with you. We've got to understand eachother. "

"We _do_ understand each other, " she said, a note of decision inher voice. "You are ready to prostitute me for the sake of wormingmoney out of that horrid beast. I loathe him. You know it, and yet youforce me to meet him. I am going to end it all. Either he leaves thisshow, or I do. I will not endure this unspoken but manifest insult aday longer. Do you understand me?"

"I'd like to know how you're going to help it, " he said, glaring ather with half-restored belligerence. "You can't get out without losin'what you've got in the business, and he _won't_ get out. "

"Are you going to permit him to continue paying his odious attentionsto me--to your wife?" she cried. 

"I don't care what he does, " roared Braddock. "That's his business. You don't have to give in to him, do you? If he thinks you've got aprice, that's his lookout, not mine. "

"Not yours?" she gasped. "Oh, Tom! Tom! What manner of man have youcome to be?"

"Well, I'm just tellin' you, that's all. "

"You--you surely are not in your right mind. "

"You bet I am! Now, you listen to me. You are going to stick rightwith this show--you and Christine. And you're going to do what I tellyou to do. You got to treat Bob Grand half-way decent. He's liable toleave us in the lurch any time. How'd you suppose we'd get on withouthis help right now? Just as soon as we get on our feet I'll put an endto his funny business. I'll show him what's what. He'll get out of theshow business a heap sight wiser man than he is now. But we need himnow. We got to stand together, you and me. No flunking, see. We--"

"Stop!" She stood before him like an outraged priestess. This time hedid not shrink, but glared back at her balefully. "This is the end! Wehave come to the parting of the ways. I will never call you husbandagain. If you even speak to me, Thomas Braddock, I shall ask any oneof a dozen men here to beat you as you deserve. Oh, they will be onlytoo happy to do it! Now, hear me: I am going to take Christine awayfrom you--forever. Don't curse me yet! Wait! I am not through. Thisvery night I shall offer my share in this show to Colonel Grand. Hemay have it at his own price. If he will not buy, then I shall goforth and look for another purchaser. I--"

"You're my wife. You can't sell without my consent, " he exclaimed. 

"Then I will ask the court to give me the right. Now, go! I--"

"You can't take Christine. She's as much mine as she is--"

"I will hear no more. I have given you the last chance to be a man. This ends it!"

She turned and walked away from him. He knew that it was all overbetween them. 

Considerably shaken, he went over and sat down on a trunk near thewall. Suddenly he sprang to his feet with a curious half-laugh, half-sob. He glared at the flap through which she had disappeared. Acunning, malevolent expression came into his pop-eyes. 

"Sell out, will you?" he muttered. "I'll block that game. I'll sellout to him myself. That's what he wants. "

He lifted the sidewall and passed out into the open air, directing hisfootsteps toward the ticket-wagon. Colonel Grand was leaving it as hecame up. 

"Hello, Brad, " he said quite genially. "If I was a bit rough awhileago, I apolo--"

"Say, I want to talk privately with you, right away. I've got aproposition to make. It's final, too, --and it's friendly, so don'tlook as if you're going to pull a gun on me. Come on to the hotel. Oh, I'm not as drunk as you think!"

"Mrs. Braddock expects me to escort her to the hotel--"

"No, she don't, " rasped the other. "She's all right. Leave her alone. Are you coming?"

Colonel Grand was struck by the man's behavior. He shrewdly saw thatsomething vital was in the air. 

"All right, " he said. "I'll go with you. "

They were soon closeted in the room back of the hotel bar, a bottlebetween them on the table. The door was locked. Their conversationlasted an hour. When Colonel Grand arose to depart he stood a littlebehind and to the left of Braddock's chair, a soft, sardonic smile onhis lips. He held a sheet of paper in his hand. Pen and ink on thetable, alongside the more sinister bottle, told of an act ofpenmanship. 

"We'll have the night clerk and some one else witness the signatures, "he said quietly. 

"All right, " said Braddock hoarsely. He was staring at his fingers, which he twiddled in a nerveless, irresolute manner. 

"The inside conditions are between you and me personally. You'll haveto live up to them, Braddock. "

"Oh, I'm a man of my word, don't fret. "

"You are to get out at the end of the week. That's plain, is it?"

"If the cash is passed over. Don't forget that. Say, Bob, I swear, you're treating me dirt mean. I ought to have five times more than youare payin' me, and you know it. Five thousand dollars! Why, it'sgivin' the show away, that's what it is. I've built up this hereshow--"

"It is your own proposition. I didn't suggest buying you out. You cameto me to sell. If you don't want to let it go at the price we'veagreed on I'll tear up this bill of sale. "

"I've got to take it, so what's the use kicking? I'm going to get outof the business. My wife's against me. Everybody is. Damn them all!"

Colonel Grand knew quite well that Mrs. Braddock, as the man's wife, could interpose legal objections to the transfer, but he was notreally buying Tom's interest in the show; he was deliberately payinghim to desert his wife and child. That was the sum and substance ofit. Braddock was not so drugged with liquor that he could notappreciate that side of the transaction quite as fully as the other. 

Down in his besotted soul there lurked the hope that some day, in thelong run, through the wife whom he was selling so basely, he mightsucceed in obtaining the upper hand of Bob Grand, and crush him as hewas being crushed!

"It will be a week before the currency can get here from Baltimore. Irefuse to draw on my banker in the regular way. This money, beingevil, must come from an evil source. My dealers will send it from the'place. ' Now, again, you understand that I can put you in thepenitentiary if you go back on your word. You _did_ take the boy'smoney out of the dressing-tent. My man saw you. "

"I don't see why you hired a canvasman to watch me, " growled theother, pouring another drink. "Mighty cheap work, Bob Grand. "

"I always go on the principle that it isn't safe to have businessdealings with a man until you know all that is to be found out abouthim. In your case I had to choose my own way of finding out. "

"I'll knock off a couple of hundred if you'll tell me the name of thatsneaking--"

"You need the two hundred more than I do, Brad, " said Grand withinfinite sarcasm--and finality. 

"Well, I'm a Jonah in the show business. I guess it's the best thing Ican do to get out of it. You'll do the right thing by Mary and--and--"he swallowed hard, casting a half glance at the other out of hisbleary eyes--"and the young 'un. They'll get what's coming to them, Bob?"

"Certainly. "

"I wouldn't sell out like this if--if Mary had acted decent by me, " hesaid, trying to justify his action. He was congratulating himself thathe had sold her out before she had the chance to sell him out. Heclosed his eyes to the real transaction involved in the deal. It gavehim some secret satisfaction, however, to contemplate the futility ofColonel Grand's designs upon Mary Braddock. 

"Of course, " said Bob Grand. 

"I am going to California, " said Tom Braddock, for the third timeduring the interview. 

"I've asked you not to mention that fact to me, Braddock. You aresupposed to stay with the show as manager and overseer. "

"Humph!" grunted the other. "You want to be as much shocked as therest of 'em when I skip by the light of the moon, eh?"

"We'll sign the paper, " was the only response of the purchaser. 

Ten minutes later, after two men had witnessed their signatures, thedocument reposed in Bob Grand's pocketbook. 

The next morning Mary Braddock appeared before the master of VanSlye's Circus and offered her interest for sale. He calmly announcedthat he could not afford to put any more money into the concern. 

"I must sell out, " she said. "All the money I have in the world is inthis show. "

"It could not be better invested, " he said. She shrank from the lookin his eyes. 

"But I need it for Christine's education, " she began. 

"I will see to it that Christine is given the best of everything, Mary. Leave it to me. She shall be sent abroad next year, if you thinkbest. "

"I am asking no favors of you, Colonel Grand. "

"It may interest you to know that I have purchased your husband'sentire interest in this show, " he said softly. 

She stared, spellbound. 

"He--he has sold out to you?" she murmured, going white to the lips. 

"You seem surprised. "

"He could not do it! It is necessary to have my consent. I--I--" Herbrain was whirling. 

"I understood that he was a perfectly free agent. I can send him tothe penitentiary if he has swindled me. If you and Christine care totake that sort of stand against him, I'll have to do it. I should beterribly sorry on the girl's account, but--Oh, well, I'm sure it won'tcome to that. "

"He--he has sold me out?" she cried weakly. 

"Oh, hardly that!"

Unable to speak another word to him, she turned and blindly made herway to the women's dressing-room. The Colonel smiled comfortably as helifted his hat to her retreating back. 

Late that night four or five persons slipped out of the hotel by therear doors. At the mouth of the dark alley a hack was waiting. Withthe utmost caution this small, closely huddled group approached therickety vehicle. Three women climbed in, followed by numerous valisesand small bags; their two male companions mounted the seat with thedriver. Off through the still night rattled the mysterious cab, clattering across the cobbled streets for many minutes until at lastit drew up at the darkest end of the railway station platform. Threetrunks stood against the wall of the station building. One of the menattended to the checking of these heavy pieces, presenting two railwaytickets for the guidance of the sleepy agent. The other stood guardover the cab and its occupants. 

A train thundered in. The station platform was quite deserted exceptfor the few belated revelers who had remained in town for the nightperformance of Van Slye's circus. When the train pulled out, a womanand two men stood beside the hack, where tearful farewells had beenuttered and Godspeed spoken. Toward the east sped a tall woman and aslim, beautiful girl. In the outskirts of the town the train sweptpast a string of huge, cumbersome, ghostly wagons, all of themslinking away into the night-ridden pike that led to another citywhere the young and curious were already dreaming of the morning hoursthat were to bring the "circus to town. "

"Good-by--good-by!" sobbed the girl, who had been peering intentlythrough the window of the car. The tall woman did not look forth, butsat with her eyes riveted on the seat ahead. 

"Yes, it is good-by, my darling, " she said in very low tones. 

Back at the railway station, after the rear lights of the train haddisappeared, the lone woman turned her tear-stained face to the manwhose arm was about her shoulder. 

"Do you think we'll ever see them again, daddy?" she moaned. 

"Yes, " said the man huskily. "She said she'd let me know, one way oranother, when it is safe to do so. Don't cry, Ruby. They're betteroff. They couldn't 'ave stayed on, God knows. And God will take careof 'em. "

"I wish she'd said just where she's really bound for, " muttered theother man, a tall ungainly fellow. "She's mighty near dead-broke, andI'm--I'm uneasy, Joey. "

"She'll get on, Casey, confound you!"

"If she'd only make up her mind to go back to her father, " said thegirl. 

"That's just it. If she's going back to 'im, it's best nobody knowsyet--not even us. I've got their two letters for David, if he evercomes looking them up, as he said he would. Well, God bless 'em. I--I'ates to think wot the show will be without 'em. Come on; let's getback to bed. "

And so it was, many days afterward, that David Jenison came "lookingthem up, " only to find that they were gone and that no one could tellhim whither they had fled. It was significant that Colonel Bob Grandwas not with the show; he had gone away in a great rage when thediscovery of the flight became known to him. Tom Braddock, strangelysobered and bleached out by a tardy remorse, went about mechanicallyin the management of the show which he no longer owned. 

Joey Grinaldi delivered two precious, carefully preserved missivesinto the hands of the distracted Virginian. 

One of these letters said that the writer would wait for him to theend of time, loving him always with all her heart. The other, muchlonger, came to its conclusion with these words, written by a wise, far-seeing woman whose heart was breaking:

"... And now, David, good-by. We love you. Be content to let us gotemporarily out of your life, if not from your thoughts or your heart. Always think of us with love and tenderness, my dear boy, as we shallnever cease to think of you. You are young. Christine is young. Youare not so wise now as you will be five years hence. I shall try tomold Christine into the kind of woman you could take as a wife toJenison Hall. In five years, God willing, the circus ring and itsspangles will be so remotely removed from her that no one can find thetrace of them. In five years, David. That may seem ages to you and toher, who have youth and all of life ahead of you. When five years havegone by, David, I shall let you know where we are to be found. If youstill care for her then, and she for you, no matter what thecircumstances of either may be, no human power can keep you apart. Youwill come to her and say it all over again, and you will be happierbecause of this brief probation. If you should find, through themature workings of a man's heart, that you have grown to love another, then you will both see for yourselves that my present course is right, and that your ways must continue, as now, along absolutely separatepaths. Do not attempt to find us. Your own futile efforts, dear David, in that direction might be the means of bringing other and unkindsearchers to our place of refuge. I know you would not bring greatertrial and tribulation to us, who love you, than you have seen ussuffer in the past. "

BOOK TWO

CHAPTER I

THE DAUGHTER OF COLONEL GRAND

Snuggling down in a nest built of certain westward hills in fairVirginia, near the head of a valley long noted for healing waters thatspring, warm and cold, from subterranean alchemies into picturesquepools and steaming rivulets, lies the ancient village of Hollandville, with its quaint, galleried facades; its flower gardens and its mill-race; its ambient clouds and drowsy sunshine, and the ever-delicioussomnolence that overcomes the most potent vigor with an ease thatmystifies. Beyond Hollandville, less than half a league distant, against the mountainside, facing the great ridge opposite, stands atime-honored, time-perfected hostelry inside whose walls and uponwhose galleries the flower and chivalry of Virginia have clustered forgenerations. Names historic are to be found on the yellow pages ofvenerable and venerated ledgers and day-books, names of men and womenknown and cherished before the dauntless settler had turned hisfootsteps toward the territories of the Middle West. Here had come thefamed Virginia and Maryland beauties of an ancient day, and here stillcame their great-great-granddaughters to create envy among the flowersthat steal from the earth to bloom in this valley of delight. Herecame Washington and Jefferson and others whose names will never die solong as there is an American heart-beat among us; came with theircoaches, their servants, their horses and--their livers: for they hadlivers even in those good old days. If one were to call upon the sweetnight air, and spirits were allowed to respond, the fair face of DollyMadison would emerge from the shadows, attended by all the wits andbeauties of her luxurious day. Betty Junol, too, held court in thisprimitive Spa. Here duels were fought for ladies fair, and here thehearts of the noblest women of our land were won by gallants who willlive forever. 

Beaten roads that stretch off down the valley and wind through thehills could tell countless tales of those who, in one gloriouscentury, rode hand-in-hand and unarmored to the lists of love and felltogether in the joyous combat. To this very day the lists are open andthe contenders as resolute, as gentle and as brave as in the ages whenWashington was a boy and men wooed with a sword at their hip. 

Still stand the narrow, thatched cottages, immersed in honeysuckle andivy, that sheltered the fathers of the Constitution; still wind thebeaten roads over which rolled their coaches in days before theAmerican historical novel was more than a remote probability. Heroesof a later war than that which gave us our freedom come now to thissequestered spot, men whose grandfathers fought with our Georgeagainst the George of England. But, as their forefathers came, stillcome they, and will come for generations, for this is the ancientMecca of Virginia gentlefolk to whom tradition is treasure andcompanionship wine. 

Late in the spring of 1880, when the dogwood was repainting thehillsides and wild-flowers were weaving a new carpet of many hues forthe feet of wandering lovers, the company of guests assembled at theSprings--as yet numerically small--included no fewer than a dozengirls whose beauty was famed from one side of the Southland to theother. Attendant upon these dainty American princesses, there wereagain as many young men, rivals all for favors small. 

A chill, moist wind of a certain evening blew down from the mist-shrouded ridge, driving all guests to the glow of the fireplaces or tothe seclusion of coveted nooks in shadowy halls, where staircases heldsecrets as tenderly inviolate now as on the nights of a dim, forgottenpast. About the great fireplace in the general lounging-room a merrycrowd of young people were gathered, discussing the plans for aprojected trip to the Natural Bridge, quite a two days' journey bycoach. 

A tall, lean-faced young man of twenty-three or four stood beside thefireplace, his elbow on the ancient mantel, his shapely legs crossed. There was a moody expression in his handsome face, albeit he smiled inquiet enjoyment of the vivacious conversation that went on around him. Half a dozen girls chatted eagerly, excitedly, in response to certainarguments advanced by young men who had the expedition in hand. Arrangements were being discussed, approved or set aside with anarbitrariness that left no choice to the proposers. From time to timedisputed questions were referred to the tall young man at themantelpiece. He appeared to be a person of consequence in the eyes ofall; his decision was accepted, even by the most arrogant of rebels. Not one of these fair girls looked into his dark, steady eyes withouthope that the thought which lay deep in them was of her and of noother, and yet each was painfully certain that he thought of some oneelse, whether present or absent they could not conceive. 

He gravely twisted the point of a small, dark mustache, then in vogueamong the fashionables, and proffered his suggestions with the quietassurance that comes from a thorough appreciation of the deference duethe man who is "real quality" in the Southland, and yet without thefaintest suggestion of superciliousness or conceit in his manner. 

This man was born to it; it had come to him through the blood ofunnumbered ancestors. He was an aristocrat among aristocrats, as fairVirginia produced them. Notwithstanding he had arrived at the Springsno earlier than the forenoon of the day at hand, without knowledge ofprevious plans regarding the expedition, he was neverthelessestablished by common though unspoken consent as the arbiter of allits features. He had come among friends who knew him of old--lastyear, the year before, and the years before that. 

For this tall young man who leaned so gracefully against themantelpiece was the master of Jenison Hall--the last of the Jenisons. And that was saying all that could be said, so far as a Virginian wasconcerned. 

Their council was disturbed by the arrival of the belated night coachthat came over the mountains from the nearest railway station. Theshouts of the driver and the darky hostlers, the pounding of horses'feet in the bouldered yard below, the rush of footsteps across thebroad veranda, and the sudden opening of the door by an ebony porter, --all went to divert the attention of those who waited eagerly by thefireplace to catch a glimpse of new arrivals. 

Preceded by bags and satchels and rugs, there came two women out ofthe drenched night into the glow of the firelit room. Two of the girlsin the circle stared for a moment, and then, with sharp cries ofsurprise, rushed over to the desk where the newcomers stood, havingbeen conducted by the porters: two pretty girls from Baltimore. Thegroup looked on with interest while greetings were exchanged. 

The arrivals were persons of consequence. Two French maids followedthem into the room and stood at the foot of the staircase, respectfulbut with the composure which denotes tolerance. In those days fewpeople in the South presented an opulence extending to French maids. The younger of the two women at the desk was tall, slender andstrikingly attractive: of the dashing, brilliant type. She was notmore than twenty, but there was an easy assurance in her manner thatbespoke ages of conquest and not an instant of defeat. The elder wasan aristocratic woman past middle age, the possessor of cold, aquilinefeatures and smileless eyes. Her hair was almost snow white, but herfigure was straight and youthful. 

Presently they were conducted to their rooms by an obsequious porter, and the young girls returned to the group at the fireside. There was acommon, ridiculously casual movement among the older people in theroom; the newcomers were barely out of sight in the upper hall beforethe first of the curious ones was looking over the register. Inside ofthree minutes a score of persons had glanced at the freshly writtennames and passed on to the water cooler, thence back to their seats, afresh topic for conversation well in mind. 

"Who is she?" demanded an eager young man from Richmond. 

The Baltimore girls were visibly excited. 

"I didn't know they had returned to this country, did you, Nell?They've been living abroad for several years. Goodness, how that girlhas blossomed out. I'd never have known her if she hadn't been withher mother. "

"Do you think she's so very pretty?" enquired the other, quitenaturally. 

"She's a dream!" cried the Richmond young man, before the other couldgive her opinion. "But who is she?"

"Roberta Grand. She's a Baltimore girl and--"

"What name did you say?" asked the tall young man beside thefireplace, suddenly interested. 

The name was repeated. He listened to a long discourse on certainschool day friendships, succeeded by a period of separation in whichthe subject of all this interest had traveled abroad with her mother, completing an education that, if one were to judge from thedescriptions volunteered by her former classmates, gave small promisein the beginning of attaining much beyond the commonplace. 

"She was a dreadfully stupid girl at Miss Ralston's, " proclaimed MissBaltimore. "Wasn't she, Nell?"

"Indeed she was. She--"

The master of Jenison Hall was staring across the room in thedirection of the register. He interrupted again. 

"Grand? Are there many Grands in Baltimore?" he asked. 

"Why are you so interested, Dave?" demanded one of the men. 

"I once knew a man from Baltimore whose name was Grand, that's all. I'm wondering if she can be--"

"Her father is Colonel Robert Grand. He's the great racehorse man. Every one knows _him, _" said one of the Baltimore girls. 

"Colonel Bob Grand?"

"Yes. Of course he and Mrs. Grand don't live together any longer. Theywere divorced about five years ago. Didn't you see the account of itin the Richmond papers? It seems that he ran off with an actress--toLondon, they say. Oh, I don't remember all the details. Motherwouldn't let us read the stuff in the papers. But I do remember thathe bought a house in London for the woman and he never even fought thedivorce. He treated Mrs. Grand shamefully, I know that much. Fathersays he is a terrible man. "

David Jenison was very pale and very still. He did not take his eyesfrom the face of the speaker. 

"Who was this actress?" asked some one. He went very cold. He tried toclose his ears against a name he dreaded to hear on the lips of thefair gossip. 

"I don't know. Some one you never heard of. Just a common, ordinaryactress, as I remember. "

Jenison abruptly left the group and strode out upon the porch, leavingthe others to puzzle themselves over his unexpected defection. 

In the five years that had passed since his brief but ever greenexperience with the circus he had not come upon a single trace of MaryBraddock and Christine. With all the impulsiveness of boyhood he hadat first made feverish efforts to find them. Detectives in his employfollowed the circus for several weeks, keenly alert to discoveranything that might put them on the track. Others shadowed thedisgruntled Colonel; while Blake, his old pursuer, went to New Yorkand, reinforced by agency men of Gotham, watched the home of Albert T. Portman. But they had disappeared so completely that every effort tounearth them proved futile. David was in college the following winterwhen he heard, through Dick Cronk, that Colonel Grand had sold out thecircus to P. T. Barnum, with whose vast enterprises it was speedilyamalgamated. As the concern was sold at private sale, by actualpremeditation, Mary Braddock's interests were undefended. There wastalk among the circus people, however, to the effect that Grand, aftercertain judgments had been satisfied, advertised throughout thecountry for Mrs. Braddock, conveying to her notice by this means thefact that he held in his possession many thousand dollars belonging toher. Whether this tempting bait found her in such dire distress thatshe could not remain in hiding while it was being offered, no oneseemed to know. If she had come forth to claim her portion of theproceeds, the fact remained unknown to the old friends. 

Tom Braddock, so David learned, forsook the show soon after his wife'sdisappearance, and went to the Middle West. From time to time news ofhim reached David in roundabout ways. He had developed quite naturallyinto a common street loafer in Chicago, preying on the generosity ofhis old acquaintance and living the besotted life of a degenerate. Ofcertain cheerful wights who made up David's secret circle of intimateswe may expect to hear more as we go along. Suffice it to say, he keptin close touch with them during his years at the University andsubsequently as the recognized "lord of the manor, " excepting a ratherlengthy period devoted to travel abroad. On more than one occasion heresponded generously to diffident appeals for help, coming from one orthe other of his old friends. He never failed to contribute from hisstore of wealth, for young Jenison was the richest as well as thekindliest planter in all Virginia. 

Jenison farm lands stretched far and wide; Jenison town property wasto be found in no less than five cities of importance; Jenisonsecurities, as sound as Gibraltar, were piled up in New York vaults, and the Jenison collection included more than a score of the rarestpaintings ever developed under the magic of Rembrandt, Franz Hals, Turner, Gainsborough, Velasquez, Stewart and others. 

He was more than a person of landed importance, however. His story wasso well known that wherever he fared he was hailed as a hero. In hisown sunny land he was a hero-prince with as many retainers and loyalsubjects as ever bent knee to an Eastern medieval potentate. Rich infair looks as well as in worldly possessions, the owner of adistinctive charm of manner, combined with the poise of good breeding, a certain interesting reticence and a wonderfully impelling smile, hewas more than a hero to the young, and little short of an idol to theold. 

Countless assaults had been made against his heart. Every wile knownto beauty had been employed in a hundred sieges. But the Jack Snipe ofeighteen was still the lonely Jack Snipe at twenty-three: his heartwas sheathed in a love that harked back to a rough, picturesquedevelopment and was strong by virtue of its memories. 

At no time in all these spreading years had Christine Braddock'sflower-face and girlish figure faded from his vision. On this mistynight in early June, while others were thinking of him, he wasthinking of her and the promise made five years before. In five years, they both had said. The term of probation was drawing to an end. Hewas waiting now for the redemption of that promise. 

Once, and once only, had he heard from them, and then in the mostmysterious way. Soon after his return to the University an envelopecontaining four hundred dollars in crisp new bills was delivered tohim by Jeff, his body-servant, who came all the way up from theplantation to say that it had been left at the Hall by a man whooffered no explanation except that his master would understand. 

No day passed that he did not look for some sign from Mary Braddock. She had promised, and he knew that she would not fail him. His mindwas charged with the wildest speculations. What would be the nature ofthe resurrection? What word would come from the present to greet thepast? From what mysterious hiding-place would come the call? Even now, at this very instant, from some far-away spot in the great wide worlda voice might be winging its way to him. What tidings were in the air?

What word of the girl he loved?

And now, like an icy blast, came the appalling possibility that theworld knew more of Mrs. Braddock's whereabouts and actions than he, who was so vitally interested. The word "actress" as supplied by thecontemptuous Baltimore girl conveyed to his soul a sharp, sickeningdread. Was Mary Braddock the one? Had she given way under the strain?Had circumstance cowed her into submission? Was she the one whooccupied the little house in London-town?

If so, what of Christine?

He smoked as he paced the long veranda. In a dark corner at the lowerend, sheltered from the mist by trailing arbutus, a group of threepersons from the inexperienced, uncouth North, were drinking julepsserved by an impassive but secretly disdainful servant bent with ageand, you might say, habitual respect. Jenison did not notice them inhis abstraction, but his ears would have burned if he could have heardthe things the two women were saying about him to their malecompanion. 

As he passed the broad office door in one of his rounds it was openedand in the full glow of light from within appeared the tall, gracefulfigure of Roberta Grand. She remained there for a moment, looking outinto the sombre night. Their eyes met as he passed. She wasexceedingly fair to look upon, golden-haired and _spirituelle_, but he could see only the repulsive, hated features of Colonel BobGrand, destroyer. 

When he returned to the group at the fireplace, half an hour later, she was sitting with the others, her back toward him as he approached. He was at once presented by the girl from Baltimore. 

Miss Grand looked up into his face with cool, indifferent eyes. 

"I have heard so much of you, Mr. Jenison, " she said. Her voice wassoft and pleasant. 

"We live in a very small world, Miss Grand, " he said. "One'sreputation reaches farther than he thinks. "

"It depends on the method by which it is carried, " she respondedenigmatically. He started. 

"I trust mine has been delivered by kindly messengers. "

"Both kindly and gentle, " she said. 

"Some girl, I'll bet, " remarked one of the young men. 

"Not so singular as that, Mr. Priest. The plural is 'girls, '" saidMiss Grand. 

"I am relieved, " said David. "It's much easier to understand theplural of girl. Girl in the first person singular is incomprehensible. "

"Do you really think so?" asked Miss Grand calmly. He bowed very lowand said no more. It occurred to him in a flash that this fair girlknew more of him, in a way, than any one present. 

Later on, at the foot of the stairs, she came up with him. Without theslightest trace of embarrassment she remarked:

"I think you knew my father, Mr. Jenison. "

He flushed in some confusion. "Your father is Colonel Robert Grand?"

"Yes. It was he who told me your story, long ago. I have always beeninterested. "

David hesitated for an instant, then boldly put his question: "May Iask where Colonel Grand is at present? I hear you no longer live inBaltimore. "

It was a very direct attack, but he justified himself through theimpression that she invited it. 

"We live in Washington, Mr. Jenison, my mother and I. My father's homeis in New York. Some time, while we are here, I hope you won't mindtelling me something of your experiences with the--the circus. Myfather often spoke of you. He said they called you--was it JackSnipe?"

David was taken aback. The girl's frankness amazed, unsettled him. 

"A name given me by one of the performers, " he murmured. 

"The proprietor's daughter, Christine Braddock. Oh, you must not besurprised. I know her. "

"You know her?" he asked quickly. 

"That is, I once knew her. She came out to my father's stables yearsago to practice her riding. I used to envy her so! You see, I wantedto be a circus rider. " She laughed very frankly. 

"Do you know what has become of her?" he asked, risking everything. Hewatched carefully to catch the expression in her face. 

"No, " she replied, hesitating. "I have not seen my father since ourreturn from Europe. "

The words were ominous. He experienced a sinking sensation. 

She continued: "I supposed that you knew something of _our_ familyhistory, Mr. Jenison. " He looked sufficiently blank. "My father andmother lead absolutely separate lives. It happened four years ago. Perhaps you have forgotten. "

"I did not hear of it at the time, Miss Grand, ' he explained. 

"We have lived abroad ever since. So, you see, I have had little or noopportunity to talk with my father. We write to each other, of course, but letters are not like talks. I am to visit him next month in NewYork. I can hardly wait for the time to come. " She was now speakingrapidly, eagerly. "I--I don't believe that all the things they saidabout him in the newspapers were true. My mother's lawyers brought upeverything they could think of, whether it was true or not. You see--Oh, you don't mind hearing me talk like this, do you?" She interruptedherself to insert this question. 

He hastened to assure her that she might speak freely to him, and withperfect confidence in his discretion. But, he suggested, it would bebetter if they were to continue the conversation in a place lessconspicuous. He led her to a distant corner of the room, where theymight be quite free from interruption. Her peculiar attitudeinterested and disturbed him. It was quite plain, from a single remarkof hers, that her sympathies were with her father, although she hadremained at her mother's side. 

"You knew my father quite well, didn't you, Mr. Jenison? He has oftentold me of the close friendship that existed between you in thosedays, how he tried to help you and how appreciative you were. "

David concealed his astonishment. 

"They were wretched days for me, " he said evasively. 

"I am sure you wouldn't believe all the horrid things they said abouthim, knowing him, as you did, for a kindly, honorable gentleman. Mymother was desperate, Mr. Jenison. She believed everything the lawyersput into her head. Of course, I understand now why it was so necessaryto blacken his character. It was for the money--the alimony, they callit. And, more than that, it was to compel the court to give me intoher custody. I had no choice in the matter, it seems, in spite of thelaw which says a child may elect for herself after she is fourteen. They made it so dreadful for him, that he could not take me, althoughI would have gone with him, oh, so gladly. I--" She stopped short. 

He waited for a moment, appalled by this undisguised antipathy to themother, who, as he knew so well, had been wronged beyond measure bythe beast whom the girl, in her ignorance, defended. "My dear MissGrand, " he said, "I am more than sorry if any rude inquisitiveness onmy part has led you to--"

"Oh, I want to talk about it to you, " she interrupted with adirectness that made him more uncomfortable than ever. "I know thatyou knew my father for what he really was. You knew how kind and goodhe was, and how nobly he befriended the Braddocks and all thosewretched show people. You know how they treated him in return for hisgenerosity. I feel as if I had known you always. "

"It's very nice of you, " he mumbled helplessly. "You say the showpeople turned against him. Do you mean at the--er--the trial?"

She lifted her brows, a sudden coldness in her manner. 

"Not at all. I refer to what happened afterward. "

"I am quite ignorant, Miss Grand, " he said, a certain hoarsenesscreeping into his voice. 

"He was actually compelled to pay something like twenty thousanddollars on the complaint of Mary Braddock, who set up the claim thatshe owned part of the show. It was a blackmailing scheme, pure andsimple, but he paid it. He is a man. He took his medicine like one. "

David glowed. He felt the blood surge to his head; he grew warm withsuppressed joy. 

"When did this happen?" he asked, the tremor of eagerness in hisvoice. 

"Oh, I don't remember--three or four years ago. It really never cameto a public trial. He settled her infamous claim out of court. Herlawyers hounded him as if he were a rat. "

"I happen to know that Mrs. Braddock was part owner in the show, " hesaid quietly. 

"But he had already bought her out, " she exclaimed. "He wrote all ofthis to me, after it came out in the papers. I had the whole storyfrom him, just as it really happened. No, Mr. Jenison, he wascompelled to pay twice. "

He was half smiling as he looked into her face. The smile died, for hesaw in the features of Bob Grand's daughter a startling resemblance tothe man himself, hitherto unnoted but now quite assertive. A momentbefore he had thought her pretty; now he realized that he had scarcelylooked at her before. There was the same beady, intent gleam in herdark eyes, which were set quite close to each other over a straightnose with rather flat nostrils. Her mouth and chin were unlikeGrand's. They were perfect, they were beautiful. The eyes wereunmistakably his, and therefrom peered the character of the girl aswell as that of the man. 

David was sharply cognizant of a feeling of repugnance. Much that hadpuzzled him a moment before was perfectly plain to him now. Shechampioned the father because he had been stronger in her creationthan the mother. 

"Did Mrs. Braddock prosecute her claim in person?" he asked, subduingthe impulse to set his friend right in the eyes of this girl. 

"Not at all. She kept out of sight. Lawyers did it all. "

"Did your father say where she was living at the time?"

"Oh, I know where she was living in London. "

"London?" he said, suddenly cold. 

"Yes. We saw her there, Centennial year. She had a home in one ofthose nice little West End streets. Of course, we could have nothingto do with her. "

"Of course not, " murmured he dumbly. "And Christine?"

"She was at the Sacred Heart Convent in Paris, --at school, you know. Father wrote me about her. "

He could not ask her the sickening question that was in his mind: wasMary Braddock the woman in the case? But his heart was cold withdespair. He could not, would not believe it of her, and yet thecircumstances were damnably convincing. 

"In a month, Mr. Jenison, I will be of age. I am sure that you, havingbeen such a friend to him, will be glad to know that I am going tohim. If he wants me, I shall stay with him. "

"You--you will leave your mother?" he demanded, unconsciously drawingback in his chair. 

