Newspaper Page Text
THE DAY OF SOULS
A NOVEL OF SAN FRANCISCO
CHAPTER V.— Continued
Bi;t Mr. Arnofd dec! flsd that he was
t:red and .wanted to *!t down, and en
opera, was as good as any place to tit
down In. So., still croaking evil, the
• lot machine man saw them disappear
through the vestibule. Ham hiding the
pup under his coat and Mannte Juggling
the halloon bcMnd a woman's hat, until
tp,*» tr'o va« presently In a stag* box.
Put in the lijrhts the poet was seized
with misgivings. Suppose tnat fool pup
harked? And that red balloon? He
tirped Mann'.e to give him the thing,
hut the little Hebrew, enlgperlns" until
his yellow diamond was a coruscation
•i* light, reduced to a regrurgltatlve
smother of laughter, refused. And then
th» overture was quelled, the curtain
phot up. and Rudolph and Marcel were
Mowing their fingers In the Parisian
attic, for It was "La Boheme.**
"Questo mar ropiso — ml »mmolHsce,**
narrated the barytone, Vo
"I/or»k at th' pup." whispered Mr. Mu
raskv.
"Che fal? . . . Nel clell blgi'
puarc>," answered Rudolph*
"Lxjok at hi* nose," continued Mr.
Murasky. "Keehee — **
"L'amore c un camlnetto ehe — "
"E 1n fretta!" bawled the barytone.
"Look at — **
"Say. Mann.e — " Arnold stirred, the
tup rose to shake himself, and the
ladles In the adjoining box took no
tice — "if you don't keep still Til throw
him Into that big- horn. Now — **
"You're rtrunk," grasped Mr. Murasky,
. chortling with suppressed rlee.
"T'm firtink. hut I'll get over It. You're
a damn fool and you never yrtll get
over It."
"Ma "ntanto gui sl.gela. — ** quavered
Rudolph, hut his eye was on the front
row, which craned about furtively at
Mr. Arnold's box party.
"Oh. Ham!" whispered the affrighted
poet, "don't talk ko loud!"
Mamie Murasky suddenly straight
ened, with a countenance blankly
alarmed. "Where Is It? Who's pot It?"
"Got what?*
"A te I'atto prlmo!" warbled the
tenor, h'.s eye now on the pup.
"Ca'j sake!" whispered the Heafl
light Kid. "duke It — catch It!"
Under the edge of the poet's chair
the red balloon .was balancing. The
trio watched It; the poet breathlessly
over his shoulder, Mannie hypnotized
hy apprehensions, and J. Ham Arnold
philosophically Interested.
• "Grab It!" gurgled Mannie.
The poet put down hjs little finger
and pushed the balloon back under his
chair. It bobbed to the other edge, gy
rating maddeningly. The women In the
next box looked at It entranced; the
tuba player gaped; the front orchestra
row" craned; Marcel and Rudolph
blinked over the footlights.
"Don't wiggle," chattered Mr. Mur
•• asrky; "don't move — oh!"
Pop-eyed, staring frightfully ahead,
sat the poet.
"My goodness!" exclaimed an Indig
nant one In the adjoining box, 'It's aw
ful!"
Mr. Arnold uprose and bowed to her
- with resigned, Eol'dtous patience:
"It is — It Is distinctly the worst yet!"
Injuredly gathering up the blue pup,
with Its trailing festoon of autumn
flowers, the box party host departed.
Mannie turned, but dared not follow.
Between him and the exit the balloon
titillated under the chair's edge; a
breath would start It toward the pro
's eenium.
And, staring straight before him,
listening to the two Bohemians cack
ling of their woes, sat the laundry
wagon poet. He was cold aa Ice; his
f*.et tickled with terror. It was worse
than being etuck on the forty-ninth
etar.za. of Plzarro's Quest. , Then the
portieres parted; Mr. Murasky had
flown.
"Pres-to!" squealed the barytone.
The poet prayed for an earthquake.
CHAPTER VI
AT 8 o'clock Arnold descended
from a bootblack's Btand in
Grant avenue. Inspected his
critically and turned down this
Ftrcet of fakers. He gave himself a
comforting conceit that his senses still
broke subconsciously through the tide
of his drunkenness, that he could see
tolerantly above the chaos that charged
him now e*i<3' then. He went along
Grant avenue, carrying the dog under
his arm with lordly complacence.
