HEN I EMERGED from the train into the huge hall of
the
Pennsylvania Station at
Jersey
City, the clouds that shadowed mind and consciousness had vanished. I
still remember the bright sunshine of the early morning, the glaring contrasts
in the light, as I stepped out of the train shed to find my way to the ferry.
It was one of the mercilessly clear, cloudless fall days that soften nothing
and which for that very reason are so exhilarating to the young.
The unfinished skyline of the city, as I saw it in crossing the
Hudson over to
23rd Street, seemed full of hope. I left my baggage in the ferry-hall and started out a-foot to get my breakfast. While waiting for my coffee and rolls, I studied a map in order to find my way through the network of streets to the address of the rooming-house which
Frank had given me.
On my way I saw the
Flatiron Building and the
Metropolitan Tower; and the sight of both filled me again with that exhilaration which I had experienced during my first few minutes on American soil. But there was a difference. I felt very American on this morning in the metropolis of the western world. I walked all the way, for I was jealous of any obstruction to the free range of my eye. I felt outside of things, but I enjoyed this onlooker's attitude; I was still on my holiday -- I was glad I was not yet a cog in the gigantic machine. I should be one soon enough.
At last I reached
14th Street, and I took out
Frank's letter to his former landlady, in order to make sure of the address. I soon understood the system of numbering; so I walked on, past
Union Square, to
Third Avenue; beyond which I began to look for the house that I was
page 119
trying to find. Several times I went up and down the block, relying upon myself. I could not find it. I began to enquire from residents of the street. No such number had ever existed.
I felt baffled and annoyed at Frank for having committed an inaccuracy. Beyond that no suspicion entered my mind. I still had the name of the lady; but the directory at the corner-drugstore gave no clue; I returned to Fifth Avenue and walked back up-town.
It seems a trifle; but something had gone wrong, had not worked out; I had lost a thread leading out of the past into the present, a guiding clue; I felt disquieted. When I caught sight again of the Flatiron Building and the Metropolitan Tower, they no longer exhilarated me; there was something like a threat in their very boldness and enormity. The glare of the unmitigated sun began to weary my eye. I sat down on one of the benches in Madison Square,
opposite the Tower, and began to study my guide-book. I tried to find the
name of some medium-priced, quiet hotel where I might stay for a day or
two till I got used to the pace of the city. It seemed that I could not
find what I wanted. The maze of names and addresses was bewildering. Invariably
my eye seemed to revert automatically to such as the "Astor",
the "Waldorf", the "Knickerbocker",
the "Plaza".
I reasoned myself into indifference. What did it matter, after all? I should stay at the hotel only for a night or so; then I should secure accommodation at some private house. What was the difference whether I spent a dollar or two more than I felt justified in spending?
I picked at random and hit upon the Prince George Hotel on 27th Street, between Fifth Avenue and Madison. I went there at once, secured a room -- with bath -- made the necessary arrangements with regard to my baggage, washed, and left for a trip over the Elevated Railway to Bronx Park. I felt the need of relaxation and meant to have it.
page 120
In the evening I returned to my hotel; but when I went to my room, restlessness drove me out again.
I went down to the spacious lobby of the hotel, bought a magazine, and thought to employ the remedy of reading. I wished Frank were there. I longed for company.
In this mood I dropped into one of the deep, leather-covered chairs in the smoking room. I do not remember whether I had started to read or not. I dreamed. At any rate I became conscious, after a while, of the fact somebody else had occupied the chair next to mine. I did not see my neighbour; nor did I hear him. I did not look around. But I felt a pair of eyes which brushed over my body and seemed to touch it, now here, now there. We are occasionally in such a state of sensitive nervousness which seems to call into play perceptive powers beyond those that are normally ours.
I was on the point of rising and leaving the place, when the stranger addressed me. He sat, half hidden between the huge arm-rests of his chair which was turned so as to shade his face and his half-averted figure. The voice seemed pleasant; it had a strange effect. It seemed to me, to take the initiative out of my make-up. It rang with a delicate timbre of sadness and sympathy. It seemed to force me into a conversation, whether I wanted it or not; and I yielded to its invitation, at first reluctantly, then not without pleasurable readiness. Was not here, after all, the company I had been longing for?
Our first remarks were trivial enough.
"A beautiful night," the stranger
said; and by a turn of his voice he managed to convey in these three words
the effect of great and elaborate eloquence.
"Yes, very," I replied; the sheer
inability to respond adequately made me laconical.
There followed a good many remarks of a similar nature, too insignificant to be remembered or recorded.
"Nobody should remain in the city this time of the year," he continued after a while, speaking quite slowly looking down at his hands; "much
less seek it. The
page 121
country, the woods, the hills -- purple distances,
hazy foregrounds. But you cannot always do as you would like."
