The midland journal., August 17, 1917, Image 3

About The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947

Image provided by: University of Maryland, College Park, MD

                
THE AUCTION BLOCK
A Novel of New York Life By REX BEACH
CHAPTER XlX—Continued.
-12-
Bob acquiesced, glad to escape even
in company with his redoubtable broth
er-in-law. When he and Jim had gone
Mrs. Knight addressed Lorelei with
motherly candor.
“He’s a pleasant fellow, of course,
and he’s crazy about you; but don’t
let’s be sentimental. If there's no
chance to make it up wltji his family
we must get out of this mess and save
what we can.”
“Was Mr. Wharton very angry?”
“Was he?” Mrs. Knight rolled her
eyes in mingled rage and despair. “I’m
positively sick over the things he said.
Everybody seems to be against us. and
—l’m almost ready to give up. But at
least that old crank will surely stretch
his offer to keep his name off the bill
boards. Fifteen or twenty thousand is
better than —” Noting the shadow of a
smile upon her daughter’s lips, she
checked her rush of words. “You don’t
seem to care what—”
“I don’t.”
Mrs. Knight’s face twisted into an
expression of pained incredulity.
“Surely you don’t mean to live with
Bob?,” she gasped. “Not —now.”
“I do mean to.”
The mother’s lips parted, closed,
parted again—she seemed to taste
unspeakably bitter. “My
*dear! Why, my dear! He hasn’t a
cent. It’s absurd. The marriage was
only a form. You’re no more his wife
In the sight of God than —’’
“Let’s not talk about God,” cried
Lorelei. “That ceremony was scarce
ly legal, not to speak of religion or
decency.” .
“You’ve lost your mind! You’ve
changed completely.”
“Yes, I have. You see, I wasn’t a
wife until yesterday—until Bob and I
had an understanding. I’ve had a sus
picion that my old ideas were wrong,
and they were.”
“Fiddle-de-dee! You’re hysterical.
You can’t make me believe yod learned
to love that man.”
“I don’t say I love him.”
Mrs. Knight snorted her triumph
loudly. “Then you mustn’t live with
him another moment. My dear child,
such a relationship is—well, think It
out for yourself.”
Lorelei saw the futility of argument,
but certain thoughts demanded expres
sion, and she voiced them, as much for
her own sake as for her mother’s. "I’ve
learned that marriage is more than I
considered it, mother. It’s an obliga
tion. I intend-to live up to my part
just as long as Bob lives up to his. If
he complained of the fraud we prac
ticed on him I’d be willing to leave
him; but he doesn’t—so the matter is
out of our hands.”
Mrs. Knight relieved her steadily in
creasing anger by a harsh outburst.
“I never thought you could be so
■silly, after the way you were raised.
Didn’t we give up everything for you?
Didn’t Peter sacrifice his life’s work to
give you an opportunity?”
“I’ll keep on sharing my salary with
you.”
“Salary!” Mrs. Knight spat out the
word. “After all our pains! Salary!”
* “You’re probably just as honest in
your ideas as I am in mine,” Lorelei
told her. “I sha’n’t allow you to want
for—”
“I should hope not, since you’re to
blame for Feter’s condition — Oh, you
know you are! If you hadn’t wanted
* career he’d still be in Vale, a strong,
healthy man instead of a cripple.”
“I didn’t want a career,” Lorelei de
nied with heat. “And father almost
had to leave Vale.”
“Nothing of the sort. He was a big
man there. ‘Had to leave Vale,’ eh? So
you’ve turned against your own blood,
and disparage your father — Anyhow,
he was hurt while he was working to
give you a start, and now he’s help
less. Ten thousand dollars right now
would save his life. Think that over,
when your own father is dead and
gone.”
White with anger, sick with disap
pointment, Mrs. Knight whisked her
aelf out of the apartment.
Strangely enough, the news of Bob
Wharton’s marriage had not leaked in
to the papers up to this time, and Lore
lei, having regard for the feelings of
bis parents, insisted that he help her to
keep the matter secret ns long as pos
sible. Bob rebelled at first, for he
adored publicity. He rejoiced in his
newest exploit and desired his world
to hear of it. while the prospect of
further mortifying his father was so
agreeable that it required much persua
sion to make him relinquish it. With
ber own family Lorelei had less diffi
culty, for they were by no means
eager to advertise their bad bargain
and had withdrawn behind a stiff re-
straint, leaving the couple to their own
devices. This attitude spared the bride
much unpleasant notoriety, enabling
her to pursue her work at the theater
without comment.