This curious place was packed
throughout Its four short blocks — a
forum set aside by unwritten law to
the evangelist, the agitator, the faker,
the proclalmers of revolutions — the un
washed, unclean, the ebullience of the
defeated, the querulous individualism
of this town of hates, of humors, abort
ive demagoguery. obscure genius and
turgid Idealism — here its mordant soul
of discontent rose to question and defy.
Never such a town of charlatanism so
lavishly supported and Incredulously
Jeered; palmists, astrologers, clairvoy
ants. Beers and prophets flourished as
the native bays, and on Grant avenue,
now before Arnold's eye, th« blatant
life, the Etaccato under voice of the
city found expression. At one end of
the asphaLted forum a socialist agi
tator stormed' at artisans, complacent
from being the highest paid workers
in the world; near him the band
of the Salvation Army beat the cadence
to heaven; then an old man, unknown,
unheeded, lost in tha throng, quavered
a. silly discourse on free love, next to
a Jew bawling the merits of a mag
netic cere all ring; and a faded woman
distributing pamphlets forecasting the
end of the world, a decrepit Egyptol
ogist, with a patriarch's beard, lectur
ing on the lost scarabaeus of Khem,
were shouldered by a broken down
CGPYKBrHT 1910 BY. THE B<3^S^=MgRRILI>
pugilist, who was selling tips on to
morrow's races: while beyond, In the
end of a cart beneath a choking gas
torch, a quack doqtor. In top hat and
silk waistcoat, pompous and strident
voiced, pointed to his red anatomical
charts, gaping skull ' segments, dis
membered limbs, gruesome, diseased
viscera, ghastly under the • sinuous
light.
But beyond these, the smaller groups
unattached and disintegrating about
the lesser orators, the disputatlve curb
philosophers, none lacking hearing*
Arnold's eye- caught an unusual figure.
Over the packed throng, lit by a flar
ing torch above the rostrum on which
she stood, was a woman In the black,
loose robe of' an ncj.dem!clan, the
mortar board cap surmounting a face,
young, strong. Romanesque; a Diana
grace in the arm*.s gesture. Over th«
ragged men, the homeless idlers, the
fools and ehamblers, the, filled and
complacent, the hungry and absorbed,
the street dreamers and idealists, the
banal and corrupt, she towered as
vivid In the night's flare Rgalnst the
dark as a Rembrandt study.
The -young man stopped beforfe the
dominance of her voice. Above the
shuffle of the street, clear, sonorous. It
leaped far over the yap and clamor;
It held him as did the figure poised,
the face compelling Imperiously. Al
ways his secret love of the theatric
moved him; now he Btaggered on and
a phrase cam* to him out a climatic
period. j
She was preaching of . a mystic
Christ, a symbolic Interpretation of all
revelations and messages of God. the
Ruperlmposltlon of modern esthete on
the ancient prophecies, an oriental
concept of the fervent faith that had
led the western races. The »oul of the
world slept, she 'said, because men
were engrossed with th» earth, lacked
vision; they turned away" from the
Inner light, for within each was the
power to redeem. Society was evil, a
city corrupt, an era debased because
men sank the real beneath the appar
ent. There was no sin, suffering, death;
the soul was incorruptible, but It slept
unexalted. Within each lay the power
to pass complete, serene, unmoved
through all existences; and ?.he Christ
Bhe taught was a mystic tea4her, high,
detached, Nirvanlc, as a dls* of pale
gold against silver.
In the street they listened, they whose
Christ had been a Man of Sorrows, gone
down to death hot with passion and
then failed for the common love of the
fallen, who had passed along the dusty ,
roadside unbefriended; they listened to
this modern concept, this denial' of sin" 1
and agonizing, of a god to aid, or the
need of aid, to this symbolic Christ
beckoning them to await ftbsorptl6n
back to the eternal and the Infinite;
before her astonishing .appeal, her
wondrous voice, they stood— but no
man came.