A silence fell. I should by this time have regretted to see him rise. When you are in an uncertain, undecided, doubtful mood yourself, nothing is quite as comforting as to play the helpful spirit to some one else who is in the same predicament. The very tone of his voice spoke of a sadness kin to my own.
"Are you a stranger here?" I enquired.
"Oh," he replied, "I've been in New York before.
Business takes me here quite frequently. But I hate the city, except in
the dead of wintertime. To be here in summer or spring always gives me
a feeling as if in the whole world I did not know a single soul. I arrived
today. Whenever I get here, I seem to be simply starving for company."
"Yes," I said, "I know that feeling
myself. A person is nowhere more alone than in a crowd which he does not
know."
"You've said it," he exclaimed;
and for a second the slang expression and the alacrity with which it was
uttered jarred upon me.
"I suppose," he went on after a while; and his voice resumed that soft and melancholy note which had won my sympathy, "you're
quite an experienced traveller. You look that way. I've stayed at home
most of my life -- at work which I hate. And there is every now and then
this trip to New York. St. Louis is
my home-town. Life's a funny thing anyway." He laughed a low, melodious
laugh at his own triviality.
Often already in my young life had I made the experience that a stranger, if hour and place prove auspicious, will confide to a fellow-stranger things which the other might never have found out had he lived side by side with him for decades. I felt a strange sensation of expectant tension that such a moment of revelation had come. Here was a kindred soul, apparently in troubles not
page 122
unlike my own. To listen to him restored my self-control. It was soothing. I meant to lead him softly on.
"St. Louis?" I
asked with a show of interest.
"Yes," he said with a note of indescribable contempt, "the
city of beer, tobacco, and boots. Boots are my line. Had to make it my
line, you know. No choice in the matter. What else was there for a Hannan to
do?"
He looked up at me with confiding,
child-like eyes. "Of Hannan and Morse, you know. The 'National Work-Boot'. I'm not the Hannan of
the firm, of course. That's my father. But if you are born into a great
business, you might just as well desire the stars as think of anything
else."
"Well," I said philosophically, but not without sympathy -- the way you might speak to a child when you try to comfort him, and quoting Mr. Bennett of
two months ago, "One thing is about as bad as the next one."
"Perhaps," he sighed; "yet I cannot quite admit it. Take my own case. I have a gift for drawing. That is what made me speak to you. When you were sitting there, looking out into the dark, I saw a picture. I saw it all finished, painted, framed, and hung in some famous gallery even. I saw it all, down to the title on the little brass-plate underneath. 'Lord Willowscoop', it read, 'in meditation.'" And
again he laughed his soft, ironical laugh, as if in self-derision.
I smiled. "Branden's
my name," I said indulgently, "plain Branden."
"Not the Brandons of Brandon Beeches?" he
asked with a sudden show of interest.
"Not that I know of," I answered simply. "I am a stranger in this country." I
had not read Shaw's Unsocial Socialist at the time; the ironical trick went unchallenged.
"Just touring?"
"Oh, I don't know," I evaded. "I
may stay after all."
"Beastly country to live in," he said with more passion than I should have expected. "As
I said before, take my own case. I wanted to be a painter. Did I get a
chance? Art is nothing. It does not exist. Nobody has ever heard
page 123
of such a thing. There is money enough in the family.
The old man has seen to that. But what is his idea? Since he made a pot of
money in his time, I must make another in mine. Sometimes I feel sorely tempted,
when he sends me out on one of these trips, to decamp and try poverty and
contentment. Life is a rotten thing, all right."
"Things may change," I said. "Besides,
if that is the way you feel about it, why not try as you suggest?"
"Oh," he exclaimed, "I suppose I am a coward. A mollycoddle, if you want. Don't seem to be able to muster courage enough to break loose." He jumped to his feet. "Say,
old man, do me a favour. I shouldn't be alone when I'm like that. Let's
go somewhere. Let's have a glass of beer. Anything rather than sit around
and brood."
"Sure," I said good-naturedly and rose. "Whatever
you say. Where shall we go?"
"Might drop over to the Holland House," he said dejectedly. "We
can talk there. It's quiet this time of the night."
I reached for my hat; we went out, down towards Fifth Avenue, and then turned north.
We walked in silence, and I reflected. I could, of course, not help seeing the contrast between the situation of this young stranger and my own. A millionaire's son, rich, apparently well-bred -- I had forgotten that one or two remarks had jarred upon my sensibilities -- unhappy through being forced into a station in life which clashed with his inclinations. I, free to do as I pleased, but forcing myself in order not to remain for life what I was, a poor man. And yet there was similarity, too, in the way life played with him and myself. But the strangest thing was that we should have met. I thought of Frank and myself; and now this stranger! The country seemed to be full of problematical persons.