Bob’s society proved in some ways a
welcome change from the sordid drab
ness .of her own relatives, for he was
colorful, versatile, and nearly always
good humored. Misfortune aroused in
him a wild hilarity; cares excited
i mirth. Lorelei realized before long |
Jt that this very Jocundity of his, since it !
fed upon constant change and excite- !
poustituted the gravest menace !
to their happiness. The man lived en
tirely outside of himself; he utterly
lacked the power of self-amusement
He refused to frequent the theater, os
tensibly because of their secret, in
reality because of his shame at allow
ing her to work. As Lorelei came to
know him better and to understand the
conflicting forces within him, she be
gan to wonder how long he could hold
himself true to his bargain.
During the first week of their mar
ried life his system struggled to throw
off the efTects of his recent dissipa
tions, and in consequence It craved
only rest. Greatly encouraged by this
lack of desire, he boasted that the bat
tle was already won, and Lorelei pre
tended to agree with him.
She did not deceive herself, however,
and a brief experience convinced her
that to be merely a wife to one of
Bob’s vagrant disposition was not
enough; that in order to keep his new
self alive she must also be his sweet
heart, his chum, and his partner. If
she failed in any one of these roles dis
aster was bound to follow. But to
succeed in them all, when there was
no love to strengthen her, was by no
means easy. Always she felt a great
emptiness, and a disappointment that
her life had been so crookedly fash
ioned; sometimes she even felt de
graded, and wondered if she were do
ing right, after all.
In the course of a fortnight Bob be
gan to grow restless. One evening
when he came for her she saw that he
was nervous; a strained, tired look had
crept into his eyes, and she thought
she understood. Nevertheless his spir
“Death Valley Has Nothing on This
• Place,” He Mourned.
its were ebullient. When they reached
home he ushered her into the apart
ment with a flourish, and Lorelei was
amazed to find their table set with
strange linen, silver and china and the
dining room decorated as if for a
party.
“Who’s coming? What on earth?”
she exclaimed.
“A little surprise. A supper for just
you and me, my dear.”
It was one of his whims. During
the meal he made elaborate speeches
in the names of his friends. His
imaginary guests congratulated him:
in empty glasses they toasted the bride,
they extolled her beauty, they praised
his own gallantry, and vaunted his
conquest of the demon rum. But when
all traces of the feast had disappeared
he swooped down out of the cfouds and
confessed miserably:
“I thought I could kid myself, but I
can’t. I want a drink. I —want—a—
drink! God! how I want it!”
Lorelei went swiftly to him. “The
fight is just beginning, Bob. You’re
doing nobly.”
“It isn’t thirst,” he explained, and
she saw that same strained uneasiness
in his bright eyes. “I’m not thirsty—
I’m shaky inside. I get tired of fight
ing.”
Lorelei nodded sympathetically.
“That’s why it’s so hard to reform:
one’s conscience tires, but temptation
is always fresh. You must keep busy.”
“I’m going to work.”
“No, no! Not yet,” she cried, quick
ly. “You must fight it out where I can
help.”
Bob smiled gratefully. “You’re a
thoroughbred. I promised to let you
have your way, and you shall. Even
if we lose the patient it will be a dandy
operation.”
For the first time in her iife Lorelei
really worked, and worked not for her
self, but for another. Although the
experience was interesting in its nov
elty, the result remained unsatisfac
tory, for not only did love fail to re
spond to these sacrifices, but she could
| see no improvement in Bob's condition,
i The thing she fought was Impalpable,
! yet enormous; it was weak, yet strong:
Sit seemed to sleep, yet it was ever
I awake.
MIDLAND JOURNAL, RISING SUN. MD.
Of necessity the two lived in the
closest intimacy, than which nothing is
ordinarily more fatal to domestic hap
piness. But Bob was unique; he did
not tire; he began to rely upon Lorelei
as a sick man leans upon his nurse,
and to worship her as a man worships
his sweetheart. There was more than
passion in his endearments now.