"Just because my mother cast him out is no reason why I should dolikewise. I love my father--I adore him! What did you say?"

Under his breath he had uttered the word "God!"

"I beg your pardon, " he said hurriedly He felt like cursing her. "Ijust happened to think of something, " he explained. 

"I am sorry to have bored you. I thought you'd like to know aboutfather after all these years. Pray forgive me. "

"You intimated awhile ago that perhaps he could tell me where Mrs. Braddock is living, he said. His forehead was covered with moisture. 

"I've no doubt he knows, Mr. Jenison. She is living in New York. "

She was perfectly calm and matter-of-fact about it. If there was morethat she could have told him, her inscrutable smile signified plainlythat it should be left for him to find out for himself. 

He looked into her eyes for a moment without speaking. A feeling ofloathing such as he had never known before welled up in his heartagainst this girl. He hated the sight of her face. He almost imaginedhe could see its soft, warm tints changing subtly into the gray, putty-like complexion of his oldtime enemy. A beastly jowl seemedsuddenly to spread from her smooth round cheek and sag heavy over herneck; her smile, bewitching to other eyes than his, took on amysterious breadth that horrified him. He was seeing visions. He knewthat there was no change such as his mind pictured, and yet he couldnot cast out the illusion. He arose abruptly, fearful that she mightsee the repugnance in his eyes. He could not sit there an instantlonger, facing this reminder of Bob Grand. Something atavistic in hisnature urged him to strike out with all his strength at the fantasticface that forced itself upon him. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said, and his voice sounded queer in his ownears, "but I must get off some letters to-night. May I take you to thestairs?"

A few minutes later he was lying flat on his back, fully dressed, onthe bed in his chamber, staring up at the ceiling, his brain a chaosof anguish, dread, pity--and faith, after all, in Mary Braddock. Thewalls seemed papered with the faces of Bob Grand and Roberta Grand. Hewas haunted by them. 

At daybreak he arose, without a single instant of sleep behind him. His mind was made up to one purpose. He could not stay in the samehouse with Roberta Grand. 

Before going in to breakfast at eight o'clock, one of the young men inthe party of the night before asked the clerk at the desk if Mr. Jenison had come down. 

"Mr. Jenison left by the morning stage, Mr. Scott. He had a lettercalling him back to Jenison Hall. Something very important, sir. Heleft a note for Miss Beaumont, I believe, to tell her he can't be backin time for the trip to Natural Bridge. "

CHAPTER II

THE STRANGER AT THE HALL

The letter that called David to Jenison Hall came, by curiouscoincidence, at a most opportune time. He had decided to leave theSprings within a day or two, cutting short his proposed stay of amonth almost at its beginning. The advent of Roberta Grand, heretoforean unknown quantity, brought with it new and unpleasant complications. Her revelations disturbed him, her attitude angered and disgusted him. It was from this girl, so amazingly like her father, that he wouldhave fled in any event. His nature revolted against the possibility ofconstant association with her, he scarcely could have maintained evena perfunctory show of consideration for her. And then something toldhim that her confidences would grow, that she would go farther in theeffort to justify her father. He realized that he could not stand byand hear the things she doubtless would feel called upon to say inrespect to Mary Braddock. His sleepless night had drawn many uglypictures for him to efface before he could be at peace with himself. 

All through that dismal night he had given his thoughts to thesepeople, and to three cities, --London, Paris and New York. 

In the last of these, Mary Braddock was living. Staring up at the dim, flickering shadows on the ceiling, he traveled in horrid conjecturefrom one to the other of these immense wildernesses. Ahead of himstalked the ugly figure of Robert Grand, who _knew_--who perhaps hadknown all the time; at his side was the knowledge that the five yearshad come to an end. Was Mary Braddock, after all, in a position toredeem her promise?

The candle sputtered and went out. But he was no more in the dark thanhe had been all along. If there was to be light, he must make it forhimself. He would not wait for her to speak out of the darkness. Hewould search her out, come what may; he would claim Christine. 

With his mind full of the decision to go to New York as soon aspossible, where it would be an easy matter to find Colonel Grand, atleast, he hurried down to an early breakfast, successfully evading hisbody-servant. There were two letters in his box, products of the nightmail. 

One of them caused him to start and almost cry out aloud. It was fromArtful Dick Cronk. The envelope bore the Jenison crest and it had comefrom Jenison Hall. A year had passed since he had heard from thepickpocket. 

The missive was brief, as were all of Dick's communications, writtenor oral. It said: "Just stopped off on my way north. Niggers say youare at the Springs. I'll wait here till you come back, if it ain't toolong. Hope this reaches you prompt, because I am in a hurry to get upto New York. Don't write. You can get here just as quick as a letter. Maybe quicker. "

Except for the schoolboyish signature, that was all; but there was aworld of importance between the laconic lines. David caught the earlymorning stage and was on his way over the ridge to the railroad withold Jeff, before eight o'clock. 

He reached home that night, surprising the housekeeper and servants. To his amazement, they knew absolutely nothing of Dick Cronk. He hadnot been there, nor any one answering to the description. David wasthunderstruck. He carefully examined the letter, which he hadretained. There could be no mistake as to the stationery or thepostmark. He went to his room, gravely mystified by the circumstance. A messenger was sent post haste to the village hard by, withinstructions to find Dick if he were at either of the boarding-houses. The master of Jenison Hall could not help chuckling to himself incontemplation of the crafty tricks the writer of the letter hademployed in securing his information and in appropriating stationery. 

It was nearly eleven o'clock when the darky boy returned with the wordthat no one fitting the description had been seen in the village. 

"But he must be there, " said the young master, vastly perplexed andnot a little annoyed. 

"Yas, sah, " agreed the darky, not for a moment questioning theassertion that fell from his master's lips. If "Marse David" said hewas there, he _was_ there; that is all there could be to it. "Hesuttinly mus' be thah, sah. But I 'spec's he mussa fo'got to tellanybody 'bout hit, sah. "

"Ask Jeff to call me early in the morning, Pete, " said David. "Goodnight. "

"Good night, Marse David. "

The boy went out, gently closing the door behind him. Almost instantlyit was reopened. 

"What now, Pete?" demanded David, who, with his back to the door, wasadvancing to the mahogany bureau across the room. He came in line withthe tall mirror that surmounted the chest of drawers. His fingersstopped suddenly in the light task of removing a pin from his scarf. 

Just inside the door stood Artful Dick Cronk, a genial smilereflecting itself in the mirror which confronted the other. Davidstared unbelievingly for a few seconds and then whirled to face the--but it was not an apparition. 

The lean, cunning visage of the pickpocket was illumined by the never-to-be-forgotten smile of guilelessness that so ably stood him in handin moments of peril. The humor of it gradually succumbed to thesatirical leer that always came to translate his strange sophistryinto something more expressive than mere words. He was plainlyenjoying the effect of his magic invasion. To make the puzzle all themore startling, Mr. Cronk was attired in one of David's loosedressing-gowns. He wore a pair of comfortable slippers and he smokedDavid's picturesque Algerian pipe. A picture of domestic contentmentwas he. You might have taken him to be the owner of the house, and notthe sly intruder. 

"What are you doing in my room?" Dick demanded, assuming an air ofseverity. 

David's astonishment gave way to a hearty laugh. He advanced with hishand extended. 

"Well, you _do_ beat the world, " he exclaimed. "In the name of heaven, where did you come from?"

They shook hands. Dick's sprightly face presented a myriad of joyouswrinkles. 

"Where did I come from, kid--I should say, Mr. Jenison? I--"

"Call me David, " interrupted the other. 

"Sure! Come from? Take a seat, kid. You are my guest for the evening. Make yourself at home. I've got a couple of toddies planted herebehind the dresser. You see, I was expectin' you. " He went over and, reaching down behind the bureau, came up with two toddy glasses inwhich the ice clinked cheerily. "I made 'em just before you came in, "he explained. David passed his hand across his brow. Then he acceptedone of the glasses from the pseudo host. 

"Do you mean to tell me that you were in this room all the time I satover there waiting--"

Dick put his finger to his lips. "Sh! Not so loud, please. I'm notreally supposed to be here, you know. Just think what heart diseasewould do to the wooly old boy that runs the front door if he heard youtalking to me at this time o' night. I'm glad to see you, David. Yougot my letter, I see. Well, well, it's wonderful what a two-centstamp'll do sometimes. A postage stamp is the greatest detective Iknow of. I've had 'em find me time and again, right off the real, whentwenty plain-clothes men couldn't get a smell of me to save theirsouls. Sit down, David. Make yourself at home. It's good to see youhere, old chap. I'm sorry you must be leaving so soon. "

"Leaving so soon?"

"Yep. You're going away to-morrow. " He was sitting now, with his longlegs crossed, leaning lazily back in the lounging chair at the end ofDavid's desk. 

"Don't talk in riddles, Dick. What's up? And how do you happen to behere, occupying my house without the knowledge of my servants?"

"A simple question, with a simple answer. I've been here two days andtwo nights, right here in the house. My bedchamber is down the hallthere, and this has been my lounging room. Of course, I had my mealsin the dining-room--my after-the-theater suppers, you might say. It'sbeen good fun, foolin' the servants. I hope you don't mind my fakin'grub from your larder, kid. I used to sit around, unbeknownst to theniggers, and listen to them talk about spirits and ghosts and all thatsort of thing. It was most amusin'. They couldn't account for thedisappearance of pies and cakes and Sally Lunn--say, how I do loveSally Lunn. And jam, too. To say nothin' of fried chicken. Say! I'vebeen living like a prince, kid. Sleepin' in a real bed and hangin'around in swell togs like these. Say! You _do_ know how to live, David. You'd have been very much entertained half an hour ago if youcould have seen me swipe a Washington pie and a quart of milk rightout from under the nose of old Aunt Fanny. Milk is my favoritebeverage, David. You notice I'm not drinkin' this fire-water. I madetwo of 'em for company's sake, but I still turn my back on the winewhen it's pink. Not for me--not for little Dicky-bird. "

"I don't see how you do it, Dick, " cried David delightedly. 

"That's part of my game, kid--not letting people see how I doanything. But it's as simple as rollin' off a log, as the jays say. Imust confess--and that is something I make it a rule never to do--thatthis high living is not good for me. I'll get into awful habits, if Ikeep it up. I won't be satisfied with pretzels and bologny sausages. Seems to me I feel a touch of the gout coming on now. "

"You will have breakfast with me in the dining-room to-morrow morning, Dick, " announced the master of the house. "It won't be necessary toswipe it, as you call it. "

Dick grinned. "My dear chap, " he mimicked, "I have my breakfast stowedaway in the garret at this minute. Never put off till to-morrow whatyou ought to do to-day. In time of plenty prepare for famine. Still, if you insist, I'll join you at some ham and eggs--and coffee. I _do_miss my coffee, old chap. We take a train for Richmond at nine A. M. "

David's patience gave out. "What does it all mean, Dick? I must knowat once. It must be important or you wouldn't--"

"Maybe it's important and maybe it ain't, " philosophized Dick, relighting the long pipe. 

"Well, let's have it. "

"Tom Braddock's out. "

"Out? I don't understand. "

Dick's surprise was genuine. "You don't mean to say you never heardwhat happened to him?"

"Joey wrote me that he had gone completely to the dogs in Chicago. "

"Joey's off his nut. Brad's just out of Sing Sing. "

"Sing Sing! The penitentiary?"

"The sure-enough cooler. He's been there for nearly three years. "

"Christine's father a convict!" groaned David. 

"As I said before, he's out. It may interest you to know that I spenta year's vacation up there in '78. I needed the rest, old chap. Bradcame in shortly after I got settled. He _had_ been in Chicago fortwo years, boning his friends and living like a gutter-snipe. We spentmost of our evenings at Sing Sing on the same piazza. During the daywe sauntered back and forth between our apartments and the academy forphysical research. Just to amuse ourselves we learned to make barrelstaves between times. It was two months before we managed to speak toone another. After that we corresponded quite reg'lar. I had notesfrom him, and he from me. I soon got on to Brad's troubles. Seems thatBob Grand owed him several thousand dollars. He had owed it for more'n two years. Some deal in connection with the show. You remember Bradwas froze out soon after his wife left the aggregation in '75. He saysGrand bulldozed him into duckin' the--I mean, leavin' the show, allthe time owin' him the long green. Seems that Brad hadn't deliveredall the goods mentioned in the bill of sale. Bob wouldn't settle untilhe got the goods. 

"Well, Brad hung around Chicago, fightin' firewater and always gettin'licked at it, for two years or more. Then he up and sashayed to NewYork for a show-down with our old friend Robert. He had blood in hiseye, Brad had. He'd been buncoed bad, and a bad man hates that worsethan the thought of hell. When he got to New York he hunted up Mr. BobGrand, who was just leavin' for England. It seems that Brad's wife andgirl had been located over there by the Colonel, who had never stoppedlookin' for them. Which is more than you could say for Brad. Mrs. Braddock, through her father and a firm of lawyers, had forced oldColonel Dough-face to fork over a big wad of greenbacks. Her share inthe show, you understand. Brad heard of it in some way. So heconcludes he'll get in his little graft. He goes to the Colonel'srooms in a hotel on Broadway, but misses him. Then he lays for him onthe street. They have it hot and heavy, back and forth, and it allends with the Colonel puttin' over a job on Brad that lands him in thecooler. Charge of highway robbery. Brad gets three years in the pen. I'll say this for him, though; I'm dead sure he wasn't guilty. "

Dick paused to relight his pipe. 

David was trembling with eagerness. "What did he have to say of Mrs. Braddock and Christine? I am interested only in them, Dick. "

"He's up a tree regardin' them. They never peeped, so far as he'sconcerned. He never heard from them after they dusted that time. Ofcourse, he thinks it was a put-up job, that gag of the Colonel's, payin' her all that money. He argues that it was all understoodbetween 'em, and that it wasn't a squeeze on her part. The Coloneldenied it, mighty strong, sayin' he had never heard from Mrs. Braddockuntil her lawyers and old man Portman came down on him, just after hisown wife had got a divorce from him. "

"I have heard, " ventured David, "that Mrs. Grand based her complainton the fact that her husband was mixed up in some way with anactress. "

"She had to have _something_, Davy, " said the other. "They faked up animitation--that ain't the word--an imaginary actress for the occasion. Joey Noakes told me all about that. She first tried to get some of theold crowd to swear that Mrs. Braddock was the one, but she got aterrible throw-down there. They was all for Mary Braddock, strong. Thenwhat do you think her lawyers up and does? They actually went to Joeyand offered him ten thousand if he'd let 'em use Ruby's name. "

A spasm of rage transfigured the face of the imperturbable rascal. Hishands were clenched and the veins stood out in his temples. 

"What a cowardly, outrageous thing to do!" cried David. 

Dick did not speak for several minutes, but sat staring at his hands, his thoughts five hundred miles away. At last his lips spread into adry, crippled smile. 

"Joey told 'em to go to hell. And he rather helped the guy along theroute by kickin' him half-way down stairs. If he hadn't caught himselfagainst the railing half-way down, he'd 'a' been in the bad placethese last four years. I wish to state at this point, Davy, that forthe past four years I've made it my business to make that guy wish hewas there a hundred times over. It's mighty hard to do a lawyer, butI've got that feller so's he sits up nights, looking like a ghost, waitin' to see what's going to happen to him if he should accidentallyfall asleep. But, 'nough of that. After I got out of the pen I droppedin to see Joey. He was just organizin' that road pantomime show ofhis. He told me all about Mrs. Grand's proposal, and I was for cuttingthe dame's throat, only he wouldn't hear to it. You been in Joey'shome in Tenth Street, haven't you? I mean the old one, just a littleways off Broadway. Well, you remember _them_ stairs? Can youimagine bein' kicked down them stairs? Gee whiz! How I'd like to ha'been there! Well, you know all about Joey's pantomime fizzle. Italmost busted the old boy's heart. He went stony broke the first year. Him and Ruby had to go over to live in an awful place on the eastside, just off the Bowery. It happened to be right near the jointwhere Ernie and me hang out in the winter time. Our palatial residencethen was back of a cobbler's shop, two flights off the sidewalk. Ican't say that it's as sunny and as nicely aired as your joint here, kid, but it's harder to get inside of. And it would be impossible toget out if you once got in, unless you had a recommend from one of thegang. Seven of us hangs out there now. Maybe I'll show you the jointsome time, if you can keep your jaw shut about it. 

"But I'm gettin' off the trail. After Joey's bust up, Centennial year, who comes along and offers him a stake but old Colonel Grand. Offersto lend him money enough to start all over again. That's where Joeymade his mistake. The old jay took the money and started all overagain with--"

David started to his feet. "Impossible!" he exclaimed. "Why, I--Imyself, Dick, lent him the money three years ago to get on his feetagain. "

"Sure you did. I haven't come to that yet. I said he took a couple ofthousand from the Colonel. That was before you come into it, and hewas so ashamed of it he never told you. Well, out they go on the roadagain, with him as the clown, Ruby as the columbine, Casey asharlequin and a guy named Smith as pantaloon. They had a showsomething like Humpty Dumpty. But you know all about that. "

"Perfectly, " said David, smiling reflectively. "I was with the showfor a week on the road in '78. I must say I liked the rough old tentdays better than the life they led in those abominable country townopera houses. "

"Umph!" was the other's comment. "That's originally the way theColonel's wife took it into her head to drag Ruby in if she could. Well, what does the Colonel do, after the show gets to going well, butdrop in occasionally just as he did to Van Slye's circus, and proceedbefore long to make love to Ruby. Yes, sir! That's what he did, thehell-rotter that he is. Soon as Joey finds out his game, he up andtakes a fall out of him. Then the Colonel threatens to put him out ofbusiness. Right then and there is where Joey writes to you for help. You fork over proper-like, as you should, and he pays back what heowes Grand, preferring to owe you. So he got rid of the devil for morethan forty days. That's about the time I goes to the pen. I carelesslylets myself get nabbed, actin' on Ernie's advice. He's a slick kid, that boy is. He ain't goin' to let me get hung if he can help it. Yousee, I'm booked for hangin', sure as fate; he knows it as well as Ido, only he's smart enough to want to put it off till I'm so old Iwon't mind it. So I goes to the pen just to keep from killin' BobGrand. A year in the cooler makes you see things most sensible-like. Iknowed that when I went in. If I'd waited a week after hearin' Joey'sstory of that dog's attentions to Ruby, I'd ha' been in Kingdom Comelong ago, and so would he. We'd both been down below to welcome Mrs. Grand's lawyer when he arrived. So, actin' on Ernie's advice, I getspinched the second night after hearin' about it. Ernie's a humanecuss. He saved two lives, then and there. "

"You deliberately put yourself in prison?" cried David. 

"Just to postpone the hangin', kid, that's all. "

"It's all rubbish, this talk of hanging, " protested the other. "You'retoo kind-hearted, Dick, to kill a fly. "

"There'll be a rope around my guzzle some time, Davy, just as sure asyou're sittin' there, " said Artful Dick, and, notwithstanding hiscareless laugh, a perceptible gleam of terror showed in his eyes foran instant. "But I'm wandering again. When I was up to Sing Sing Itumbled to what was on Brad's mind. He thinks she turn him down forGrand. The more he thought of it, the more full of the devil he got. Just before I left the place he wrote me a long letter and slipped itto me in a hunk of bread. He said he'd made up his mind to kill herand Grand as soon as he got out. You can tell by a convict's lookswhether he's bluffin' or not. I tell you, Davy, I sees it in Brad'sface. He meant what he said. He's going to do it, as sure as fate. Heain't got anything to live for and he ain't going to let the two of'em live any longer than he does. "

"And you say he's out? Dick, we must do something to prevent thisawful--"

"Sit down, Davy. You can't get a train till tomorrow. Besides, there'stime enough. The first thing I does after I leaves the coop was tohustle down to see Joey. I put him on to Brad's bad talk, and hepromised to keep a sharp lookout for him. At that time Mrs. Braddockwas livin' in London, but Joey didn't know it. I found out later onthrough Ernie. He got her whereabouts by pumpin' a coachman who workedfor her father, old man Portman. It seems that while she wouldn't takemoney from the old man, she appealed to him to help her in gettin'what was due her from the sale of the show. She went to Europe acouple of months after she left the show, a school friend puttin' upfor her, I understand. Her dad was willin' to forgive her, after she'dtied the can to Brad, but she says nix. She changed her name and tookcharge of this school friend's children who were being educated inLondon, givin' their mother a chance to chase around Europe withoutbein' bothered by kids. When she got the dough out of old Bob Grandshe puts Christine in a school some 'eres and--"

"Thank God, and you, Dick, for this news, " cried David fervently. "Iknew that she could do nothing but the right thing. Go on!"

"Well, about six months ago, her stepmother up and dies. The old manpromptly sends for her to come back and cheer his declinin' years, asthe novel writers say. Ernie writes all this to me and I gets theletter a couple of months ago down in New Orleans, where I wasattendin' Mardi Gras, a sort of annual custom of mine, don't you know, old chap, by Jove! I'm terrible careless about my correspondence, which accounts for my neglectin' to write this to you. However, I'mnot so careless that I neglected to write this to Ruby--a thing I doreg'lar every month, some months. Four days ago, in Looieville, I getstwo letters, one from her and one from Ernie. Ernie knows everything. He's seen Christine nearly every day for three months, but she ain'tseen him. Poor devil of an Ernie! I made him what he is--I banged himup for life. "

"It was an accident, Dick. Don't take it--"

"Nix. It ain't no accident when you kick a four-year-old kid down aflight of stairs. Well, anyhow, they both write me that Tom Braddockis in New York and actin' terrible ugly. He's layin' for Bob Grand. Asluck would have it, the Colonel is off attendin' the races along thespring circuit, and Ernie says he won't be back in New York for threeor four days. Mrs. Braddock has got her father down South some-'eres, but the servants are expectin' 'em back this week. "

"Then we may be in time. We must not lose a minute, Dick. If TomBraddock carries out his threat, we'll be to blame--you and I. Christine, --where is she? What is she like? What do they say of her?"

"Ruby's been on the road, so she don't mention having seen her. And, say, Davy, don't be sore at me for what I'm going to say now. It'sthis way: Ernie made me promise never to tell you anything about her--how she looks--how she acts, where she is, or anything. I've only toldyou where her mother is, mind you. You'll have to guess aboutChristie. You see, Davy, that boy's sure jealous of you yet. I--I--guess you understand. "

David nodded his head without speaking. He understood. There wasnothing for him to say. "I'll find her myself, " he said, beginning topace the floor in his excitement. "She must be beautiful. She must beall that her mother promised. But, Dick!"

He stopped short, struck by a sudden thought. "Why hasn't Mrs. Braddock written to me? She promised. The five years have passed. Wewere to see each other at the end of five--"

"Well, maybe you will, kid. Don't get peevish. I guess Mrs. Braddockknows her business. Has it ever occurred to you that there might beanother Romeo lookin' at Christie? Five years is quite a spell. Girlsare fickle brutes. "

"For God's sake, Dick, if you _do_ know of anything like that, tellme. "

"Cross my heart, Davy, I _don't_ know, and that's straight. "

"We _must_ catch the first train in the morning. "

"Don't hop around like that, Davy; you'll upset something. You can'thurry a train, kid. We'll catch it, all right. Sit down. Get a pipeand take a smoke. Keep cool. That's our game, kid. If you go bumpin'into old man Portman's house without bein' sure you're wanted, youmight get--well, I won't say what!"

"You're right, Dick. She may have forgotten me. She may have asked hermother not to write to me. I've waited and hoped and counted on havingher--I've checked off the weeks and months and years. I wonder if youcan understand how it is when you care as much as I do, and alwayshave? No one knows. It's all in a fellow's own heart. It--"

"Oh, I've had a case or two myself, kid. It ain't nothin' new, thiscrimp you've got, " said Dick, putting his heels on the desk. "Adam hadit. So did Solomon, only he had it in so many places he got so hedidn't mind it. Think of them guys that have harems. Think of BrighamYoung. Why, kid, you don't know the first thing about love pains. Think of the guy with the harem and _his_ guesswork! He's got somethingto worry about, he has. It's awful when you've got to love a couple ofhundred of 'em at once, and them all hatin' you like poison. And oldBrigham--think of him settin' up all hours of the night, wonderin'whether she loves him as much as she used to, and not being able toremember just which _she_ he's thinkin' about. Brace up, kid. It's onlya rash you've got. If Christie has given you the shake just rememberhow easy it was for Brigham to collect 'em. The woods are full of 'em. "

"But, good Lord, Dick, " cried David, laughing in spite of himself, "I'm not a Mormon. "

"Kid, every man's a Mormon at heart. Just cram that in your pipe. Andevery woman, no matter how ugly she is, thinks she's a siren. It's inthe blood of both sexes, this Mormonism and sirenism. Oh, don't lookso surprised, kid. I got some of my views out of the dictionary, butmost of 'em came from observin' people as they look to me from my ownlevel. I have a way of bringin' everybody down to my own level, kid, and I find, except for that commandment about stealin', we all haveabout the same amount of cussedness in us some'eres. It's human natureto be bad, or to want to be bad. We'd all be a little bit bad, fromtime to time, if we wasn't afraid of being found out. Course, it comesin different size doses. Some girls think it's terrible bad just towink at a feller, but they do it because it's bad and not because it'ssanctimonious, you bet. Then there are other girls who'd cut yourthroat with a razor while you're asleep. You bet they wouldn't bedoing that if it was considered good. All men have got deviltry in'em, and all women mischief. The women like the men for the deviltry, and it's the mischief in women that plays the devil with the men. Itdon't appear on the surface, but it's there just the same. "

"What amazing philosophy, " laughed David. 

"I've been gettin' philosophy up in your attic, Davy, " said Dick witha quaint grin. "I read some'eres that all philosophers get in theirreal work in attics. Now, I guess we'd better turn in. I don't thinkyou'll do much sleepin' to-night, so you'd--"

"First, Dick, " interrupted David, rising to pull the old-fashionedbell cord in the corner of the big chamber, "we'll have a bite ofsupper. I want to introduce you to my servants. "

"Hold on!" Dick came to his feet quickly. "It's my treat. You waithere. I've got a fine supper goin' to waste up in the garret. I coppedit out early this evening. Poke up the fire there, Davy, and don't tryto foller me. "

He was gone, the door to the hall closing gently behind him. There wasnot a sound to be heard in the house. Outside the frogs werechattering, and a nearby owl hooted dolefully. David stood still inthe center of the room, his gaze fixed on the hall door. He countedthe minutes, expecting, in spite of his preparedness, to be startledwhen the door opened with ghostly ease to admit the lank figure of the"dip. " There was a certain sense of dread in the knowledge thatsomewhere off in the dark, silent halls a stealthy, noiseless, almostsinister thing was moving--moving with the swiftness and caution of aweasel, but with all the merry purpose of a harlequin. Davidexperienced a grewsome, uncanny desire to shiver. He remembered Dick'sadmonition and was about to turn to the fireplace, in which the logswere no longer blazing. 

Suddenly the door opened. He could have sworn that the knob had notturned. There had not been the faintest sound, and yet Dick Cronkstepped quickly, confidently into the room, a grin on his face. In onehand he bore a fair-sized package, done up in a napkin. 

"You are the ghostliest thing I've ever known, " said David with anervous laugh of relief. "How do you do it?"

"Simple twist of the wrist, " said Dick, employing a phrase of the day. "Gee, how tired you must be, after pokin' up the fire like that!"

David hastened to do his part of the pantomime. When he turned fromthe replenished fireplace a cold supper was spread on the desk, thenapkin serving as a tablecloth. There were knives, forks and spoons, and a china plate apiece. A pitcher of milk stood at one end, a bottleof claret at the other, with tumblers beside them. In the center ofthe board was a plate of fried chicken, some young onions, freshlybaked bread, salt, pepper, and, most wonderful of all, --Aunt Fanny'snewest marble-cake, huge and aggressive. 

The master of the house stared open-mouthed at this amazing feast. Where had it all come from? How had it been transported?

"Well, I'll be hanged!" he gasped. 

Dick shuddered. "Don't say that! It gives me the Willies. Sit down, friend, and make yourself at home. Ah! This is real comfort! Don't youthink I'd make some woman a fine husband? I'm no slouch as a provider, am I?"

It was after two o'clock when Artful Dick Cronk whispered good nightand slipped out into the hall. He carried with him all the plates, cutlery and remnants of the midnight feast, having remarked in advancethat a careful operator never left anything "half finished. " It washis purpose to restore every article except the food, to the placefrom which he had taken it. He and David chuckled joyously over thefresh amazement of Aunt Fanny in the morning; she had been living in astate of dread for three appalling days, as it was. 

The next morning Dick appeared at breakfast with his host. He rescuedZuley Ann's greatly prized silver watch from the steaming coffee urn, and picked Jeff's pocket-book from the mouth of a lamp chimney, afterwards restoring the thirty-eight cents it contained. Strangelyenough, he took the coins from the wool on Jeff's head. If ever anegro's wool undertook to stand on end it was at that moment. ZuleyAnn's eyes were permanently enlarged. I have it on excellentauthority. 

At eight o'clock they were off for Richmond and the New York express. 

CHAPTER III

THE MAN WHO SERVED HIS TIME

Long before the train reached the station in New York, David and Dickparted company. The shrewd but whimsical scamp presented atconsiderable length the problem of virtue and vice stalking arm inarm, as it were, through the streets of New York; he pictured, withextreme unction, the doleful undoing of virtue and the practicedescape of vice. 

"Kid, " said he, "the first cop that laid eyes on us meanderin' downBroadway would land on us like a rat-terrier. Being a clever devil, I'd hook it and give him the slip. But you, kid! Where would you be, little innocent? How far would virtue and justice carry you up analley with a cop at your coat tails? Nix, kid. We go it alone after weleave Newark. That's the trouble with this world. Nothing's plumbsquare. Now, here's the point: Virtue's all right if it trots alone. But just let Virtue hook up with Vice for ten minutes, unsuspectinglike, and see what the world says. Kid, that little ten minutes of badcompany would upset a lifetime of continuous Sundays. 'Specially inthe eyes of a cop. A cop ain't acquainted with virtue. My advice tothe young and innocent is to avoid evil companions and cops. It's along ways to heaven, and lonesome traveling at that, but it's only astep to hell, and the crowdin' is something awful. It's mighty nighimpossible to turn back once you get started, on account of the mob. I'm not saying you won't run across worse guys than I am at the swellhotel you'll stop at, but they ain't on speaking terms with thepolice. "

David went to one of the big hotels patronized by all well to doSoutherners of the day. At the railway station he looked about for thephilosophic jailbird, but he was not to be seen. The Virginian droveto the hotel, conscious of a strange loneliness, now that theresourceful rogue was not at his elbow. He found some consolation inDick's promise to communicate with him before the close of thefollowing day, when doubtless he would be able to furnish news ofinterest, if not of importance. 

The next morning saw David on his way to the home of Joey Noakes, fardown town and to the west of Washington Square. He knew the house. Hehad been there before. A narrow, quaint little place it was, reminiscent in an exterior sort of way of the motley gentleman whosolemnly called it his castle. You climbed a tall stoop flanked oneither side by flower boxes, and rattled a heavy knocker that had allthe marks of English antiquity, --and English servility, --and then youwaited for the trim little housemaid, who betimes was a slavey belowstairs and not permitted to answer the knocker until she had donnedher cap and apron and rolled down her sleeves--and slipped on hercuffs, for that matter. If you were an unpleasantly long time ingaining admittance, you might be sure that she was also changing hershoes or perhaps brushing her hair. In any event, after you knocked itwas some time before she opened the door, and then you wereimmediately impressed by the conviction that her brightly shining facehad scarcely recovered from the application of a convenient "washrag, " and that she seemed deplorably out of breath. But she was neatand clean and quite English. 

As for that, everything about the establishment was English. Thewindow-boxes, from basement to garret; the way the curtains hung inrigid complaisance; the significant name-plate on the middle panel ofthe door: "Joseph Grinaldi, Esq. "; the minute plot of grass alongsidethe steps that led to the basement, with a treasured rose-bush in thecorner thereof. You were positive, without looking, that Joey had aback yard which he called a garden, and that it possessed everythingdesirable except a vista--and he would have that if it were not for"the houses in between, " to say nothing of the high board fence he hadbuilt to keep out all prowling beasts--including humanity--with thedouble exception of cats and sparrows. Although it was a typical, hemmed-in New York house, you wouldn't have thought of calling thechimneys anything but pots, nor would you have called the shingles byany other name than slates. 

Joey was at home. He was expecting David, which accounts for theprompt appearance of the sprightly maid, and the genial shout ofwelcome from the top of the stairs. 

"Come in, my lad, " called Joey, bounding down the steps with all theresilience of a youth of twenty. "My crimes, I'm 'appy to see you. "

They shook hands warmly, the little maid bobbing her head in rhythmicappreciation. 

"You knew I was coming?" asked David, following the old man into the"drawing-room. "

"I found a note under the door this morning, David, left theremysterious-like during the night. It was left by the fairies, Idaresay, although the 'and-writing was scarcely wot you'd calldainty. " Joey pulled a knowing wink. 

"Dick Cronk, " announced David. "He came up with me. Braddock is in thecity, Joey. "

"Sit down in that chair by the winder, David. So! Wot a 'andsome chapyou've got to be! My eye! Ruby will be proper crazy about you. I begpardon: you mentioned Tom Braddock. Well, he was a setting right thorewhere you are not more than twenty-four hours ago. "

"You don't mean it!"