We reached the corner of 30th Street and turned in at the Holland House. There was, in the large, brilliantly
page 124
lighted room which we entered, only one single guest. He sat near the wall to the right, at a small table, a bottle of champagne in a cooler by his side. A waiter was filling his glass.
My companion started when he saw this guest. We went to the middle of the room, young Hannan nudging
me and whispering, "Let's get away from that fellow. I know him. He's a
bore."
We sat down, separated from the other guest by some five or six intervening tables. Since Hannan deliberately chose his seat so as to turn his back to the stranger, I had to face him.
While Hannan attended to our order, I appraised this man. He was heavy, massive, forty years old, I judged. Apparently he had been imbibing for some time. His big, prominent, goggly eyes showed that lack-lustre stare of the drinker who is almost stupefied with liquor. He was probably tall when standing; his great bulk expanded below to obesity, and tapered towards the head. The head, too, tapered towards the skull. His cheeks seemed to overflow so did his chin which reposed in two or three heavy rolls on a low, fold-back collar. His nose was fleshy, his upper lip was hanging like a thick, quivering curtain over his teeth. His hair was scant and grey. His clothes, too, were grey; there was something slovenly about them; the coat seemed to hang in cast-iron folds.
From the stranger my eye slipped back to my companion. It was the first time that I could scan his face in bright light. He was prepossessing enough; and he gained still more by contrast. He was neat, clean, young, pleasant; his clothes were sober, of irreproachable cut and taste. A small, unobtrusive pearl reposed in his expensive, navy-blue moire necktie. He seemed the type of the best class of young Americans.
The waiter withdrew; young Hannan leaned across the table.
"Let's hurry," he said, "and get
away. That fellow is sure to bother us. He's an awful bore."
page 125
"He does not look any too pleasant," I admitted.
"Tobacco-planter,"
Hannan whispered. "Money
to burn; but no manners. I'm afraid he's seen me already. If he has, he
is sure to come over and spoil our evening. A regular boob. He's from
Missouri,
all right. My father's got a place in the country, next to his. Too bad."
Our beer appeared. The big stranger
had all the time been looking at us. His heavy upper lips swayed in front
of his teeth as if he were muttering things, When he saw the nature of
our order, he sneered openly. "Pikers!" I heard him say, as if to himself. Then he shouted across the room, "Broke,
Hannan?"
Hannan did not reply; the stranger laughed.
"Let's hurry,"
Hannan whispered
once more, "we'll go somewhere else." He gave the waiter a sign to indicate
his desire to pay for our order.
But the stranger had risen and was
already coming towards, our table. The next moment he was heavily swaying
above our heads. He spoke ludicrously as if to a child, "Is the poor boy
from
Missouri broke? Poor child! Bad daddy! Come, let uncle
Howard pay
for a little candy!"
Hannan pushed
his chair back, with a fine show of resentment. "Hang it,
Howard," he said; "leave
me alone, will you?"
"Sure, sure," soothed
Howard. "Poor
little boy! Out of sorts to-night, is he? Waiter, here! Bring us another
Mumm, extra dry. Sit down, boy! Let uncle
Howard cheer
you up. Sit down; keep your coat on. Come, come!"
I had been looking on in half amused, half annoyed silence, ready to reach for my hat.
To my amazement,
Hannan allowed himself to be pushed back into his seat; whereupon
Howard dropped tipsily into a chair between the two of us.
Meanwhile a waiter brought the wine from
Howard's table; from the rear a second one approached with a tray of high-stemmed glasses and an unopened bottle.
Howard page 126
was treated here with the deference which is accorded only to well-known and liberal patrons of a place.
Hannan still scowled heavily. Then he suddenly smoothed out his brow and with a motion of his hand introduced me to Howard. "Shake
hands with my friend, Mr. Branden," he said,
winking at me.
Howard pulled himself together with a visible effort and did so, nearly upsetting the glasses in the act. This reminder of a third presence apparently put him on his guard; he tried to hold himself straight and steady.
A waiter poured the wine. We reached for our glasses and raised them. Hannan and Howard emptied theirs at a gulp. I, being bent on observing the two, barely touched the wine with my lips. The waiter instantly refilled the glasses.
Howard turned
to me. "A stranger in this land of libertee?" he
asked in a drunken drawl.
'Yes," I said, "I'm coming over
from the Canadian side."
Howard chuckled.
He caught sight of our beer glasses which were still standing on the table,
nearly untouched. "You pore fish," he said contemptuously, "drinking beer
at a time like this! Hannan, you're a piker! Pa doesn't like to see his money wasted, eh? Got any stuff in you, boy? Don't you even wake up when you get to little old New York?
Come on, you piker; let's see who's going to pay for this."
And he extracted from his pocket a handful of silver from which he laboriously picked a silver dollar.
"Oh, cut it," snapped Hannan in
undisguised ill humour. "You're showing off, as usual, Howard.