But it was discouraging to the girl,
who gained no strength from her pen
ance and derived no satisfaction what
ever in service for service’s sake. The
whole arrangement tried her patience
desperately; she was weary in mind
and body, and looked back with regret
upon her former easy- life. There was
no time now for recreation —Bob had
to be amused. Salary day assumed a
new importance, and she began to
count the cost of every purchase.
So spring went and midsummer
came. It was terribly hot in the city;
the nights were breathless, the days
were glaring, and this heat was espe
cially trying to one in Bob’s condition.
In his periods of gayety he showered
his wife with attentions and squan
dered every dollar he could borrow in
presents for her; in his hours of depres
sion he was everything strange, morose
and irritable.
Without her knowledge he applied to
his old firm for a salaried position and
was refused. He appealed to Merkle
with the same result, but succeeded in
borrowing a thousand dollars, with
which he bought Lorelei a set of black
opals, going into debt , for half the
price.
CHAPTER XX.
Lorelei's family continued to smart
under a sense of bitter injustice, but
although they kept aloof they were by
no means uninterested in her experi
ment. On the contrary, they watched
it with derisive enjoyment; predicting
certain failure. After Hannibal Whar
ton’s insult Jim was all for a prompt
revenge, but he could not determine
just how to use his dangerous knowl
edge to the best advantage. He con
sidered the advisability of enlisting the
aid of Max Melcher; but, not liking the
thought of dividing the loot, he decided
provisionally to engineer a separation
between Bob and Lorelei.
His desire to make mischief arose in
only a slight degree from resentment
—Jim’s method of making a living had
long since dulled the edge of feeling
—it was merely the first step in a com
prehensive scheme. With Bob and
Lorelei estranged, a divorce would fol
low, and divorces were profitable. A
divorce, moreover, would open the
way for a second inroad upon the
Wharton wealth, for with Lorelei’s
skirts clear Jim could proceed with a
larger scheme of extortion, based on
the Hammon murder.
One evening after Lorelei had gone
to the theater Jim appeared at the
apartment and found Bob in a mood so
restless and irritable that he dared not
go out.
“I had a bunch you were lonesome,”
the caller began, “so I came up to whit
tle and spit at the stove.”
Now Jim could be agreeable when
he chose; his parasitic life had devel
oped in him a certain worldly good
fellowship; he was frankly unregener
ate, and he had sufficient tact never to
apologize nor to explain. Therefore
he kept Bob entertained.
A few nights later he returned with
a fund of new stories, and during the
evening he confessed to a consuming
thirst.
“Death valley has nothing on this
place,” he mourned.
Bob explained apologetically, “I’m
sorry, but there’s nothing in the house
wetter than Croton water.”
“I understand! Will you object if I
sweeten a glass of it with some Scot
tish rites? I’m afraid of germs, and
if water rots leather think what it
must do to the sensitive lining of a
human stomach?” Jim drew a flask
from his pocket, then hesitated as if
in doubt.
“Don’t mind me," Bob assured him,
hastily. “I’m strapped in the driver’s
seat.” But he looked on with eager
appreciation as his brother-in-law filled
a long glass and sipped it.
Bob had never been a whisky-drink
er. yet the faint odor of the liquor tan
talized him. When in the course of
time he saw Jim preparing a second
drink he stirred.
- “Kind of itchy, eh? Let's whip
across the street and have a game of
pool,” suggested Jim; and Bob was
glad to escape from the room.
An agreeable hour followed; but Bob
played badly, and found that his eye
had lost its sureness. His hand was
uncertain, too, and this lack of co-or
dination disgusted him. He was sure
that with a steadying drink he could
beat Jim, and eventually he proved it;
but, (mindful of his resolution, he com
promised on beer, which, Jim agreed,
could not reasonably be called an in
toxicant.
On his way to the theater Bob
chewed cinnamon bark, and when he
kissed Lorelei he held his breath.