"Ruby will be in before long, " rambled the old clown, thoroughlyenjoying himself. "She's off to the market. Do you know, Davy, she's amost wonderful manager, that girl o' mine. We've been in from the roadfor nearly a month now--closed the most prosperous season on record atRochester, New York, on the 17th of May--and Ruby 'ad the 'ouserunning like it 'ad been oiled inside o' two hours arfter we got offthe cars. She's a--Oh, we was talking of Brad, wasn't we? Well, let mesee. Oh, yes, he was 'ere yesterday. And now you're 'ere to-day. It'smarvelous 'ow things do go. Brad asked arfter you. "

"I suppose so, " said David impatiently. "But, tell me, Joey, what ishis game? What is he in New York for?"

The old clown did not answer at once. He pursed his lips and stared ina troubled sort of way at the leg of David's chair. Then he began tofill his pipe. His hand trembled noticeably. 

Saving the snowy whiteness of his hair, Grinaldi did not appear to bean hour older than in the days of Van Slye's. His merry, wrinkled facewas as ruddy, as keen, as healthy as it ever had been. No one wouldhave called him sixty-five, and yet he was beyond that in years. 

"He's 'ere for no good purpose, I'm afraid, " said he, at last. "In away, I'm kind o' sorry for Brad, David. He'd 'a' been a different sorto' man if it 'adn't been for Bob Grand. If ever a chap 'ad an evilgenius, Brad 'ad one in that man. I suppose Dick told you Brad's beenup for two or three year, doing time. Not but wot he deserved it, theway he treated Mary, but it don't seem just right that Bob Grandshould be the one to send 'im up. Mary 'ad nothink to do with it, butyou can't make Brad believe that. He's got it in 'is 'ead that she'sbeen working with Grand all along. I talked to 'im for two hoursyesterday, but I couldn't shake 'im. He's a broken man--but he's adetermined one. The time served up at Sing Sing 'ad one benefit to it:it dried up all the whiskey that was in 'im. He came out of there with'is eyes and 'is mind as clear as whistles, and he's not the felleryou used to know, David. He's twenty years older, and his face ain'tno longer bloated; it's haggard and full o' lines. His hair is nearlyas white as mine. And 'ere's the great thing about 'im: he ain'tdrinking a drop. He says he never will drink another drop, so long ashe lives. Do you know why?"

The old man leaned forward and spoke with a serious intentness thatsent a cold chill to the heart of his young friend. 

"He says he ain't going to take any chances on bungling the job he'sset out to do, " went on Joey slowly. "He wants to be plumb sober whenhe does it, so's it will be done proper. "

"You mean--murder?"

"That's just it, David. He's going to kill Bob Grand. "

"Joey, we must prevent that!" exclaimed David, rising and beginning topace the floor. "There is time to stop him. Grand is not in the city. We must get Braddock away. Think what it would mean to--to Christineand her mother! Why, it's--"

"Brad ain't going to stop to think about 'ow it will affect them. He'sonly got one idea in his 'ead. He'll 'ave it out with Mary beforehand, if he gets the chance, but he won't do 'er bodily injury. He swears hewon't do that. He admits he's done 'er enough 'arm. Do you know wot hetold me?--and he cried like a baby when he told me, too. David, heactually sold 'is wife to Bob Grand when he gave up the show. "

"Good heaven, Joey!"

"He told me so 'isself, sitting right there. But he says he 'ad sunkso low in them days, pushed along by Grand, that there wasn't anythingtoo mean for 'im to do. He told me he stole your pocket-book--and alot of other cruel nasty things he did besides. But he said it waswhiskey--and I believe 'im. You see, David, I knowed 'im when he wasas straight as a string, and a manly chap he was, too--even if 'isfather was an old scamp. He ain't making any excuses for 'isself--nota bit of it. He says he's a scoundrel. "

David sat down limply, stunned by the news of Tom Braddock'sdepravity. 

"But if he is sober and in his right senses, he must feel the mostpoignant remorse after that one terrible act, " cried the young man. "He surely must know that she did not fall into the trap--that sheactually fled to escape it. He knows all this, Joey. I think he lovedher--in his way. I know he loved Christine. We must get at him fromthat side--the side of his love for the girl, the side of fairness. Ifhe feels remorse, as you say, all is not lost to him. Where can wefind him to-day, Joey? To-morrow may be too late. "

"Wot does Dick say?" asked the old clown, puffing at his pipe. Hiscalmness served its purpose. David stared and then relaxed. 

"To tell you the truth, I'd forgotten Dick. Before we partedyesterday, it was understood between us that I was to do nothing untilI had heard from him. He promised to find Braddock and report to me--by letter. Of course, he did not know that you had seen him, or hewould have come last night to talk it over with you in--"

Joey held up his hand and shook his head. "Oh, no, he wouldn't, David. Dick thinks too much of me to come 'ere. You see, it would never dofor him to be seen frequentin' this 'ouse. I've _invited_ him 'ere, I'll say that; but he's too square to come. He says it would injure me, and my 'ouse would be watched as long as I live in it. And, besides, itwouldn't be right to Ruby. Once or twice he 'as sneaked in as a peddleror a plumber, by arrangement, poor chap, but never openly. "

To David's annoyance, Joey went into a long dissertation on theinscrutable virtues of Dick Cronk, concluding with the sage butsomewhat ambiguous remark that it not only "takes a thief to catch athief, " but that an honest man is usually a thief when he is caught inthe company of thieves. 

"You see, Davy, we ain't with the circus now. We're at 'ome in our own'ouse, and things is different. A circus is one thing and a man'scastle is another. Leastwise, that's wot Dick says. He says I'm tooold to be caught in bad company. I'd die before I could live it down. He's an odd chap, he is. And now, in regard to Brad, just you keepcool until you 'ears from Dick. You can't afford to stir up a row. Oldman Portman and Mary and Christine won't thank you for stirring thingsup. They're not anxious to 'ave a scandal. If you go arfter Brad toorough, it will percipitate matters instead of 'olding them back. Andhe'll know to onct that you are acting for his wife--a sort of go-between, don't you see. That will make it the wuss for 'er. So, just'old yourself in, David. Now, let's talk about somethink else. Yourself, for instance. "

David resignedly settled back, and was at once involved in an exchangeof personal narrative. 

"I 'ave retired from the stage, " remarked Joey, putting his thumbs inthe armholes of his velvet waistcoat. "I am too old to go clowning itany longer. This was my last season. I've got a comfortable income, thanks to you, David, and I'm going to spend the rest of my days inpeace and quiet--if you call New York quiet, wot with the church bellsand the milkmen. Three seasons in the pantomime, doing all the one-night stands in this bloomin' country, is enough for Joey. If you'adn't staked me when I was stony broke three years ago, Davy, I'd bein the poor 'ouse now, I daresay. You saved the show for me and I'mproperly grateful to you, even though you won't let me mention it. Next season Ruby will go out with the show, but I'm getting a newclown. That is, she'll go unless something important 'appens topervent. "

He screwed up his eye very mysteriously. 

"What is likely to happen, Joey?"

"Well, " said he, "girls do get married. "

"You don't mean to say Ruby's going to be married!" David's thoughtsran to Dick Cronk, although he knew there was no possible chance forhim. 

"Well, there's a chap mighty attentive to 'er these days. You nevercan tell. She's a 'ansome girl and--but I daresay it's best not tocount chickens before they're 'atched. I don't mind saying, 'owever, "he went on rather wistfully, "I'd like to see Ruby 'appily married andretired from the stage. It's wuss than the circus, my lad. Thetemptations are greater and there ain't so much honor among the peopleyou're thrown with. The stage is surrounded by a pack of wolves justas vicious as Bob Grand ever was, and a girl's got to be mighty spryto dodge 'em. "

"Is--her best young man a desirable fellow?" asked David, feeling verysorry for the outcast who had not so much as asked for a chance. 

"Capital chap. He's a newspaper man, but I can't say that it'sanything very damaging against 'im. He seems a very sober chap andthrifty. You wouldn't believe it, but it's quite true. "

"I'm sure I wish her all the happiness in the world. "

"She can't quite make up 'er mind to leave the stage, " mused Joey. "And he won't 'ave 'er unless she does, for good and all. So there youare. "

"If she loves him, she'll give it up. "

"She loves 'im all right, " said Joey. "I know it, because she nevertalks about 'im. I don't see wot's keeping her. She could ha' gone tomarket and back five times--Hello!" He was peering through the littlefront window. A huge smile beamed in his face. With a chuckle, hecalled his visitor to the window. "Sh! Don't let 'er see the curtainmove! She'd take our 'eads off. See that chap? _That_'s why she'sbeen so long to market. "

Ruby was walking slowly down the opposite sidewalk, attended by atall, strong-featured young fellow whose very attitude toward herbespoke infatuation. They crossed the street and stood for a long timeat the bottom of the steps, laughing and talking, utterly unconsciousof surveillance. Then she shook hands with her courtier, tapped hischeek lightly with the grocer's book which she carried, and ranlightly up the steps. The tall young man, his face aglow, stoodmotionless where she left him, his straw hat in hand, until sheentered the house and closed the door behind her. David's last glimpseof the suitor presented that person, with his chest out, his hands inhis pockets, striding off down the street, very much as if he ownedit. The young Virginian barely had time left to turn away from thewindow before Ruby swept into the room. 

He had noted, as she stood below, that her figure was a trifle fuller;she was a bit more dashing, and a great deal handsomer than when hehad seen her last. Somehow, David, without intending to do so, foundhimself mentally picturing her ten years hence: a stout, good-naturedmatron with a double chin and a painful effort to disguise it. 

He was not taken aback when she rushed over, with a little scream ofdelight, and kissed him resoundingly. After which she shook hands withhim. It was what he expected. You could have heard the three of themtalking if you had been on the sidewalk, but you could not have madehead or tail of the conversation. Joey repeated a single remark fourtimes, without being heard by either of his companions. It referred toa joyful reunion and a mug of ale. 

At length Ruby gave over rhapsodizing on the tallness, the broadnessand the elegance of their visitor, and rushed to the hall door. Raising her voice, she called out to some one down the hall:

"Millie!"

"Yes, Miss Ruby, " came the instantaneous response, suggesting asurprised propinquity. 

"Goodness! I thought you were downstairs--But never mind! Don't forgetwhat I told you about the new radishes. "

"No, Miss Ruby, they shall not be forgot, " said the trim little maid, bobbing in the doorway. 

"Mr. Jenison likes his waffles crisp, " added Miss Noakes. To David shesaid: "I love waffles and honey for lunch, don't you?"

"I do, " responded David. "But I didn't know I was to stop for lunch. "

"Father, didn't you tell him?" demanded Ruby. 

"I surely did, " prevaricated Joey; "but you were both talking so 'ardhe didn't 'ear me. "

During luncheon, which was blissfully served by Millie, David tookoccasion to compliment Ruby on her good looks, her success and herprospects. 

"Don't guy me, David, " she cried, turning quite red. 

"If every girl I know could enjoy such improvement in five years, I'msure--" began David gallantly. 

"I suppose you're thinking of Christine Braddock when you say that, "said she shrewdly. 

He had the grace to blush. 

"Well, let me tell you, David, she's the prettiest thing on two legs--I should say, on two continents. Goodness, a girl does pick up suchawful expressions on the stage! I'm just perfectly awful. "

"She is beautiful?" asked David, his heart-beats quickening. 

"She's what you might call ravishing, " proclaimed Ruby. "And she'svery elegant, too. "

"She don't forget 'er old friends, though, " said Joey hastily. "Shesent me that geranium over there larst month and she--"

"Never mind, dad. David isn't interested in her or what she does. Tellme about Colonel Grand's daughter. "

"How do you happen to know--"

"Oh, a little Dicky-bird told me, " she said. "It was in the newspaperI take that you and she were at the Springs at the same time. Oh, Iread the society news. Is she pretty?"

"She reminds me of her father. "

"Then she looks like that African gazelle we had with Van Slye's! Poorgirl!"

"I don't like her, " said David. Then he related his experience withthe young woman. His hearers were disgusted but not surprised. 

"They're all alike, " commented Joey. "They're bad, them Grands--father, mother and daughter. First one, then the other tried to bribeme and Ruby. I sometimes believe the wife's as bad as he is, only in adifferent way. "

They were still seated at the table, discussing the Grands, when aheavy knock came at the front door. 

"Who can that be?" said Joey, glancing at his daughter, who wassuddenly quiet. The knock was repeated before Millie was instructed togo to the door. 

She admitted some one, after a moment's parley. The husky, low-tonedvoice of a man came to the ears of those in the dining-room. As Joeyarose to investigate, the maid came in. 

"It's the same man who was 'ere yesterday, Mr. Noakes. He says as he's'ungry. "

"Braddock, " said Joey in a half whisper. 

The man was standing just inside the front door; his dim figure wassilhouetted red against the narrow, colored glass window in thecasement. Something told them he was fumbling his hat and that hishead was bent. 

"Ask him to come in here, father, " said Ruby promptly. "I can't bearto see a man hungry. I don't care who or what he is. "

Joey looked at David in doubt and perplexity. David, who had clutchedthe back of his chair with tense fingers, nodded his head. The oldman, obeying the second but unvoiced entreaty of his daughter, strodeout into the hall. They heard the low mutter of masculine voices, onein evident protest, the other cordially insistent. 

"He's changed quite a bit, " whispered Ruby, David rose to his feet and stood staring blankly at the man whofollowed Joey into the dining-room, the man who had struck the never-to-be-forgotten blow. Could this gray, lean, shuffling creature be theleonine, despotic Tom Braddock of other days?

The man stopped just inside the door and fixed his sullen gazesteadily upon the face of the Virginian. Without glancing at Ruby, heuttered a curt "Howdy do, Ruby. "

"I guess we ain't expected to shake hands, " said Braddock, a twistedsmile on his lips. 

"I can't shake the hand that struck me as yours did when I could notdefend myself, " said David coldly. 

"'Ere, 'ere, " remonstrated Joey nervously. "We can't 'ave any oldquarrels took up in my 'ouse. "

"_I'm_ not quarreling, Joey, " said Braddock, still watching David'sface. David had the feeling, quite suddenly, that he was looking intoeyes he had never seen before--intent, hard, steady eyes that were fullof purpose. They were no longer blood-shot and protruding: they seemedto slink back under the pallid, bony brow, looking forth with a sort ofcunning that suggested a hiding animal, nothing less. 

The change in Tom Braddock was astounding. David had always thought ofhim as the bullying, bloated giant, purple-faced and blear-eyed. Hisface was thin and gray--with the pallor of the prison still upon it;his cheeks were sunken, and the heavy stubble of beard that filled thehollows was a dirty white. One would have guessed this apparition ofTom Braddock to be sixty years of age, at least. His hair, stillrather closely cropped, was no longer black, but a defiant, obtrusivegray. The heavy neck was now thin and corded; the broad shouldersdrooped as if deprived of all their youthful power. His aggressivemustache of the old days was gone, laying bare a broad, firmly setlip. The cheap jeans clothing that fell to him when he left thepenitentiary hung loosely on his frame, for he had lost many pounds;the coat was buttoned close about his throat, albeit the day was warm. He wore no collar. His "hickory" shirt was soiled. He had slept inthese garments for many nights. 

The contrast was appalling. That this cadaverous, prideless individualcould once have been the vain-glorious showman was almostinconceivable. It is no wonder that David stared. 

"Well, I guess you've changed about as much as I have, " said Braddock, reading the other's thoughts. He uttered a bitter laugh as he turnedto drag a chair up to the table, with something of the assurance ofold. 

"I hope I've changed as much for the better as you have, Braddock, "said David, and he meant it. 

Braddock whirled to glare at him in wonder. He was silent for amoment. Then he flung himself into the chair, his jaws settingthemselves firmly, no trace of the sarcastic smile remaining. 

"I guess you have, David, " he said shortly. "You're not what you werewhen you joined us five years ago. " A sneer came to his lips. "What ahigh and mighty chap you've come to be. No wonder you won't shakehands with a jail-bird. "

"Stop talking, Tom Braddock, " said Ruby, a gleam of anxiety in hereyes. "Here's what's left of the lamb and here's--"

"Wait a minute, Ruby, " said he. With his elbows on the edge of thetable and his chin in his broad, sinewy hands he leaned forward andspoke again to David. "I've been out three weeks. I was up there fortwo years and a half. I'm just telling you this so's you'll know whyI've changed. The whiskey's all out of me. There never will be anymore inside of me, do you understand that? Ten years ago I was a man--wasn't I, Joey? I was a dog when you knew me, Jenison. Now, I'm a managain. See these hands? Well, they've been doing honest work, even ifit was in a convict barrel factory. I'm ten times stronger than I wasbefore. There isn't a soft muscle in my body. What you miss is thefat--the whiskey fat. I'm gray-headed, but who wouldn't be? But thatis not what I'm trying to get at. I saw Dick Cronk this morning. Idon't know how he found me. He told me you were up here to take a handin my affairs. What I want to know, right here, Jenison, is this:Where is your friend Bob Grand and where is _she?_"

He spoke quite calmly, but there was a deliberate menace in his tones. David was startled. An angry retort leaped to his lips, but he chokedit back. 

"You are very much mistaken, Braddock, if you consider me the friendof Colonel Grand. I hate him quite as bitterly as you do. I--"

"Oh, no, you don't, " snapped the other. "No one in all this world, from its very beginning, has ever hated as I hate. "

"He is no friend of mine, " reiterated David. "I think you know me wellenough to believe that I do not lie. I have not seen him in fiveyears. "

Braddock stared hard at him. Suddenly he leaned back with a deepbreath of relief. "I believe you, " he said. "You don't know how tolie. Well, what are you doing here, then, mixing in my affairs?"

"We'll talk about that later on, " said David. "Here is food, man. Eat. You are half-starved. Have you no money?"

"Money? Say, do you think they pay you up _there_? I _am_ hungry. Not amouthful since yesterday noon. Before I touch this grub, Joey, I wantto say to you that I don't deserve it of you. I sold you all out. Iwasn't square with you. But it was drink and--and that devil behind meall the time. I took your pocket-book that night, David. I stole it. Iguess I was crazy most of the time in those days. I don't say I'll everpay it back. I'm not apologizing for it, either. I'm just telling you. I meant to get all you had, but--well, I wasn't mean enough to crackyou over the head. It would have been the only way--"

"Don't speak of it, Braddock, " interrupted Jenison painfully. "That'sall past and gone. "

"I've paid for some of my sins--but not all of 'em, " said Braddock. "Not all of 'em. "

He fell to eating ravenously. The others sat back, stiff anduncomfortable, watching him. His sunken but powerful jaws crunched thefood with some of the ferocity of a beast. It came forcefully to theminds of the two men that they were looking upon a man whose greatsinews were of steel, who could have crushed either of them in thelong, hard arms that stretched forth to seize the food Ruby had placedbefore him. They were slowly coming to realize the bent of this man'smind during its savage development in prison. He had slaved to apurpose. The same thought grew in the mind of each observer: whatchance would Robert Grand have in the naked hands of his enemy?

Joey was the first to broach the subject. 

"Brad, " he said soothingly, "you want to think twice before you doanything desperate. "

Braddock gave an ugly laugh as he jabbed a fork into a piece of meat. 

"Joey, " he said, "I've already thought ten thousand times. "

"What do you intend to do?" asked David. 

"I'm going to get square with Bob Grand, " said he very quietly. "I'mnot going to be rash about it. I'm going to take my time and be_sure_. "

"We'll have to do something to prevent--" began David. 

"You can't do anything. I'm not saying what I'm going to do to him, sodon't get fidgety. "

"You intend to kill him!"

"He sent me up, didn't he? Without cause, too. He swore me into thepen. Said I tried to kill him. I never tried it. He owed me money. Iasked him for it. " He suddenly sprang to his feet. "By Jove, I try notto think that _she_ had anything to do with it. I don't want tobelieve it of her. "

"She didn't 'ave anything to do with it, " cried Joey. "Get that ideaout of your 'ead. You treated 'er like a dog, Brad, but she neverturned on you like that. I can swear it. "

Braddock went over to the window and stared out upon the littlegarden. A long interval of silence ensued before he turned to face theothers. 

"Don't look so scared, Ruby, " he said, noting the girl's expression. "I'm not going to hurt _her_. I guess I've hurt her enough already. She's living as she'd ought to live, and so is--so is Christine. I'mnot going to begrudge _them_ anything. But I'm going to have a talkwith her. " His manner was ugly. 

"I'm going to ask her two questions. She'll tell me the truth, I know. That's all I ask. "

"She has always hated Bob Grand, " cried Ruby, "if that's what youmean. "

"That's what I mean. But I'm going to ask her just how much he haspestered her since--well, since that time with the show. I'm going toask her if she knows what I did to her in the sale of my interest. I'mgoing to find out if he told her. Oh, you needn't worry! I won't doanything to hurt her or Christine. If she don't know already what Idid to her, I'm going to tell her myself. If I get a chance to see mygirl, I'm going to tell her just what I did to her mother. "

"Braddock, you must listen to reason!" cried David. "No good can comeof this. They are happy and contented. Don't spoil it all for them. Goaway, man. Try to forget your grievance against Colonel Grand. Godwill punish him and--"

"I'll tell you what I came here for to-day, Jenison, " said Braddocklevelly. "Dick says you're still crazy about my--about Christine. Heswears you haven't seen her in five years--some kind of a promise mywife made, he says. I came to ask you this question: will it make anydifference in your intentions regarding her if I--if her father shouldhappen to end his life on the scaffold? I don't say feelings, mindyou, --I said intentions. "

"I mean it. Would you still want her if--if it turned out that way?"

David looked helplessly from Joey to Ruby and then at the set, emotionless face of the questioner. 

"Braddock, I can tell you this from my soul: nothing you may do willalter my feelings or my intentions. Christine is in no way responsiblefor your transgressions. I am only sorry that she has such a father. If she still cares for me, I shall ask her to be my wife, even thoughyou are strung up a hundred times. But this is beside the question. _You_ should think of her happiness, her peace of mind. All her lifeshe will have to think of you as a--a--well, I won't say it. You--"

"I'll say it for you, " interrupted the gray-faced listener: "as agallows bird--as scaffold fruit. "

"Please don't, Tom, " cried Ruby. 

"You would better a thousand times shoot yourself than to bring thatblack shadow into her life, " said David. "Suicide is bad enough but--ugh!" He shuddered. 

"Look here, Jenison, I might have been a good man if it hadn't beenfor Bob Grand. I always would have been a showman, I reckon, but I'dhave been fairly self-respecting. Today, instead of being what I am, I'd still have the love of my wife, the respect of my girl, and--oh, well, you can't understand. You all are against me--and have been foryears. I don't blame you--not a bit of it. I deserve it. Granddeliberately set out to ruin me--to pull me down. You know why. Wewon't go into that. I happen to know he afterwards paid her a lot ofmoney for her interest in the business. When she tells me it was asquare transaction I'll believe it, but not before. "

He paced the floor, his hands in his coat pockets, his brows drawndown in a thoughtful scowl. 

"You can stop me, I suppose, by having me locked up--but you can'tkeep me there forever. I'll get out some time. I don't say I'm goingto shoot Bob Grand. I want you all to bear witness to this statement:whatever I do to him will be with these two hands. See 'em? Don't theylook competent? He didn't use weapons on me, and I'm not going to use'em on him. It's just a case of who has the best hands in this littlegame. "

"Why, man, it would be cowardly in you to put your strength againsthis. You could crush him, " groaned David. 

Braddock smiled, almost joyously. "Won't it be a pretty sight? Myhands on that fat neck of his! Ha!"

"And the 'angman's rope on that neck of yours, " put in Joey, wipinghis moist forehead. 

"That's not the point, " said Thomas Braddock. 

He picked up his hat, which he had cast upon a chair, and, withoutanother word to either of them--no word of thanks to Ruby, no word ofappreciation to David, no word of gratitude to Joey--he strode outinto the hall, through the door and down the steps. 

They sat still looking at each other for a long time. 

"He can't do it to-day, " said Joey in hushed tones. "The man's stillout o' town. "

CHAPTER IV

THE DELIVERY OF A TELEGRAM

On David's return to the hotel he found a hastily scrawled note fromArtful Dick Cronk. He had remained at the Noakes' until mid-afternoon, discussing the sinister attitude of Thomas Braddock. Joey stubbornlymaintained that it was worse than useless to have the man locked up;it would merely delay the consummation of his purpose, and it wouldadd fuel to the fierce flames that already were consuming his brain. He was for temporizing methods, attended by shrewd efforts to keep theenemies apart. It was his opinion that Braddock would listen to reasonbefore many days. Certainly there could be no immediate danger withGrand out of the city. Jenison at last came to his way of thinking, although not without a twinge of misgiving. He had no respect, nosympathy for Braddock. It was his firm opinion that the man had in noway reformed; that he was as bad, if not worse, than ever, for now hewas himself and not crazed by drink. 

Dick's note bore the disturbing news that Colonel Grand had returnedto town, and that Mrs. Braddock was expected the following day. Erniehad obtained this information through the friendly Portman servant, who (to quote Dick) affected the hunchback's society because hebelieved that the "touching of a hump would bring good luck!" Old Mr. Portman, it was given out, was on his way to his summer place in theAdirondacks, Naturally he would be accompanied by his daughter andChristine. They were due to arrive at four o'clock, and expected toremain in town for ten days before going up to the cool hills. Theclosing sentences of the pickpocket's note were quaintly satirical:"Brad says he can't afford to be seen in my company. You know howpolitely he would say it, don't you? He says he can't take chancesnow. But I staked him to a bed for to-night and I told him I'd givehim grub money. It seemed to tender him up a bit. He's hanging roundwith Ernie to-day and I'm going to see him to-night. Did I tell youthat Ernie has a little apartment all to himself over on FourthAvenue? He's some elegant. Of course, it won't do for me to be seenaround his shack much. I might accidentally give the place a bad name, see? Well, I'll close, but will write again to-morrow. DICK. P. S. They come in on the Pennsylvania. "

David spent a miserable night. He was obsessed by the fear thatBraddock would seek out Grand that very night, and that it would allbe over in the morning. At breakfast he scanned the newspapersclosely, half expecting to find the dreaded head-lines. As the morningwore away his spirits lifted. He had made up his mind to go to therailway station. From an obscure corner he would see her without beingseen. It was his whim to see her first in this manner, to stare to hissoul's content, to compare her in the flesh to the glorious picturehis brain had painted. He made no doubt that she would far surpass theportrait in his mind: did not Ruby say she was ravishingly beautiful?His heart leaped fiercely to the project in hand; more than once hefound himself growing faint with the intensity of yearning andimpatience. 

He took Joey and Ruby to luncheon at Delmonico's. All through the mealhe was busy picturing to himself the girl who was whirling northward, nearer and nearer to him with each minute of time. She would be talland slender and shapely. His mind's eye traveled backward. Her hairwould be brown--But, even as he constructed her to please his eagerimagination, he quailed before the spectre of doubt: was the heart ofthe girl of fifteen unchanged in the woman of twenty?

Ruby was glibly telling him of the young men who paid court to thegranddaughter of old Mr. Portman. Both she and Joey found richenjoyment in the fact that these sprigs of gentility knew nothing ofthe circus-riding epoch in Christine's life; they wondered what theeffect would be when the truth came out. Joey ventured the opinionthat "the devil would be to pay, " and Ruby added the prophecy that"they would drop her like a hot poker. " Strange to say, David foundconsiderable satisfaction in these dolorous predictions. 

He caught the ferry soon after luncheon, and was in the station on theother side of the river long before the train was due. 

Buying a newspaper, he took a seat in a far corner of the concourse. He read but little and that without understanding. His mind was quitefully occupied in peering over the top of the sheet in the directionof the sheds. Finally he became convinced, by certain psychicprocesses of the mind, that some one was staring at him. He lookedabout in all directions. At last his eyes rested on a squat, misshapenfigure far over by the ferry entrance. 

He had no difficulty in recognizing Ernie Cronk. His presence therewas disquieting in more than one sense. Dick had said that Braddockwas "hanging 'round" with his brother. This, of itself, was sufficientto create alarm in David's mind. He searched the scurrying throng fora glimpse of the drab, sinister figure of Christine's father, all thewhile conscious that Ernie Cronk's baleful gaze was upon him. Thebeady eyes seemed to penetrate shifting obstructions, never changing, never wavering. 

David considered briefly, and then decided to consult the cripple. Ashe made his way over to him he noted that Ernie was flashily dressed, almost to the point of grotesqueness. One might have forgiven thevivid checked suit on the person of a buoyant barber, but it wasgrewsome in its present occupation. Its gaudy, insistent cheapnessleaped out at the observer with much the same appeal for favor thatone imputes to the garments of a clown. One might have read the envyin Ernie's soul as his eyes swept the tall, straight, simply cladSoutherner who approached. He stood his ground defiantly, however;there was no smile of friendliness on his thin lips. 

"Hello, Ernie, " said David. Ernie's arms were folded across hisbreast. As he gave no sign of unfolding them, David did not profferhis hand. 

"You don't have to speak to me if you don't want to, " muttered Ernie, his eyes snapping. 

"Where is Braddock?" asked the other, imperturbably. 

The rat-like eyes glittered with a cunning smile. "Don't ask me. Gotyou worried, eh?"

"We are trying to keep him from hurting Christine, that's all, " saidDavid tactfully. 

"He ain't going to do that, " said Ernie quickly. A shadow of anxietycrept into his face, however. "He's after Grand. "

"Just the same, we are afraid. Is he here?"

"No. He's asleep at my place, if that'll do you any good. I'm notgoing to turn against her father, which is more than the rest of youcan say. You can tell her, if you want to, that I'm still his friend. "It was plain to be seen that he was adopting this pitiful policy as ameans of gaining the attention of the otherwise unapproachableChristine. " He was up all night--_looking!_"

"For Grand?"

"I didn't ask, " leered the hunchback. Suddenly his eyes flew wideopen. He was staring past Jenison. "Say! Speaking of angels, lookbehind you. "

David turned. Not twenty feet away stood Colonel Grand, twirling alight walking-stick and surveying the throng with disinterested eyes. He had seen and ignored Ernie, but had failed to recognize the youngman whose back was toward him. 

David experienced a sickening sense of disappointment. His heart sanklike lead. Grand's presence in the station could have but one meaning. A great wave of revulsion swept through the Virginian. He forgot theanticipated joy of the moment before in contemplation of thissignificant proof of an understanding. 

His lips were dry. He moistened them. Ernie, observing the movement, concluded that he was muttering something to himself. 

"Say it to his face, why don't you?" he recommended sarcastically. Before David could interpose, the hunchback called out to ColonelGrand. The latter turned quickly. For a moment he stared intently atthe face of the tall young man. Suddenly light broke in upon him. 

"Why, it's Jenison, " he exclaimed, and advanced, an amiable smile onhis lips. David ignored the hand that he extended; he could onlystare, as if fascinated, at the puffy face of the speaker. 

Grand had altered but little in appearance during the five years thathad passed. He seemed to have grown no older, nor was he lessrepulsive to look upon. As of old, he was carefully, even immaculatelydressed. 

Ernie Cronk moved away. They might have heard him chuckling softly tohimself. 

"Let me see, it's five years, isn't it?" went on the Colonel suavely. He did not appear to resent David's omission. "You've changedconsiderably. The mustache improves you, I think. "

His voice was as oily as ever, his eyes and his nose as sheep-like. Something arose in David's throat, bringing a certain hoarseness tohis voice. 

"Time has not affected you, Colonel, " he retorted. 

"So they tell me, " said the other. "Are you waiting to meet some one?"

"Yes, " said David, and nothing more. 

The Colonel twirled his stick. "My daughter is arriving by the four-twenty, " he announced. "Beastly old station, this. What a godsend adestructive fire would prove if it took it from one end to the other. "

"Your daughter is coming?" asked David. The note of eagerness andrelief in his voice caused the other's eyes to narrow suddenly. 

"You've met her, I believe, " he said, studying David's face. 

"Once, --at the Springs. "

"She's coming rather unexpectedly to make me an extended visit. Ishould deem it quite an honor, David, if you would give us thepleasure of your company some evening for dinner--"

"My stay here is to be very brief, Colonel Grand, and my time isentirely taken up, " said David coldly. 

"I'm sorry, " said the Colonel, shrugging his shoulders in self-commiseration. 

It was on the tip of David's tongue to ask him if he knew of ThomasBraddock's presence in town, but timely reflection convinced him thatit would be unwise. The Colonel, in his alarm, might set about to haveBraddock hunted down and confined without delay; and there was notelling what crime he would lay at Braddock's door in order to securelong imprisonment. 

"I met your wife, also, at the Springs, " said David, coollysubstituting the thrust. 

The Colonel frowned slightly. "You are doubtless aware that my wifeand I are no longer living together, " he said, his lips straightening. 

"I have heard something to that effect, " said David easily, --so easilythat the other could not mistake the insolence of the remark. 

Grand flushed. "I am happy to say, young man, that my train is pullingin. I must therefore deny myself the pleasure of conversing with youany longer. Good-day, sir. "

He did not bow as he turned away. A moment later he was threading hisway through the crowd. David sauntered over to his first place ofwaiting, a smile on his lips. He was immensely relieved now, and not alittle ashamed of a certain unworthy suspicion. 

He fixed his eager gaze on the throng of people that came up from thetrain, pouring into the big waiting-room. First, he saw Roberta Grandas she came rushing up to her father. He was struck by the swiftchange that came over the Colonel's face, who stared in amazement overthe girl's shoulder, even as he embraced her. David allowed his gazeto return to the oncoming crowd. 

Mary Braddock approached, apparently unconscious of the presence ofeither of her old associates. She walked beside a decrepit oldgentleman whom David at once surmised to be Albert Portman. A maid anda male attendant followed close behind. Christine was not in sight. 

Mrs. Braddock saw Grand when not more than half a dozen pacesseparated them. She almost stopped in her tracks. David detected thelook of surprise and dismay in her face. She and Grand were staringhard at each other, but neither made the slightest pretense ofanything more than visual recognition. She averted her gaze after amoment of uncertainty, and, with her head erect, passed close by theColonel and his daughter, both of whom were scrutinizing her withbrazen interest. 