Arnold, the drunken wanderer,
elbowed through the throng until he
was by" the platform. ' He lurched to
it until the torch flared higher, and
with a enift of the black robe she
turned her face to him. For an ln
etant he fought back the delirium to
look at her, her eyes wfdening, her
lips parting, startled as by an accusing
revelation. And It seemed to him that,
she stood a meaningless symbol, high,
detached, with empty hands above the
outcasts, as though they waited for
some great message and she had none
— nothing, a fool's talk, a scientific
formula as senseless as the gibber of
any priest to their needs. And, staring
at her for a while, he reeled through
the press of faces to turn with a cry:
"Who cares? Who answers? You're
sleeping, too! You've failed 1"
- She saw his glance at the sensuous
completeness of her body as he made
way, the crowd cursing him in mut
ters, to the curb. Then, with a curi
ously mechanical falter, as In a dream,
she saw him go again to the Oriental
saloon. . X
Arnold paused by the bar. steadying
himself against his sickness, his dim
ming brain; then he groped to the' rear
of the establishment and staggered
\u25a0 Into one of the boxes, a square apart
ment hung with heavy Turkish weaves
and gold threaded tapestries. Here,
under the half shadows and uncertain
glows from a lantern, of perforated
bronze, which hung over the table, he
fell on the cushioned wall seat. - A
mulatto attendant. In fez and jacket
of oriental figure, looked In at the man
leaning his head on the table, showed
his gleaming teeth In a familiar,
friendly smile and departed. The air
of the place was warm, voluptuous
with liquor and tobacco smells and the
drugging exhalations of the volumi
nous, tawdry hangings. At this early
hour none was in the labyrinthine rear
establishment of the Oriental. From
the barroom a musical device, with
a chiming, fairy like tinkle, gave forth
a tremulous pianissimo movement from
the "Song to the Evening Star."
The mulatto In the red, fez was hold-
Ing- a whispered conference at the end
of the corridor; a woman's voice ques
tioned, and then she came along the
passage.
The man in the box heard the rustle
of her silken gown, the parting'of the
portieres, her friendly little laugh. He
raised his heavy head to greet Nella
Free. % .
. From her came a barbaric sugges
tion of perfumes, silks, jewels, an ele
gant coiffure, apt to her setting — she
was beautiful in the semlpurple shad
ows of the corridor. One white hand
was on the Turkish hangings, the
other held back. the marten fur collar
from her bosom/
"Andy said you were here — and
needed your . friends,' 1 she laughed.
"What's the matter, Ham? Who did
this to you? I'm surprised!'* ,;
He looked at her steadily, silently,
while the thrilling melody of * the
"Tannhauser" song came softly from
the front. She shrugged her shoulders
with another constrained little laugh,
and seated herself opposite him. The
attendant appeared with a tray on
which tinkled two iced glasses of a"
pellucid green liquor.
"Sallie and I just dropped In while
It's quiet," Miss Free remarked. "You
know I daren't go round town very
much. I ordered the creme de menthe
for vs — but you "
H© motioned the waiter away and
turned to watch her gravely, again
master of »hls dimming senses. She
twitched nervously under his eyes; she
rubbed her red lips with a bit of lace
and started to rally him, but he Inter
rupted with a moody Impatience.
'.'How long has Stillman been keep
ing you?" f
She tossed her. chin petulantly.
"1 told you 'onee — everything."
His directness hurt her. •
"He'll never marry, you."
She twisted about In the seat. "Well,"
she laughed, a hand on her side, "he's
liad plenty of time to make good! But
it's all in V' lifetime."
"Yes— five years now. isn't It?"
"I met him when I was a candy store
girl in Oakland — I was 16. Harry's
been good to me ever Blnce."
"Just a little girl— and life smashed
In on you." \ \u0084„,'<;
She laughed in deprecation. "See here
—what's the matter with you? I kept
my mother well off until she died and
I'm keeping my little sister In Notre
Dame. Td rather be here, Hammy,
than to be one of these shop girls'. Did
you ever ask any of : your millionaire
friends who. run big stores and- support
the churches how a girl can live on $4
a week?" .
"Some day, Nel, he'll quit yj)U— and
then- — then — "
"I'll be old and ugly, eh?" she retort
ed sharply. "Well, so'll the other girls.
And then dead, eh? Well, so'll the
good girls." ;/
The man raised his head, fighting the
grim tide drowning his brain.
"Your soul's asleep," he muttered;
"soul's asleep!"
"Who cares?" she answered, with her
idle laugh. "It's all in a lifetime! Who
cares?"
"God cares." He looked at her; her
blue eyes widened in a sort of fear.
"God cares," he muttered, "and I'm go
inff back somehow— some way."
She sat. staring at him, the tinkling
note of the star song in their ears,
silent In the drugged air of the Turkish
room.
"What's the matter with you?" she
said at last, her nervous laugh follow
ing. "God? And going back? Hammy,
you're awful drunk. \u25a0•.--.' l'll, call the ma
chine, and send you to the baths.
You're crazy." ' j [
A man came laughing along- the
passage; Eddie Ledyard • stood before
them. . . . ", V -
"Some one said you needed looking
after. Ham." lie cried. "Nel, what's
on him, .todo this?"