Probably sold a crop or so, and when you've got a few pennies in your pocket
. . . ."
Howard laughed uproariously, emptied his glass again, and once more dug into his pocket from which this time he was at great pains to pull a huge roll of bills, fully three inches in diameter. They seemed to be mostly in denom-
page 127
inations of one hundred dollars, though the wrapper consisted of a thousand-dollar bill.
"Sold my crop, eh?" he sneered. "Sure
I did. Look what kind of a crop uncle Howard had.
Can afford a little spree, can't he, you little envious crab? You digger
and son of a bobtailed cat!"
"Look here," Hannan said,
getting hot under the collar, "if you want to insult me, I might just as
well go. As for that filthy trash which you choose to exhibit, if you want
to know, I think I could match every blessed bill you've got there without
as much as writing a cheque. And so, for that matter, could my friend,
Mr. Branden,
I suppose, if he wished to. You don't seem to know that your bragging is
in abominably bad taste, especially in the presence of strangers . . ."
Howard had, for a moment, dumbly gasped at this effusion. Then he burst into a guffaw of laughter which shook his huge bulk like the waves of a prolonged earthquake.
"Bad taste?" he roared. "Bad taste, is it? That's what every mother's son says who hasn't got it. Bet you, my boy, that I could sit in a little game with you and put up a hundred to one and still clean you out in less'n half an hour. You pore reptile!" With that he got up; and, turning to me, he said, "'Scuse
me a minute, Mister Branden," and went out.
He had hardly left the room when Hannan bent over and started to speak in a rapid whisper.
"I have to apologize, Mr. Branden," he said, "for
getting you into this. If I had thought we might meet this fellow, and
he being drunk, I should not have taken you here, that goes without saying.
But the thing is done; and I hate to retreat. He needs a lesson. I'm going
to take that wad from him, till morning. When he's sober, he's right enough
-- he should not drink. As it is, he's going to fall into the hands of
some con-man; then pity his poor wife and children. He's a friend and neighbour
of my father's, too. It's only charity to protect him.
page 128
Let's have that game he proposes. You do as I tell
you, and in half an hour we'll clean him out. Then he'll sleep off his drink;
to-morrow morning, when he's sober, we'll put him on board his train, with
his money safe till he leaves the city. What say?"
"He might win instead of losing," I
objected.
"I'll see to that " whispered Hannan. "He's
coming back. You do as I'll tell you. We two'll stack against him. He can't
win that way; but he'll never notice the trick. We often do it for fun,
at home. I'll be the banker for the two of us. Whatever you put in, I'll
hand back to you as soon as the game is over. I'd do it by myself; only
I might not have enough cash in my pocket. I was bluffing before, you know.
We'll save that sot in spite of himself."
He leaned back, still speaking in a sibilant whisper, without moving his lips.
Since I saw Howard approaching, I acquiesced by an imperceptible nod.
Two points I can aver in my defence. Firstly, I had no doubt of young Hannan's entirely honest, yes, benevolent intentions. Howard's condition was such that indeed I considered his money as being in grave jeopardy from professional crooks. It was doing him a kindness to take care of it for him. I could well imagine what a salutary jolt it would be for him to wake up next morning and to find himself penniless. He would probably live through an hour or two which would not be so easy to forget. The hint about his wife and children had sunk in. The thing took hold of me. Secondly, I had sat in a game before. I had never yet given thought to questions of public morals. Gambling seemed perfectly legitimate to me; why, it pervaded even the public life of Europe with its state-sanctioned lotteries. If anybody had suggested to me at the time that to live on a million won in the lotterygame was immoral, I should have gasped as at an absurdity. From what little I had seen of American life -- which was, of course, superficial enough -- it seemed altogether
page 129
built up on, and in itself a sanction of, the gambling chance.
Howard seemed slightly sobered when he sat down. But the idea of a game seemed to fill him with pleasurable excitement. He had by no means forgotten about it.
"Well, boys," he said, "how about
it?"
"How about what?" snapped Hannan, once more with his show of angry impatience.
"The game," said Howard. "I
offered to play you a hundred to one. I need some excitement in this dull
town. The offer is open."
"Sure," said Hannan indifferently, "we'll
take you up any moment you say so. But we can't start a game here."
Howard became astonishingly active for one who was so far gone in drink. He called the waiter, suppressed Hannan's
attempt at paying his share, threw down a hundred-dollar bill, gave, when
he received his change, a five-dollar tip, and asked tersely, when we were
getting up, "Where'll it be?"
"Stanley's," answered Hannan,
as tersely, "on twenty-seventh."
And, taking my arm, as we walked
out, he whispered, "That's
only a couple of doors from our hotel."
We left the Holland House, Howard leading by a few steps. Hannan and I followed, arm in arm, like a pair of old and trusted friends.
