MISS GASTONGUAY INTERVIEWS HER PRISONER.
Miss Gastonguay found Prosperity sitting in the shadow of the wash-tubs, holding one end of a long rope that he had knotted firmly around his prisoner's waist.
The young burglar, seeing that nothing could be done, had fallen asleep. Prosperity was presiding over his slumbers in fascinated awe, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Miss Gastonguay touched him on the shoulder.
"Go join your brother," and she pointed to Tribulation, who was patrolling the kitchen passage, holding over his shoulder a Revolutionary musket that he had brought from the attic.
"You'll hold the prisoner?" said Prosperity, surrendering the rope to her.
"Yes, I'll hold him. Go away now, and shut the door, and don't listen."
Prosperity tiptoed out, and seating herself on an upturned firkin, she seized a stick used for agitating clothes in boiling water, and gently stirred the sleeper with it.
He opened his eyes and calmly stared at her.
"You're a nice young man," she said, ironically, and turning a lamp bracket nearer his face and farther away from her own.
He made no reply to this remark, beyond cautiously moving his foot.
"Is it any better?" she asked.
"Yes, that old coon rubbed it. I'm much obliged, ma'am."
His manner was slightly conciliatory, yet she broke into denunciation. "You need not try to soften me. You ought to be hanged. If a few young rascals like you were strung up, you'd save a million others following in your steps. Now what have I ever done that you should break into my house, and try to rob me of hard-earned money,—money earned by the sweat of the brow of my ancestors. Who are you, I say, that you should deprive me of it?"
"The world owes me a living," he said, sullenly.
"A living—an honest living. Now what do you make out of your line of life,—just tell me?"
"Lots of fun, when I have any luck."
"You are lazy," she said, angrily, "too lazy to put up with quiet toil and small results."
"Quiet toil," he replied, with a sneer. "Some capitalist gets hold of you. He sucks all the life out of you. Hard work, small pay, no play. Whenyou're old, you're kicked in the gutter to die. I was once in a factory—"
"What is the merit of your present occupation?" she asked, grimly.
"You work when you like, you're your own boss; you have travel, and a kind of feeling of free drinks in you all the time,—sprees and a chance for rest when you make a good haul, and the country to take care of you when you're old. The worse you do, the better you're looked after. I'm going to help some likely person off the boards when I'm sixty. Some one like yourself, ma'am. Then I'll have good lawyers, and new trials, and soft food, and flowers, and ladies to visit me, and maybe go bang free."
Miss Gastonguay had fallen into a kind of waking trance. Her eye pierced the young man's face,—looked through it to some scene unknown. He saw that she was not thinking of him, and he favoured her with a curiously appreciative and intelligent glance.
Presently she roused herself and said, solemnly, "Young man, I am going to trust you. Here, take this rope off your waist," and she tossed him the end. "Sit up on that bench and look me squarely in the face. Here I sit, your best friend at the present minute. Talk freely to me. We are two erring mortals; get out of your mind that I am any better off than you. If you open your mind to meyou will not regret it. I ask you now in the sight of God, do you like your present life?"
The young man sat down in the place indicated, and scrutinised her sharply and narrowly.
"Time is precious," she said, warningly, "I mean what I say. Tear off your disguise. We all wear one,—I do. Here I show you my naked heart. I am going to let you escape. If you linger, you may be caught. The townspeople will not be so merciful. If you're a bad fellow, tell me so, and go. If you want help, I'll give it to you."
The young criminal smiled slightly, then his cynical expression faded away, and he took on an air of sincerity. "I believe you, ma'am. I've reason to. I'll talk straight. Yes, I like my life good enough."
"Where were you brought up?"
"In New York,—in what you call the slums."
"What made you a criminal?"
"I didn't want to work."
"Oh,—you wanted luxuries?"
"Yes, ma'am. I was ambitious. I hadn't anything. I might get everything."
"Who was that man with you?"
"A pal; you wouldn't know him if I told you."
"A curious pal to run away from you!"
The burglar smiled again. "What good could he do by staying? He's only skedaddled to layplans to get me out of your gingerbread jail here if I choose to go into it."
"Then you criminals stand by each other?"
Her morbid curiosity did not surprise him.
"I guess we stand by each other as well as the capitalists."
"Did you ever hear this sentence, young man,—'Whatsoever a man soweth, that also shall he reap?'"
"Often, ma'am, in the training-school."
"The what?"
"The school for crime, where I learned my trade, a steamboat that used to hang round New York in the dark, and pick up pupils at different wharves. Some of the big crooks used to come on board, and give us talks. We had gambling games, and all kinds of instruction given. We kept the windows covered on account of the harbour police, then toward morning we went ashore."
Miss Gastonguay, trying to subdue the loathing that overpowered her, was silent for a few seconds; then, urged on by the inexorable flight of time, she lifted her eyelids, and burst out with a fascinated question, "Did you ever kill any one?"
"No, ma'am; I'm a business criminal."
"What drew you to Rossignol?"
He laughed stealthily. "Curiosity, ma'am. I heard the place had some sheep worth shearing,and then our biggest swell made your town famous."
"What do you mean?"
She spoke with haughty severity, but he was not impressed.
"Gentleman George's caper, ma'am,—the smartest bank burglar in this country or any other. This was the end of his famous New York glide, when he had all the police after him. I guess you know him, ma'am. You've got some souvenirs of him up-stairs in that drawer of yours."