This was the first of several pool
matches, and after a while Bob was
gratified to find ,that beer in modern- '
tion left no disagreeable effect what- I
ever upon him*. He rejoiced in his I
M>wer of restraint. I
There came a night when he failed
to meet his wife. After waiting nearly
half an hour Lorelei went home, only
to find the apartment deserted. She
nibbled at a lonely lunch, trying to as
sure herself that nothing was seriously
amiss; but she could not make up her
mind to go to bed. She tried to read,
and failed. An hour passed, then an
other; a thousand apprehensions
crowded in upon her.
Bob, when he did arrive, entered
with elaborate caution. He paused in
the little hall, then tossed his hat into
the living room, where his wife was
waiting. After a moment his head
came slowly into view, and he said:
“When the hat stays in, go in; when
it comes out, beat it.”
Lorelei saw that he was quite drunk.
“I just came from the theater,” he
explained, “but it was dark. Has the
show failed, dearie?” He tried to kiss
her, but she turned her face away.
“Come! Must have my little kiss,” lie
insisted as she rose and moved away,
leaving him swaying in his tracks.
Studying Lorelei’s unsmiling face
his tone altered. “Oh, I know! I
slipped, but it couldn’t be helped. Na
ture insisted, and I yielded gracefully;
but no harm done, none whatever.
Life is a series of compromises. Mod
eration is the thing. Live and let live.”
Lorelei nodded. “Exactly! We shall
live as we choose, only, of course, we
can’t live together after this.” Then
her disgust burst its control, and she
demanded, bitterly, “Haven’t you any
strength whatever? Haven’t you any
balance. Bob?”
He grinned at her cheerfully. “I
should say I had. I walked a fence on
the way home just to prove it; and I
scarcely wabbled. Balance! Strength!
Why, you ought to see Jim. They had
to carry him.”
“Jim? Was —Jim with you?”
“In spirit, yes; in body—only for a
time. For a brief while we went gayly.
hand in hand, then Jim lagged. He’s a
nice boy, but weak; he falters beneath
a load.”
She questioned him searchingly and
soon learned of Jim’s visits, of the
flask, of the pool games. When she
understood it all her eyes were glow
ing, but she found nothing to say. At
last she got Bob to bed, then lay
down beside him and stared into the
darkness through many wakeful hours.
In the morning he was not only con
trite, but badly frightened, yet when
he undertook to make his peace he
found her unexpectedly mild.
‘'if you’re sorry, that’s all I ask,” she
said. “I changed my mind during the
night.”
“Never again!’ he promised, feeling
ly. “I thought I had cured myself.”
Lorelei smiled at him faintly.
“Cured! It took ten years to work the
damage—it will probably take ten
years to repair it.”
Bob was aghast. “Good heavens! In
ten years I’ll be too old to drink—l’d
tremble so that I’d spill it. But where
did you get this dope?”
“I’ve been reading. I’ve been talk
ing to a doctor, too. You see, I wanted
to help.”
“Let’s change doctors. Ten years!
It can’t be done.”
“I’m afraid you’re right. There’s no
such thing as reformation. If you’re
a born alcoholic you’ll probably die a
drunkard. I’m hoping that you didn’t
inherit the taste.”
“Well, whether it was left to me or
whether I bought it, I can’t go dry for
ten years/’
“Then our bargain is ended.”
He looked up sharply. “Oh no, it
isn’t!”
“Yes.”
He extended a shaking band, and his
voice was supplicating as he said: “I
can’t get along without you, kid. You’re
a part of me—the vital part. I’d go to
pieces quick if you quit now.”
“When we made our agreement I
meant to live up to every bit of it,”
Lorelei told him, gently, “but we're go
ing to try again, for this was Jim’s
fault.”
“Jim? Jim was sorry for me. He
tried to cheer—”
Lorelei’s smile was bitter. “Jim was
never sorry for anybody except him
self. My family hate you just as your
family hate me, and they’d like to sep
arate us.”
“Say, that’s pretty rotten!” Bob ex
claimed. “If he weren’t your brother
I’d—”
Lorelei laughed mirthlessly. “Go
ahead! I wish you would. It might
clear the ntmosphere.”
“Then I will.” After a moment he
continued, “I suppose you feel you
must go on supporting them?”
“Of course.”
“Just as you feel you must support
me. Is it entirely duty in my case?”
Seeing her hesitate, he insisted, “Isn’t
there any love at all?”