On the way Hannan whispered
again: "Going to play flip. Let him lead. Throw your coin quickly. The
game'll take care of itself."
I cannot say but that out here, in the open air, some qualms of conscience assailed me. I should have preferred to take Howard's money outright and to put it in the safe of the Prince George. But, since we were not going to any private club, there were difficulties in the way of such a plan. And what was Howard to me that I should bother about him? Hannan seemed to feel sure that he would lose. Here goes, I thought. Since I had
page 130
gone so far I would see the matter through. I was entirely altruistic.
We entered Stanley's by a long, semi-dark corridor from 27th Street. The barroom, which must have been closer to 26th Street, to judge from the length of the corridor, was garishly lighted and filled with a noisy, gesticulating crowd over which lay thick, bluish layers of cigar-smoke. A white-frocked coloured waiter flitted across our path as we entered. I still see him with my mind's eye, how he bent over in hurrying forward, and how he suddenly stopped, as it were, in mid-flight when he caught sight of Howard. Without waiting for sign or word, he turned at a sharp angle to his former direction and led the way to a small private room at the left. He opened the door, switched on the lights, allowed us to enter, closed the door, and was gone.
We sat down. In every motion of Howard's enormous bulk was quiet purpose. He seemed hardly tipsy any longer. But Hannan winked at me and with a quiet smile allayed the misgivings which were taking hold of me in spite of all.
"He's an habitual here," he whispered.
The waiter returned with three glasses of beer which no one had ordered.
"Anything else, gentlemen?" he asked.
"Two Scotch," said Hannan.
"Yaasir," and the attendant ducked
out. He had not so much as smiled at any one.
Again he entered, bringing a bottle and three glasses, and vanished.
Howard knocked
his roll of bills on the table and showed by every impatient motion that
he "meant
business."
"What's it to be?" he asked curtly.
"Flip," said Hannan and threw three coppers on the table.
"Just a moment," I spoke up; "how
do you play that?"
A flicker of a smile flashed over Howard's face and vanished. Hannan explained briefly. Whoever led, was
page 131
to make a bet and throw his coin. The other two had to match the bet and to decide the game by throwing their coins in turn. If all three coins fell alike, either obverse or reverse, the pot remained; if not, the one whose coin differed from the other two took it. Each of us in turn started the betting and threw first.
"Your turn," said Hannan to Howard.
Howard threw a hundred-dollar bill into the centre of the table and flipped his coin.
Hannan threw down a silver-dollar, and so did I.
Howard snarled
with a contemptuous grimace. "Remember the terms, do you?" he said.
The pot was Howard's.
Hannan, who was sitting to the left of Howard, betted next. He threw down a ten-dollar bill; I matched it; and Howard, with a coarse and derisive laugh, whipped out a thousand. The coins fell, and again Howard with a remarkably steady hand raked in the money.
I made it a one; the pot fell to Hannan. He raked it in and left it on the table between the two of us.
There was a momentary pause while Hannan filled two of the small glasses from the bottle. He pushed one over to me, one to Howard. Howard emptied his at a gulp, I touched mine with my lips. Hannan did not partake.
The taste of the liquor seemed to make Howard all the more eager. He counted out five hundred-dollar bills and threw them down. Hannan and I matched with two fives, and the coins span. Again it was Howard's turn to rake in the stakes. His upper lip seemed to wave from one side of his mouth to the other; it reminded me oddly of a heavy curtain blowing in a breeze. His eyes bulged more than ever.
Hannan made his bet five dollars again. The pot fell to myself. When I raked it in and joined it to the pile already lying between us, it suddenly struck me that indeed, even if the stakes had been even, we could not have helped cleaning Howard out since we were playing together. Only the most extraordinary run of luck could have given
page 132
Howard any winnings at all. As it was, he was bound to be bankrupt within half an hour. I could not understand that Howard did not see through the trick, especially since we left the money lying open on the table and did not disguise the fact that we threw our winnings together. Mostly, it is true, for the next ten or fifteen minutes, Howard was the winner. But his winnings in each pot amounted to two, ten, or at most twenty dollars; whereas what he lost, was never less than a hundred, and often it was a thousand dollars a throw.
The alertness and alacrity with which he had begun the game had left him now. Repeatedly he had his glass refilled. Repeatedly he sank into something like stupor. At last Hannan had to touch him on the shoulder when it came his turn to bet. He started up as from a dream.
"Sure," he said, "sure;" and he
reached for his roll on the table. It had by this time dwindled down to
a few meagre bills. He grumbled. Then, as if awaking, he opened and closed
his eyes rapidly two or three times, and a heavy scowl settled between
his brows. He shot a glance at our joint pile. I expected some kind of
trouble. But he merely hissed a scarcely audible remark, reached into his
hip-pocket, apparently with great exertion, pulled another roll out, counted
off ten bills, slowly and carefully, and threw them down. To my bewilderment
they were ten thousand-dollar bills, I took the remainder of my money out
of my pocket. It amounted to just sixty dollars.