'Arnold folded his arms, body
swaying, and looked benignly on them.
"You two," he muttered, "going; to
love each other, eh? Now, don't. Love's
a bad joke, : Nel; so : bad that I can't
laugh at ', lt any more." : / : V
The flush of the 'girl's blood mounted
through her rouge. Eddie laughed con
fusedly. : ."Jolly along," .he evaded.
"Must have: made a killing! And who's
going to win the . Narcissus ; stakes?
Watt Chatom's filly?*;
"Bianca," murmured Arnold senten
tlously, drawn from his stupor. • -
. "Bianca!" cried .the girl. "That's
what I heard, too— on the dead!" Led
yard started— they should know, these
two— they . were 'in with the inside
crowd at the track. "Sure? You sure
it's Bianca," Ham?'.'
' Arnold nodded cunningly and .un
steadily transferred the dolorous pup
from one pocket to another, holding
it's forefeet in the crook of his arm.*
"Bianca,". he - affirmed. vsleepUy, and
waved them away. 'Tm - close to the
wise talk-^ttia»ea." ,• C
Another fHep had coifte along the cor
ridor; a powerfully built young man,
with, a red face and blue German eyes,
looked into the box with *a nervous
laugh. ; \u25a0 . ; /
"What's this I hear?": he demanded.
"Ham, they told me to look youup!" . ;
Hammy looked with superior benev
olence on the legislator. "Fred, I'm
all right — no crook's going to strong
arm me. I've como back— s' where I
belong." \u25a0
Fred Weldy's startled laugh echoed;
lie stared at the others.
"Take care of him," Nella whispered.
"There was a; girl he was going to
marry. And she must have thrown him
down — Hammy, a lad who's good -to
every .woman! You'd better take care,
of him." .'
Arnold put- his hand paternally on
Weldy'a shoulder, as always*, he had
done since their high Ischool days,
though the jbb printer was his own
age. ;
"Son," he began -Impressively! "I'm
close up and you aren't. ' I put you in
politics, didn't I, Fred? I made you."
The legislator started, laughed >. fee
bly. Ham was Indeed drunk, thought
he, for boasting w.as tha last thing in
him. .
. "Come on home, Hammy," he urged.
"I Just ran down from the capital to
see you. I've been reading all this
stuff In the papers— and I had to see
you— — "
"Tomorrow," returned his political
godfather, with dignity. "Tonight I'm
merely getting the right perspective of
some things. ; And -don't mirid the -pa
pers-*—no grand jury crooks on earth
can get me. I didn't save you, Fred—
merely program— program— joke on
the people, made an* provided."
Eddie Ledyard, to whom politics was
a closed book, was staring. Nella Free
shrugged her shoulders, with ft warn
ing to the one "close up." But. he went
on: "Afraid? Afraid of this town?
What; is it? A. rat— l can kick it and
it squeals — arid what can it do?" He
touched the statesman's arm imperi
ally. "I'm. putting you wise— when
you're close to the big men j and the
big money, nothing can touch you—
nothing! Look here— we put you in
the: legislature to kill this investiga
tion of what killed the anti-racing
bills — now, y6u, know where you get
off, don't you?"
The legislator., .'laughed deprecat
ingly; his. manhood writhed. , "Be
still, old man, you're drunk! And
you're a .marked man now, with ail
these stories out, and all the.preach
ers and unions ..and farmers howling
to know what killed the gracing . bills.
God's .sake," he went on pathetically,
"and all the crooks"; and liquor men in
the state hounding us the other way.
I . came down to talk to you, Ham,
and; you're drunk!" \u25a0 . .•
"Perspective," ' murmured the other.
"Want , to get off and see: things dif
ferent — merely so. Tin <\ crooked-^— l
know that; you're crooked— you know
that; we're all crooked— we all know
that; ;but let's get away from pretense
and I tell one * another so. 'What's y this
gag;the preachers -spring? 'They 'stand
upland tell; God^. we're all; sinners: but
theydarent tell • that' to the big 'money
behind. Their souls are asleep, utoo.lu too.l
could, go preach- on the av'enue'to
night — I feel religious. Here's you
that's crooked. herd's me that's
crooked, here's all of us that's crooked
—and yet I think God cares.'" -
They looked on the drunken fool,
and after a bit, fighting his delirium,
ho lurched through the * doorway.
Weldy watched him long, and then'
went after him, but he had gained, the
street, lost in the throng.
In the stuffy little box the clerk
looked anxiously at Nella across the
table. "God cares!" he echoed, with a
laugh. "Oh,- what's got into him?"