“I’m afraid not. Bob.”
The man pondered silently. “I sup
pose if I were the right sort,” he said,
at length, with some difficulty, “I’d let
you go under these circumstances.
Well, I’m not the right sort; I’m not
big or noble. If Barleycorn brothers
lick me I’ll go under. But if Igo under
I’ll take you with me. I won’t give
you up. I won’t!”
“I slia'n’t let you pull me down,” she
told him, soberly.
When Bob reached the financial dla
trlct next day and resumed his quest
for work he was ablaze with resent
ment at himself and at the world in
general.
He took up the search with a dogged
determination that was quite unlike
him. One after another he canvassed
his friends for a position, and finally,
as if ill fortune could not withstand
his fervor, he was successful. It was
not much of a job that was offered him,
but he snapped at it, and returned
home that evening in the best of humor.
Already the serious issues of the
morning were but a memory; he burst
in upon Lorelei like a gale, shouting:
“I’m 'chalk-boy at Crosset & Meyers,
so you can give Bergman your notice
tonight.”
“What’s the salary?”
“It isn't a salary; it’s a humiliation —
twenty-five a week is the total insult.”
“Why, Bob! That won’t keep two
and the family—”
“The family!” He quieted himself
with an effort. “Well, you give your
notice, anyhow. I’ll spear the coin for
both establishments somehow. Come!
I insist. I want to be able to shave
myself without blushing.”
Lorelei’s objections were not easily
overcome, but at last, in view of the
fact that the summer run of the Itevue
was drawing to a close and the show
would soon take to the road, she al
lowed herself to be persuaded.
Throughout the next week Bob
Wharton really tried to make good. He
was enthusiastic; the excitement of
actual accomplishment was o novel
that he had not time to think of liquor.
When Saturday came and he found
himself in possession of honestly
earned funds he felt a soul-satisfying
ease. He decided to invest his first
savings in a present for Lorelei, then
a graver sense of responsibility seized
him, and he sent them to Mrs. Knight.
Then he set out to find Jim. At Tony
the Barber’s shop, in the rear room,
he found his brother-in-law playing
cards with a pop-eyed youth and a re
pellent person with a cauliflower ear.
Bob’s greeting was hearty. “Eve
ning, James,” he cried. “Feel like tak
ing your beating here?”
“Eh? What's the matter?” Jim
rose from his chair with a shocked in
tensity of gaze.
“I’ve come to return your last call.
Alas, James, I am a weak vessel! Your
work was coarse, but I fell for it.” To
the other occupants of the room he
apologized. “I’m sorry to spoil your
little game of authors, but necessity
prods me.” He extended a muscular
hand for Jim’s collar and found it.
Mr. Armistead was of the emotional
kind; he went to the rescue of his
friend; but when Bob’s fist burled it
self in the spongy region of Mr. Armi
stead's belt buckle that young man
promptly lost all interest in Jimmy
Knight’s affairs. He sat down heavily,
desperately concerned with a strange
difficulty in breathing.
Alert, aggressive, Bob turned to face
the man with the swollen ear: but
young Sullivan, being a professional
fighter, made no capital of amateur af
fairs, and declined the issue with an
upraised palm.
It was no difficult matter to chas
tise Jim, whose spirit was as wretched
as his strength; as the wind whips a
“We Can’t Afford to Antagonize the i
Whole Steel Trust.” i
flag, as a man flaps a dusty garment, j
so did Bob shake his victim. Jim strug- ]
glod, he clawed, he kicked, he yelled;
Ills arms threshed loosely, like the lim
ber appendages to a stuffed figure.
When Bob emerged from the rear
room he found the barber shop in con- <
fusion. Tony was leading a charge, i
but he fell back at sight of the flushed i
victor. i
“It was nothing but a little family f
affair,” Bob reassured him. “Now, if j 1
you please, I'll borrow a hairbrush.” j t
j In Trout of a mirror he tidied himself, 1 1
settled his scarf with a deft jerk, then
went ont whistling. As it was nearly
closing time for the matinees, he
strolled toward the Circuit theater, full
of a satisfying contentment with the
world. Now that he owed it nothing,
he resolved to meet his future obliga
tions as they arose.