Hannan saw my predicament and, with the slightest motion of his hand, pushed the pile of money which lay between us towards me. I took four tens and matched the bet. I thought I saw Howard shoot a glance at the hand which picked out the four bills from our common winnings. I was not quite sure of it, but the mere suspicion sent misgivings of some impending disaster through my spine.
When the coins fell, Howard bent forward and watched his chance more eagerly than he had done so far.
The pot went to Hannan.
Howard laughed. "Gol-darn it," he
said; and suddenly
page 133
he did not seem the least bit drunk. "You've done it, boys. You've cleaned me out. All but the fare back home. Well, 'scuse me a moment." With
a heavy motion he got up and left the room.
As soon as he was gone, Hannan turned
to me. "Well," he said quickly, "we'll put that wad in the safe of the Prince George;
all but what is your own, of course. There must be twenty thousand here.
Some crop! How much is yours?"
All misgivings were dispelled by these words.
"Two hundred and fifty-five," I
said, and Hannan began to count.
That very moment I pricked my ears,
for I heard distinctly that out in the bar-room a monotonous voice had
begun to call my name. The voice came nearer. I could now hear and understand
it beyond the possibility of a doubt.
"Phone-call-for-Mr.-Branden!... Phone-call-for-Mr.-Branden-from-the-Prince-George!"
I jumped up; yet I hesitated. Who should call me? Who knew me? How could the people at the hotel have guessed where I might be?
"Phone for you?" asked Hannan.
"Seems so," I said, "but I cannot
imagine."
"Better answer it," said Hannan; "but
take your money."
He held out a number of notes among which I recognized two hundred-dollar bills. I grabbed them, crammed them into my pocket, and rushed out. A uniformed boy was just beginning to sing out again. At sight of myself he broke off.
"You Mr. Branden?" he
asked.
"Yes."
"This way, sir." And he led the
way through the crowd to one of the telephone-booths.
He held the door open and closed it when I had entered; I picked the dangling receiver up.
"Hello," I said.
Pause. Then, "Hello."
page 134
"This is Mr. Branden; who
is speaking?"
"Central."
"Hello," I said. "The Prince George was
calling me, I hear. You've cut us off, it seems."
"Prince George? You want the Prince George?"
"If you please."
A moment later the connection was made. No call had come from the hotel.
A vague uneasiness took hold of me. But it did not matter. Once more I felt for my money. The money was there. I left the booth and tried to find the room in which we had been sitting. All the rooms seemed empty. I did not know exactly where to look for ours. Then I suddenly caught sight of my hat on the hat-tree of the very room into which I was looking. There was the table, too, with the glasses and the half-empty bottle. But neither Hannan nor Howard were there. I felt uneasy again but could see no cause for alarm. Probably they had simply left the room for a moment and would presently return. I had my money. I entered and sat down.
The waiter opened the door. When
he saw me, he stepped back with a muttered apology. But before he could
close the door, I sang out, "If you please, waiter."
"Yassir," he said and reentered.
"These gentlemen gone?" I enquired
with a motion of my hand towards the empty chairs.
"Yassir," he repeated obsequiously;
not a motion in his coffee-coloured face betrayed the slightest interest.
"Oh," I said, surprised and exceedingly
puzzled. Then I rallied. I pulled out my money.
"Young gentleman paid the check," said the waiter. "Him
as you called Mr. Hannan, sir."
I was still more puzzled. What was the game? Something was wrong; but what?
"Any message?" I asked.
"Nossir."
"Look here, waiter," I said in a confidential tone, handing him a dollar-bill which he took with a "Thank-
page 135
you, sir," but without a smile, his face the picture
of unfathomable sorrow.
"Look here," I repeated, "do you
know either one of the men?"
"Nossir," he said very promptly and, so it seemed to me, a little too promptly, "never
saw either one before."
This I knew to be a lie; the way in which he had led us to the private room had too clearly betrayed that he knew Howard at least. I thought of the fact that Hannan, like myself, was stopping at the Prince George. I shrugged my shoulders.
"Very well," I said.
"Anything else, sir?" he asked.
"No, thanks." And I rose to go.
At the office of the hotel I asked for the number of Mr. Hannan's room. No Mr. Hannan was registered there.
I went upstairs, profoundly puzzled. I believe I walked the floor for the greater part of the night; and when at last I went to bed, I could not sleep.