,~ '-if someione cared ltd be different
with a lot of us," she answered. "We'd
be different if just some one cared."
The boyish clerk tried to take her
hand across the table; he went on with
eagerness: "Yes, you'd be different it
some one cared- — and if you cared for
some one. You can't fool me, Nel. . I
told yoii once how much I cared — "
She checked him with a laugh; she
tapped him playfully with the rubber
tube of the Turkish pipe on the table.
"Here, now, stop. Eddie. Haven't you
a mother — and everybody I promised
•Hammy I wouldn't let you talk like
this. And besides," .she hurried on,
"you couldn't, stand the pace a little
bit. My -bills last month were 5300 for
just clothes!" .
o "If you loved," lie burst out with the
fine-chivalry o.f 21, "clothes wouldn't
matter— not if you cared!"
• Nella.laughed, choking a tremor from
her voice, reaching for the evening
paper on, the table. "Now. Kid, let's
Just; be friends. Here," she added to
hide her trouble, "the Narcissus entries
are out. Eddie, Ham said Bianca.
.Let's just be friends— and you can play
fifty for me at Corbett's. Come; we're
only friends,. and, we'll back Bianca!"
CHAPTER VII
A T midnight the westerly fogs
i\: t streamed across the city, the
/""\ cold wind searched the streets.
•*•" -** From the squat markets of the
water front the wanderer came alone.
He was uncertain of the corner, trem
bling with the chill and reaction; he
was beginning to remember, and ha
wished to forget. But as he started
something moved across his . shoes.
Scared, wet, hungry, dragging a frayed
rope In which was twisted a single
scuffed chrysanthemum, the country
dog crept to his feet. In and out of
drink shops, the splendid places that
boasted that for 50 years they had not
closed their doors, day; or night; the
gin joints of Chinatown, the Italian
wlnerooms hewed out of the hill rock,
the Japanese resorts, where sloe eyed
little* women; fed the master hot rice
\u25a0 wine, the brute had followed. New he
picked it from the.slime, wiped Its feet
and tucked It from the fog beneath his'
coat so; that its nose, with ,a dreary
snuffle,' lay by his ear. \ '."• .
. "Cold, pup?" the man muttered.
"Neve* mind, pal; you stand by me and
be square. Jus*, follow me, Kid, and be
square." So, stilling Its racking shivers
on 'his breast, he went into the dark
ness. -'\u25a0\u25a0'
He was before the garish portal of a
Barbary coast dance hall. an hour later.
The narrow, cobbled" way shone, with
the arcs each; direction, a, mile from
Kearny to the bay, and all. along came
the blare of bands from basement after
basement dance" hall, so many and so
close packed that the crash of reed and
brasses; from thousands ; of Instruments
became an' inharmonic riot without
form,: without- time; , and as the red
glare of the Kstreet made it a gaping
wound: in. the dark' quarter, so over it
. hovered this! insane ensemble, the" soul
of music.maddened. . . .'
" Arnold .watched the stream in and
out of the famed places of the-coast.
Sailors;: soldiers, recruits and time ex
pired, 'cattlemen and -miners, salmon
packers . and » Sierra shepherds, broken
adventurers : from all the -south, and
with .these V sight seeing .women' tour
ists, guided by police, ; : flashy ; youths
over from -the , town.' patrolmen, and
plain clothes men, made up the after
midnight^ tide:?:YWith!n : the -halls J the
same .- pageant. ;. laughter,' hurrying.
; shouts,:, quarrels— -his 'impassive, eye
. rested. on it'with curious interest, for It
was , far .removed fromthe night aris- %
,tocracy"he knew downtown. : ? \
He; was :at .The IWelcomei:; when a
dozen soldiers . crowded I the , entrance' of
the dance; hall, "noisily, bawling -to
others; in the street.: The ever' ready
'patrol wagon had i dashed by. '.<
> cut at. the Firfefly,"
- muttered* ayhangeron; f tough
\whalercleaned out Mag's.". But
none would?' go • to-"see-^-Jt ; : was -merely
the prelude to.' the; night's police court
CHARLES TENNEY JACKSON
harvest. But at 2 o'clock me pace
quickened. Arnold, recovered from his
stupor, had begun drinking , again,
spending money sensationally free from
hall to hall; he soon had a following
mostly .of riotous soldiers "gone broke"
and hailing him os blood brother.