She did not see David Jenison, although he might have touched her bymoving two steps forward. Disconcerted by the rude, insolent starethat was leveled jointly by her old enemy and his daughter, a vividflush mantled her cheek and brow. 

Time had made few changes in her appearance. Her face was softer, gentler if possible; her carriage was as erect and as proud as ever. She was modestly, unobtrusively attired, as David expected she wouldbe. 

After she had passed, the young man turned his attention again to thecrowd, his nerves jumping with eagerness. Christine was sure to be notfar behind her mother. 

He saw her at last, a laggard at the end of the hurrying procession. She passed close by him. He stood motionless, seeing no one else, thinking of no one but this slim, adorable girl who had no eyes forhim. At her side strode a tall, good-looking fellow whose mannertoward her could be mistaken for nothing short of simple adoration. 

She was smiling brightly, even rapturously up into the eyes of thiseager swain. In another instant they were lost in the crowd thatrushed to the ferry, but David was never to forget that passingglimpse of her--not to the day of his death. 

She was all that his fondest dreams, all that his fairest prophecies, had promised--nay, she surpassed them!

The pure, girlish face--the one of the deep, earnest eyes and tenderlips--had been toned and perfected and rechiseled by the magic hand ofTime. She was taller by several inches; a lissome creature who movedwith the sureness and grace of an almost exalted symmetry. 

His dazzled, gleaming eyes followed her into the vortex below. A vastwave of exultation suddenly rushed over him. He had held her in hisarms--he had kissed this beautiful, joyous creature--this product ofenchantment! Now, more than ever, was he resolved to claim her for hisown. It was as good as settled, in his enraptured mind! Nothing couldkeep her from him now. He had loved her, he had waited for her, and hewould have her in spite of everything. 

What could it matter to him that she was coveted by all the men whoknew her? He rejoiced in the fact that they were at her feet. It wasleft for him to look down upon them in the end, and smile with all thearrogance of triumphant possession!

Even as he exulted, a dissolving element was flung upon the crystal inwhich he saw his own glorification. A harsh, discordant voice wasspeaking at his elbow. He turned. Ernie Cronk was standing beside him. It required a moment of concentration on the part of the infatuatedDavid to grasp the significance of a certain livid hue in Ernie'sface. The hunchback was looking up at him. His eyes were bleak withunhappiness. There was no anger in them: only despair. 

"That's the fellow, " he was saying, his voice cracking hoarsely. "He'sthe one she's in love with. "

David started. "You mean--she's in love with him?" he demandedblankly. 

"That's Bertie Stanfield. He's a great swell. He was here to meet her. I saw him. It's--it's no use, David. No one else has got a show. " Hisinclusion of David in his own misfortune, though by inference, wouldhave been amusing at another time. Somehow, at this moment, it struckDavid as tragic. Was it possible that he was to find himself in thesame boat with this unhappy, uncouth worshiper?

He pulled hard at the end of his short mustache, and swallowed hardwith involuntary abruptness. 

"I--I have heard of him, " he said, a sudden chill creeping into hisveins. 

"Did she--did she speak to you?" asked Ernie. The hard look wascreeping back into his eyes. 

"She didn't see me, " muttered David. 

"She spoke to me. She always does, " said Ernie, twisting his fingers. "But, " he went on, almost in a wail, "it's because she--she pitiesme!"

David's heart was touched. He laid his hand on Cronk's shoulder andwas about to speak kindly to him. The other drew back, shaking off thecompassionate hand. 

"None o' that, now. I don't need any pity from you. Keep your trapclosed about me. " He jammed his hands into his coat pockets andallowed his gaze to travel toward the ferry entrance. The despondentnote returned to his voice. "Shall we take this boat or wait for thenext?" he asked. It was as if he had said: "We are companions inmisery, you and I. Let's make the best of it. "

David looked at him for a moment oddly. The humor of the situationstruck him all at once; but the smile of derision died on his lips. After all, perhaps he was in the discard with Ernie Cronk. 

"I'm going to catch this boat, " he said decisively. He started off, followed by his unchosen comrade, and caught the boat almost as itcast off in the slip. 

Mrs. Braddock and Christine were far forward. They were chatting gaylywith the blonde Mr. Stanfield, who appeared to be giving them thelatest news of the town. Old Mr. Portman sat against the deck house. 

David watched the little group at the rail from a safe distance. Heallowed his fancy full play; his hopes rebounded; his confidencerevived. By the time the ferry-boat was locked in the Manhattan sliphe was buoyant with the hope and resolution of unconquered youth. Hewould win her away from them all. 

All the way across the river he had been aware of Colonel Grand'sclose proximity to the little party of three. He stood, with Roberta, across the forward deck, leaning against the rail, his arms folded. Atno time did he withdraw his gaze from the figure of Mary Braddock. Herback was toward him, --resolutely, it seemed to David, --and she musthave been conscious of the carnal eyes bent upon her. Somehow Davidhad the feeling that she was battling against the impulse to turn inresponse to the hypnotic command. 

He hung back, biding his time, until the party had disappeared insidethe ferry building. Then he hastened toward one of the exits, intenton securing a cab. He had made up his mind not to accost them; hewould not present himself unexpectedly at a time and place whenembarrassment to them might be the result. 

From somewhere at the edge of the crowd a thin, sardonic voice calledout to him:

"So long, David. You know how it feels yourself now, don't you?" Heknew who the speaker was without looking. 

Mrs. Braddock was standing at the counter of the telegraph office nearone of the street doors. He did not see her until he was almost uponher. She was alone and engaged in writing out a telegram. His planswere altered in an instant. A moment later, he was at her side, hisface flushed and eager. 

For many seconds she stared wonderingly into his smiling eyes. Beforeuttering a word she glanced at the message she had finished and wasabout to hand it to the clerk; then her gaze returned to his face. 

"David Jenison, " she said, and there was something like awe in hervoice, "is it really you? How strange--how very strange!"

"I'm not a ghost, " he cried. "You look at me as if I had crept out ofmy grave. "

She looked again at the telegram. "Why, David, " she began falteringly. Then her face cleared. A glad smile broke over it, and both her handswere extended. "It really _is_ you? I am not seeing visions? Yes, youare flesh and blood! You dear, dear David! I am _so_ glad to see you. How does it happen that you are here? Where do you come from and--" Shewent on with the eagerness of a child, asking more questions than hecould remember, much less answer. "And how wonderfully you have grownup!"

"I have seen Christine, " he said eagerly. "She is perfection--she ismarvelous. "

"Seen her? Where? But we cannot talk here. We must have hours andhours all by ourselves. Come to my father's house to-night. We areliving with him, you know. There is so much that we have to tell eachother--all that has happened in the five long years. "

"I am here solely to remind you that the five years are ended, Mrs. Braddock. Mahomet has come to the mountain, you see. "

Her face clouded. She glanced quickly through the window. His gazefollowed hers. Christine and young Stanfield were driving awaytogether in a hansom. He read her thoughts. "I'll take my chances, " heremarked confidently. 

"I know that she has not forgotten, David, " she said after a moment ofdeliberation, "but--well, I will be frank with you. She has suddenlyshot past my comprehension. It is the privilege of a girl to changeher mind, you know, when she changes the length of her frocks. "

"You haven't changed, have you?" he asked bluntly. She stared. "I?"

"I mean, you are still my champion?"

"Of course, " she replied readily. "

"Then, as I said before, I'll take my chances with the rest. I'll nothold her to that girlhood bargain. That would be unfair. But, ifyou'll permit me, I'll go in and win her as she is to-day--if I can. "

She smiled at his ardor. "I hope you may win, David. But you must winfor yourself. Do not look to me for help. She must decide forherself. "

He did not refer to the young man who had taken her away in the cab. Mrs. Braddock noted this and was not slow to divine the well-bredrestraint that lay behind the omission. 

"That was young Stanfield, " she observed. "He is delightful. My fatheris devoted to him, "

David smiled. "I hope to have the pleasure of meeting him soon. "

"You may meet to-night. "

If she expected to see a trace of annoyance in his face, she wasdisappointed. He gracefully confessed his interest in the prospectivemeeting. 

"I shall be more than delighted to come, " he said. 

"And I am glad he will be there to engage Christine's attention whileI devote myself to you, Mrs. Braddock. "

"You nice boy!"

She extended her hand. "I must not keep my father waiting out there. You don't know how glad I am that you are here, David. " Suddenly awave of red mounted to her cheek; an expression of utter loathing cameinto her deep eyes. In some alarm he glanced over his shoulder. 

Colonel Grand was standing at the door through which she would have topass. He was not looking at her, but his motive in placing himselfthere was only too plain. 

"Confound him!" involuntarily fell from David's lips. 

"If he dares to address me--" she began, her face going white. "David, I have not seen that man since the day I left the show. Why is he hereto-day? Is it to annoy--to torment me in--"

"He won't do that, " announced David firmly. 

"I have a strange foreboding, David, --of evil, of something dreadful. Perhaps it is due to the unexpected sight of--his horrid face. I--"

"That's it, " said he promptly. Nevertheless, a slight chill enteredhis heart. There was Tom Braddock to be considered. "I'll come earlyto-night, if I may, " he said, more soberly than he meant. "There aresome very important things to discuss. Now I'll take you to yourcarriage. "

During their talk she had absently folded the telegram. He observed itin her hand and said:

"The telegram--don't forget that, Mrs. Braddock. "

Her smile was enigmatic. With a diverted smile for the waiting clerkshe said: "I shall not send it, after all. "

David walked with her to the door. They passed so close to ColonelGrand that David's elbow touched his arm, but neither of them lookedat him. She hastily entered the waiting carriage, a sort of panicovertaking her. 

Thrusting the crumpled bit of paper into David's hand, her eyessteadfastly held against the impulse to look at the satiric figure inthe doorway, she said in a half-whisper:

"Take it, David--and come to-night. "

He stood there with his hat in his hand as the carriage drove off, sorely perplexed by her action. Suddenly a light broke in upon hisunderstanding. He spread out the small sheet and read:

"The five years have passed. I redeem my promise. You are not obligedto keep yours, however. " It was signed "Mary Braddock. "

Colonel Grand was smiling sardonically in the doorway. 

CHAPTER V

THE LOVE THAT WAS STAUNCH

"I shall depend on you, David, to bring my husband here to see me. Search for him until you find him. "

The white-faced, distressed woman said this to David Jenison a fewhours later in the Portman library. They sat alone in the half-light. Stanfield's married sister had taken Christine off earlier in theevening, to a concert. Mrs. Braddock, in a spirit of whimsicality, forbore mentioning the appearance of David to the girl, planning tosurprise her when she returned from the concert. If David wasdisappointed at not finding her, he went to considerable pains to hidethe fact from the mother. As a matter of fact he was secretlyrelieved, strange as it may seem, after the first shock ofdisappointment. Christine's absence was providential, after all. Hehad ugly news for Mrs. Braddock; he could wait on the opportunity tosee Christine, but what he had to say to the mother could not be putoff for a moment. 

He had gone at once to his room in the hotel after leaving Mrs. Braddock at the ferry. He was startled almost out of his boots by thediscovery that Dick Cronk was there ahead of him, calmly occupying theeasiest chair and reading the evening paper. A skeleton key hadprovided the means of admission to the room; a brave heart and cunningbrain did the rest. 

Dick's news created great unrest in David's breast. Braddock, itappeared, had gone, early in the afternoon, to the apartment hotel inwhich Grand lived. Fortunately the Colonel was not about the place. Dick, on missing the ex-convict, had hurried at once to Grand's hotel, finding his man there, seated in the small lobby, a sinister exampleof respectability, waiting patiently for the return of his enemy. Theself-appointed guardian coaxed him away from the place, conducting himto the cheap, ill-favored thieves' lodging-house where he had taken asingle room for temporary occupancy. Braddock, after a show ofobduracy, finally had consented to make an effort to see his wifebefore visiting his wrath upon Colonel Grand. 

Dick informed David: "He's set on doing something nasty, kid, that'sall there is to it. He _won't_ be turned aside. Those years in the penhave put something into his backbone that never was there before. MaybeMrs. Braddock can talk him out of it, but I dunno. She always hadinfluence over him, but that was before he took to getting tight. It'sdifferent now. If we can't do anything else we'll have to warn Grand, that's all. I hate to do it, but--I guess it's the only way left. "

For the first time in their acquaintance David saw Dick lose controlof himself. His face was convulsed by an expression so violent thatthe Virginian drew back in alarm. 

"David, I hate the sight o' that man. I'd go to hell to-morrow if Ithought I could have a place where I could look on and see him burnforever. I never see him now without wanting to stamp that face of histo jelly. It's growing on me, too. Oh, to kick that white, putty faceuntil there was nothing left of it! I'd give--" But David had graspedhis arm, to shake him out of his frenzy, speaking to him all thewhile. He grew calm as abruptly as he had gone to the other extreme. His brow was moist, but the old, quizzical smile beamed beneath it. "I'm going on like a crazy man, ain't I? Well, forget it, kid. I'm offmy nut, I guess. Get back to business. You got to fix it up with herto see Brad. " He paused and eyed David's face narrowly. "Say, are youstill worryin' about what I said about trampin' on his face?"

David had cause afterward to recall the ugly sensation that thisextraordinary burst of rage created in his mind. 

Before leaving, Dick announced that he was eager to start West toconnect with Barnum's circus, complaining of the unprofitable idlenessthat had been forced upon him. He expressed the confident hope thatBraddock might be persuaded to leave with him. 

"I can't afford to be loafin' around New York this season of theyear, " he reflected in the most _degage_ manner imaginable. "It'sexpensive, the way Ernie and me are living nowadays. I got to get outand round up the rubes. Now, kid, don't preach. Oh, by the way, hasJoey told you the good luck that's happened to Ruby? Going to marryBen Thompson, a newspaper man. I'm mighty glad she's gettin' a chaplike him, and not one of them rotten guys that hang around the op'ryhouses. She's--she's a fine girl, Davy--a plum' daisy. "

Jenison once more impulsively offered to provide a refuge andemployment for life on his plantation for the delectable scalawag, butDick laughed at him in fine scorn. He departed a few minutes later, sauntering down the hall with a complacency that fairly scoffed athouse detectives and their ilk. 

David went to the Portman home in a state of suppressed eagerness andanxiety, one emotion topping the other by turns as he was being driventoward Washington Square. He expected to see Christine. He wascounting on it with all the pent-up fervor of a long-denied lover. Thebrief glimpse he had had of her in the afternoon drove out all doubtsas to his own state of mind concerning her. She was incomparablybeautiful; she had the air of the high-bred; she was worthy of theattentions of the well-born; she possessed poise, manner--all that andmore: the indefinable charm that radiates in some mysterious way fromthe superlatively healthy. 

His admiration for her, instead of suffering the shock that might havebeen anticipated--and which was secretly dreaded, to be quite candid--had grown more intense under the test. What would be her attitudetoward him? That was the question. What had the five years and newenvironment done for her?

Eager as he was to discover the state of her feelings, he recognized, however, the more pressing matters that were to be considered. Thepeace and welfare of the girl herself demanded his first thoughts, hismost devoted efforts. Tragedy stalked close beside her. He was afraidto think how close it was, or when it would make its ugly presencefelt. 

He lost no time, therefore, in apprising Mary Braddock of the truestate of affairs. She sat before him, a great dread in her dark eyes, the pallor of helplessness on her cheek, listening to the direful talehe told. He did not make the mistake of minimizing the situation. Hespared her not the details, nor softened the stubborn facts. Asclearly as possible he drew for her the picture of Thomas Braddock ashe had seen him. He repeated faithfully all that Dick Cronk and theNoakeses had told him, neglecting no particular in the known historyof her husband since the old circus days. 

She was very still and tense. Her eyes never left his face while hewas speaking, except once when she looked toward the door in responseto a sound that led her to believe that Christine was returning. Therewere times when he imagined that she was not breathing. After thefirst few minutes she asked no questions, but mutely absorbed thestory as it fell from his lips. The light of joy and gladness in hereyes that had been his welcome was gone now. In its place was the darkgleam of dread and anxiety. 

She interrupted him once, to ask him to tell her again how Braddocklooked and how he had acted. As he repeated the description, herperplexed, even doubting, expression caused him to hesitate, but sheshook her head as if putting something out of her mind and signifiedthat he was to proceed. 

"I would not have known him, " he concluded, "he was so unlike the manI knew. "

"He had not touched whiskey, you say--not since--"

"Not in three years. It has wrought an unbelievable change in him. "

"I knew him, David, before he drank at all, " she said, staring pasthim. "Perhaps the change would not be so great to me. "

"He has aged many years. There are hard, desperate lines in his face. You _would_ see a change, I am afraid, Mrs. Braddock. "

She was silent for a moment. "Go on, David, " she said, suddenlypassing her hand before her eyes in a movement as expressive as it wasinvoluntary. "Dick Cronk has a certain amount of influence over him, you say. "

"It will not last. When Colonel Grand hears that he is back in townhis first step will be to have him thrown into jail on one pretext oranother. Braddock realizes this. He has made up his mind to strikefirst. I think he believes in you, Mrs. Braddock--in fact, I am surehe does. I know he loves Christine. But he hates Colonel Grand evenmore than he loves her or--you. He--"

"Oh, he does not love me, David. You need not hesitate, " she saiddrearily. 

"As I have already said, he gave Dick a half-promise that he would tryto see you. He has two questions he intends to ask, I believe. Ithink, Mrs. Braddock, you will be doing a very wise thing if you seehim--of your own free will. He will probably insist on seeing you inany event--even in the face of opposition. You can avoid a great dealof trouble by--well, by not barring him out. I know how it mustdistress you. I wish I could take all the worry, all the trouble offyour shoulders. But there would be only one way in which I could doit--and that would be a desperate one. "

It was then that she laid her trembling, icy hand on his, and said, "Search for him until you find him. "

David hesitated a moment before putting his next question. It touchedon a very tender subject. 

"Have you thought of divorcing him?"

"No, David, " she said quietly. "I made my bed years ago, as Joey wouldsay. Tom is Christine's father. He is my husband. You may well say, God help both of us. But, David, while I cannot live with him, Iintend to remain his wife to the end. I am ready to promise anythingto him if he will go away. I will give him all of the money I receivedfor my share of the hateful business. He must accept it quietly, sanely. It is for _her_ sake, and he must be made to see it. Theworld knows that I ran away to be married, but it has forgotten thecircumstances. The general belief is that my husband died years andyears ago, and that I have lived abroad ever since. There is one thingto his credit, David. I shall not forget it. When he was arrested, hethought of Christine and--and--well, he gave an assumed name, analias, to the police. Colonel Grand kept his own silence, and foryears he has held this over me as a threat. I have had many lettersfrom him, believe me. Christine is no longer the little, unheard-ofcircus rider. She is--well, she is a _personage_. Do you understand?"

He nodded his head. She went on hurriedly. 

"Tell Tom I _want_ to see him. Tell him I am ready to discusseverything with him. Tell him that nothing must happen that can injureher. "

"He may insist on seeing--her. "

"She does not know that he has been in prison, " she said miserably. 

"But if he should insist?"

"I should have to prepare her, David. She knows that he is alive--but--Listen, David!" She leaned forward to give emphasis to her words. "Ifhe comes to her now with the story of his--his wrongs, of hissufferings, she will forget all that has gone before. Her heart istender. I am afraid of the stand she may take--and she may compel meto take it with her. "

"I'll do all that I can, Mrs. Braddock, to--" he began. The sound ofvoices in the vestibule came to them at that moment. Good nights werebeing called from the steps to the street below. Then the door wasopened and closed quickly. Some one came rapidly down the hall. Therewas a swift rustling of skirts, the low humming of an air from"Pinafore. " David was on his feet in an instant, visibly excited bythe impending encounter. 

Christine came into the library. She was half-way across the roombefore she realized that the tall young man beside her mother was astranger... She stopped. Her questioning gaze lingered on his face. His smile puzzled her. Her eyes narrowed, then suddenly they weredistended; her lips parted in amazement, tremulously struggling into asmile of wonder and unbelief. No one had spoken. 

"It--it is David, " she said, a quaver of breathlessness in the softtones. 

He sprang forward, his hands extended. 

"Yes, " he cried, transported by the new aspect of loveliness. 

She stood straight and slim before him, still unbelieving. Slowly herhands were lifted to meet his, as if impelled by a power not her own. He clasped them; they were cold. Something in their limpunresponsiveness chilled him as if he had been touched by ice. Hegently released them and drew back, dismayed within himself. 

"Why--why didn't you tell me, mamma?" she cried, the flutter in hervoice increasing. A swift wave of color rushed to her cheeks. Shesuddenly held out her hands to him again, an eagerness in the actionthat caught him unawares and lifted his spirits to dizzy heights. "Oh, I am so glad--so glad to see you, David, " she cried. Her firm littlehands were warm now, and trembling. 

"Christine, " he half whispered, "are you--are you truly glad to seeme? Do you mean it?"

She was looking straight into his eyes. In her own glowed a darkappeal; she seemed to be delving in the secret recesses of his heart. 

"David, " she cried, forgetful of everything else in the world, "doesit mean that you--you still care for me? You haven't changed? I havebeen wondering--oh, how I have been--"

The plaintive note drove all doubt from his mind. He was suddenlyexalted. Speech was beyond him. His dream had come true. She wasincomparably fairer than his waking hours had pictured her during thefive years of probation; only in fond dreams had she appeared to himas she now appeared in reality. He could only look down into her face, mute under the seal of wonder. All that he had longed for and prayedfor was here revealed to him; he could have asked for no more. He wentsuddenly weak with joy. 

"My little Christine, " he murmured. 

"I have been so afraid, " she was saying, still searching his soulthrough his eyes. "I am still afraid, David. It has been a long time. So many things may have happened. We were such young, foolish things. Oh, David, you don't know how I have worked and planned and striven tomake myself what you would like, if you were ever to come to see meagain. I--"

"You are perfect--you are divine!" he cried, all the passion of hissoul ringing in the tender words. "I can't believe it! You reallycare, Christine? You have not changed? It has always been the samewith you?"

"Changed, David, " she whispered, her lip trembling, a sudden mistswimming in her sweet young eyes. "Changed?"

"You _do_ love me? I am not dreaming? It is really _you?_"

She suddenly lowered her eyes, the warm flush spreading to her throat, her neck, her ears. She caught her breath in a half-sob. 

[Illustration: Her lips parted in amazement, tremulously strugglinginto a smile of wonder and unbelief]

Both had forgotten the tall woman who stood over there by the window, her hands clasped, her heart in the eyes that looked upon them. Theydid not see the beatific smile that came to her colorless lips. Norwere they aware of the fact that she turned away, to gently draw asidethe curtain that she might look out, unseeing, upon the gloom of thenight beyond. 

He quickly lifted the girl's hands to his feverish lips. There he heldthem for many minutes while he steadied his rioting senses, regainingcontrol of his nerves. He looked down upon the dark, soft hair andworshiped. A red rose rested there. He bent over and kissed her hair--and the rose. 

Then she looked up. 

"I do love you, David, " she said softly, "are you--are you sure thatyou--Oh, David, are you sure?"

For answer, his eager arm stole over her shoulder and she was drawnclose to his breast. She raised her lips to greet the kiss. Her littlehand clutched his with a sudden convulsive ecstasy. He felt the warm, quick breathing--and then their lips met. 

"I am very sure, " he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. "Therenever has been a minute in which I was not sure, Christine, mydarling. "

"You have forgotten--you can overlook those old days when I was LittleStarbright?" she whispered wonderingly. "They will make no difference--now?"

"I loved you then. You and I and my love have grown older and strongerand dearer with the years that have--"

She broke away from him, putting her hands to her cheeks in prettyconfusion. Her eyes were shining brightly as she looked beyond him. 

"Oh, mother! I--I forgot that you were there. I forgot everything. "She ran to her mother and buried her face on her shoulder. "I told youit would come true, mother. I knew it would. Oh, I am so happy! Have Ibeen ridiculous? Have I been silly, mother?"

It was the ecstatic David who reassured her on that point. In hisunbounded joy he rushed over and enveloped the two of them in hislong, eager arms. 

Later on, after Mrs. Braddock had gone to her father's room, he satwith Christine on the low, deep sofa under the bookshelf gallery. Herhands were clasped in his. They had but little to say to each other inwords. Their eyes spoke the thoughts that surged up from theirreunited hearts. She had thrown aside the light, filmy wrap, and thesweet, velvety skin of her neck and shoulders gleamed in the softlight; her perfectly modeled, strong young arms were as clear andwhite as marble. 

He was lost in admiration--in marveling admiration. For long stretchesat a time he permitted himself to fall into silent, rapt contemplationof this perfected bit of womanhood. Every childish feature that heremembered so well had been subtly vignetted by the soft touch ofnature; he was sensing for the first time the vast distinction betweenfifteen and twenty--the distinction without the difference; for shewas the same Christine, after all. It was unbelievable. A delicate bitof magic was being performed before his very eyes; the slim, girlishsweetheart of other days was being effaced. The soft, insinuatingloveliness of young womanhood, with all its grace, all its charms, wasbeing revealed to him as if by some wonderful process in photography--new shades, new lights, new tints, all ineffably joyous in tone. Hecould not remember that her hair was so soft and wavy at the temples, nor had it ever seemed to caress her ears so adorably. Why was it thathe had never noticed the delicate arch of her eyebrows? Why had hefailed to see the limpid sweetness in her eyes? And her hair, too, seemed to cling differently above the slim, round neck. What magicsculptor had chiseled her lips into their present form? Her chin; hernose; her broad, white brow--why had he never observed them before?And what was this strange, new light in the dark eyes? This look thatwas no longer childish, no longer inquisitive, but steady withunderstanding!

The girl of fifteen was gone. This was the perfect, well-blown humanflower, the woman. The woman! Slender, beautifully molded, sinuous, incomparably fine--the woman! He closed his eyes in sudden subjectionto that thing called rapture. He held her close, strained to his owntriumphant, vigorous body. She was his! The woman! Ah, it _was_different!

"How beautiful--how wonderful you are, Christine, " he whispered. "Ican't believe that you are _my_ Christine. "

She could only smile her confirmation. No words could have told soclearly the sensuous delight that stilled her tongue. There was joy inher soft breathing, in the gently spreading nostrils, in the half-closed eyes. She was experiencing the unspeakable thrill that comesbut once in the dream of love. 

When he spoke, at uneven intervals, his voice was husky with thepassion that consumed him. 

Once he was saying: "It is too good to be true. I came unbidden, determined to learn how I stood with you. I could not wait. When I sawyou to-day, I said to myself that you had grown away from me. I toldmyself I should have to win you all over again. You seemedunapproachable. You were so wonderful, Christine--so utterly beyondanything I had expected to find. I was alarmed, I was actuallydismayed. But I told myself that I would win you; I would begin allover again and I--"

"You saw me to-day?" she interrupted in surprise. "Where?"

"I was waiting for you at the station--far back in the crowd. I wantedto see you in that way first. Your mother and I met there. She did nottell you. She asked me to come to-night, but she was careful to giveme no hope. You will never know the doubts and fears that have besetme all this long evening. And then you came in. I was dazed. I was alla-tremble. And then to find that--that I had had all my fears fornothing! Why--why, I could have died for joy! You did not hesitate. You swept me off my feet. When you kissed me, Christine, I--I--it wasas if night had turned to day in--"

"I have gone on loving you, David, from the beginning. There never hasbeen a moment in which I have ceased to do so. Ah, you had nothing tofear. But I! Oh, my dear one, I was never free from doubt--never quitecertain. You were so far above me that I--"

"Don't say that!"

"That I was sure you would not take our--our love dream seriously. When you came to be a man, with all that manhood meant to you, I feltsomehow that you would forget the little circus girl who--"

He kissed her. Then she was silent for a long time. 

"Your mother was telegraphing me to-day to come, " he said after atime. "Did you know that she intended to do so?"

"No. I only knew that she would do it--soon. She had promised--both ofus, you know. "

"Have you never asked her to send me the message?"

"Never! How could I? I would not have held you to the compact. Norwould she. "

"And have you not told her that you cared for me all these years?Didn't she know?"

"Listen, David, " she said seriously. "My mother has never spoken ofour compact. She did nothing to influence me. She was content to lettime take its course--and nature, too. Ah, how wise she is! But allthis time I have been conscious of a strange feeling that she wasmaking me over anew with but one object in view. She wanted me to beall that you could expect, demand, exact, if you were to come some dayto--to look me over, to see if I was--was worth the effort. Yes, David, she prepared me against this day. She worked with me, sheplanned, she denied herself everything to give me all that you mightwish for in a--"

"My dear, you had everything to begin with, " he began gallantly, butshe checked him with a shake of her head. 

"No, I did not. True, I had not been brought up as other circuschildren were. But I had a point of view that required years oftraining to destroy. We won't speak of my father. I don't like tothink of him. David, as we used to know him, you and I. There was atime when he was different--and I loved him. But that was long before. I--I think he has gone out of my life altogether. "

David realized then and there that she should not be kept in the darkregarding her father's whereabouts and designs. She was sensible, shewas made of strong timber. She could face the conditions, no matterwhat they proved to be. 

The thought was responsible for the irrelevant remark that followed. "I must have a word or two with Mrs. Braddock before I leave to-night. "

She looked up quickly. "A word concerning--you and me?" she asked. 

"Yes. "

Her eyes were lowered again, this time with some of the life gone fromthem. A shadow crossed her face. 

"David, " she said, "I trust you, I know you are staunch and true. But, dear, are you considering well? Are you sure that you will neverregret--this? No, don't speak yet, please. We must be frank with eachother. I am not a silly, romantic girl, believe me. I have faced andcan still face the real things of life. You are not driving yourselfto forget or to overlook all the conditions that surround me, are you?I was a rider. My father was a rider. Oh, you are going to say that mymother was different. But what has that to do with it? What does itmatter that she has brought me here, to this home of plenty and ofrespectability and--well, let us say it, of position. I am thegranddaughter of Albert Portman. That may stand for something--yes, it_does_ stand for a great deal. But do not forget, David, dear, that Iam the daughter of Tom Braddock. I am the granddaughter of old StephenBraddock, who was a--a--"

"Don't say it, dearest! Why should you be saying all this to me? You, an angel among--"

"I must, David, " she went on resolutely. "You have come here to ask meto be your wife--to hold me to a promise. You must think all this outin time, David. Please don't laugh in that scornful way. It hurts. Iam very serious. Your friends, your people, will welcome me gladly asthe granddaughter of Albert Portman, but will they take me, can theyaccept me, as the granddaughter of Stephen Braddock? As the product ofa fashionable convent they may rejoice in me, but as the pupil of thesawdust ring, --as Little Starbright, a thing of spangles! Ah! Howabout that side of me? Who were my childhood friends and associates?Don't misjudge me. I loved them all--I love them now. They were thebest friends and the truest. But could they ever be the friends ofyour friends?"

"They are _my_ friends, " he said simply, struck by her earnestness. "Are you forgetting what they meant to me in the old days? And what wasI? A fugitive with a price on my head. A--"

"Ah, but you were different--you always had been different. You were aJenison. What are you going to say when some one--and there alwayswill be the miserable some one--reminds you that he saw your wife whenshe was Little Starbright? What--"

"Don't look so miserable, Christine! If any one says that to me Ishall congratulate him. "

"Congrat--Oh, do be serious! It doesn't matter what I am to-day, David;it's what I was such a little while ago. I am not trying to belittlemyself. _I_ am proud of what I am. Don't misunderstand me. I am aPortman! _Her_ blood is in me--her mind, her soul. But I am not allPortman. Suppose, David--suppose that my father were to come back someday. We know what he is--what he was. Perhaps the world may haveforgotten, but suppose that he reminds the world of the fact that he ismy father--"

"Christine! You are working yourself into a dreadful state over allthis--"

"Am I not calm? Am I excited? No; you see I am not. "

"Dearest, I want you to be my wife. You urge me to think in time. Haven't I thought it all out? What more is there for me to thinkabout, save my love for you? You are not presenting new conditions tome, sweetheart. They are old ones. I do not intend that either of usshall sail under false colors. When you go to Jenison Hall as my wife, it shall also be as the daughter of Thomas Braddock, the showman. "

"But, David, he may have fallen so low--he may have sunk to the verylowest--oh, you must understand. We have heard nothing from him. Wedon't know where he is, nor what his life has been. Suppose--oh, Ican't bear to think of it. "

He put his hands on her cheeks and turned her face so that he couldlook squarely into her eyes. He saw the trouble there, the agony ofdoubt. 

"Look at me, Christine, " he said gently. The light in his eyes heldher. "It doesn't matter what he was, what he is or what he may become. I love you, as I have always loved you. You are going to be my wife. That is the end of it all. "

His heart was sinking, however, under the weight of the thing he knew, the thing she was yet to know. He would have given all he possessed inthe world for the power to shield her from the blow that was yet tofall. 

There came swiftly to mind the hazy, indistinct interior of adressing-tent, with its mysterious lights and strange people, just asit had appeared to him on that first, never-to-be-forgotten night. Hefelt himself again emerging from that state of insensibility to lookupon the queer, unfamiliar things that were to become quite real tohim. And out of the phantasmalian group of objects there grew a singleslim, well-remembered figure in red, to dazzle him with her strange, unexpected beauty, and to soothe him with an unspoken faith that beganthen and had not yet faltered in her lovely eyes. She had given himfood. She had said he was no thief. It all came back to him. He hadlooked upon her as an angel then--a strange, unfamiliar angel in thegarb she wore, but an angel, just the same. 

Now he knew that love began with the first glimpse he had of her. Itwas as if she had been revealed to him in a vision. His mind sweptalong over the rough days that followed. He saw her again in the ring, in the dressing-tent--everywhere. Then there was that night under thegrocer's awning--that sweetest of all nights in his life!