There must have been some trick; but I simply could not find in what it consisted. All those points on which suspicion was based came back to me: the unmistakable fact that Howard was known to the coloured waiter at Stanley's, who yet denied all knowledge of him; the incomprehensible stupidity of Howard's in submitting to a silly mulcting trick like ours; his undoubted soberness at the beginning of the game; the sharp look from the corner
of his eye when I began to draw my betting money from the common fund; the fact that the game had automatically stopped exactly when my money was gone; the fabricated telephone-call at exactly the right moment; the disappearance of the two accomplices (for, that they were accomplices in some scheme, I had now no doubt) in the deceit practised by Hannan with regard to his stopping-place -- all these things convinced me that I had been the victim of an elaborately laid plan. There were too many suspicious things, there was too astonishing a concurrence of trifles to admit of their being taken for mere coincidence.
page 136
What was the scheme? What was its purpose? I had my money. I took it out and counted it over, only to find the amount correct. Even the drinks had been paid for. Where did I come in? If I had somehow been cheated, well and good; I could have taken my loss and gone to bed and to sleep and accepted the thing as a lesson. As it was, the very mystery of it was tantalizing.
Suddenly a thought struck me, and the whole matter presented itself in a new aspect. I had been sitting in a crooked game! My intentions had been honest. But does the end justify the means? The fact remained that I had taken part in a conspiracy to take a man's money from him. I felt defiled. The rest of the night I spent in violent self-reproaches. I vowed never to make up with a stranger again. I wished to bury myself, to find a private room and to accept any kind of work -- that of a waiter, if necessary -- immediately. I began to wish that I had been cheated, that I had lost my money. I preferred being the victim to having placed myself in a position where I might possibly have been the victimizer. And suddenly a still more disquieting thought arose, still more disquieting, because it seemed to carry conviction. It seemed to explain to my heated imagination all the puzzling features of the evening; and those that it did not explain I had no longer any eye for.
What if Howard had really been bled? What, if Hannan alone
was the crook? The fact that the telephone call had come when Howard had
left the room, seemed to speak against it. But, might not Hannan have "planted" that
boy who had been paging me? Might not Hannan have
grabbed the money and made off before Howard returned?
Might not Howard, thinking that I had fled with
him, have started in hot pursuit of the robbers, sobered as he no doubt had
been by that time? If that was the right explanation, no matter how guileless
my intention had been, I was Hannan's accomplice
or at least an accessory to the fact. Who would believe me innocent?
page 137
From that moment on I expected the police. It would have been a relief to see them enter and to be arrested. But no one came. I believe that was the most terrible night I have lived through in all my years.
Dawn broke. I got ready to leave the hotel, locked my baggage, and went to roam the streets in search of a room.
It was much too early, of course. The houses were still closed. But I walked about, went down to the ferries on the North River, back to the East-River, down to Battery Park and back again to Madison Square.
Then I started to scan the houses
for "rooms-to-let" signs.
I inspected only two rooms; one was eight, the other five dollars a week.
Both seemed too high in price, but in order to get settled I engaged the
latter, paid a week's rent in advance, and returned to the hotel to have
my breakfast.
When I had made arrangements about my baggage, I crossed over to the cashier's desk, threw down a hundred-dollar bill, and asked for my account. There was some delay. It seemed to take an unconscionable time to settle my bill. The cashier, with my money in his hand, stepped back and used the telephone before attending to my change. Two other men sauntered over and stood beside me, apparently also waiting for the clerk's leisure.
"Just a moment," said the cashier
to me; and he looked at the other two men with what seemed to be a questioning
glance.
One of them nodded.
The cashier left his cage through a door in the rear.
I became impatient. Ten minutes went by.
Then the cashier stepped briskly back into his cage.
A fourth man had joined the group in front of the wicket.
The cashier, whose serious, yes, severe manner struck me, handed my bill, which he still held between his fingers, through the wicket to this fourth man who was pushing forward and looked at me without a word.
The same moment I felt a hand closing over my wrist,
page 138
and a quiet voice spoke into my ear. "You are arrested.
Don't try any monkey business. Just walk alongside of me, and nobody will
be the wiser. If you resist, I'll have to put the billies on you. These two
are the house detectives."
I smiled. "I'll follow you, sir," I said quietly, although my knees shook and my heart pounded as if it were going to burst. "I
expected you. I am glad you came."
"All right, come along."
We went through the lobby of the hotel as if we were two guests lounging about. At the curb stood a waiting cab.
"Mulberry," said
my captor to the driver.
We got in, and the cab rolled off.
For a while the detective sat in silence. I looked at him. His face was intelligent, frank, kindly. He was thirty-five years old; his hair, brown; his eyes, grey.
I smiled. "I'm glad this came at last," I
repeated.
He looked at me with a frown. "Better not say too much," he warned without a responsive smile. "Whatever
you say, may be used against you. Your words imply a confession. Wait till
you've got a lawyer."
I laughed. "I don't want a lawyer," I replied. "The
case is clear enough. All I want to do is tell the truth and take what
is coming to me for my foolishness."