"M'son-of-a-gun," murmured a yel
low striped corporal. "Ol* Sec' Cavalry
— swat he is. Sure! . Santa .Isabel —
Pilar del Rio— Rosarlo — whole bunch of
fights s'ze was in."
"Ev* hear of Inky Idgetts?" broke in
another! 'Troop quide — helve fine
bucky — Idgetts — Third squadron. Me
an" him—"
Against his crowning confreres Ar
nold waved the pup: "Sure — sure. Ol'
Sec' Cavalry — sure!"
"This yere Idgetts — '*
"I bane know him- — "
I A huge and hairy sailor pushed Into
the martial group. His blue eyes and
pink face turned from one to another's
in great. good, nature.
"Idgetts — me an* him— -"
"I bane know him, too- — "
"O. Scandinavia, forget it!" Mur
mured the corporal, softly. "Blow!"
A yellow haired girl clung to the
sailor's arm. "O. come, you. Babe;
don* mix!" she pleaded, and tried to
draw him from them.
"This yerd Idgetts — they lin-cheed
him — "
"By Valdez I coom — \u25a0" \u0084>•;:
The narrator of Idgetts' exploits
turned on the Swede. "Now. bit the
grit! I'm tellin' of this yere bucky.
They sliced Mm— "
But the Viking thrust beaming among
them: "I coom by Valdez — "
And then, as the blonde girl clung
to his huge arm wailing: "Aw. don*
start nothin"! Aw, come, you honey!"
a fist shot over her shoulder at the sea
man's ear. He fell back, looking with
amazed Infantile injury about him. and
then, propelled by some human cata
pult behind, for what reason and by
whom will never -be known, the cele
brant of the Idgetts epic was suddenly
doubled up and into the Northman's
stomach. And at once the place was a
whirling fight. Into it plunged a trio
of bouncers and floor managers. The
proprietor himself, -a former light
weight pugilist, now barrel fat, bobbed
about, panting In "the press, a cork on
troubled waters. The, swaying battle
Jammed the door, the white windows
fell with a snarl of breaking glass and
the combatants went to the street, with
the police leaping *on the flanks like
ready dogs.
Arnold was In ' the thick, dodging,
laughing;, he saw an officer's club
raised above the girl, who still clung
screaming to the seaman's sleeve.
"Barrett, cut that!" His hand went
about the policeman's wrist. The other
Jerked free and whirled his lighter
antagonist against the broken door.
"You will, will you?" he roared. "Le*
go that club!"
"O. quit," murmured Mr. Arnold.
"Don't be foolish — you know me."
"No. I don't! Don't gl* me any lip!"
The officer forced him through the
thickening crowd. The fight had stop
ped with purprlsing suddenness. About
the prisoners seized at random the po
lice listened dry.ly to the gabble, wip
ing their, perspiring heads. The
wheezing proprietor, so short of sta
ture that nothing but his round post
of a head was seen, cursed the soldiers
and onlookers, who jeered him and the
dancehall women in the wrecked front
of The Welcome. And. towering above
all the great Swede looked with round
faced, babyish perplexity at them and
the patrol wagon racing under the
white arcs a block away. The girl
saw the oncoming wagon.
"Ga* sa.ke,". she wailed. "If I get
pinched! O, if I get pinched! George — "
she appealed to the "proprietor — "tell
'em I wasn't doin* nothin'!"
"I don't want youse in my place at
all. if you ain't a lady. .1 won't stand
for you if youse ain't a perfect lady."
"Cut out the bull." murmured. a po
liceman -wearily. "They'll all go."
Arnold turned to him. "See here, you
can't ride me!"
"Dry up!" the officer retorted. "Here,
climb in the wagon!" \u0084
The prisoner's eye was on the patrol
van backing to the curb. He turned
with a menace on the officer. "Say,
sport. I'm Jack Arnold. You ride me
and Til break yow. Just ask Harry
Stillman ot the chief about me—"
"Tumble In." replied the patrolman;
"sing it to the birdies."
And. staring at the wagon, with a
sudden- laugh, Arnold got- In.
The plunging van with the Swede,
the dance girl and the querulous his
torian of Trooper Idgetts, whirled
through th 6 glare of Pacific street to
the hall of Justice, leaving at The
Welcome, on the bar, 'surrounded by
pools of beer that stuck to its feet In
unpleaslng puckers, wearing dismally
a frayed chrysanthemum In Its rag
rope collar, the lavender pup from the
country up In back.
The dance hall girl walled In the
Jogging' van: "Aw, Jo'll kill me — I
never been pinched — Jo'll kill me!"