And now she was here, with him again, but amidst vastly differentsurroundings. She was here, and she would need him now as he hadneeded her then. It was for him now to present himself as the bulwarkbetween her and the fickle, disdainful world of which she had become apart. She was no longer the self-reliant, petted creature of thecircus, where environment and adversity formed a training-school fordisaster, but a delicate, refined flower set out in a new soil tothrive or wither as the winds of prejudice blow. In the other days shecould have laughed with glee at the vagaries of that self-same wind, but now, ah, now it was different. She was not Little Starbright. 

He drew her closer. She trembled in the clasp of his arms. Her firm, full young breast rose and fell in quick response to the drivingheart-beats. Again his thoughts shot back to the prophetic, perfectfigure of the girl at fifteen. He fought off a certain delicious, overpowering intoxication, and forced himself to a bewilderedcontemplation of her present powers of resistance to the hard problemsof life. She was strong of body, strong of heart, strong of spirit, but was she strongly fortified with the endurance that must standunshaken through a period of sorrow and shame and--disgrace?

Again he looked into her half-closed eyes. He saw there the sereneintegrity of Mary Braddock; the light of that woman's character wasstrongly entrenched in the soul of Christine Braddock. He experienceda sudden sense of relief, of comfort. She was made of the flesh andspirit that endures. Product was she of Thomas Braddock in hisphysically honest days, and of Mary, his wife, in whose veins flowedthe strain of a refinement elementally so pure that the bitterestthings in life had proved incapable of destroying a single drop of itssweetness. 

"What are you thinking of, David?" she asked, impressed by the look inhis eyes and the unconscious nodding of his head. 

"Of you, " he said, catching himself up quickly. "Always of you, dearest. "

"You were thinking of what I said to you a moment ago, " she saidsteadily. 

"Yes, " he agreed, "and of what you said to me five years ago. "

Soon afterward he prepared to depart. She ran upstairs to tell hermother that he wanted to see her. She had kissed him good night. Hedid not see her again. Later on, she stood straight and tense, in thecenter of her bedroom floor, her hands to her breast, waiting for hermother's return. Vaguely she felt that something harsh and bitter wasto be made known to her before she slept that night. 

In lowered tones David Jenison was saying to Mary Braddock: "She mustbe told everything to-night. It isn't safe to put it off. She isstrong and she knows that I am staunch. Nothing else should matter. Wedon't know what to-morrow may bring, but she must be as fully preparedfor the worst as we are. It isn't fair to her. Tell her everything. "

"Yes, " she said steadily. "And you will try to find him to-night?"

"I will, " he said. 

CHAPTER VI

DOOR-STEPS

David hurried off toward the car-line, bent on reaching Joey's homebefore that worthy retired for the night. 

At the top of a flight of stone steps leading to the doors of animposing mansion across the street from the Portman home a motionlessfigure sat, as bleak as the shadows in which it was shrouded. Like amalevolent gargoyle it glowered out upon the deserted street; a tense, immovable chin rested in a pair of clenched hands, knees supportingthe elbows. This desolate, forbidding figure had been there for anhour or more--ever since Christine's return from the concert. Not oncewere the burning eyes removed from the lighted windows across the way. At last, long after the footsteps of the anxious Virginian had diedaway in the night, and the lights were extinguished in the houseopposite, the silent watcher moved for the first time. Slowly he cameto his feet, his eyes still upon the solitary window in which a lighthad lingered long after all the others were gone. 

"Well, they're through discussing me, " muttered Tom Braddock, thinkingaloud. Shivering, as if from a mighty chill, although the night waswarm, he stalked down from his perch and went swiftly up the street, agaunt, broad-shouldered figure whose step seemed to suggest purposemore than stealth. 

As he slunk past the approach to a basement hard-by, a stealthy figureslipped out from the recess and kept pace with him, not twenty feetbehind. A block farther up the street this second watcher quickenedhis pace. He came alongside the man ahead. 

"Hello, Brad, " fell upon the ears of the stalked. He betrayed nosurprise, no sign of alarm. He did not check his pace, nor lookaround. 

"Confound you, Dick, " he said, as if pronouncing sentence, "if youdon't quit dogging me like this I'll kill you, so help me God. "

"You might have known I'd be somewhere around, " said the otherquietly. They were now side by side, gaunt, slouching figures, both ofthem. 

"I thought I'd given you the slip. "

"Umph, " was the expressive comment. 

"What did you follow me over here to-night for?" demanded Braddockfiercely, after thirty steps. 

"You know why, Brad. Don't ask. "

"This is my affair, " went on the big man. "I was doing no harm, sitting across there. Can't a man sneak off for a single look at hisown child--in the dark, at that--without being hounded by--Say, youmust stop dogging me, d' you hear? I'm not a rat. I'm a human being. I've got feelings. I wanted to have a look at her. She's my girl and--"

"Not so loud, Brad. Remember who you are with. You are in bad company, old man. Don't draw attention to the fact. Take a word of advice fromme. Keep away from that house. Don't--"

"I don't want to hear anything more out of you, " grated Braddock. "Iknow what I'm doing. I'm living up to my promise, ain't I? Didn't Isay I'd see Mary before I--Say, " he broke off incontinently, histhoughts leaping backward, "that was my girl that said good night tothe swells back there--mine! Did you see how prettily she was dressed?Did you hear how sweet her voice was? I--I--" Something came up in theman's throat to cut off the words; and a long silence fell betweenthem. 

Not until they were turning into Fourth Avenue did Dick Cronk speakagain. Somehow he felt the emotion that struggled in the breast of theman beside him. For the first time in his life he was sorry for him. 

"Where are you going now, Tom?" he asked, knowing full well what thespiritless answer would be. 

"To that hell-hole of a place you call home, " said Braddock. Dickslipped his hand through the other's arm; they turned oft into one ofthe cross streets, wending their way through the sodden community, onewith his head erect, the other with his chin on his breast, his handsin his coat pockets. 

Half an hour later a cab stopped at a corner not far from a PellStreet intersection. Two men got down and picked their way through thevile street, searching out the house numbers as they progressed. Theypassed the all-night dives and brothels, whence came the sounds ofunrestrained and unrefined revelry, and came at last to a spot beneatha huge wooden boot that hung suspended above the door of the mostunholy structure in the narrow street. A man in his shirt sleeves satback in the shadow of the tumbledown stoop, smoking a pipe. At hisleft a narrow, black passage led down between two squalid buildings, one of which was dark, the other lighted so that the vicious revelerswithin might see and be seen. 

The uncertain, timorous actions of the strangers in Thieves' Alleybrought a fantastic smile to the lips of the smoker. He watched themas they looked up at the boot and compared notes in rather subduedtones. 

"This must be the place, " said one of the men. There was no mistakingthe note of disgust in his voice. 

"Looking for some one, gents?" demanded the smoker, without risingfrom the stool on which he sat leaning against the wall. 

"Is this No. 24--Hello! It's Dick!"

"Ain't you afraid to be seen down here, Joey?" asked the man on thestool, chuckling. 

"It's worth an honest man's life to be seen 'ere, " said Joey Noakes, in hushed tones. "God 'elp 'im as can't 'elp 'isself if he everstrolls in 'ere unawares. "

"It's rather late in the night for any one to be about, " said DickCronk. "Still, I've been expecting you, gents. That's why I'm sittingout here, takin' things easy--and makin' things easy for you. If youdon't mind I'll keep my seat, David. It ain't wise to be seenhobnobbin' with swell gents at this time o' night--in Hell's Kitchenparticularly. I know what you're here for. _He's_ back there asleep. Don't worry. I've got him safely sidetracked. "

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the narrow passage. The others looked down that filthy corridor and shuddered. 

"What a place!" muttered David Jenison. 

"Wot 'as Brad been up to to-night?" demanded Joey. 

Without changing his position, Dick Cronk, in as few words aspossible, told them of Braddock's vigil. 

"Don't hang around here a minute longer than you have to, " he said inconclusion. "There are a hundred eyes on you right now. You don't see'em, but they're looking, just the same. I thought you'd be blame'fools enough to come, so I waited up. Something told me you would goto Joey's when you left her, kid, and you'd make him come along tohunt me out. Brad's safe, and he's not going to do anything just yet. So go home and go to bed. I'll see you to-morrow and we'll arrange fora time when she can talk with him. She'll see him, won't she?"

"Of course. She is eager to see him. I am to bring him to her as soonas--"

"We've got to handle him carefully or--" began Dick. 

Joey interrupted him. "The devil's to pay in another direction, Dick, "he said. "Bob Grand 'as 'eard that Brad's out and that he's been'anging around his 'otel, nasty-like. Who should come to my 'ouse in acab at nine o'clock to-night but Bob Grand 'isself. He finds me alone, Ruby being off with 'er young man. When I sees who is coming up mysteps, I almost keels over. The first words he says took my breathaway. I was getting ready to kick 'im into the gutter when he puts acheck on my leg, curious-like, by remarking that he's looking for TomBraddock. He came to arsk me where he could be found. I told 'im Ididn't know, and, if I did, I'd be hanged if I'd tell 'im. We 'ad somepretty sharp words, you may believe. But he took all the impudence outof me by announcing most plainly that he understood Brad wanted tokill 'im and that I'd best 'ave a care how I acted, because my 'ousewas being watched by secret service men. There was a lot more, but I'aven't time to tell you. The upshot of it is, he's going to 'ave Bradnabbed and put where he can't do any 'arm. And, see 'ere, Dick, Idon't want to be mixed up in this business. You've got to get Brad outof town to-night. He's done for now and--"

Dick Cronk interrupted his old friend with a snarl of impatience. "Gethim away yourself! I'm doing the best I know how. He won't leave ofhis own free will. He's here to do that man and he won't be put off. And what's more, Bob Grand ought to get it good and hard. Somebodyought to spike him, and who's got a better right than Tom Braddock?I'm ashamed of you, Joey! If you'd been half a man you'd 'a' beat hishead off to-night when he put his foot on your doorstep, after what heput up to Ruby. I--I wish I'd been there!"

The bowl of the clay pipe dropped to the bricks. He literally hadground the stem in two with his teeth. 

"Go home now--both of you, " he said, a moment later, following his ownawkward laugh. "You can't afford to be seen here. I'll look out forBrad. The Colonel won't come here a-lookin' for him, you can bet yourlife on that. You'll hear from me to-morrow. Maybe you think I ain'tsick of this business? If it wasn't for you, Davy, I'd cut it in aminute and dig for the wooly West, where Mr. Barnum and Mr. Forepaughare dying for my society. Move along now! Don't block the sidewalk!Can't you see the ladies want to pass?"

Two maudlin women of the underworld lurched by, with coarse, ribaldcomments on the "swells. " David felt himself grow hot with shame anddisgust. After their laughter had died away he turned to the grinningDick. 

"But we must do something to-night--" he began imploringly. 

Dick lifted his hand. "Correct, " he said. "We must do some sleeping. "He strode to the mouth of the forbidding passage. A light from asaloon window shone out upon a long flight of rickety steps at thefarther end, leading up to the darkness above. "See that stairway?Well, I wouldn't advise you to follow me up there. It ain't a Romeoand Juliet balcony, gents. Good night!"

He turned into the passage with a wave of the hand. They saw him passup through the shaft of light from the window and disappear in theshadows. Then they hurried away from the foul place, almost running tothe cab at the corner. 

David did not sleep that night. He tossed on his bed, beset by thedirest anxiety and dread, his eyes wide open and staring. He dozed offat six, but was wide awake before seven, when he arose and partook ofa hurried, half-eaten breakfast. It was not likely that he would hearfrom Dick Cronk before the middle of the forenoon. Until then he wasto be harassed by doubts and fears that would not be easy to suppressin his present unquiet frame of mind. While he was obliged to standidle and impotent, the very foundation of all the future happiness ofthe girl he loved might be irreparably shattered. Silent, deadly, purposeful forces were working toward that end. Her mother would, nodoubt, prepare her in a way for the crash, but there always would bethe memory of the cruel blow that might have been prevented. 

He crossed into Madison Square, taking a seat where he could watch theentrance to his hotel, though the hour was so early that it seemedsheer folly to expect Dick Cronk. A dozen times in the first half-hourhe looked at his watch. Would the hands never reach nine o'clock? Heknew that Dick would make his approach slyly. Perhaps if he returnedto his room he would find him there. It would not be an unusualcircumstance, he recalled. 

Had Colonel Grand's detectives swooped down upon Tom Braddock? WasChristine's father already in jail? Was Grand in a position to hold anew club over the heads of the two women? Were the newspaperspreparing to revel in the great story--

He was in the midst of these direful questions when some one tappedhim lightly on the shoulder from behind. He turned and glanced upward, his nerves a-tingle. 

"Dick!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet. 

"Sit down!" commanded the pickpocket warily. 

David dropped to the bench, his eyes fastened on the white, drawn faceof the pickpocket. A thick, white bandage was wrapped around hisforehead, partially hidden by the slouch hat he wore. The man seemedfaint and unsteady on his feet. 

"I say, Dick, " cried David, " what has happened? You are hurt. Who--"

With a rigid grin Dick put his hand to his head. 

"Braddock, " he said succinctly. 

"You don't mean--Tell me what has happened? Wait! Do you require theattention of a surgeon?"

"Sit still, kid. I'm all right. You might pass me a quarter orsomething, just to make people think I'm boning you for a breakfast. Thanks! Well, Brad's gone. "

"Gone?"

"He cracked me good and hard, that's what he did. I told you hewouldn't be held down long. He's in no mood to be kind to them thatare trying to be kind to him. He's past all that. He means business, Brad does. This morning about six he got up. I was watchin' him. Hesaid he was going over to see his wife. He said he wanted to see herbefore Christine was awake, or out of bed. I told him they wouldn'tlet him in at that time of day. He said he'd get in or know the reasonwhy. Then he opened up on me about all of us trying to manage hisaffairs for him. I tried to quiet him. But the devil of it was he wasquiet enough. He was _too_ quiet. It looked bad. When he startedfor the door I took hold of him. He--well, he shoved me off. When Ijumped in front of the door he picked up a chair and let me have itover the head. I didn't know anything for a long time. When I came tohe was gone. Jimmie Parsons, who was in the room with us all the time, also tried to stop him after he biffed me. Jimmie's got two wonderfulblack eyes as a result. "

"The man must be insane!" cried David, aghast. Dick shook his head. "Not a bit of it. He's the sanest man I know. "

"Where has he gone? You said he started for Mrs. Braddock's? Greatheavens, Dick, he may do her bodily harm! He may have shot her down incold--"

"Easy, easy! He ain't likely to do anything like that until after he'sgot Bob Grand. "

"Then he will shoot Bob Grand this morning, mark my words. He--"

"He won't shoot anybody. He hasn't any gun. He says he don't need one. If he gets Grand, it won't be with a weapon of any kind. That's whathe says, and he means it. If Bob Grand dies from a bullet, you can betyour life it won't come from Tom Braddock. But all this can wait. Istopped off at Joey's. He sent Ruby down to Mr. Portman's at once, andhe's gone over to keep watch around the hotel where Grand stops. Thething for you to do is to make tracks for Portman's. I'm going to--"

But David did not wait to hear what Dick intended to do. He wasrushing off to hail a passing hansom. 

Dick followed him to the curb. "If you see Brad tell him there's nohard feelings, Davy. It was a dirty smash, but I deserve it for notducking. And say, be careful how you tackle him. Remember that thingabout wisdom being better than--what's the word? Nerve?"

The hansom turned and sped down Fifth Avenue with its nervouspassenger. Dick shook his head wearily. Then he smiled. From his coatpocket he slyly extracted a shining revolver. Three minutes before ithad been in David Jenison's pocket. "He's better off without a thinglike this, " mused the clever philosopher. 

Thomas Braddock rang the door-bell at the Portman home shortly aftereight o'clock. He was perfectly calm and in full possession ofhimself. A brisk manservant opened the door and faced the strangecaller. 

"I want to see Mrs. Braddock, " said the man in the vestibule. 

"Call again, " said the servant curtly. 

"Just a minute, please, " said Braddock. He did not offer to resist theclosing of the door in his face. There was something in his tone, however, that caused the footman to hesitate. He took a second, surprised look at the gray, set face of the caller. 

"Mrs. Braddock is occupied, " he announced. 

"You mean she isn't up yet. I'll wait, " remarked Braddock, still veryquietly. The man stared hard at him, suddenly struck by the pallor ofhis face. His eyes swept the grim figure in the ill-fitting suit ofjeans. 

"What do you want? Can't you leave a message?"

"Want? I want to see her. " The footman glanced back over his shoulderas if searching for some one on whom he could shift an amazingresponsibility. Recalling his dignity, he essayed to close the door inBraddock's face. 

"I am her husband, " announced the caller, his hands still in hispockets. The servant's hand was stayed. 

"Won't you call again?" he temporized. "I don't quite understand. Itdon't go down very easy, I'll say that. At any rate, you can't see hernow, no matter who you are. She was up all night with Miss Braddock, who took sick suddenly. Mrs. Braddock has just laid down for a--"

"Christine sick?" demanded Braddock. The new note in his voicecommanded attention. "It--it can't be serious. She was all right whenshe came in last night. What's the matter with her? Speak up! Whatdoes the doctor say?"

"They didn't call a doctor. "

He was surprised to see the ominous glare fade from Braddock's eyes. They wavered and then fell. An uneasy, mirthless laugh cracked in histhroat; then his lip quivered ever so slightly--Brooks could havesworn to it. His hand shook as it went up to fumble the square chin inevident perplexity. For a moment Thomas Braddock stood there, reflecting, swayed by an emotion so unexpected that he was a long timein accounting for it. Indecision succeeded the arrogant assurance thathad marked his advances. He looked up quickly, suspecting the lie thatmight have been offered as an excuse to get rid of him. 

"Are you lying to me?" he demanded. 

"Sir!"

Braddock's mind, long acute, worked swiftly. He went back of theservant's statement with an intelligence that grasped the trueconditions quite as plainly as if they had been laid bare before him. Christine was ill. No physician had been called. He knew what theservant could not, by any chance, have known. He knew why MaryBraddock sat up with her daughter. A doctor? As if a doctor couldprescribe for the affliction that beset her! Too well he nowunderstood what had transpired in that upstairs room. A thing ofhorror had come to rack the soul of that happy, beautiful girl--hadcome suddenly because the time was ripe. She was suffering because_he_ was near! _He_ understood. 

A tense, bitter oath struggled through his lips. 

"Well, it's time she knew, " he muttered in self-justification. Impelled by a strange anxiety--perhaps it was apprehension--hestrained his eyes in the effort to penetrate the depths of theunfriendly hall at the servant's back. His ear seemed bent to catchthe sounds of sobs or moans that he knew must reach him if he listenedclosely. 

He again questioned the servant with his eyes, a long, intensescrutiny that confused the man. 

Then he turned away. 

"All right, " he said sullenly, putting his hands into his pockets oncemore and drawing up his shoulders as if he were cold. "I'll comeagain. Tell Mrs. Braddock I was here and that I'll be back in a coupleof hours. " Another glance through the half-open door, over thefootman's shoulder, and he stalked off, his jaw set, his handsclenched in the pockets of his coat. At the foot of the steps he shota quick, involuntary glance upward, taking in the second storywindows. The wondering servant looked after him until he turned thecorner below. 

Brooks had seen men with the prison pallor in their faces before. 

He was not long in apprising Mrs. Braddock of the stranger's visit. She was with Christine when he made the unhappy announcement. If heexpected a demonstration of concern or surprise, he was disappointed. 

"I will see Mr. Braddock when he returns, " said his mistress quietly. Brooks blinked two or three times, his only tribute to the stupendousshock he had experienced. 

Thomas Braddock walked to the Battery. There he sat down on one of thebenches and glowered out upon the blue waters of the bay for an houror more. No muscle moved in his face. He waited with a patience thatwas three years old. 

When David drove up to the Portman place, Mrs. Braddock herself arosefrom one of the chairs in the narrow stone porch at the top of thesteps. She, too, had been waiting, but not for the young man whodashed up the steps. 

"He has been here, " she said, as she gave him her hand. The tensenessof the clasp revealed the strain that was upon her. He noted thepallor in her cheek, the dread in her eyes. The hot glare of the Junesun seemed to bring out gray hairs he had never seen before. He hadnot thought of her as growing old until now. 

"Yes?" he cried anxiously. "Where is he? I tried to get here in time. Did he--"

"Sit down, David--here, please, behind the balustrade. I am waitingout here for him. He went off in that direction. I've been watchingfor nearly an hour. He is coming back. "

She resumed her chair, facing the direction which Braddock had taken. 

"You--you sent him away?"

"I did not see him. You must not think, David, that I am afraid to seehim. I am nervous, upset, but it really isn't fear. Christine--Christine knows everything. I told her last night. She is--well, youcan imagine, she is very unhappy. Everything looks black to her. I didnot hide anything. She is crushed. "

"Where is she? I must see her. I can comfort her, Mrs. Braddock. Letme see her before he comes back. " He was standing over her, his faceworking. 

"She will not see you, David, " she said in dull tones. He started. "What do you mean? She _must_ see me. " "Her father was in thepenitentiary. " That was all; but it told all there was to tell. 

It required a moment or two for comprehension. Then he cried outreproachfully: "Does she think that will make any difference in my--"

She held up her hand. "She knows it won't. That's what distresses her. I am afraid, David, after all, you have brought your honor to awretched market. We are what we are, we Braddocks. We can't lookbeyond our environment. You cannot marry a convict's daughter. It wasbad enough before. I should have seen all this. But I was blind onlyto her happiness. We can't--"

His jaws were set. "Mrs. Braddock, " he said, his voice quivering withdecision, "I am not going to be put off like this. You may as wellunderstand that, first and last. I love her. I want her. She loves me, thank God. It won't be so hard to make her understand how impossibleit is for anything to come between us. She is going to marry me, MaryBraddock. "

A great light leaped into her eyes, even as she shook her head. Thewords of protest she would have uttered failed to pass her lips. Shereached out as if to clasp his hand, a movement as involuntary as itwas instinctive. He had turned and was facing the closed portalsbehind which his heart's desire was beating all joy and hope out ofher poor tormented soul. The tears rushed to his eyes. 

"I can't stand it, " he cried. "She must hear the words _now_--this is the time for me to go to her and say that I love her betterthan all the world. Nothing else matters. "

In his eagerness he was starting for the door when a sharp cry fellfrom her lips. He hesitated, struck by the note of consternation inthe cry. 

A carriage had drawn up at the curb in front of the house. A faceappeared at the open window of the vehicle, a never-to-be-forgottenface that brought to mind the African gazelle in Van Slye's. 

David turned. For a moment he could not believe his eyes. He stoodrigid in the paralysis of stupefaction. Then a cold perspirationstarted from every pore of his body. He sprang to Mrs. Braddock'sside. She was even then peering down the street, a great fear in herheart, every fiber quivering with alarm. 

Colonel Grand was assisting his daughter to the sidewalk. Already hehad lifted his hat and sent a nauseous smile to the woman above. David's gaze followed hers in quest of a more sinister actor who mighteven then be coming upon the scene for the tragic climax. 

The young man recognized the necessity for quick action. ColonelGrand, whatever his motive for appearing so unexpectedly at thePortman house, must be turned away without ceremony or consideration. At any minute Thomas Braddock might return. A tragedy would be theresult; that was inevitable. 

David started down the steps, passing the rigid, staring woman at thetop. He was vaguely aware of Roberta Grand's bow and of the look ofannoyance in the Colonel's face. Half-way down he called out:

"Colonel Grand, you must not stay here--not a second longer. I willexplain if you will let me ride with you for a couple of blocks. "

Grand advanced. 

"Young man, " he said coldly, "I am here to see Mrs. Braddock on amatter of importance. You will do well to subside. "

David flushed angrily. "But Mrs. Braddock does not care to see you. She--"

Grand came on up the steps, ignoring Jenison, addressing himself toMary Braddock. 

"I have come to discuss Tom with you, Mary, " he said. She started atthe use of her name, a hot wave of anger rushing over her. 

"Go away!" she cried, in low, intense tones. "How dare you come here, Colonel Grand? Go!"

He stopped, raised his hat, shrugged his shoulders in a deprecatingmanner, and then quickly lifted his free hand to check the approach ofthe young man who was ominously near at hand. 

"I fancy it will be best for all concerned if we avoid tableaux. Still, I will go away if you see fit to send me--"

"I do see fit! Go!"

Roberta Grand was staring at the speaker from the bottom of the steps. 

"Don't haggle with her, father, " she cried venomously. "Bring her totime!"

"You have met my daughter, Mrs. Braddock?" said Grand in his mostsuave manner. "What are you looking at, Jenison?" he demanded, suddenly noting the young man's frozen stare, directed down thestreet. 

David passed his hand over his damp brow and turned to look helplesslyinto Mary Braddock's face. 

Tom Braddock was standing across the street at the corner below, clutching a lamp-post for support. He was staring with wide open eyesat the group on the steps. 

CHAPTER VII

TOM BRADDOCK'S PROMISE

She had seen Braddock turn the corner. Her eyes were closed now, as ifto shut out the disaster that must rush down upon them in the nextinstant; her thrumming ears waited for the sound of running footstepsand the crack of a revolver. David started up the steps toward her. 

"It will be best for you to hear what I have come to say, " observedGrand, ignorant of the peril that lay behind him. He resumed hisprogress up the steps, Roberta following close behind. 

"For Heaven's sake, man, go while you can, " cried David hoarsely. "Don't you see--"

"Mary, will you listen to me? We've got to come to an understandingconcerning Tom. He's in town. We must come to some agreement, you andI, as to whether a scandal is to follow his arrest--a scandal whichwill blast you and Christine forever in New--"

"Is there no way to stop him?" groaned Mary Braddock, opening her eyesto look again upon the sinister figure across the way. She had notheard a word of Colonel Grand's minacious overture. 

"By this time Braddock has been taken by the police, --as Sam Brafford, the ex-convict and yeggman. Is he to go up this time as the father ofChristine--"

David sprang to his side, seizing his right arm in a grip of iron. Inthe same movement he whirled the older man about and pointed towardthe figure at the corner. 

"It's Braddock!" he hissed. "Now we're in for it. By heaven, he oughtto kill you!"

"Braddock!" gasped Grand. "Why, he is in jail--" The words died on hislips. He recognized the man. His eyes bulged, his grayish face seemedto freeze stiff, with the lower lip and tongue hanging loose. 

Transfixed, he saw Thomas Braddock straighten up, relinquish his gripon the iron post, and start diagonally across the street, his headbent forward, his lower jaw extended. His unswerving gaze never leftthe face of Robert Grand. 

"Get into the carriage, Roberta, " shouted Grand, suddenly alive to hisperil. He trembled, but he was not the man to run from an adversary, nor was he likely to sell his life cheaply. With a quick, desperatetug, he jerked himself free of David's grasp. His hand flew to hisinside coat pocket. 

Thomas Braddock had reached the curb. Miss Grand stood directly in hispath, petrified by terror. Like a cat he sprang forward, cunninglyputting her body between him and Grand, making it impossible for thelatter to shoot without imperiling the life of his daughter. 

A revolver gleamed in the hand of the man on the steps. 

David's wits worked quickly. It may have been that he was inspired. Instead of attempting to grasp or disarm Colonel Grand, he decided tolet the situation take care of itself for the moment. Neither of themen could make a move to attack the other. 

"Here, I say!" gasped the Colonel. "He can shoot me down like a dog. Stop him, Jenison! Don't you see I can't protect myself?"

David took advantage of the knowledge that Braddock was unarmed. 

"Colonel Grand, " he cried out sharply, "if you attempt to kill thatman I'll see that you suffer for it. "

"But, damn it, he is here to kill me! I have the right to kill inself-defense if--"

"Then why doesn't he kill you? He has you in his power. He is not hereto attack you. That must be plain, even to you. Mr. Braddock has cometo see his wife before leaving the city. "

He caught the cunning gleam in Tom Braddock's eyes. His heart gave agreat bound of relief. The man was not so mad as to court certaindeath by attacking his enemy under the present conditions. Christine'sfather was perfectly cool; he was absolute master of himself. Nothingcould be farther from the mind of Thomas Braddock than the desire tobe shot by Robert Grand. It was his one purpose in life to kill, notto be killed. He realized that he was powerless. Grand could shoot himdown like a dog--an inglorious end to the one spark of ambition leftin him. The workings of Braddock's mind were as plain to Jenison as ifthe man were expounding them by word of mouth. 

"Before leaving the country, " David substituted. The ghost of a sneerflickered about Braddock's lips. He spoke for the first time, hoarsely, but with wonderful calmness. 

"I came to see Mary, " he said. "You'd better go, Grand. I don't wantanything to do with you. It won't be healthy for either of us if wesee too much of each other. "

"Stand out from behind my daughter, you coward, " shouted Grand. 

"Don't shoot, father!" screamed the girl, terror-stricken. 

"Go ahead!" said Braddock grimly. 

The driver of the cab was looking wildly about in quest of apoliceman. Two women had stopped on the opposite side of the street, and were staring at the group in front of the Portman mansion. 

"Shall I call a cop?" called out the cabby, addressing himself to theone person who seemed to belong on the premises--Mrs. Braddock. 

"No! No! Take them away!" she cried. "That's all I ask of you!"

"Wait!" said Colonel Grand, master of himself once more. "We may justas well understand each other. I had an object in coming here. Itconcerns this man. He--"

David broke in peremptorily. It was time to bring the distressingscene to an end, if it were possible to do so without inviting theactual catastrophe. He realized that he would have to act quickly inorder to anticipate the curious crowd and to be ahead of the police. 

"Colonel Grand, you have put yourself in an unpleasant, uncalled-forposition, " he said. "I am of half a mind to hold you here until thepolice arrive. Cabby, I call upon you to witness, with all the rest ofus, that Colonel Grand has drawn a revolver with the design to kill anunarmed, unoffending man. You have seen everything. Mr. Braddock savedhis life only by--"

"Unarmed!" shouted Colonel Grand. "Why, he is armed to the teeth. He'safter me. He's going to kill me on sight, I swear--"

"What is to prevent him from doing so now, Colonel?" demanded David. "You are in a position where you cannot shoot. He could drill you fullof holes if that were his intention. Mr. Braddock, are you armed?"

"No, " said Braddock. "Do you suppose, if I had a gun, I would bestanding behind this girl?"

"Do you hear that, cabby? Do you, Colonel? Now, I want to say justthis to you, sir; I am going to the nearest police station and swearout a warrant for your arrest. I can't hold you myself, but I can dothe next best thing. I can land you in jail for attempted murder. "

Colonel Grand stared at him with uncomprehending eyes, a sickly smileon his lips. 

"You know better than--" he began. 

David cut him short with an exclamation. Then he walked out to thecurb, opened the cab door and coolly motioned for Colonel Grand tostep down and enter. 

Mary Braddock waited no longer. She sped down the steps, passing theslow-moving, stupefied Colonel, and ruthlessly shoved Roberta Grand toone side, taking her stand in front of her husband, facing his foe. 

"It isn't necessary for my husband to shield himself behind your fleshand blood, Colonel Grand, " she said, her head erect. "Now, if you careto shoot, you have both of us at your mercy. "

"I came to propose a peaceful--" began the Colonel, baffled. 

"Step lively, Colonel Grand!" commanded Jenison. "Permit me, MissGrand. "

"Don't touch me, " hissed Roberta, disdaining his assistance. The lookshe bestowed upon her father, as she passed him, was not a pleasantone. He had promised her a different reception at the Portman home, secretly depending on his power to force Mrs. Braddock to welcome anarmistice, no matter how distasteful it may have been to her. He hadnot anticipated the outcome. Miss Grand accompanied him, meanly it istrue, in the hope that she might gloat over the Braddocks in theirhumiliation. 

She entered the cab, frightened and dismayed. Her father, stillgrasping his pistol, followed her. He cast a defeated, almostappealing glance at the uncompromising face of the young man who heldopen the door. 

"You can't obtain a warrant for me, " he said nervously. "I have thelaw on my side. I can prove that this man threatened--"

"Drive on, cabby, " said David relentlessly. "I've taken your number. You will be called on as a witness. Don't argue! I mean it!"

Muttering excitedly, the driver, without the customary "where to?"started off down the street. Colonel Grand leaned forward to send amenacing scowl toward the group on the sidewalk. He smiledsardonically when he saw that Mary Braddock still kept her place infront of her husband, evidently afraid that he would fire from thewindow of the departing cab. Then he called out his instructions tothe driver and settled back in the seat. 

The gritting of Tom Braddock's teeth did not escape the tortured earsof his wife. She looked up quickly. He was glaring after the cab, alook of appalling ferocity in his face. 

"Come into the house, Tom, " she said quickly. 

He turned on her with a snarl. 

"I won't keep you long, " he grated. "I've got other business on hand. "It occurred to him to tender David his meed of praise. "That waspretty sharp in you, David, staving him off like that. I owe yousomething for doing that. "

"I knew you were unarmed. You would have had no chance. "

They were going up the steps, Braddock between the others. Brooks, thefootman, was holding the door open. He had been a politely interestedwitness to the startling encounter. 

Braddock seemed to be studying each successive slab of stone as heascended. The muscles of his jaw were working. He seemed to haveformed a habit of jamming his hands far down into his coat pockets. 

"That was the only chance _he'll_ ever have, " was his sententiousremark. No other word was uttered until they were inside the house, Mrs. Braddock's gasp of relief could not have been called a sigh. 

"Thank God!" she breathed, sinking upon the hall seat and clasping herclenched hands to her breast. 

Braddock shot a quick glance up the broad stairway. The surroundingswere strange to him, --he had never been inside the home of his father-in-law before, --but he knew that Christine was somewhere overhead. 