I could see that his sternness relaxed. "Well," he said, "you
may not feel like that after a while. Ever been up before?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, somewhat
alarmed.
"Ever been in jail before?"
"No."
"Ever done anything like this before?"
"No."
"Did you know?" he asked with sudden
sharpness.
"Know what?"
"That this is phony?" He raised
the hundred-dollar bill.
The scales fell from my eyes. So that had been the
page 139
game! I felt immensely relieved. It was not half so bad as I had feared. I laughed with relief till tears choked my laughter.
"No," I said at last, "but thank the Lord if it is, I thought it was much worse. I've got more of that stuff here," and I took the remaining bills and handed them to the detective. "The
worst of it is that I have already paid out one bill which probably also
is counterfeit, to pay a week's rent for a room."
"Well," the detective said, "if
you didn't know and can prove it, they can't do anything to you. But your
story has got to be straight."
"My story," I replied, "is straight
enough. I want to make a confession. It's lucky that I was the victim and
not the crook. I was afraid that I was the crook, or at least one of them.
That's why I was glad when you came."
"We'll be at the station in a minute or two," he said. "All
this sounds queer. But tell a straight story, and you'll be all right."
We reached the Central Police Station; I was searched, my papers were taken from me; and I was locked up in a cell behind iron-bars.
There was an occupant in the cell
already; and as soon as the keeper disappeared, this man, a rather flamboyant
youth with a red necktie and shifty eyes, began a nervous conversation,
questioning me as to the charge on which I had been arrested, and telling
me that he was wanted for forgery and embezzlement; he was "in for it"; they "had
the goods on him."
About half an hour later I became aware of a stir and commotion running through the huge establishment.
"The cap's arrived," my companion volunteered. "Now
we'll be up one after another. But they won't fetch you before the afternoon."
I did not reply and resigned myself to waiting.
But it was not more than ten minutes
later before the keeper appeared again. He unlocked the barred doors, nodded
to me, and said "Chief
wants you."
page 140
My companion emitted a whistle of surprise; I stepped out.
A detective in uniform took charge of me; I followed him through a long corridor of cells from behind the barred doors of which many human eyes looked after us like those of so many caged animals. We went down a flight of stone-steps and through a second corridor similar to the one upstairs.
We stopped at a door where another policeman stood on guard. Words were whispered; the guard disappeared through the door. A minute or so later the door opened again, and I felt myself pushed forward into the room beyond.
This room resembled any ordinary office in a large and prosperous business house. Over against the window to the left stood a large, flat-topped desk at which a portly, middle-aged, clean-shaven, and distinguished-looking man was apparently reading a paper. But he shot a sharp, enquiring look at me from behind his gold-rimmed spectacles. At the window stood, looking out, the detective who had arrested me. In front of the right-hand window sat a young lady, pencil in hand, holding a pad of paper on a small table. At her elbow stood a typewriter. Between desk and door I noticed an unoccupied chair.
The captain raised his head and looked at me. After the slightest hesitation he nodded dismissal to my escort and waved his hand towards the unoccupied chair.
"Sit down," he said. "Mr. Mulligan here
tells me you have a story to tell. What is your name? . . . Age? . . .
Date of birth? . . . Place of birth? . . Ah, you are a recent immigrant?
. . . Well, let us have your story, please."
I told the story as clearly and as truthfully as I could. Repeatedly the captain nodded and smiled in the course of my recital. Mr. Mulligan, though ostensibly looking out of the window, lent a sharp ear. The young lady wrote rapidly in shorthand.
When I had finished telling about my worries during
page 141
the night and about the relief I had felt on finding that, as far as I could see, I was the only one victimized, the captain swung around in his chair and said with a smile to Mr. Mulligan, "Han the Hook, of course, and Big Heinie."
"Of course," Mr. Mulligan agreed.
"Better give the word," the captain went on, "at
the roll-call, that they are in town again."
"I'm sorry," I said, "and to tell
the truth, I'm mad that my foolishness has got me into this trouble."
"Oh," the captain laughed, "they've
got those who should know better than you can be expected to. As for trouble,
you are in America.
A little inconvenience, of course; we must ask you to give us the chance
to verify some of your statements. When you are dismissed, we must require
you to keep us posted as to your address. We might need you to identify
the pair, that is all. Too bad you lost your money."
"Oh," I replied, infinitely relieved, "that
part of it is nothing. So long as I don't need to reproach myself . . ."
The captain exchanged a look with Mr. Mulligan. "Well,
no, Mr. Branden," he said with a smile, rising, "you
don't need to do that. It may even turn out that you have been of service
to us. I don't think we'll detain you at all. As I said, keep us posted
with regard to your address. Mr. Mulligan will
attend to you. You are discharged."
He shook hands with me before I left the office in charge of the plain-clothes man who had apprehended me.
page 142
Previous Chapter Contents
Next Chapter