Arnold came to her, a hand on her
arm. "Now, don't go on so, sister. I'll
see you through this"
She turned savagely on him. "Aw,
you c'n talk! You come down the
Btreet In yer good clothes and money —
and tomorrow it's all right. But what
.chance's a' girl got? Just tell pie what's
right about it?" -
The young man sat back in Ciie shad
ows of the vanv He watched her, and
then, when they descended, he said
quietly: "Kid. I'm sorry. I'll see you
"through it all."
But she snarled at him, though be
fore the desk sergeant in the basement
office he watched her unmoved. In a
sort of dream.
The Idling officers gave them- a
casual inspection. Beyond, a tall
woman was Identifying some stolen
trinkets at a desk, and the book ser
geant did not look up for a moment.
"Shinanigan at George's." laconically
began the complaining officer.. "Girl
and this Swede jumped, a soldier who
wouldn't stand percentage, and Crosby
tried to put 'em out. . And this fellow,"
indicating "tried" to swing on
me." ,
The. heavy Jowled sergeant grunted
and turned to the arrest book.
"Name?" . <
."I coom by .Valdez." said the sailor
.man. "Captain. Nelson, he tole me — "
"Name! 1-*1 -* roared the sergeant, and the
arresting officer said: "Ole Oleson—
that'll do for him."
, The desk man scratched stolidly;
then turned to; the soldier.- "Name?"
~ \u25a0 "My .name's Franzie - — H. Franzie.
-Hell, I wasn't- doin' nothin'! I was
just tellin* of this yere Idgetts -"
; "Name?" thundered the sergeant to
,the dance hall girl, who wept, cling
ing to the rail. .
':", ."I was just trying to keep 'em from
fighting. George'll tell you. I'm Maude
Cummins. Oh, Jo'll kill me- -" .
: "Take 'em up," growled the bulbous
headed one. His heavy eyes wandered
with sleepy malice to Arnold. He sat
back, puttings down the pen, and took
up his dead cigar. The well dressed
prisoner had stood nonchalantly apart,
watching the matter. ;
"Say. "Jack, can't you" raise enough
deviltry, in Ellis street 'without comin*
over here. ' Gotta bank roll, hey.- and
gotta spend It?"
An. idling patrolman laughed. "Was
The San Francisco Sunday can
it Hermolne In the Sixth?" Jte-pot in.
and Jack Arnold smiled pla eld lr.
The arresting officer looked his i ais
comflture. He had "made a *****
then, had he? He was new on tn?
force and met many "drags **»* *!f a
plexed him. Concealing his cj** r «
he drove the other prt»<»«» to *»
door. But the girl clung to «h«J a ":
turning on Arnold with a scream or
""You know: Toll 'em I. wasn't doin'
anything. Here you set off— you re
some damned politician— som* sure
thing man strong with the office—-—
"Shut that!" bellowed the sergeant.
"Naw. you wouldn't do a thins: to
him. wouldja? Him. with his- good
clothes an* his pull "
"Redmond." began Arnold, . sh« s
right. George Just wanted to give her
ttie run — and she wasn't doing a thin*.
"She can tell that to" the Judge to
morrow. Up!" . •«
Tbe girl shrieked as they forrei
her to the door. The tall woman
\n black turned a troubled face, but
they did not see her. Arnold stood.
his .face darkling, the Hquor eraza
driven for a time from his brain.
"Look here." he said, "that girl s
right — S he was trying, to stop th»
row." *j-*
" "Don't go .tellin' me my business,
the desk sergeant blustered.
Arnold swung before him. "Yes.
damn you. you run that girl In tor
nothing, but you don't iio a thing to.
me!" _
"Get put of here!" snarled the ser^
geant.
"Ye*. T'm let off. - I've got a. drag,
haven't 1% I'm strong higher up. ain't
I? That poor devil of a sailor will
get 10 flays and .lose his ship and
wages, and that lad from the cavalry
will be cinched at camp, and that weak
minded girl will be robbed by the
bond sharks and the judge'll wink at
it. O. it's great to be an American!
Ifs a fine old graft — and to hell with
the crooks like you!"
The sergeant was dumb with aston
ishment — his little pig eyes rolled be
wilderedly between the oily fat of his
cheeks. Then dismay gave place to
wrath. "Get out of here!" h© roared.
"Trike h!m horne — he's drunk!"
Arnold shook his flat at the brass
buttons. "Send me up! Go on, you
crook! Afraid of me, aren't you? O. It's
a great thing to be an American!**
"Git!" howled the sergeant, and a.
laughing patrolman slipped an arm
about John Arnold and led him away.