"How's Christine, Mary?" he asked roughly. 

"She is wretchedly unhappy, Tom. "

"Umph!" was the way he received it, but a close observer might haveseen the flutter of his eyelids and the sharp, convulsive movement inthe coat pockets. "I don't want her to see me, " he said. 

"She wants to see you--"

He faced her angrily. "No! I've got to take care of my nerves. I can'ttake any chances on having 'em upset. See here, David, " he said, lowering his voice and speaking with deadly emphasis, "that talk ofyours about swearing out a warrant for Grand don't go, do youunderstand? I don't want him to be arrested. I don't want him lockedup. I want him to be _free_. He'd be too safe behind the bars?"

The sound of a door opening above came to them at this juncture, followed by the swift rush of feet and the rustle of skirts. Braddocklooked up and instinctively drew back into an obscured recess at hisleft. 

Christine's face appeared over the railing above. She leaned farforward and called out in the high, tense tones of extremenervousness:

"Father! Is it you? Are you there?"

There was no response. 

David, standing on the lower step, permitted his gaze to swerve fromthe sweet, eager face of the girl above to that of the man in thecorner. 

The effect on Braddock was astounding. Signs of a great convulsionrevealed themselves in his face. His lips were parted and drawn as ifin pain; his eyes were half closed, screening the emotion that gropedbehind the lids. It was the face, the figure of a man mightily shakenby an unexpected emotion. Slowly his eyes were opened. An expressionof utter despair and longing had come into them. Mrs. Braddock wasstaring at her husband as if she could not believe her senses. 

Words came hoarsely, unbidden from the man's lips, spoken as if fromthe bottom of his soul after years of subjection and restraint, sonearly whispered that they came to David's ears as if from afar off. 

"Oh! How lonesome I've been all these years, just for the sound of hervoice!"

His wife's hand went out to him involuntarily. He looked at it for asecond, then into her eyes, waveringly, uncertain as to the impulsethat moved her. He suddenly regained control of himself. He graspedthe slender hand in his great, crushing fingers; the sullen, repellentglare leaped back into his eyes; alert and shifty, he held up his freehand to command the silence of David. Then, like a hunted creature atbay, he glanced over his shoulder. Seeing an open door almost at hiselbow, he resolutely drew his wife after him into the room beyond. Ashe turned to slam the door with vicious energy, the tense, incisivevoice called out once more from the head of the stairs:

"Father!"

The door banged as if propelled by the added energy of sudden fear. 

An instant later, David was dashing up the stairs, three steps at atime. She had started down. He met her at the bend. 

"Not just now, dearest, " he cried. "Wait! He wants to see your motherfirst. "

She clutched the rail, putting one hand out as if to ward him off. Thedread in her eyes went straight to his heart. Her lips were stiff, hervoice was low with anxiety. 

"Is--is she safe, David, --is he himself? Oh, I must go down there. Iknow I can reason--"

He stopped her gently. "Please, Christine, " he commanded. She suddenlyput her hands to his face, and looked into his eyes. 

"If anything were to happen to her, " she whispered in agony, "Iwould--"

"She is perfectly safe, " he broke in. "Your father will not mistreather. " He clasped her hands and held them to his breast. "My poordarling!"

Her head dropped, her lip quivered. Then she quietly withdrew herhands and sank to a sitting posture on the step, leaning her headwearily against the banister. 

Ruby Noakes, a discarded wet towel in her hand, came into the hallwayabove them. She saw them, hesitated for a moment, and then quietlyreturned to Christine's bed-chamber. 

David dropped to his sweetheart's side. His arm fell about hershoulders. She did not offer to remove it, but sat listless, unresponsive, her eyes lifted to a narrow window beyond which the hotsky gleamed. 

He began by whispering words of encouragement and sympathy, his soulin every syllable. She was so quiet, so hurt, so forlorn; never hadshe been so precious to him as now. 

"David, " she interrupted, closing her eyes as if through faintness, "it is so good of you to say these things to me, but--but--oh, can'tyou see how impossible it is now? Don't stay here! Go away, David. Doyou think that I can marry you now? It was bad enough before--but now!What am I that you should take me to be your wife! You must go awayand forget--"

Her drew her head to his breast, smothering the heartbroken cry by thefierceness of his embrace. 

"Open your eyes, Christine! Look at me. " She looked up, utterdesolation in her eyes. "Nothing on earth can keep you from being mywife--nothing! I couldn't give you up. What am I for, if not tocherish and protect and comfort you? What is the real meaning of theword 'love'? Husband! What does that stand for? A stone wall betweenpain and peril and trouble; that's what it means. And I'm going to beall of that to you--a stone wall for all your life, Christine. It issettled. The strongest man in the world is not strong enough for theweakest woman. I will never cease being proud of the fact that you aremy wife. Don't speak! Lie quiet, dearest. Nothing can change thingsfor you and me. "

"It cannot be, David, --it cannot be!" she moaned, covering her facewith her hands. He held her there, sobbing, against his breast. 

Meanwhile Thomas Braddock was pacing the floor of the library almostdirectly beneath them. His wife watched him in silence; her eyesfollowed the tall, bent figure as it swung back and forth with thesteadiness of a clock's pendulum. He had not spoken since they enteredthe room, nor had she moved from the spot where he left her when hereleased her hand. All this time she had been holding the wrist he hadgrasped so cruelly. It pained her, but she was only physicallyconscious of the fact; her mind was not comprehending it. 

It was the first time she had seen him in five years. A curiousanalysis was going on in her perturbed brain. The change in him! Shecould not take her eyes from the haggard, heavily-lined face, sounlike the blithe, youthful one she had loved, or the bloated, bestialone she had feared and despised. The coarseness, the flabbiness, thepurplish hues were no longer there. The bulging, bleary eyes, on whichthe glaze of continuous dissipation had once settled as if to stay, were not as she remembered them. Instead, they were bright and clear, and lay deep in their sockets. The lips, now beardless, were no longerthick and repulsive. She marveled. This was not the vacillating, whiskey-willed man she had known for so long; here was a determinedcharacter, swelling with force, fierce in the resources of a belatedintegrity of purpose. No longer the careless, handsome youth, nor thehonorless man, but a power! Whether that power stood for good or evil, it mattered not; he was a man such as she had never expected him tobe. 

She was sensitive to one thing in particular, although the realizationof it did not come to her at once, she was so taken up with the studyof him as a whole: she missed the cigar from the corner of his mouth. 

He stopped in front of her. 

"This is the first time I have ever been asked into this house, " hesaid, his lips curling in a bitter, unfriendly smile. "Where is yourfather?"

"His rooms are in the other end of the house, upstairs. He sleeps tillnoon, " she answered mechanically. 

"Umph!" he grunted, resuming his walk. 

"Tom, " she said, taking a firm grasp on her nerves, "let us talk itover quietly. Sit down. "

He halted. "I can talk better standing, " he said grimly. He came upclose to her. She stood her ground, looking him squarely in the eyes. "There isn't much to say, Mary. You know me for what I am, and youknow who made me so. He's got to pay, that's all. We won't go into thepast. It's not easily forgotten. I guess we remember everything. "

"Everything, " she said. 

"I'm not excusing myself. I'm past that, and besides it wouldn't godown with you. You know where I've been, and you must give me creditfor trying to shield Christine a little bit. I took my medicine, andnobody but you and Grand knew that her father was up there until now, excepting Dick. I want to say to you, Mary, I was railroaded for acrime I didn't commit. I was jobbed. He was at the back of it. He wasafraid of me--and well he might have been. I did a lot of rottenthings while you and I were ploddin' along through those last twoyears with the show--you know what they were. But it was whiskey! Itook money that didn't belong to me--yours and Christine's, andGrand's, and Jenison's. I did worse than that, Mary. I sold you out toBob Grand--you knew that, too. But I'm going to try to pay up all mydebts--all of 'em, in a day or two. I owe you my ugly, worthless life. I'm going to pay you in full by ending it. I owe Colonel Grand foreverything I was, for what I am. I'm going to pay him, so help me God. Don't interrupt! My mind's made up. Nothing above hell can change it. I came here to ask you just two questions. I want you to answer them. I'm going to believe you. You never lie, I know that. "

"I will answer them, Tom. "

He hesitated, his gaze wavering for the first time. "I--I hate to askyou this first one, Mary, " he said. 

"Go on. Ask it. "

"It's a mean question, but I've just _got_ to hear you say no. Did yougo to England with Bob Grand?"

"No. "

He breathed deeply. "That's one, " he said. 

"Here's the other. Did he give you money to live on, to educateChristine with, abroad?"

"No. ", "I'll ask still another. Where did you get the money?"

"Some of it from my father. Afterwards I brought suit against you andColonel Grand for an accounting. He was compelled to pay into courtall that was due me as part owner of Van Slye's. I had my own money inthe show. I could not be robbed of that. "

"I'm glad you did that. It must have been a nasty dose for him. "

"His wife tried to make trouble for me. You heard that?"

"I knew she would, sooner or later. "

"You knew it?"

"She wasn't blind. "

 "But how could she dare to think that I--"

"She knew her husband's reputation, that's all. He was careless aboutwomen. " His face went black as a thundercloud. "But he's had his day!"

"Tom, " she cried, clutching the lapels of his coat, "you shall notleave this house until you've promised me to do nothing--"

He shook off her hands. "Don't come any of that, Mary. It won't do anygood. He made me what I was, he would have prostituted you. I was justbad enough to fall, you were too good to even stumble. Then he landedme in the pen. Maybe you won't believe it, Mary, but I'd stoppeddrinking and was earning fair wages--well, I was tending bar inChicago. Barkeepers _have_ to be sober men, you see. I had not toucheda drop for nearly three months. The temptation was too strong there, soI got out of it. Then I looked up Barnum to get a job as ringmaster. Iwas going under the name of Bradford. Somehow nobody would trust me. They knew me. Joey Noakes came through the West with a pantomime showabout that time. He told me you were in Europe. First thing I'd heardof you, that was, Mary. Then he told me you'd got your money out ofGrand, legitimately, he swore. I didn't believe him. I thought therehad been some shinanigan. I stood it as long as I could, and then Ibroke for New York. You see, girlie--I mean Mary, I'd done for you in anasty way. I practically handed you to him. You--well, we won't go intothat. "

"No, " she said, very pale, "we must not go into that, Tom. You sold mewith the show. I--I can never forgive you for that. "

"I'm not asking forgiveness, am I?" he cried harshly. "I'm justtellin' you, that's all. Well, I came down here to kill him threeyears ago. I knew you hated him. If you gave in it wasn't because youwanted to, but because I'd fixed it so's you couldn't very well getout of it. There was only one way for you to be rid of Bob Grand afterthat--and only one man to do it for you. So I came down here to do it. Ernie Cronk ran across me on the street one night. He began filling meup with stories of how Grand had also tried to hurt Christine, and allabout how you were living like a princess abroad. I waited until Grandcame back from England, a couple of weeks later. Ernie had got meclear off my head by that time, nagging me day and night. He tried toget me to drink, but I was too wise for that. Well, I found Bob Grandand, like a fool, started in to tell him what I was going to do to himinstead of doing it first. All of a sudden he pulled a gun. I had nochance, so I bolted. He fired twice and yelled for the police. They--they caught me in an alley--and I had a gun in my clothes, too. Thenext morning he came to see me in the station-house--to identify me, he said. Then he told me he was going to send me up for highwayrobbery--but he was willing, for your sake and Christine's, to saynothing about the past--or anything. He did swear me into the pen, andI kept my mouth closed. But, Mary, I am not a thief at heart, I neverwas one. Whatever I did that was crooked in the old days was due towhiskey. It's a habit men have, I know, blaming everything on towhiskey, but--but, oh, say, Mary, you _know_ I wasn't that sortof a man when I married you. I was straight, wasn't I? I never haddone a crooked thing in my life. I don't think I'd ever told a lie. Ihad a good mother, just as Christine has. But what the devil am Idoing--talking like this!" The eager, rather appealing note went outof his voice; he almost snarled the bitter sentence. "I didn't come toexplain, or to beg, or to excuse myself. I won't keep you any longer. Remember, I'm not asking anything of you, Mary, --not a thing. I'm notthat low. "

He was out of breath. No doubt, it was the longest speech he had madein years. Perhaps his own voice sounded strange to him. 

"You are not to leave this house, Tom, until you have promised, " shesaid firmly. All the time he was speaking, she had stood like a statuebefore him, never taking her eyes from his distorted face. 

"Oh, I'm not, eh? We'll see!"

"What are you going to do to Colonel Grand?"

"I'm going to--" he checked himself. "I'm going to beat him to ajelly!"

"You mean, you are going to murder him?" She shuddered as she said it. 

"No, " he said, with grim humor; "I'm only going to help him to die. You see, Mary, Bob Grand committed suicide the day he sent me up. Thefinal death struggle has been a long time coming, but it's almosthere. He took a very slow, but a sure poison. "

The time had come for the strong appeal. She laid her hands on hisshoulders. 

"Tom, have you thought of what it will mean, not to me, but toChristine?"

"She knows, by this time, that I'm an ex-convict. It won't hurt her toknow I'm even worse. "

"She does not believe you were guilty. She always has said you couldhave been a good man if you had let whiskey alone. You see, Tom, sheunderstood--she understands. Isn't it worth your while to think ofher? You are not drinking now. Can't you think of something good--something kind to do? Must you go to your grave--and such a grave!--knowing that you never did a really big thing for her in all yourlife? Have you no desire to make her think of you as something exceptthe unnatural beast you were when she knew you best of all? I see thechange in you. Don't you want her to see it? What do you gain bykilling Colonel Grand? He has wronged you, but do you help yourself bymaking matters infinitely worse now, so many years afterward? Do--"

"He told me, over there in the police station, three years ago, thathe had won your love, that you lived for him alone. He lied. I couldkill him once for that lie. He told me, in the next breath, that youand he were going to sell Christine to a certain French nobleman, whoalready had a wife and family. He lied again. I could kill him oncemore for that lie. He told me--"

"Don't! Don't! For God's sake, don't tell me any more, " she groaned, horror-stricken. 

He went on. "He taunted me, he laughed at me. I was up there for threeyears. In all that time his damned sneers and laughter were never outof my mind. He laughed at me because the drunken bargain I had madewith him had turned out to his credit, after all. "

"The sale?"

"Yes. "

He looked away. The expression in her eyes cut him like a knife. 

"I ought to have been shot for that, Mary, " he said. 

"Yes, " she agreed mechanically. 

His hand went to his mouth suddenly, as if to steady the lips. 

"I'm not asking you to overlook it. Maybe you'll spare Christine theknowledge of it--not for my sake, but for hers. "

"Tom, don't you feel that you owe _me_ something?" she askedsteadily. 

"Everything. I'm going to pay, too. I took you from a home like thisand--Oh, well, it won't do any good to bring it all up again. Let's--"

"You owe me a little happiness and peace, Tom, after all these years. "

"Oh, I'll go away all right. This is the last time you'll ever seeme. "

"It isn't that that I ask. There was a time when we were happy, youand I. I do not forget the old days, before you--I mean, when we wereworking together, you and I, to get control of the circus. Not that Iliked the life--God knows I did not! but that we were striving forbig, good things. I--"

"You got your money back, " he broke in weakly. "That's more than Idid. "

"What had I ever done to you, Tom, that you should sell me as if Iwere a concubine to--"

"Didn't I tell you it was whiskey--and cards?" he cried fiercely. 

"True. You _did_ tell me that, " she admitted, closing her eyes. He looked at the lowered lids for a moment and then swore softly tohimself--not an oath of anger but of despair. She opened her eyes andcaught the fleeting look of shame and remorse. "Ah, " she cried, "you_have_ a heart, after all. I saw it then. Tom, you _did_ love me, yearsago--you were fine and strong and true. You were yourself. You havechanged, but I can still see something of the strong, manly TomBraddock _I_ loved in those wonderful days. "

He was scowling again, but she had seen through the mask. She went oneagerly: "You are obsessed by this idea of vengeance. What can it meanto you, after all is said and done? You say you are going to end yourown life, as well. You will escape the consequences, as any cowardwould, and you are _not_ a coward. Who stays behind to suffer allthe pain and anguish? Not you! Oh, no! I am the one--as if you had notalready done enough. Christine and I! We--"

"I won't listen to you!" he cried, his breast heaving. 

"You are listening! You can't help it. Come! You must sit down herebeside me. This is the one, great, solitary hour in your life. "

[Illustration: "This is the one, great, solitary hour in your life"]

He drew back and permitted an irrelevant question to break from hislips: "Why didn't you divorce me?"

"Because I married you, Tom, that is why! I'll always be your wife. I--I can't live with you--but I--"

"Mary, you are the grandest woman in all this world, " he cried, amazement in his eyes. "And to think of it! I am the one to havemarried you, --a thing like me!"

She was trembling all over. "Will you do this for me, Tom?"

"Do what?"

"You know what, Tom. "

"You mean, give up the one thing I've lived for all these awfulyears?"

"Yes. "

"I--I can't do it, Mary. It's got to be, sooner or later. That man andI can't live on the earth at the same time. "

"Oh! Won't you give me something to thank you for after all I've--"

"Wait a minute! Let me think!" He began pacing the floor again. Shewatched him with bated breath, a half-hope in her heart. He stoppedbefore her once more. His eyes were bright with a new, strange light. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Mary, --for you and Christine. I'll put anend to myself. That's the best way out of it. I can't live if he does. Wait a minute! It's the simplest, surest way. Don't breathe a word ofthis to any one. I'll go down to the river to-night. That will be theend of it all. I swear to you, I won't hunt up Grand, --on my word ofhonor, if you will believe that I have any honor. There is some sortof integrity in a man who can fight the battle I have--and withoutwavering or whimpering. I'll do that for you, Mary. It's the safestway. "

She had heard him at first with a sickening horror in her soul. It wasa frightful compromise that he proposed. She knew he meant it, that hewould keep his word. She understood how great the sacrifice would beon his part, how bitter the defeat; and she realized that he was doingit to justify himself in her eyes. As he got deeper into his amazingproposition, her clearing brain began to discern the rift in hisarmor. Not that she saw a sign of weakness beyond, but that thehumanness of his strength was being revealed to her. There was anauthority in his offer that dispelled all doubt as to the cloudinessof his mental vision. He was seeing things clearly. His sacrifice layin the willingness to forego the joy of killing another man before hecarried out his original design to make way with himself. She studiedhis face for a moment before speaking. There was something likegladness there--a truly bright glow that told of the relief he hadfound in at last doing something to please her!

"Is there no other way, Tom?" she asked, so quietly that his eyesnarrowed with a curious intentness. 

"It's the only one, " he said grimly. 

She walked over to the window and looked down into the area-way. Herheart was throbbing loudly. 

"To-night?" she asked in muffled tones. 

"If I don't do it to-night I'll do something worse to-morrow, " hesaid. 

"You promise me, --on your word of honor?"

He started. "Certainly. I'll do it. "

She turned to face him, her back to the light. He could not see theexpression in her eyes. 

"You will do this for me, Tom?"

He nodded his head, that was all. 

"Take your own life?"

"I was going to do it anyway. Before they could hang me. "

Both were silent for a long time. Neither had changed position. 

"You won't tell Christine that I did it, will you? Just say that Iwent away--to South America, I guess. "

"I will not tell her, Tom. "

"Is she going to marry David Jenison?"

"I hope so. "

"Well, she'll feel easier in her mind if she knows I'm gone for good, then. Maybe you'd better tell her I'm dead. "

He said it as calmly as if he were announcing the time of day, but hewas none the less earnest. 

"There is one alternative, Tom, " she said, at last coming to the planshe had had in mind from the beginning. 

"You're not thinking of--of taking me back, " he said, aghast at thevery thought of it. 

"No. I'm going to make an offer that will give you greatersatisfaction than that. Will you go away from New York forever, if Ipay over to you every cent that I received for my share in VanSlye's--"

"No!" he almost shouted. "You can't _buy_ me off. I was willing to dothe right thing a minute ago. Now, you've gone and spoiled it all. " Heclapped his hands to his eyes; his big frame shook with rage. 

She went quickly to him. 

"Now, I _know_ you are a man--a big man, Tom. I am prouder of you nowthan I ever was in all my life. "

He looked bewildered. "You mean, you did that to _try_ me?"

"To try myself, " was her enigmatic response, "Well?"

She stood back and looked at him intently. 

"I still have your promise. You _will_ do it to-night?"

He stared at her as if he could not believe his ears, but he saidresolutely:

"Of course, I will. "

CHAPTER VIII

COLONEL GRAND AND THE CRONKS

She walked away from him and sat down in one of the big chairs, as ifher limbs suddenly had lost the power to support her. He pulled hiscrumpled hat from his pocket and fumbled it for a few moments. She satthere, looking at him, her lips parted. 

"Well, " he began, "I guess I'd better be going. "

"Going? Where are you going?" she demanded, suddenly alert. 

"Oh, out somewhere. I've got ten or twelve hours to kill. "

She struggled to her feet. 

"Tom, you are not going to leave this house until to-night. "

He drew back, amazed. 

"What?"

"I am going down to the river with you. "

Comprehension was slow in filtering into his brain. A ghastly pallorspread over his face. 

"What did you say?"

"I am going to the river with you. But you must stay here until to-night. You are not to go out into the streets. Do you understand?"

"You can't mean that--Why, you must be crazy. You? Why--why, I'm doingit so that you can _live_. You can't mean what you're thinking of--" Hecould not complete the sentence. A heavy sweat broke out on hisforehead. 

She forced a miserable smile to her lips. "You do not understand me, Tom. I am going down to the river with you, but I am coming backalone. "

He slowly grasped the meaning of it. 

"You--you're going down to see that I do make an end of it?" he cried. 

"I want to be sure, for Christine's sake, " she said, quite steadily. 

He was glaring at her now. "Oh, I see. You don't trust me, " heexclaimed bitterly. He put out his hand to steady himself against thelibrary table. "I can't say that I blame you, either. But I won't stayhere. I would, if it would do any good, but how can it? The police arelikely to pile in here any minute with a warrant for me. That would befine, wouldn't it?" He strode to the window and tried to look throughthe passage into the street. "I don't want to be pinched now. Go andlook out of the front windows--go on! See if there's any one outthere. "

She did not move. 

"Ain't you going to look?" he demanded. 

"The police?" dropped from her lips dully. She had overlooked thedanger from that direction, although her mind had been so full of it alittle while before. "He won't send them here, Tom--"

"Of course, he will, " he broke in irascibly. "He's crazy mad, andhe'll act quickly to head off Jenison's warrant. I can't stay here--not another minute. Can't I get out the back way? They may be layingfor me in front. Don't look like that, Mary! I can give 'em the slip. It won't do to have them nab me here. Just think of the newspapers!Wake up! Don't you see? And listen: I'll do what I said I would--to-night. I swear it. You can trust me, Mary. Now, quick, show me the wayout--and don't let me bump into Christine. I--I couldn't stand that. Idon't want to lose my nerve. "

She left him and ran into the next room to look out into the avenue. He followed rapidly. 

"There are two men standing at the corner, " she whispered in alarm. Hewould have looked out if she had not dragged him away. 

"It would be terrible if they were to come in here, " she was sayingdistractedly. "Yes, you must go. " She grasped his arm. "Tom, you maygo if you'll promise to come back tonight. "

"What's that for?"

"Because I insist. At ten o'clock--or any time you may choose. Onlyyou _must_ come back. "

He studied her face curiously. Something stirred in his heart, but ithad been so long since anything had touched that organ that he failedto credit himself with an emotion. Whatever it was, it impelled him tosubmit to her demand. 

"I'll come, " he said uneasily. "I don't see any use in it, though. Wecan say goodby now. "

"No!" she exclaimed. "It must be to-night. "

"All right, then. I'll come at ten, --_the back way_. "

Without another word she hurried him through the intervening rooms tothe servants' entrance. They passed Brooks in the rear hall. He bowedstiffly to Braddock. Brooks had been listening at a keyhole. 

She opened the door and pointed the way with a trembling hand. 

"There is the alley, Tom, --through the little gate. Be very careful. "

He did not respond. Turning his face away resolutely, he stalked downthe narrow steps, and, without so much as a glance behind, hurried offtoward the alley-gate. She watched him pass through it, a strangecramp of disappointment in her heart because he had resisted thetemptation to look back at his judge. How long she stood there starkand silent she did not know. 

Brooks, the footman, was speaking to her. 

"Miss Christine is ill, ma'am, " he said, from somewhere behind her. "The housekeeper thinks she has fainted, ma'am. "

Colonel Grand was in a quandary. He was not afraid of the Braddocks, but he was distinctly alarmed over the intervention and attitude ofDavid Jenison. That aggressive, determined young man had made a threatwhich struck something like terror to his heart. The more he thoughtof it, the more insistent became the conviction that Jenison held thewhip hand over him. It was not altogether incomprehensible, thisamazing turn of affairs. He _had_ drawn a revolver, and he had puthimself in a decidedly uncomfortable position, with at least fourwitnesses against him, three of whom he could not hope to buy off incase of an inquiry. 

His first thought on driving away from the Portman house was to rushover to the nearest police station and set the officers of the law onthe track of the man he feared and hated, in the hope that he mightforestall any action on Jenison's part. On second thoughts, he decidedthat it would be wiser to make haste slowly. He was in the unhappyposition of having to consider his own daughter as one of thewitnesses. His brain was working rapidly despite the fact that hisdaughter was doing all in her power to distract it by an unrestrainedflow of invective against--not the Braddocks, but David Jenison!

To her surprise and subsequent rage he suddenly broke in with theannouncement that she was to take the first afternoon train out of thecity. He had some difficulty in making it plain that her speedydeparture was necessary to her own as well as to his personal comfort. While she was still arguing and pleading to be allowed to stay andfight it out with him he stuck his head through the window andinstructed the driver to take them to his hotel instead of to thepolice station, as first directed. 

With characteristic decisiveness he directed Roberta to begin herpacking as soon as she reached her room. She entreated him to comeaway with her before Jenison could carry out his threat, but hesharply refused, already having in mind a plan of action, desperatebut effective. His first step, however, met with an unexpected rebuke. On the arrival at the hotel he took the cabman aside and deliberatelyoffered him a large sum of money on condition that he would swear thatBraddock drew or attempted to draw a revolver. The cabman thought itover. Then he refused. 

"Money won't tempt me, " he said doggedly, "although God knows I needit. You pulled a gun on him, and he didn't have any that I could see. That young feller took my name and number. He'd catch me in the lie, sure as shootin'. And, say, they sent a couple of guys up for perjuryjust last week, pals of mine, they were. Not for me, guv'nor. I'llstick to the truth, just to see how it feels. "

"But the man has sworn to kill me!"

"You pulled a gun on him, " retorted the driver surlily. "I don't likethat kind of business. And I guess, if they happen to ask me, I'lljust mention that you tried to buy me off, too. Ta-ta! Maybe I'll seeyou later. " And away he went, less virtuous than nature intended himto be, but wholly satisfied that he possessed a conscience, after all. 

The Colonel, grim and furtive, accompanied Roberta to the station andsaw her safely off. By three or four o'clock in the afternoon he beganto feel reasonably certain that Jenison had failed in his attempt tosecure a warrant, or had been turned from his purpose by that cool-headed, far-seeing woman, Mary Braddock. He remained in his rooms, disdaining flight or subterfuge. All through the long, hot afternoon, he paced the floor or sat in the windows, nervously awaiting thedescent of the officers. They did not come. His spirits took wingagain as the close of the day drew down upon him. He had waited, withall the stoicism of the born gambler, for the crash and it had notcome; he had taken the chance; to use his own expression, he "stoodpat. "

At six o'clock he threw away his half-smoked cigar and sauntered forthfrom the hotel. The Colonel was very punctilious in that respect: hemade it a point not to smoke in the street. 

Although he was now quite comfortably sure that there was no immediatedanger of arrest, he still was confronted by the ugly certainty thatTom Braddock was hard upon his heels and that no amount of persuasioncould have turned him from his purpose. His blood went cold from timeto time when he permitted himself to recall the set, implacableexpression in the man's face, and the tigerish strength that markedevery repressed movement of his body. Robert Grand knew thatBraddock's sole object in life now was to kill him. He knew that themeeting could not long be deferred; and when it came, he would nothave one chance in a thousand against this wily, determined giant. Braddock would accomplish his end, of that he was as sure as he wascertain that the sun would rise in the morning. It was in the cards. He knew. He was a true-born gambler, with all the instincts, all thewiles, all the insight of one who courts Chance and fights it at thesame time. Such men as Robert Grand go on defying Fate to the bitterend, but they know that there will be an end, and in the end they arebound to lose. 

This man, a lifelong tempter of Fate, had learned early in the gamethat the gravest errors in the category of crime came under thatlachrymose heading, "wasted energy. " Men of his stamp make it a pointnever to do anything that may be safely left undone, nor are theyguilty of overlooking the act that should be performed. They thinkquickly and soundly, and they act at the proper time: never too soon, never too late. 

He had an object in remaining in his rooms during the afternoon, justas he had a purpose in venturing forth at six. That was the hour whenthe streets were crowded to their capacity by restless homeward-boundpedestrians, and the saloons, by those who paused in their haste. Histall, slightly stooped figure moved through the hurrying throng untilhe came to one of the most famous of the sporting bars. He entered, and, without looking to right or left, made his way to the small cafein the rear. A man seated at one of the little tables looked up andnodded. Grand took the chair opposite to this person and, after anexchange of greetings for the benefit of the waiter, ordered oystersand a pint of musty ale. The Colonel had his principal meal atmidnight. 

"Do you know where Braddock is?" he demanded as soon as the waiter hadleft the table. 

"Sure, " said the man opposite. "He's laying low in that dive over on--"

"Nothing of the kind, " interrupted Grand sharply. Fixing him with hiscold, steady eyes, he went on: "You are a wonderful spotter, you are. So you've been watching that place over there all day, have you? Andyou are sure he's there, eh? Well, let me tell you how damnedworthless you are. I expected you'd have him behind the bars beforeten o'clock, but--"

"Say, Colonel, on the square, the police here are the slowest bunchof--"

"Never mind, " snapped the Colonel. "He's still at large, and he's notover there at Dick Cronk's. So much for your fine detective work. "

The man was an operative for one of the biggest private detectiveagencies in New York. It was his duty, and had been for years, to_watch the police_ in order that Colonel Grand's _sub rosa_ interestsmight be preserved from the fatal inconstancies of a greedy department. 

Just now he was devoting his time to Tom Braddock, laying the trap forthe one man his employer feared more than he feared all the laws ofthe land and all the authorities behind them. 

The Colonel related his experiences of the morning. The privatedetective perspired freely. He realized how near his employer had beento death, and all through him. All efforts to explain his unhappymistake met with curt interruptions from the Colonel. 

"Now, " said that worthy, in conclusion, "I want you to find out ifBraddock has returned to Cronk's place. Naturally the police could notfind him this afternoon. He wasn't there. But he may go back to-night. His wife won't be able to hold him under her thumb. Find this Cronkfellow--the deformed one, I mean--and tell him I want to see him. Tellhim it is worth just one thousand dollars to him, and possibly fivetimes that amount. Send him up the rear stairway at Broadso's. I'll bein room five until twelve o'clock to-night. Any time after eight hewill find me there--alone. You know where he lives; go and find him. Then make sure that Braddock is at Dick Cronk's room. That's all. "

At half-past eight o'clock that evening Ernie Cronk stole up thestairway in the rear of Broads's saloon. He slunk down the narrow, dimly-lighted hallway until he came to a door which bore the numeralfive. For a full minute he stood there irresolute, held inactive bythe two mental elements that bear such close kinship to each other--apprehension and greed. At last, with a stealthy glance at the lightedtransoms down the hall, he tapped on the panel of the door. ColonelGrand himself opened the door and held it ajar that he might enter. 

The hunchback glanced quickly around the room. He had never been therebefore, but he knew in an instant where he was and what manner oftraffic was carried on in this small, close room with the green-covered table in the center, over which was suspended a fully lightedchandelier. The door closed gently behind him and a key was turned inthe lock. Like a trapped rat, he whirled at this ominous sound. 

Colonel Grand, smiling suavely, stood between him and the door. 

"Don't be alarmed, Ernie, " said he in his oiliest tones. "Sit down, mylad. We're quite alone and we won't be disturbed. I am master of thehall, as they would say in England. "

He motioned to a chair beyond the table, and, bowing politely, settledhimself in one nearer the door. 

"What's the game?" demanded Ernie Cronk, his long, bony fingersfumbling his flat derby hat. "Brown said you wanted to see me. "

"Where's your brother Dick?" asked the Colonel irrelevantly, leaningforward a trifle. 

"Dick? Why, he's--he's--I don't know where he is. He's got a place ofhis own somewheres. I don't see much of him these days. I can't affordit, to be honest, Colonel. "

"His reputation, eh? Well, I don't blame you. He didn't come over herewith you, did he?"

Ernie started. His gaze wavered ever so slightly, but the Colonelnoted the change. 

"I haven't seen him in a week, " said the hunchback steadily. 

"You are lying, Ernie. He's across the street now, waiting for you. "

"So help me God, Colonel--" began Ernie, but the Colonel checked thedenial without ceremony. 

"I am just as sure that he came over here with you to-night as I amsure that you are sitting there. I thought you'd bring him. That's whyI sent for you. I knew it was the easiest way to get him here. Hewouldn't come if I sent for him, but he'd go anywhere on earth if youasked him to. We'll wait a quarter of an hour, Ernie, before weproceed to business. At the end of that period I'll open the doorsuddenly and we'll find Artful Dick Cronk standing in the hall. Tomake it all the more interesting I'll present you with ten dollars ifhe isn't there. "

Ernie's ferret-like eyes blinked in sheer amazement. Down in his meanlittle heart there always had been a dark fear of this rather imposingman; in his mind there was a no uncertain estimate of the Colonel'salmost supernatural power to read the thoughts of others. 