Early on Monday morning Bob re
ported for work, only to receive from
Mr. Crosset, whom he had always re
garded as a warm friend, the notice
of his discharge.
“What’s the matter? Didn’t I make
good?” he demanded.
Crosset was a young man; more than
once he and Bob had scandalized
Broadway; some of their exploits were
epic. Now he shrugged carelessly, say
ing:
“Oh, you made good, I guess; but
we can't take a chance with you.”
“I suppose you’re afraid I’ll steal
some of your chalk. Now tell me, how
did you wet your feet, and whence
comes the icy draft?”
“Well, from the direction of Pitts
burgh, if you must know. There’s a
can tied to you, and we can’t afford
to antagonize the -whole steel trust.”
“I see. I’m afraid I’ll have to dis
own that father of mine.”
“What’s the trouble, anyhow?”
At Bob’s explanation Crosset whis
tled. “Funny I didn’t hear about it.
Married and happy, eh? Well, I’m
sorry I can’t help you—”
“You can. Lend me five hundred.”
“Certainly!” Crosset lunged at his
desk, scribbled a line to the cashier,
and handed it to Bob, then, in response
to a call from the customers’ room,
dashed away with a hearty farewell.
As Bob passed through the outer of
fice he ran his eye over the opening
prices, being half inclined to “scalp”
with his sudden wealth; but luck had
never run his way, and he reconsid
ered. Anyhow, there were more agree
able uses to which he could put this
money; for one thing, he needed sev
eral suits, for another, it was high
time he gave Lorelei some little re
membrance—he hadn’t given her a
present in nearly two weeks, and wom
en set great store by such attentions.
He decided to invest the money In
Maiden lane and demand credit from
his tailor. But a half-hour at a jew
elry shop convinced him that nothing
suitable to so splendid a creature as
his wife could be purchased for a pal
try five hundred dollars, and he was
upon the point of returning to Crosset
with a request to double the loan when
his common sense asserted itself. Pov
erty was odious, but not shameful, he
reflected; ostentation, on the other
hand, was vulgar. Would it not be in
bad taste to squander this happy wind
fall upori jewelry when Lorelei need
ed practical things?
Bob was cheered by the breadth of
these sentiments; they showed that he
was beginning soberly to realize the
leaden responsibilities of a family
man. No, instead of a Jewel he would
buy his wife a dog.
At a fashionable uptown kennel he
found exactly what he wanted, in the
shape of a Pekingese—a playful, pedi
greed pocket dog scarcely larger than
his two fists. It was a creature to
excite the admiration of any woman;
its family tree was taller than that of
a Spanish nobleman, and its name was
Ying. But here again Bob was handi
capped by poverty, for sleeve dogs
are expensive novelties, and the price
of Ying was seven hundred dollars—
marked down from one thousand, and
evidently the bargain of a lifetime at
that price.
Bob hated to haggle, but he showed
that his ability to drive a sharp bar
gain was merely latent, and he finally
bore the animal away in triumph. To
outgeneral a dog fancier was a tribute
to his shrewdness; to save two hun
dred dollars on a single purchase was
economy of a high order. Much elated,
he set out briskly for his tailor’s place
of business.
CHAPTER XXI.
It still lacked something of luncheon
time when Bob Wharton swung into
Fifth avenue. He was in fine fettle
with the certainty of an agreeable hour
with his tailor. It was always a pleas
ure to deal with Kurtz, for in his shop
customers were treated with the most
delicate consideration. Salesmen, cut
ters, fitters, all were pleasant acquaint
ances. Kurtz himself was an artist;
he was also a person of generally cul
tivated taste and a man about town.
His books were open only to those he
considered his equals. A stony-faced
doorman kept watch and ward in the
Gothic hallway to discourage the gen
eral public from entering the premi
ses. The fact that Bob owed several
hundred dollars dismayed that young
man not in the least, for Kurtz never
mentioned money matters.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Wants to Know Why.
Why is it that a careless seven-year
old boy can drop a half-burned match
in an alley and burn up all the barns
in the block, while an nbled-bodled
man has to use up a box of matches to
get a wood lire started in a heater that
has draft enough to draw r M the furni
ture up the stovepipe? Lebanon
Times. - - -'