On the broad steps h<» freed the bel
ligerent. "Pull out. Jack. Old Red
mond wtlt Jug you if you. roast him —
it's fierce. Now get home, boy!"
The young man leaned against »
polished pillar of the hall of Justics
and looked across the dark spread oS
Portsmouth square. His dimming
senses rose to note the fantastic roofs
of Chinatown, a dragon flag limp in the
promised morning. Still and sleeping
the city lay. He stretched an arm to
it. "What's right in It all? What' 3
right?"
The stars beyond the dragon flag
rocked; intent with hia sickness, he did
not hear the door open, the woman
come out. Seeing the man she stopped,
and then he slowly turned with a dull
glance at her. the preacher of the mys
tic Christ In the street .of fakirs.
"It's you." he muttered, "and you'v*
failed, too. You're way above it all—
you've given nothing to us all — you"t»""
failed, too."
She was silent before his Insolence.
The light on her face from the electro
lier recalled a flickering remembrance
of his student days — a medallion he
had seen, a Minerva head. The womtr\
had a face as pure, as unmoved as tha^ 1
classic profile. He turned from her*
with a growl. "I'm going back. I want
It right."
And then stepping clear of the col
umn's base, he pitched headlong to the
pavement. She hurried after htm,
kneeled, turning his face to the lisht.
Blood splashed her cloves. A cabman
came from the all night stand across
the street.
"Bad tumble." he said, bending over.,
-"It's Jack Arnold!"
"We'd better get him to the hospital."
She wiped the blood from Ms head.
The driver hesitated. "Mebbe not.
He's not hurt much ami he's pretty well
known — I'd hate to mix him at th*
•mergency. ' He lives Jus' up the hill,"
•'Well, home, then. Bring your cab
across."
They got the senseless man into It
with difficulty. The woman held him
on the cushions as the vehicle whirled
through Chinatown. Once he struggled
to consciousness. "Le" me explain — He
cares — He cares — "
"Be still!" she whispered and held
him closer in her strong arms. . . Tt
Beemed a stealthy Joy had come, th*
outpouring of a maternal softness as a
glow in the white stillness of her soul's
way, she who had moved alone and
with empty hands.
At the curb below his rooms they
lifted him to his unsteady feet, feeling
of her handkerchief bound about his
head. While the driver took him up
the stairs she searched for his hat in
the carriage. She found something else
— a dirty package, a sort of silken case,
bulging with money. She looked out at
the drunken man, at the driver assist
ing him with commiserating Jests; with
a frowning thought, a hesltance. she.
placed the packet In her bodice. V
The cabman returned. "He can get trt
all right — say's he musn't wake up
Granny!" He laughed. "And he says
to thank the lady!"
"You know him" — she sa!d calmly —
"very well?"
"Everybody knows him. A lad round
town — one of \u25a0 the race
crowd. But square" — she was tender-
Ing him money — "no. not from you. I'll
take you home. They call you ,th<»<.
Christ Crlar downtown, dont they?
And we ought to help sinners.** H»"
laughed. "We all know you." the driver
muttered. "They turn to watch you— »
your grand voice."
She smiled wearily. , All the town
knew her as the street knows Its pag
eantry — no more. And so, across th«
abyss dividing her pale Christ from th«
red shores of life, she knew the world
— no more. Untouched, listening curl-^
ously to the agony beyond the gulf. sh«
had moved alone, complacent, soul suf
ficient. •-
• • -• ':,\u25a0
Arnold felt along the balcony rail to
his door. The clock In the hall of Jus
tice-struck 5. He looked on the city
lights, on tb» ocean fog abov*. Th*«
the lights became comets, the clouds,
whirling bands — he fell squar^Jy. as
one stricken by death, on the mat be
fore his door.
After half an hour his fingers moved
along the mat. finding some substance
which they carried to' his Hpa. Th«
dead fragrance of the violets— her vio
lets, scattered over him on another
Uawn as he lay here, her* guardian
knight, were on his lips, but he did not
know.
Presently, rap-a-tap. dragging a ra»
rope out of the slfme of the streets, a
homeless dog crept up the .stairs. Ha
whined miserably and then slunk on
to crawl upon the master's breast and.
sheltered, sleep. On this the day cam*
and then the sun shone— -a th^ef, pew
jurer and an outcast, senseless la Ma
blood and flowers on the hilltop. /\u25a0
To Be Continued A tit Sunday