"If he's outside there I don't know it, " he said doggedly. 

"You told him I had sent for you, Ernie. Don't lie. I know you did. It's all right. So, you see, my little strategy worked outbeautifully. I want to see Dick quite as much as I do you. We'll waituntil he comes up to see what's happened to you. "

Ernie hesitated, then broke out with an uneasy note in his voice. "Yousaid it would be worth a thousand and maybe more to me. Well, I'msquare with Dick. He divides with me. I want to let him in on anythinggood that comes my way. "

"I see. You are willing to divide with him, so you are going to lethim in on condition that he will do _all_ the dirty work while you sitback and boss the job. I see. You are a great financier, Ernie. "

"You ought to see my new flat over in Eighth Street, " said Ernieproudly, quite taken in by the Colonel's none too gentle sarcasm. 

"You don't share that with Dick, I imagine. "

"Well, hardly!" ejaculated Dick's brother. Suddenly his uneasinessdeveloped into a sort of whining protest. "Say, if you got anything tosay to me, say it. I got to be moving along. If I can make a thousandhonestly, I'm on the job. What's--"

"We'll wait for Dick, " observed the Colonel coolly. He took his timeto light a long cigar, the hunchback looking on with curiosity anddoubt in his shifty eyes. Then he handed a cigar to his guest. "Have acigar. I'd offer you a drink, only I don't believe in drinking betweenfriends. Only enemies drink to each other, Ernie. Bear that in mind. Unconscious enemies. "

"I don't drink, " was the surly rejoinder. 

Precisely ten minutes later Colonel Grand got up from his chair. Inthree strides he was at the door; he turned the key and--

There was Dick Cronk leaning against the wall on the opposite side ofthe hallway, his hands in his pockets, his long legs crossed, his"dicer" on the back of his head. There was no evidence of surprise orconfusion in his face; he was as composed, as serene, as if theexpected had occurred. A bland smile greeted the triumphant Colonel. 

"Evening, Colonel. Have you seen anything of a lost boy around here?"

The other stood aside, giving him a fair view of the room. "Come in, Dick. I've been expecting you, " he said quietly. 

Dick stared for a second or two longer than he might have done underless trying conditions. 

"No, thanks. I'll wait out here, " he said dryly. He did not change hisattitude in the least. 

"We've been waiting for you, " said the Colonel. "We can't proceedwithout you. Do me the honor to step into my parlor. " He bowed verydeeply. 

"'Said the spider to the fly, '" quoth Dick, shifting his foot. 

Ernie appeared behind Colonel Grand. He indicated by a significantmotion of his head that Dick was to enter, and without delay. Slowlythe long pickpocket unwound his legs. He then removed his hands fromhis pockets, after which he coolly strode into the room. The door wasclosed quickly after him. There was an inscrutable smile on his face, even before the sharp exclamation of concern fell from the lips ofColonel Grand. 

"I've got the key here in my hand, Colonel, " he observed, with hisgentlest smile. The older man glared for a moment and then broke intoa short, even admiring laugh. 

"You are a wonder, Dick. You must have wished it out of the door. I'llswear my hand hasn't been off the knob since I opened it a minute ago. How do you do it?"

"Simple twist of the wrist--_presto visto_, as the feller'd say. Don'tworry. I'll leave it in the door when I depart. And say, while we'reexchanging compliments, allow me to hand you one. You're something of awizard, too. I don't wonder you always win at poker if you can seethrough an oak door as easy as all that. "

"We'd better lock the door, " urged the other, paying no heed to theremark. 

"All right. But, if you don't mind, I'll keep the key. " He locked thedoor and then turned toward Ernie, sudden comprehension in his face. "Oh, you told him I came over with you. That explains it. " Ernieprotested. He would have repeated the entire conversation that hadtaken place if the Colonel had not stopped him with considerableacerbity. 

"You can talk that over afterwards, " he said sharply. Ernie winced. Grand did not observe the ugly gleam that flickered for an instant inDick Cronk's eyes. "I've got a proposition to make to you fellows. "

"What has it got to do with Tom Braddock?" demanded Dick bluntly. Hesat on the edge of the table, one foot touching the floor. 

The Colonel came to the point without delay. 

"There's no sense in beating about the bush with you, I see, " heremarked. "I want to get this man Braddock out of the way for good andall. He's a menace to me and I'm willing to pay to have him completelyblotted out. You fellows are out for the coin of the realm. You, Dick, get it in dribs by plundering the unwary. It's slow work anddangerous. Ernie lives off of you with something of the voracity of aleech--no offense intended, Ernie. Now, why not turn your hand tosomething big and definite and safe?" He paused to let the idea sinkinto Ernie's avaricious soul. 

Dick drew a long breath. "Why don't you kill him yourself?" he asked, shooting a quick, apprehensive look at his brother's face. Ernie'seyes were glistening. 

"I didn't mention a killing, did I?" retorted Grand, momentarilydisturbed. "If I had that in mind, Dick, I daresay I could accomplishit without calling on you for aid. What I want is to see him landed inSing Sing for a long term of years--the limit, you might say. "

"See here, Grand, you've called in the wrong stoolpigeon this time. I'm not in that kind of business. Never in all my life have I put up ajob on a pal, never have I done a trick as dirt-mean as that. I guessyou'll have to count me and Ernie out. "

"Don't go off half-cocked, Dick, " admonished the Colonel easily. "You're no fool, nor is Ernie. It's worth just ten thousand betweenyou if Tom Braddock is landed to-night, with the goods on him, so tospeak. Two thousand down, the balance--"

"You infernal beast!" snarled Dick, standing squarely in front of himand glaring into his eyes with a scorn so shriveling that the otherdrew back with an oath. "So that's what you wanted with Ernie, is it?Through him you hoped to get me to do the trick, eh? Well, you'veslipped up good and hard on _me_. I--"

Ernie, his lips twitching, his fingers working, seized his brother'sarm and pulled him back. 

"Wait a minute, Dick, --listen to me, " he fairly croaked in hisexcitement. "Let's hear what his plan is. Maybe we can see a way tohelp him. Le' me talk, Dick. Leave it to me. I'm smart and sensible. You're off your nut to-night. Just le' me do the talking. "

"That's right, " cried the Colonel quickly. He recognized an asset inErnie's despicable greed. 

Dick shook off his brother's hand. "No! This is no business of yours, Ernie. I'm the one he wants to dicker with. You can't put up a job onBrad and he knows it. He's just using you to land me. Not for tenmillion, Grand. Do you get that?"

"Don't shout so that they can hear you in the street, " cried Grand, scowling deeply. "Let me have a few words with Ernie. "

"Yes, Dick, you'd better shut up, " added Ernie eagerly. "I'll justtalk it over with the Colonel. If we find we can't do it, why, we'lltell him so, that's all. I tell you ten thousand's a lot of money. Wecould open the nicest kind of a cigar stand with that, and live likehonest, respectable men ever afterward. "

Dick sank back against the table and studied his brother's livid facewith the darkest despair in his eyes. His shoulders drooped suddenly. 

"Honest and respectable?" he said, passing his hand over his eyes. "You mean, _you_ could be all of that, but where would I come in?Would you let me stand behind the showcase in your fine store? Would Iever get so much as a pipeful of tobacco out of it? No! Don't try toargue with me, Ernie; my mind's made up. I came here to-night just tosave you from a game like this. I knowed you'd be for it strong, andI'd just have to do it if I wasn't here in the beginning to cork it. Look here, Grand, I don't know just what your plan is, but I'll tellyou this: I'll blow on you as sure as I'm alive if you try to carry itout. Tom Braddock is an honest man these days. He's not a whiskey-soaked bum any longer. He cracked me over the head this morning--youcan see the plaster there--but I don't hold it up against him. Heconsiders me his friend because I swore I'd stand by him if he'd holdback on getting you right away. He trusts me and he thinks you're allright, too, Ernie. Now, once and for all, I'm not in on this dirtywork. _And neither is Ernie!"_

Colonel Grand sat motionless before the angry young man, quietlytapping on the table with his long, white fingers, a faint smile onhis half-crescent mouth. 

"We'll see, " he said deliberately. "Perhaps you'd better let Ernie dothe talking. I don't believe you are as wise and discreet as you mightbe, Dick. "

Dick whirled upon Ernie, who stood behind him. The hunchback wasstaring at him with a strange, unfamiliar expression in his face. Itwas a look of combined wonder and awe. 

"Come on, Ernie. Let's get out of here. "

"Just a moment, Ernie, " interposed the Colonel. "Sit down and listento what I have to say. "

But, for the first time since it entered his body, Ernie's soul aroseabove the sordid flesh. It came as from a great distance and slowly, but it came to take its frightened, subdued stand beside its kin. 

"I guess I'll be going, " he said, and even as he uttered the words hewondered why he did so. "Ten thousand's a lot of money, but if Dickthinks it's too dirty for us to touch, why, I'm with him. You cancount me out. " He put on his hat and started toward the door. 

Dick could hardly believe his ears. "Great Scott, Ernie, you--you--Well, you're just great, kid!"

"Just a minute, " said Grand, arising slowly, an ominous glitter in hiseyes. He towered above the hunchback, who was near the door. "I don'tintend to let you go until you've heard _all_ I have to say. "

"Get out of the way, Grand, " said the pickpocket, his fingers clenchedso tightly that the backs of his hands were white. 

"There's only one way to handle swine of your breed, " sneered Grand;"and that is with a club. You are a fine, virtuous pair, you are. I'vegot a job for you to do to-night, and I have the means of compellingyou to do it. You must not get it into your heads that I did notprepare myself for either view you might take of the matter. I'm notsuch an idiot as all that. Now we'll indulge in a little plain talk. You are a couple of low-down sneak thieves, both of you. Of the--"

"Hold on, Grand!" snapped Dick. "None of that!"

"Of the two, Ernie is the lower. You miserable, misshapen scoundrel, you are worse than the vilest thief that ever lived. Dick is an angelcompared--" "I'll get you for that!" quavered Dick, so shaken by ragethat he could scarcely hold himself erect. 

"No, you won't, " squeaked Ernie. "I'll get him! I'll cut his heartout!"

Grand reached out with his left hand and touched a button in the wall. In the other hand gleamed a revolver. 

"If I press either the button or the trigger it will mean the end ofyou, you dogs. Now, listen to me. At the foot of the stairs are twopolicemen and a couple of detectives. They were duped into coming hereby the word that a sucker was to be fleeced in Broadso's rooms to-night. All I have to do is to press the button and call for help. Thishallway will swarm with waiters and men from all the rooms, and thecops will come on the run. I have nothing to do but to turn you overto them as a couple of thieves who came here to rob me. Trust me tomake out a case against you. "

"I'm no thief!" shouted Ernie. Dick was looking about, like a rat in atrap, his teeth showing in the desperation of alarm. "You fellows willcome to terms with me inside of two minutes or I'll land you both inthe pen so quickly you won't know it's been done. I want this manBraddock put out of the way. I've got two men waiting to go with you, so don't imagine that you can play me false after you leave this room. It is all cut and dried. You are to carry out a plan I have forlanding Braddock. The police will--"

"I'll see you hanged first, " grated Dick Cronk. "You are the king ofcrooks, you are. "

"Don't let him call the police, Dick, " whined Ernie, shrinking backagainst the wall. "I'm no thief. I won't go to jail! I won't!"

"Well, that's just where you'll land, my handsome bucko, " said themalevolent Colonel. "Dick won't mind it, but it will be a newexperience for you, your reverence. 'Gad, you toad!"

"Let me go!" cried Ernie. "Keep Dick here, but let me out. Dick willhelp you, honest he will. I'm no thief. You wouldn't send me to jail!"

 "Oh, I wouldn't, eh?" snarled the other. "You'll look fine instripes, you will. And nothing under the sun can save you if I pushthis button. Ten years, that's what it will be. The Cronk brothers!The _sick_ brothers! Why, a jury would give you the full limit. It will please your brother, after all these years, to see you doingtime--Here! Drop that, curse you!"

There was a deafening report, a blinding flash and a cloud of smoke. Then a gurgling groan, the scraping of a heavy body against the wall, and Colonel Grand slid to the floor, his arms and legs writhing in thelast tremendous spasm of death. 

Neither of the Cronks moved for a full half-minute. They gazed as ifstupefied at the bloody face of the great gambler; they saw his legsstiffen and his chest swell widely and then collapse. 

"Give me the key!" It was a whispered shriek that leaped from the lipsof the hunchback. "Good God, he's dead! They'll hang us!"

He sprang to Dick's side and snatched the door key from his stifffingers. As he leaped toward the door, through the powder-smoke, hestumbled over the body of the dead man. He crashed to the floor butwas up again in a flash, gasping, groaning with terror. An instantlater he was in the hall. Like a cat he sped past the still closeddoorways beyond and reached the stairway before a human being appearedin sight. 

Half-way down stairs he met men rushing upward, attracted by thepistol shot. He actually tried to clear their heads in a frantic leap. He was caught in the air, struggling and kicking furiously, to beborne down and held by strong arms. Shrieking with rage and terror, hefought like a wild cat. 

"I didn't do it!" he screamed, over and over again, foaming at themouth. "It wasn't me! It wasn't me! Oh, God! Oh, God!"

Some one struck him a violent blow on the mouth. The foam was red fromthat time on. In the hallway above there were shouts and the sounds ofrushing footsteps. Loud oaths of amazement came ringing down thecorridor. A man in his shirt sleeves appeared at the top of thestairs, his face livid with excitement. 

"Hang on to him!" he shouted. "Don't let him get away. We've got theother one!"

"What's the matter up there?" grunted one of the two officers holdingErnie, whose feet were now braced against the steps in the effort tokeep them from dragging him upward. 

"I didn't do it!" he panted between his teeth. 

"Search me! See if I have a revolver! I never carry a gun. Dick alwayscarries one. Let me go! Let me go! Why don't you go and get Dick?"

"Shut up, you!"

They dragged him to the door of No. 5. He caught sight of his brotherstanding between two men near the body of Colonel Grand, beside whicha coatless man was kneeling. Another man was going through the pocketsof the tall, glassy-eyed prisoner. 

From an inner pocket the searcher drew forth a revolver. With nervousfingers he broke the weapon. A cry fell from his lips. 

"Here's the gun. One shell empty. Barrel still hot. You low-livedscoundrel!"

Dick's eyes never left the bloody face of the murdered man. He wasbreathing heavily, as if in pain or extreme terror. 

"Is he dead?" he whispered through his bloodless, motionless lips. Just then he looked up and saw Ernie at the doorway, bloody-faced, cringing, wide-eyed with dread. Two burly policemen were dangling hisill-favored body almost clear of the floor. 

"Dead as a door-nail, " said the kneeling man. "Here's his gun with allthe chambers full. He didn't have a chance to shoot. Say, this is theworst thing I've ever heard of. You'll swing for this, you dog!"

Ernie sent up a shriek. "Swing for it! I didn't do it! You can't proveanything on me. Can they, Dick? What are you holding me for? Let go!I'm an honest, respectable citizen of New York. I'm--"

"Call a wagon, " shouted one of the officers to a newcomer. "Nasty jobhere. We've got the murderer all right. " Dick straightened up at this. He turned to look at the condemning pistol in the hand of the man whohad taken it from his pocket. A great shudder shook his frame. 

"You got me all right, " he said. "You won't believe it, of course, buthe pulled a gun first. I had to shoot. Get me out of this. If youdon't I'll kick his face to a jelly. I've always wanted to. " Heglanced at Ernie, a crooked smile on his lips. 

"Well, Ernie, I guess it's going to come true. I always said itwould. "

CHAPTER IX

IN THE LITTLE TRIANGULAR "SQUARE"

Jenison did not seek the warrant for Grand's arrest. He remained inthe Portman house until the middle of the afternoon, vastly exercisedby the fainting spell that had come over Christine. The household wasconsiderably upset by the occurrences of the morning; old Mr. Portmanwas the only person about the place who appeared to be in ignorance ofimpending peril and disaster. He went out for his drive at two, butwas not accompanied by his daughter, a defection which surprised andirritated him not a little. 

Christine was herself again in a little while. She stayed in her room, attended by the entertaining Miss Noakes, who struggled manfully, soto speak, in her efforts to shatter the depression that surrounded theyoung girl like a blank wall. 

Downstairs Mary Braddock listened to David's earnest eager plea for animmediate marriage. Now that Braddock had promised to leave at oncefor the far West, never to return, it seemed to David that all oftheir problems were solved. She had told him that her husband was todepart by the midnight train, and that it was her intention to go withhim to the depot. David begged her to take him along with her, but shewas firm in her determination to go alone. Braddock had made it acondition, and she could not break faith with him. 

Shortly after the noon hour she drove up town to the bank. On herreturn she informed David that she had drawn out a sum of money to bedelivered to Braddock before the train pulled out. She would not sayhow much she had drawn, except that it was sufficient to start the manout afresh in the world, and to keep him comfortable for a long timeto come, if he should adhere to his decision to eschew drink and cardsfor the remainder of his life. 

"Where is he going, Mrs. Braddock?"

She shook her head. "I will not tell you that, David. Only he and Iare to know. "

"And you are to send him money from time to time?"

"No, I am not to send him a penny. "

"He goes to-night--positively?"

"He goes to-night, positively. "

"And he refuses to see Christine?"

"Why should he see her?"

"Well, I don't know, " said he dubiously. "It seems rather hard, don'tyou think?"

"Yes. He worships her, David. Yes, it is hard. He is going in this waybecause it makes it easier--for both of them, he says. You see, David, he is doing it for her sake, not for his own. If he were to do thingsjust now for his own sake, he would kill Grand instead of running awayfrom him. "

"He's a good deal of a man, after all, Mrs. Braddock. "

"A good deal of a man, " she repeated. 

"He wishes Christine to be my wife. He told you so, but she won'tconsent until you tell her that it is all right. It's silly of her. I'm never going to give her up, and she knows it. "

She faced him suddenly. "You ask me why the marriage cannot take placeto-morrow, David. Would you be just as eager to have it take place ifher father decided to change his mind and remain here, with all theconsequences such an act might create?"

"Certainly, " he replied promptly. 

"You do not forget what he is, what he has been, what he may yetbecome?"

"That has nothing to do with it. I love Christine. "

"Would you be willing to stand at his side, the husband of hisdaughter, and say, 'I am content to be called your son'--would you?"

David stared hard at the floor for a moment. "I think that is ratheran unfair question, Mrs. Braddock, when we stop to recall the factthat both you and Christine have denied him for years. I will callmyself his son when you call him husband and Christine speaks of himas father--to the world. You can hardly expect me to be proud of whatyou are ashamed to own. "

She bowed her head in sudden humility. "I was wrong, " she said. "Ideserve the rebuke. "

"I have hurt you. Forgive me. "

She placed her hand on his. He observed that it was as cold as ice. "While it is true that we have denied him, my dear David, neverthelesswe do belong to him. She is his daughter. That is what I am trying tomake plain to you. "

"If she chooses to call herself his daughter, I am perfectly contentto call myself his son. "

"I wanted to hear you say that, David. You must take her as ThomasBraddock's daughter, quite as much as you do as Albert Portman'sgranddaughter. "

"I am not deceiving myself, " he said with a smile. 

"Then I am ready to give my consent to an immediate marriage, " shesaid. For the first time since their interview began she spokehurriedly. A feverish light came into her eyes, burning bright anddry. 

He sprang to his feet, triumphant. "Come with me to her! She will namethe day if you--"

"I shall name the day, David, " she said evenly. "It must be to-night, --this very night, --before her father goes away. "

"Are you in earnest?" he cried, scarcely believing that he heardaright. 

"She loves you with all her soul, and you love her. You are herprotector, the stone wall between her and all the unkind things oflife. She needs you now. Tomorrow may bring the hour of trial. It isbest that she should have you to lean upon. It must be to-night. Come;we will go to her. It is nearly three o'clock. There is much to bedone between now and the time that your train starts for Richmond. Iwant her to be in Jenison Hall to-morrow. "

Together they went to Christine. Half an hour later he hurried awayfrom the house, a dozen imperative duties to be performed between thattime and seven o'clock. He went with a joyous spirit, a leaping heart, and with the will to accomplish all that was required of him in thatshort space of time. 

At seven Christine and he were to be married in the huge, old-fashioned drawing-room; at eight-thirty they would be on board thetrain, bound for Jenison Hall. He was to take her away with him, farfrom all the ugly possibilities that crept up from all sides tothreaten her. Mary Braddock refrained from telling Christine even somuch as she had told David concerning the plans of her husband. Thegirl was allowed to believe that the man was already on his way to thefar West. There was a rather trying scene when Christine learned thatit would be impossible for her to see her father. She broke down andwept, crying out bitterly that she might have been able to comfort himif she had been given the opportunity. It was with some difficulty andthe exercise of considerable patience that her mother convinced herthat they had acted for the best. 

"Some day I shall go to see him, mother, " she had said with aresoluteness that brought a strange gleam to the eyes of the olderwoman. "I am sorry for him. He needs some one to love him. I am surehe is not so wicked as--"

"You must be guided by what David says, my child. Remember that youwill have more than yourself to consider, " was the evasive remark ofMary Braddock. 

Brooks was sent off with a letter to Dr. Browne, the rector, requesting him to conduct the marriage ceremony. Maid-servants packedChristine's trunks, all enjoined to secrecy. Ruby Noakes and old Joeyattended to a few of the many preparations that were being hurriedthrough with such nervous haste. 

All through the long afternoon Mary Braddock lived under the mostintense strain of suspense and apprehension. Uppermost in her mind wasthe question: had he succeeded in eluding the watchers who were on histrail?

At four o'clock she went to her father, prepared to tell him all thathad transpired during the past thirty-six hours. She held nothing backfrom the old man, not even Braddock's gruesome design. They werecloseted together for more than an hour. That which passed betweenfather and daughter went no farther than the walls of the secludedlittle room that he called his study. She came forth from the tryinginterview with her head high and her heart low. 

The old man's last tremulous words to her were these: "Well, Mary, Godshows all of us the way. Sometimes the way is hard, but we reach theend if we look neither to the right nor the left, --nor behind. Whatyou have just told me is terrible. Is it the only way?"

"Yes, it is the only way. "

He bowed his head and said no more. She kissed his gray hair andpassed out from the room, closing the door gently behind her. 

David and Christine were married at seven o'clock. The shadow whichhung over the household, the grievous exigency which made haste soimperative, did much toward suppressing the joy and gladness thatunder other conditions would have filled the house and the hearts ofall therein. Mr. Portman, gray-faced and taciturn, gave the bride inmarriage. There were but three witnesses outside of the family. JoeyNoakes and Ruby were there and a single college friend to whom Davidhad gone in the stress of necessity. 

Mother and daughter said their farewells in private. Christine sobbedin her mother's arms, imploring her to come away with them at once, tobe happy forever. Mary Braddock's eyes were dry and burning, her handswere cold, her heart like ice. 

"I will come some time, my darling, but--not now. You must make yourhome before I come to see you in it. I shall go abroad, as I told youthis afternoon. Father agrees with me that it is the thing to do underthe circumstances. When I return, my child, I will come to see you inJenison Hall. You will be its true mistress by that time. You willhave discovered the true happiness of life. Until then, my darling, you will not have lived. Even I found joy and happiness in theirfullest estate before I came to know bitterness and unrest. You are tobe very, very happy. I will come to you in the midst of it all. "

After they were gone and the lights were out Mary Braddock, wide-eyedand tense, stole down to the stables and waited for the father of thebride. She was there a long while ahead of the appointed time--hours, it seemed to her. 

He came at last, slinking up from the mouth of the alley where asingle street-light spread a dim glow in which he resolved himself fora moment in transit, only to be blotted out again as if by some magicprocess. With narrowed, anxious eyes and alert ears she waited, standing there in the half-open door of the carriage-house. Suddenlyhe grew up out of the darkness, almost at her side. 

"Tom, " she cried out softly. 

He came straight to her. His eyes, used to the darkness and made keenby the ever-present sense of danger, had seen the faintly whitesplotch in the night that marked her face for him. He had seen and hadwaited to make sure that it was she who stood there peering forth. 

"Well, I'm here, " he said in a hoarse, restrained whisper. "Have youheard what's happened?"

"They are not pursuing you? What is it, Tom?"

"Grand has been murdered, Mary!"

For a full minute they stood as motionless as statues, he listeningfor the footstep that had been in his ears for days, she stunned bythe appalling news. Her voice was shrill with agony when she finallybroke the silence--agony, despair, horror, all combined in one bittercry. 

"_You promised me you wouldn't do that!_"

"Sh! Be careful, " he whispered, coming close to her side. "I _didn't_do it, Mary, --so help me, I _didn't!_ Wait! Listen to me! I'm tellingyou the truth. " She had fallen back against the wall of the building. Her breathing was quick, as if horror was strangling her. "They caughtthe murderers, --a couple of gamblers at Broadso's, I heard. I didn'thear much about it. The newsboys were shouting it over in Broadway halfan hour ago. I bought a paper, but it gave no details, --except that heis dead. "

"He is dead? Oh, Tom, Tom, you _do_ swear to me that you had no hand init. I couldn't bear that now. " Her arms were spread out against thebuilding, her hands clenched. In the darkness he could see her eyes, wide and staring. 

"I swear it, Mary. I was not within a mile of Broadso's. I am asinnocent of that murder as you are. You will know the truth to-morrow, even if you don't believe me now. I'll never hear the true story. Oh, I don't mind saying I would have given my very soul to have been theone to do it. Maybe you think I'm pleased that he is dead. Well, I'mnot! I begrudge those fellows the pleasure they had in killing him. But, this is not the time or place to talk. Let's say good-by here, Mary. You go back to the house. Let me go and do it alone. "

She swayed toward him. He caught her on his arm, --an arm of iron. Sheput her hand to his face. 

"Tom, " she whispered, "God has taken a hand in our affairs--in yours. You must believe in God! You must give yourself to Him to-night. "

His voice broke a little. "I--I guess you'll have to do the prayin', Mary. Go back to the house now and send up a little prayer for me. That's all you've got to do. I can't stay here. It's dangerous. Thereis the chance that the police may try to connect me with this murder. It's known that I was after him. Don't you see? Good-by, Mary, I--"

"I am going with you, Tom. "

She grasped his arm tightly. He breathed heavily once or twice; agroan broke in his throat. 

"All right, " he said. She felt the great muscle in his arm swell andrelax again. "Do you know the way, Tom?" she asked. 

"That next street below takes us to the docks. I walked down therethis morning. By heaven, Mary, I think you might spare yourself allthis. It's too horrible to even think of. Why--why, I just can't do itwith you looking on. What do you think I am?"

"You said you would do it, Tom, " she insisted dully. 

"Bob Grand is dead, " he reminded her. "I said that he and I couldn'tlive on the same earth. It's hard to think of going straight to hellwith him not more than two hours ahead of me. "

"Come, " she said, starting off resolutely. He caught up with her, andthey hurried through the alley side by side. 

"_I'll_ do it, all right, " he said, after they had traversed nearly twoblocks in silence. The words came as an epitome of the struggle thatwas going on in his mind. 

"Don't walk so fast, Tom. You are tiring me. "

"Tiring you?" he exclaimed. He looked at her bent head and laughed, --ashort, mirthless chuckle. "You'll have to forgive me, Mary. You seeI've been thinking of something else. Men walk fast when they're in ahurry. "

"Is it much farther?" He could scarcely hear the words. 

"Six or eight blocks, if I remember right. "

She did not speak again until they were in the middle of the secondblock beyond. From time to time he turned to look at her, his benumbedsoul trying to get in touch with the spirit that moved her to comewith him to the very brink of the grave. He was puzzled, he could notunderstand it in her. If there was a hope of any kind lying buriedunder the weight that was in his breast, he neither recognized norencouraged it. There was an awful, growing dread that she did notintend to let him go in alone. He tried to put down the ghastly fear. His glances at her became more frequent, less furtive. The thought ofthis splendid, noble, beautiful creature going down into the blackwaters after him was almost beyond his power of comprehension, and yethe was slowly allowing it to take a hold on his senses. 

He came to an abrupt stop, rigid with horror. His hand fell upon hershoulder, roughly, regardless of the physical pain it was sure toinflict. 

"Mary, how can I be sure that you won't jump in after me? You act soqueerly. I don't understand you. For Heaven's sake, go back! Don't doanything like that. I can't bear it--I can't bear the thought of youdown there in the water, under the hulls, covered with--Ah!" Hecovered his eyes with his hand. 

She listened for a tense moment to the labored breathing of the man. He had thought of her at last! An odd, mysterious smile flickered onher lips. With a sudden convulsive movement she drew the long shakercloak closer about her shoulders. 

"Tom, there is a little park over there, with benches. Let us sit downfor a moment. "

"You won't do it, Mary, will you?" he pleaded, now completely in thegrip of that terrible dread. 

"I am not as brave as you are, Tom, " she said. He caught a new, vibrant note in her voice. He misconstrued it. 

"I call it pretty brave to be able to go down and see a man jump intothe river. Not many men could do it, let alone women. It's like seeinga man hung. "

She led him, unresisting, to a bench in the corner of the dark littletriangle that was called a "square. " People were passing by, but noone had stopped there to rest, or to reflect, or to make love. Theyhad the green little park all to themselves. 

"Christine was married to-night, " she said after they had been seatedfor a few minutes. 

He remarked lifelessly: "Hurried it up on my account, eh? It's badluck to postpone a wedding, even for a death in the family. Well, I'mglad. She's sure to be happy, God bless her!"

"Yes, she will be very happy. "

"I suppose she--and you, too--had a notion that I'd turn up some dayto spoil the whole business. So you got it over with, eh?"

"I wanted everything to be settled, that's all. "

He was silent for a while, breathing heavily. 

"Did she ask about me?"

"Yes. "

"You told her I was going away--that I'd probably never see heragain?"

"I told her you were gone. "

"I suppose she was relieved. "

"She cried because you were not there to see her married. "

He was fully half a minute in grasping the full meaning of thatwonderful sentence. 

"Did she?" he asked, lifting his head suddenly. "Honest, Mary? You'renot saying it just to--to make me feel--"

He stopped and waited for her to reply to his unuttered question. Sheshook her head. 

"Then she does care a little for me. She hasn't lost all the feelingshe used to have--"

"She cried because she was not given a chance to talk with you. Shethought she could comfort you, could help you. That was why she cried, Tom. "

He allowed his chin to rest in his hands, his elbows on his knees. 

"I wonder if I could have--Oh, say, there's no use talking, " he endedbitterly. 

"What were you about to say, Tom?"

"Nothing. "

"Yes, you were. Tell me. "

"Oh, " he cried, with all the bitterness of a lost, hungry soul, "if Ihad only known! She _could_ have comforted me. What a fool I was not tosee her. I've been cursing myself all day. Now I know why I cursed. Itwas because I wanted to see her--" He struck himself a violent blow onthe mouth, as if that were all that was needed to crush the greatlonging that was in his breast. 

"Yes. Go on, Tom, " she said quietly. 

"I can't, Mary. I can't talk about it. I guess I'd better say good-bynow. I'll lose my nerve if I get to thinking and talking. I don't wantto think that I might still get some happiness out of life if--if Iwent after it right. "

She put her cold hand on his big, clenched fist. He looked at her. Thefaint light from a near-by lamppost struck his face. It was heavy, leaden with despair and misery. 

"Almost the last thing she said to me before she went away was this, Tom: 'Some day I shall go to him. He needs some one to love him. I amsure he is not so wicked as--' She got no farther than that. I stoppedher. "

"She said all--Mary, why did you stop her? Why didn't you want her tosay it? Why did you begrudge me a little thing like that?" He wastrembling violently. There was misery, not anger or resentment in hisvoice. 

"Tom, are you ready to go to the river?"

He shrank away from her, shuddering, appalled. 

"It's hard to die, after all. I--I ought not to have let you tell meall this. It's made it harder. I never thought of it before. Somehow, Mary, I--I think I might have turned out a better man if--if I'd knownjust how Christine felt. " He got to his feet suddenly. "I said I'd doit. You want me to do it. Well, I will!"

She clung to his hand. He turned upon her with an oath on his lips. The light now struck her face. What he saw there caused him to catchhis breath and to choke back the imprecation. 

"I am convinced that you would do it, Tom, for her sake and mine. Youwould do it, not because you are weak, but because you are strong. Iam satisfied now. "

"Satisfied?" he murmured, wonder-struck. 

She arose. "Tom, I am not going to say that I love you. You cannotexpect that. There is a feeling within me, however, that may developinto something like the old love I once had for you, if you give itthe right kind of encouragement--and care. "

"What are you saying to me, Mary?" he cried hoarsely. 

"You would have given up your life so that Christine might be happy. Iam willing to do as much, Tom, toward the same end. I will give up thelife I am leading. You want another chance, Tom. Well, you shall haveit. I will go where you go, live where you live. "

"Mary!" he gasped. 

"Christine said you needed help. Well, I will try to give it to you. You have her love. You didn't quite kill that, as you did mine. " Shetook his limp hand in hers and looked up into his eyes. "Perhaps, ifboth of us try hard, you and I together, Tom, we may be able to makeher forget the ugliest part of her life. "

"Together? I don't understand. "

"I am still your wife, " she said, a shrill note creeping into hervoice despite the effort she made to be calm. 

"You--you mean I won't have to go--to go to the river?" he cried, unable to think beyond that awful alternative. 

"I never meant you to do that. "

He suddenly took a long, deep breath and lifted his face, to stareabout as if trying to convince himself that he was really there, aliveand awake. 

"I guess I don't quite get your meaning, Mary, " he muttered, but hisfingers were beginning to tighten on hers. "Of course, I understandyou are still my wife, and--You don't mean you--you are going to takeme back!"

"No. I am asking you to take _me_ back. "

He could not speak for a full minute or more. 

"You'll give me another chance? That's what you mean--that's whatyou're really saying, isn't it?" He was fairly gasping out the words. 

"Yes, Tom. "

"Oh!" He turned and flung himself on the bench, bursting into tears. "I don't deserve it--I don't deserve it! It's too much to hope for. "These and other sentences fell in broken disorder from his lips. 

She did not speak, but sat down beside him, laying her hand on hisshoulder. After a time, he grew quieter, --then almost deathly still. She shook him gently. 

"Will you come home with me now, Tom?" she asked. She too had beencrying softly. 

He looked up. They were so close together that she could detect thehumble, wistful look in his face. His lips moved, but the words didnot come at once. 

"Home with you?"

"Yes. We have our plans to discuss, Tom. "

"To your father's house?" he persisted. 

"Yes. He understands. I talked it all over with him this afternoon. Itwas hard to do, Tom, --it was very hard to hurt that poor old man allover again. But I had it to do, and he understands. He asked me tobring you back with me. I told him I would. He wants to talk with youin the morning. "

"Mary, " he began, fingering his hat in the extremity of an emotionthat almost benumbed him, "I don't know whether you want to hear mesay it, but I've never stopped caring for you. It isn't all Christinewith me. I just want to tell you that. "

"I understand, Tom, " she said, still more gently. 

"I can't take any help from your father, " he managed to say afteranother long period of silence. 

"He will offer nothing but his hand and his well-wishes. "

"This is all so unexpected. I'm trying to get too many things throughmy head at once. Let me think for a minute or two. "

She was silent, looking off into the gloomy little street below. A manwas whistling gayly near by. From afar came the sound of rumblingstreet cars. She had not noticed these or any other sounds before. Apoliceman came up to the corner, stopped and looked at the huddledtwain for a minute or two, and then moved off. The sight of thatuniform created a sudden chill in her heart. Tom Braddock beganspeaking again, in low, steady tones in which there was not only asort of bitter determination but something like defiance. 

"What's more, Mary, I won't accept anything from you. Whatever you'vegot, put it aside for Christine or against the time when you may needit yourself. I'm not going to live off you. I'm not what I was back inthose rotten days. I believe I'm going to be I happy again--I thinklife's going to be sweet to me after all. Half an hour ago I had but afew minutes to live, as I believed. I don't know just how to take thisnew grip on life. Maybe I'll be able some time to tell you all that Ican't say now. I'm all befuddled. The main point is: I'm going to havea chance to be a man again, a real man; to be your husband and to makeChristine forget she was ashamed of me. That's it. That's what I'mtrying to say. So, you see, I can't afford to be ashamed of myself. Doyou get what I mean?"

"You would be ashamed of yourself if you accepted money or help fromme? Is that it?"

"Yes. I can work, Mary. I can support you, if you'll come with me. Iknow where to go. But you'd better think it over carefully. I can goalone, Mary dear, --I can go alone, if you feel you can't stand beingwith me. "

She hesitated, weighing her words. "I have a plan, Tom, that I want totalk over with you. I'll tell you about it when we get home. I want toknow what you think of it. Perhaps you will consider it a good one. Itoccurred to me this afternoon while I was making preparations to leavethe city with you to-morrow. "

"You--you had it all thought out before you--"

"I had it all thought out. In fact, Tom, I have the railroad ticketsat home in my desk, --two tickets, one way. "

"You are the most wonderful woman in all this world, Mary, I'd die foryou a thousand times, " he cried. It was almost a sob. 

She smiled. "I wouldn't allow you to do it even once for me. Come! Wewill go back the way we came, only we will go in by the front door. "

As they turned onto the sidewalk he cast a swift, involuntary glance, as of terror, in the direction of North River. She distinctly heardthe quick intake of his breath and the involuntary chatter of histeeth. 

"You will sleep in a good, clean bed to-night, " she said, reading histhoughts. 

He reached forth and touched her arm, timidly at first, as if he wereafraid that ever so slight a sign of affection would be repulsed. Finding that she did not shrink or draw away, he ventured to draw herarm through his. His figure was still bent, but the slouching, furtivemovement was gone. Mechanically she fell into his stride and theymoved swiftly up the street. A clock in a house across the way bangedout the hour. Far away, in the neighborhood of Broadway, a raucous-voiced newsboy was crying his "extra. " They knew that he was shouting:

"All about the murder!" in that unintelligible jargon of the night. 

"We will get it all in the morning papers, " she said. 

"I hope they don't try to connect me with it--Mary, I'm afraid ofthat! You'd better let me get out of town to-night. "

She shook her head. 

He walked with his eyes set straight ahead, trying to understand, trying to get control of his new emotions. Always there was the sharp, ugly little notion that she still despised him, that she wassacrificing herself that he might be drawn as far away as possiblefrom the child she was so anxious to shield. 

"I'm going to try my best to make you care for me again, " he said, avast hunger for sympathy and love taking possession of him. 

"I hope you may, Tom, " she said drearily. 

"You're doing this for Christine, " he said resentfully. "Just to getme away, so's I can't trouble her. That's it, isn't it? Tell thetruth, Mary. "

"I would not expect you to do anything for her sake if I were notwilling to do a great deal myself, " was her enigmatic rejoinder. 

"Don't hate me, Mary, " he burst out. 

She pressed his arm. "I am giving you a chance, " she reminded him. There was still a dreariness in her voice, but he did not detect it. He returned the pressure, half hopeful that the beginning already hadbeen made. 

Brooks let them in. He had been waiting up for them. 

"Mr. Braddock will be here over the night, Brooks. "

"Yes, Mrs. Braddock. " He opened the door into the library for them, and then silently hastened upstairs. 

"You must have been pretty sure of yourself, " commented Braddock, inno little wonder. She threw off the shaker cloak. 

"There is a cold supper for you in the dining-room, Tom--and a pieceof a last-minute wedding cake. You must be hungry. While you areeating we will talk over my plan. "

He went about it as if in a dream. For an hour they discussed her planfor the future. In the end he fell in with it. 

"I'd be a dog if I didn't give in to you in a matter like this, " hesaid. "You're doing everything for me. "

"Our room is at the head of the stairs, the first door to the left, Tom, " she said, rising. Her face was very pale; she looked old. "Thebath adjoins it. If you don't mind I'll stay downstairs awhile. I havemany papers to look over and some letters to write. "

He went upstairs to the wide, high bed-chamber with its azure walls. For a long time he stood in the middle of the room, looking around indull amazement and doubt. Was it really true that he was there, in themidst of all this elegance and comfort? He glanced at his big handsand started with shame. They were not very clean. The soiled cuffs ofan ill-fitting "hickory" shirt came down over his wrists. Involuntarily he pushed them up. The greenish-gray of the coarse jeansgarments he wore, clumsy and crumpled, was sadly out of harmony withthe delicate, refined colors that surrounded him. It seemed to him allat once that he _jarred on himself_. 

Suddenly his gaze fell upon a neatly folded suit of clothes lyingacross the foot of the bed. The garments were dark blue, with a thinstripe running through the cloth, and they were new. On the centertable there was a straw hat. Shoes stood beside the chair at the headof the bed. An immaculate white shirt hung over the back of the chair, while on the seat were undergarments. He rubbed his eyes. Then he satdown on the chaise longue and stared, with growing comprehension. Thecoverlet on the bed was neatly turned down; a night-gown was there, clean and white. Beside it was another, soft and filmy. 

Braddock put his hands to his face and sobbed dry, choking sobs thatwere not of anguish, but of bewilderment. 

At last he pulled himself together and arose to make a tour of theroom. On the dressing-table there were collars and neckties and cuffs. His own old-fashioned silver watch lay there before him, with itsheavy gold chain attached. He remembered with a pang that he had givenit to her for preservation long ago, because it had once belonged tohis grandfather and he was sentimental about it. 

He looked again at the clothes he wore, the clothes the state hadplaced on him when he left the penitentiary; he looked at his soiledhands; in the glass he caught a glimpse of his haggard, unshaven faceand the dirt streaks that the tears had made. With a cry of disgust hebegan tearing off the hated garments. 

She had done all this for him! She had known all along that he was tocome home with her. 

Half an hour later he came from the bath, scrubbed until his skin wasred. He was clean! He was shaved! His hands were amazingly white. 

Like a boy, he tried on the fresh, new, clean-smelling clothes. Evento the shoes the fit in all cases was perfect. She rememberedeverything--the size of his collars, the size of his shoes, the lengthof his sleeves: the measurements of Tom Braddock as she had known himwhen they were young together. He picked up the filmy night-dress andkissed it a dozen times. Then he looked at the other one. A grim smiletouched his lips. How long had it been since he had slept in a thinglike that? It seemed like centuries. 

He sat down on the side of the bed and dropped his chin to his hands, suddenly a prey to widely varying thoughts, desires and emotions. Formany minutes he drooped there, thinking, wondering, doubting. 

Over in a corner stood a small new leather-bound trunk. He did not getup to look at it, or into it. He knew without looking. 

"It's like a fairy story, " he murmured over and over again. "I'll doanything in the world for her, as long as I live!"

Suddenly he started up. He would go down to her. He would renew hispledges, his promises. As he opened the door to pass out to the stairshe heard her moving in the hall below. She tried the front door. Thenthe lower light went out. He heard her mounting the stairs slowly. Shewas coming up to him!

When she got to a point where she could see the streak of light fromthe partially open door she came to a stop. A slight shudder went overher body. Her steps were slower after that, dragging, dejected, withone or two complete pauses. Braddock understood. He had been listeningto that pitiful approach of the woman who was his wife. He couldalmost see the expression in her face. 

A sudden wave of pity swept over him. He gently closed the door andlocked it on the inside. 

She came on and turned the knob, feebly, timorously. 

"Good-night, " he called out from the most distant corner of the room. 

Fully ten seconds passed before she responded. He felt somehow thatshe held her breath during that time. 

"Good-night, " she cried, a vibrant note in her voice. He heard her asshe went down the hall. She was running. 

CHAPTER X

THE BLACK HEADLINES

Christine had been mistress of Jenison Hall for three days when theexpected and anxiously looked-for letter came from her mother. 

A sensation of dread, of uncertainty, had been present during thosethree wonderful days, lurking behind the happiness that filled theforeground so completely. She could not divest herself of the vague, insistent fear that disaster hung over the head of the mother sheidolized. David, supremely happy, used every device that his brain anda loving heart could present to set her mind at rest, to drive awaythe unvoiced anxiety that revealed itself only in the occasionalmirror of her telltale eyes. 

When no word came on the morning of the third day, she timidlysuggested that they run up to New York for a short visit. He laughedat her and playfully accused her of being tired of him, of beinghomesick. Nevertheless, he was troubled. He had seen the newspaperaccounts of the murder of Colonel Grand, and he had been horrified, immeasurably shocked, to find that Dick Cronk was the self-confessedassassin. 

There was no mention of Braddock's name in the dispatches, yet hecould not banish the fear that ultimately the man would be implicated. 

Dick Cronk's story of the crime, as presented by the newspapers, wasclear and unwavering. He said that he had shot the man in the heat ofa quarrel over money matters. The newspapers professed to be unable tosecure a statement of any kind from the brother, Ernest Cronk, who wasin jail as an accomplice, despite the vigorous protests of theprincipal figure in the case. The newspapers went into the history ofthe Cronk boys, from childhood up, devoting considerable space to theexcellent reputation of the cripple and the unsavory record of thenoted pickpocket. In summing up the case, there seemed to be noquestion of the innocence of the cripple, although it was stated thatthe district attorney intended to put him on trial for complicity inthe crime. The men, held without bail, were to be given a hearing inthe trial court at an early day. 

Letters from Joey Noakes and Ruby to the Jenisons set forth thedetails of a visit to the Tombs on the day following the murder. Bothwere constrained to remark that, in the view of Dick's confession, itwould go very hard with him; they could see no chance of escape forhim. Joey, however, urged David to contribute something towardengaging the services of a clever lawyer who at least might save himfrom the gallows. He stated that Ernie, after stubbornly maintaininghis own innocence, refused to pay out money for an attorney, preferring to let the state provide counsel for him, under the law. There was no mention of Braddock in either letter, for obviousreasons. 

Then the letter came from Mary Braddock. It was addressed toChristine. The mother's heart cried out in the opening pages. David, at least, could read between the lines. There were the tenderestprotestations of love and the most confident of prophecies, utteredwith a buoyancy of spirit that convinced and delighted the girl, whohad been so hungry for reassuring words. A new radiance enveloped her. But he saw beyond the wistful, carefully considered sentences. He sawthe shadow of Thomas Braddock at the elbow of the woman as she wrote. 

Near the bottom of the second page she abruptly took up the subjectwhich was, after all, uppermost in the minds of these anxious youngpeople. 

"Your father, " she began, "has changed his mind about going to themines in the Southwest. I saw him after that dreadful thing hadhappened at Broadso's. He was afraid I might think he had a hand init, so he came at once to reassure me. Of course, he was notimplicated in any way. It will please you, Christine, to know that myfather had a long talk with him on the day following the murder, andthat he was more than merely impressed by the change in him. He firmlybelieves that your father means to lead an honorable, upright life. I, too, believe that he can work out his own redemption. Perhaps Davidwill bear me out in this. He saw him, and he noted the wonderfulchange. Time, however, will tell. I ought not to be too rash with myprophecies. 

"He loves you. He wants to reclaim your love and respect. That is allhe has to live for, I firmly believe. For this reason, if for noother, I am confident he will make a brave, a wonderful effort. Whathe needs most of all is encouragement, sympathy, the promise ofultimate reward. If he realizes that the time may yet come when he canstand before you without shame on his own part, and be receivedwithout shame on your part and David's, I am sure it will meaneverything to him in the struggle he is to make in the next three orfour years. 

"He is now on his way to your grandfather's ranch in Montana, of whichhe will assume the management next fall. The present manager is mostunsatisfactory to my father. He recognizes Tom's great ability inhandling men; his training in the school of hardship and adversity hasgiven him all the requisites necessary to the conducting of a largeranch. You remember the name of the post-office where the mail for theranch is always sent. I implore you to write to him often. It willmean so much to him, and, in the end, so much to you and yours. Heinsists that you are to make no effort to see him. You can wellunderstand how he feels about it. Let _him_ come to you in hisown good time. That is best, I am sure. I strongly advise you torespect his wishes in this connection. 

"As for my own plans, I am going to the ranch with him. He needs me. "

That was all she had to say of herself or her plans. 

In the next sentence she spoke of Dick Cronk:

"I suppose you have read of that unhappy boy's arrest. Joey is tryingto raise means with which to employ capable counsel for him. I havesent him a check for a thousand dollars, with the understanding thatmy name is not to be mentioned as a donor. Your father says he cannotconceive of Dick committing a murder. Nor can I. I have a strangefeeling that he did not do it, but, of course, that is silly in theface of all that has come out. I am sorry for Dick. If David can findit convenient to befriend him in any way, I am sure he will nothesitate to help that poor, unfortunate boy who once did him anunusual service. 

"We are leaving at 5. 30 for Chicago.... "

The weeks passed rapidly for the blissful young Jenisons. The lettersfrom the far West were full of promise. Even the skeptical David wascompelled to admit to himself that the silver lining was discernibleagainst the black cloud that Mary Braddock had so deliberately setherself under. 

With his fair young wife he journeyed to New York toward the end oftheir first month of married life. It had not required the advice orsuggestion of others to rouse in him a sense of duty. He owed more toDick Cronk than he could have hoped to repay under the most favorableof circumstances: now it seemed utterly impossible to lift theobligation. His first act was to send a large check to Joey Noakes. This was followed by numerous encouraging letters to Dick Cronk, ineach of which he openly pledged himself to do all in his power to helphim in his great trouble. 

Dick's replies were characteristic. They were full of quaint, sarcastic references to his plight, glib comments on the closeproximity of the scaffold, and bitter lamentations over the detentionof his brother Ernie, whose misery and unhappiness seemed to weighmore heavily with him than his own dire predicament. 

On his arrival in town David went at once to the office of the greatcriminal lawyer who had been engaged to defend the Cronks. There hewas met by Joey Noakes, Casey (no longer a contortionist but the ownerof a well-established plumbing business descended from his father) andyoung Ben Thompson, the newspaper man who was soon to become Ruby'shusband. The man of law was brutally frank in his discussion of thecase. He had gone into it very thoroughly with the two prisoners. Inhis mind there was no doubt as to the outcome of the trial. The menhad elected to be tried jointly. Richard Cronk did not have the ghostof a hope to escape the extreme penalty; Ernest would be discharged. There did not seem to be the remotest chance of saving Dick from thegallows. 

The testimony of the two prisoners would have but little weight with ajury, and there were no extenuating circumstances behind which hecould go in support of his plea for leniency. The prisoners hadrevealed to him their motive in visiting Broadso's place, going quitefully into the details of the interview which ended in the shooting. David's surprise and horror on learning these hitherto unmentionedfacts can well be imagined. 

"Personally, " said the lawyer, "I am inclined to the opinion that DickCronk tells the truth when he says Grand drew a revolver on him andthat he shot in self-defense. If we can make the jury see it in thatlight there may be some chance for him. That is the defense I shalloffer, in any event. The state, however, is in a position to makelight of the plea, and with tremendous effect. It is just as plausiblea theory that Grand himself drew in self-defense. The fact that Cronkfired and Grand did not will go far toward substantiating that theoryin the minds of intelligent jurors. It is not at all likely thatGrand, who knew the character of his visitors, could be forestalled ina shooting affair, especially if he had been the first to draw. Gentlemen, I shall do my best, but I must say to you that it is ahopeless fight. Young Cronk is perfectly indifferent as to his ownfate. He seems only anxious to have his brother acquitted ofcomplicity in the actual crime. Ernie Cronk says that he saw arevolver in Grand's hand, but, you see, he is so vitally interestedthat it is doubtful if his testimony will be credited. It is veryblack for Dick Cronk. You may as well understand the situation. Wehave one chance in a thousand of getting him off with a life sentence, one in a million of securing an acquittal. "

The next day David and Joey went to the Tombs to see the two men. Dickcame down to the visitor's cage, but Ernie stubbornly refused to seethe callers. 

"He's in a terrible way, David, " said Dick, in explanation of hisbrother's attitude toward them. "You see, I'm an old hand at thebusiness, and I advised him to talk with no one except the lawyer. It's bad policy, gabbing with everybody that comes along. Keep a closetongue in your head, that's my motto. Ernie's followin' my adviceright up to the limit. He's so cussed stingy with his conversationthat he won't talk to himself. I don't believe he has said fifty wordsout loud in the past two weeks. It's getting to be quite a joke amongthe other guys in here. I never knew any one to be so careful as heis. But, as I said before, he's in a bad way. It's telling on him, poor kid. He can't see anything but the rope for both of us. And then, Davy, my boy, he's got a particular reason for not seeing you. I guessyou know what it is. He's a terrible proud feller, Ernie is. Not a bitlike me in that respect. Now I'm willing to thank you for putting upthe coin for us, and all that, and I do thank you; but Ernie--well, he's a curious kid. He can't bear to--well, you understand. "

"Dick, " began David as soon as the complacent rogue gave him theopportunity to break in, "I want you to tell Joey and me just how ithappened. We are your best friends--"

The prisoner held up his hand, palm outward, shaking his head slowlyas he spoke. "I'd be a poor example for Ernie if I blabbed aftertellin' him to keep his trap shut. Excuse _me_, Davy. My lawyeris the only one I talk to about the case. As he's your lawyer just asmuch as he is mine, and more so, I guess, I don't mind if you chatwith him. He can tell you all he wants to. But not me. Nix, kid. Noteven to you and old Joey here, the greatest close-mouth in thebusiness. Why, I saw Joey last winter in that pantomime out West, andhe never said a word from the time the curtain went up till it wentdown. Talk about your tight-lipped guys! Say, he's the king of themall. He's the only actor I ever saw that wasn't kickin' for more wordsto conquer. These gabby actors just give me a--"

"For heaven's sake, Dick, be serious!" cried David impatiently. "You_must_ talk to us openly, frankly about--"

"I'm sorry, David, " interrupted Dick, his face grave in an instant. "Ican't talk about it. I'd sooner not. You see, I've got to considerErnie. He's absolutely innocent. If I got to spoutin' around, I mightsay something that could be twisted so's it would hurt him. So, if youdon't mind, I'll talk about the weather. How is it down in oldVirginia? How's old Jeff? And how is the cook-lady at Jenison Hall?Say, I wish you'd mention me to her. I'm the ghost that took her piesand cold chicken, you remember. "

It was useless for them to continue. He smilingly but stubbornlyrefused to be moved by their eloquence. To all of their subtly-wordedentreaties he gave but the one, oft-repeated response:

"I guess you'd better discuss that with Mr. Prull, the lawyer. "

They gave it up, but not until the time allotted to them as visitorswas nearly over. 

"Mr. Prull has all the facts. Let him do the worrying, " quoth Dick, the philosopher. "Ernie will get off, dead sure. As for yours truly, Imade my bed, so I guess I'll have to sleep in it. Joey, I'll have thelaugh on you. You always said I was a crazy freak when I told youwhere I was going to end. Just you remember that, will you, when youread about me doing the groundless dance one of these fine days. Myold man did it before me. He was seventeen minutes strangling, theysay. Almost a record-breaking performance. To tell you the truth, Joey, I'd be downright disappointed if I should happen to cash innatural-like. It would be an awful jolt to my faith in Fate. "

"For the love of 'eaven, Dick, don't go on like that, " groaned Joey. Acold perspiration was standing on his forehead. "You ought to 'avesome regard for my feelings. "

Dick laughed merrily. "There you go! Always thinkin' of yourself. I'vealways heard that Englishmen haven't got any feelings. "

"Well, they 'ave, " was Joey's retort. 

"Say, David, what's the latest news from Brad?" He listened with greatinterest to David's brief recital. "Good for Brad!" he exclaimed. "Ialways said he'd come out clean if he had a chance. I say, Mrs. Brad'sa brick. She'll bring him around, see if she don't. He ain't a naturalcrook, Brad ain't. He's got a conscience and he can't get away fromthat. No man's a real crook who has a conscience. I've got my owndefinition of the word 'conscience': a mental funeral with only onemourner. Say, kid, I guess I saved your father-in-law's neck when Iplugged old Grand--"

"Dick, don't breathe that, I implore you, " cried David. "He hadpromised Mrs. Braddock that he'd go away. It can do no good to draghim into all this. "

"Well, " said Dick reflectively, "I guess you'd better ask Mr. Prullabout that. He knows all the facts. "

"I beg your pardon, Dick. I'm sorry I spoke so quickly. "

"It's all right, kid. No harm done. Don't worry. There won't beanything said about Brad's _original_ intentions. I hope Christine--Ishould say Mrs. Jenison--is well. I know she must be happy. "

"She is both, Dick. She is very deeply interested in your case. "

"I hope you won't let her send me roses and sweet violets, kid. That'san awful gag they're workin' now. There's a fellow down the line herethat cut his wife's head nearly off in two places--on both sides ofthe neck--and he's getting pink roses and lilies of the valley by thecab-load. "

"Christine is sending books and fruit, and three times a week you areto have a dinner fit for a--"

The sudden fierce glare in the prisoner's eyes caused David to stop inamazement. 

"Look here, " demanded Dick savagely, "ain't poor Ernie to have any o'these things? Is he to set by and see me eat--what?"

"You are to be treated alike, of course, " cried David quickly. Dick'sface cleared. He looked down in evident embarrassment. 

"Excuse me, kid. I--I always get riled when I think of him getting theworst of anything. I'm sure we'll both be terrible grateful to Chris--to Mrs. Jenison. She's an angel, --as of course you know, kid. Sendingme books, eh? Tell her I like Dickens, will you? And, say, there's_one_ book she needn't go to the trouble of sendin' me. "

"You mean the--the Bible?"

"Yes. "

"Dick, you don't really mean that. You--"

"I've already got one, " said the prisoner simply. His eyes fell withcurious inconsistency. They saw his chin and lower lip quiver ever soslightly. He scraped the floor with his foot a time or two, and hisfingers tightened on the bars. "It's a little one my mother gave mewhen I was a kid. I've always kept it. Funny little old Bible, withprint so small you can't hardly read it, 'specially that place whereall them guys with the jay names were being begot. They seem to runtogether a good deal--I mean the names. I guess they must have runtogether considerable themselves, if accounts are true. Yes, my magave it to me for being a good boy once. "

His eyes were wet when he looked up at David's face again. His smileseemed more twisted than usual. 

"Where is it now, Dick?" asked Jenison, a lump coming into his throat. Joey was plainly, almost offensively amazed. 

"Why, --why, Ernie's got it. He didn't have anything else to read, sohe took it a couple of weeks ago. I--I guess I'll ask him for it someday soon. Oh, yes, there _is_ something I want to speak to you about, Joey. A couple o' years ago I took out a life insurance policy in favorof Ernie, and also an accident policy. I couldn't keep up the accidentone, but the other's paid up to next January. Maybe I won't have to payon it again. It's for five thousand. I want you to see that he gets themoney if--if I--well, you know. The policy is in the safe over at oldIsaac's pawnshop, --you know the place. I'll write and ask him to comedown and see me, and I'll tell him to give you the paper, if you don'tmind, Joey. "

"Sure, Dick. I'll take charge of it. You're very good to Ernie, andthoughtful, lad. "

"Well, I guess I ought to be, " remarked Dick dryly. 

David from the first had been more or less certain that Dick was notthe one who shot Grand. He could not drive the ugly conviction fromhis mind. It occurred to him at this juncture to put his theory to thetest, hoping to catch Dick off his guard. 

"The police are now saying that you did not do the shooting, Dick. " Hewatched the other's face narrowly. 

There was not so much as a flicker of alarm. 

"They don't think the old boy committed suicide, do they?" asked Dick, with a chuckle of scorn for the obtuseness of the police. 

"No. They're working on some new evidence, that's all. "

"It's grand to have a reputation like mine, " grinned the amiablerogue. "They won't even believe me when they catch me red-handed. Oncea liar, always a liar. That's their idea, eh? If I was to turn aroundand say I didn't do it, I suppose they'd believe me? Well, nix! Iguess not!"

David and Joey left almost immediately after this, promising to visithim from time to time, and to do all in their power to aid Mr. Prull. 

"Well, so long, " said Dick at parting. "Say, Joey, will you rememberme to Ruby? I wish her all the luck in the world. "

The summer months wore away and toward the middle of October the caseof the State _vs_. Cronk and Cronk came up. There was little orno public interest in the hearing. Two sets of friends, rather smallcircles very widely apart, were deeply interested, and that was all. The Jenisons and their friends formed one contingent, while the otherwas made up from that shifting, stealthy element of humanity known asthe "under-world. "--pickpockets, cracksmen and ne'er-do-wells who hadbeen the associates of Dick Cronk in one way or another, off and on, for years. 

The plea of self-defense was ably presented by a great lawyer, but itwas shattered by the State quite as easily as he had anticipated. Hemade an eloquent, impassioned appeal for clemency. The jury was outnot more than an hour. Their verdict was an acquittal for ErnestCronk, a conviction for murder in the first degree against Richard, with the recommendation that he be hanged by the neck until dead. 

Following the conviction came the application for a new trial, whichwas not granted. The record in the case was so clear of error and theproof so conclusive that Mr. Prull declined to carry the matter to thehigher courts, realizing the hopelessness of such a proceeding. Thenbegan the systematic, earnest effort to induce the governor to commutethe sentence to life imprisonment. He declined to interfere. 

Dick Cronk was doomed. 

At eleven o'clock on the morning of a bitterly cold Friday in Januarya grim, sullen group of men, evil-faced fellows whose eyes were heavywith dread, and whose lips hung limp with dejection, crowded aroundthe stove in a squalid, ill-smelling basement room. They spoke butseldom; their voices were rarely raised above the hoarse half-whisperof anxiety known only to men who wait in patience for a thing ofhorror to come to pass, an inevitable, remorseless thing from whichthere is no escape. 

They shivered as they crouched close to the red-hot stove, notwithstanding the almost unbearable heat of the foul, windowlessroom in which they were gathered. Their faces were pallid, their eyesbloodshot, their flesh a-quiver. 

Occasionally one or another of them would go to the door to listen forsounds in the black passage beyond. He would resume his seat without aword to his fellows, each of whom looked up with stark, questioningeyes. Then they would fall to staring at the walls again, or at thefloor, their chins in their hands. At their feet lay the newspapers, eagerly read and discarded by each and every member of this littlegroup. There was a "noon extra, " fresh from a ten o'clock press. Ithad been the last to fall into their hands. 

They tried to smoke, but the water of mortal terror filled theirmouths. The smell of dead, dank tobacco pervaded the room. 

In a far corner, huddled against the wall, there was a shivering, silent figure, a Pariah even among these under-world outcasts. He satapart from the others, denied a place in the circle, despised andabhorred by the men he once had scorned because they were the devil-may-care companions and emulators of his brother. His beady black eyesnever shifted from the low, padlocked door in the opposite end of theroom. He, too, was waiting for the dread news from the upper world. His breathing was sharply audible, as of one drugged by sleep; hisbody had not moved an inch in an hour or more, so fierce was thesuspense that held him rigid. From time to time he swallowed, althoughhis mouth was dry and empty; there was a rattling sound accompanyingthe act that suggested the hoarse croak of a frog. Always his gaze wason the door, never wavering, unblinkng, fascinated by the horror thatwas creeping down to him as surely as the sun crept up to the apex ofthe day. 

Noon! Twelve o'clock, midday! The hour they were dreading!

One of the shivering thieves beside the stove drew forth from a raggedpocket the plutocratic timepiece of a millionaire victim. The way hiseyes narrowed as he looked at its face told the silent observers thatit was twelve o'clock and after. Unconsciously every figure stiffened, every jaw was set, every nostril spread with the intake of air. Everymind's eye in that fear-sick group leaped afar and drew a picture ofthe thing that was happening--then! At that very instant it washappening!

"Oh!" groaned some one, half aloud. 

"It's after twelve, " muttered another thickly. 

"The jig's up wid Dick, kids. Blacky ought to be here wid de extry. Wot's a keepin' him?" said the first speaker, glaring over hisshoulder in the direction of the door. 

"Twelve sharp, that's wot it says, " shuddered a small, pinched thief. "He's a-swingin' now. "

Suddenly a wild, appalling shriek arose from the corner behind them. As one man, they whirled. Their gaze fell upon the cringing figureover there, now groveling on the floor in the agony of a terror thatsevered all the restraining bonds that had held his tongue so long. 

They shrank back as their minds began to grasp the words he wasshrieking in his madness. 

He was sobbing out the thing that each man there had suspected fromthe first!

For many minutes they listened to his ravings, stupefied, aghast. Thena stealthy glance swept round the circle as if inspired by one centralintelligence. It crept out of the corners of rattish eyes, reading asit ran the sinister circle, and hurried back to its intense, malevolent business of transfixing the quarry in the corner. 

A hand reached down and grasped the leg of a short, heavy stool. Another went lower and clutched a long, murderous bar of iron thatserved as a poker. Savage eyes went in quest of deadly things, andpurposeful hands obeyed the common impulse. 

Then they advanced.... 

Later, the stealthy, shivering group stole forth from the room anddown the black hallway that led to the street. The last man out cast aterrified glance at the still, shapeless object in the corner as heclosed the door behind him and fled after his fellows. When they camefrom the passage into the full light of day, each skulker looked athis hands and found that they shook as if with a mighty ague. 

Even as they blinked their eyes in the glaring sunlight, an excitedyoung man came rushing toward them from the opposite side of thestreet. They paused irresolute. The newcomer was white, excited--yes, jubilant. In his hand he carried a newspaper, the heavy blackheadlines standing out in bold relief. 

"He's got a reprieve!" he was shouting eagerly. "Look 'ere! See wot itsays. "

Fascinated, they slunk back into the dark passage, to listen instupefaction while the joyous Blacky repeated the astounding news fromthe prison. 

"Mr. Jenison and his wife done it, " cried Blacky, his eyes gleaming. "It says so here. They went to the gov'nor this morning and put it upto him in a way that made him grant a reprieve for thirty days, so'sMr. Jenison can get the real facts before him. That means a pardonsure, kids. Say, Jenison's all right! He's the kind of a friend tohave, he is. He never quit on Dick. Say, where's Ernie? We'd betterput him wise. "

"It won't make any difference to Ernie now, " said one of the rogues, wiping his wet brow with his hand. 

Blacky fell away with a great look of dread in his eyes. Heunderstood. 

"We'd better duck out o' this, " he muttered vaguely. "It says herethat the cops are going to question Ernie. They're out huntin' for himby this time, kids. "

"They know he was here wid us, and they'll find him sure, " cried oneshifty-eyed fellow. "Me to the woods. "

"Hold on. Spike, " interposed another grimly. "We got to stand togetheron this. We got to stick by Dick, now he has a chance. We got to stayhere and tell 'em what Ernie said to us in there. It's the only way. We'll do time for it, but what's the dif? Dick was doin' more forErnie. We're sure to get off light, when it all comes out. "

They drew back into the passage and waited for the police to come. 

An hour went by, and not one faltered. There came at last to theirears the sound of heavy footsteps on the narrow stairway. Spike heaveda deep sigh and said to his comrades:

"We've seen the last of Dick, kids. This Mr. Jenison will take care ofhim from now on. He'll have a good chance to be honest, lucky dog, just as he's always wanted to be. "

The fellow with the plutocratic watch took it from his pocket andgazed at it with the eyes of one who is contemplating a greatsacrifice. 

"Jenison's all right, God bless him. I'm going to see that he gets hiswatch back, too. I was a dog to have pinched it in the first place. "

THE END