A cold, agonised perspiration broke out on the unfortunate lady's forehead, but she bravely maintained her composure, and, as if he had noticed nothing amiss, her prisoner went on, flippantly. "He came here slap after the big Leslie bank haul in New York. The cops suspected him and broke into his house, and sure enough, they found his workshop for making burglars' tools. They were red-hot on his track, when Gentleman George went plump down a hole in the earth, and they lost him."
Miss Gastonguay could not speak, but made a feverish gesture for him to continue, which he did, nursing his injured foot, and staring coolly sometimes at her, sometimes at the increasing light stealing through the windows.
"The hole in the earth was here," and the young burglar chuckled at the remembrance. "GentlemanGeorge boarded a train for Maine, dropped into this place, grabbed at a fat mill-owner's purse in broad daylight, and got locked up here for a fool hobo, while the police were scouring the earth for him."
Miss Gastonguay leaned forward, propped her trembling chin on her hand, and ejaculated, "What does this man look like?"
"I guess you know as well as I do," he said with quiet impudence, "but in case you haven't seen him for a spell, I'll say he's more of a high-roller than ever. You'd think him the latest duke from Europe."
Miss Gastonguay subdued her almost mortal agony. "Go on," she said, with a ghastly smile. "Tell me some more about this criminal life, I'm interested in it."
"Well, ma'am, I'll talk some more about Gentleman George, for he's the boy for my money. No one knows where he started from, unless I could make a guess now, but he's a gentleman born, and welcome in every hang-out in the Union. And he's smart," and the young man swore a delighted oath. "To find out how safes were made, he got work with the Densmore Safe Company till there wasn't a lock he couldn't duplicate. And he's got an ear as fine hung as thistledown. By the turning of the dial he can tell at what numbers the tumblers drop into place."
"Young man, what do I know about tumblers?"
"Nothing, ma'am, I'm forgetting you're not with us. If you want to know about Gentleman George, he's rolled up two or three fortunes by bank-breaking, but he's such a confounded gambler that he out-points himself."
"Where is he now?" articulated Miss Gastonguay, with difficulty.
"Now that's one thing, ma'am, I can't tell you. I'm sorry to disoblige a lady, but it can't be helped."
"Has he repented? Is he leading an honest life?"
"Yes, ma'am, just now he has to. The police are after him again. He breaks out in spots, then he lies low. For the last few years you might have heard of him in California, in Mexico, in Europe, always in big hauls, always looting something worth looting. There was the California Star Bank Vault robbery where he got a clean half million, the Belgium Bank affair—"
"Do they never catch him? Is he never shot at,—hurt?"
"Catch him, yes, but no prison holds him. He's got good friends. After the California swoop they shut him up in jail, but he had a partner outside who had a masked hole made in the gate of the jail. Next day Gentleman George broke loose from a marching line of convicts in the jail yard, made a dash for thehole, jumped into a wagon his partner had waiting, and got out of the way in double quick time."
Miss Gastonguay had had about all she could endure. "Daybreak is coming," she said, abruptly. "You must get away; is there anything I can do for you?"
"You could give me ten thousand a year," he said, composedly; "you are a rich woman, you would never miss it."
"I will give you enough to get to some philanthropists, who will teach you to live an honest life."
"Thank you, ma'am,—we've got enough of them in New York. They go to the low-down streets and preach, 'Lead an honest life, and you will star it through the world,' but no fellow those praying folks ever took has got as high up in the sky as Gentleman George."
"He is your model?"
"He's the biggest man in America," said her companion, with quiet enthusiasm.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
Her convulsed face showed that she pitied him, and with his small and ferret-like eyes gleaming approvingly on her he continued, "You're a lady, ma'am, and I'll tell you what I'm aiming at. I don't want to give up this life. If I did, I could earn ten thousand dollars to-morrow by going to the detectives in NewYork and splitting on Gentleman George. But I'm not anxious to play spy. I'd be found out, and I've just been watching a young crook, that turned State's evidence in a Boston jail, come out and go crazy on account of the whole gang turning against him. He slunk round the streets like a sick cat, and he squealed in his sleep. No one spoke to him, and he died in the horrors."
"Can't you run away from them?" said Miss Gastonguay, with a burst of impassioned appeal. "Leave the atmosphere of crime. I'll send you anywhere."
"Anywhere; I don't want to go. Would you be happy in my hang-out? No, ma'am. Would I be happy in yours? No, ma'am, again. You rich people don't know what liberty is."
"Liberty—liberty," she repeated, warningly. "A liberty that ends in a prison."
"You straight people make queer mistakes. I'm a better lot than my family. They don't live by rule as I do. They'll lie and pick at small truck. They haven't any ambition. I've got my life chalked out. I'm not going to get a prison face, I sha'n't go beyond the limit."
"The limit?"
"The fifteen or twenty year limit. If you keep out of jail, well and good. If you get too long sentences your health breaks down, and you get the shivers."
"What are they?"
"Nerves; you think, 'S'pose the cops catch me.' You may be in the midst of a fancy job. Everything in you trembles, even your eyeballs, and you'd best quit and run, for if the shivers get fastened on you, you're no good, and might as well take to the tomato can tramps. I'm going to knock off before I get 'em. I've been lucky about jails so far, and if you'll help me out of this now—"
He spoke suggestively, and Miss Gastonguay tried to bring back her strained and wandering attention to him. "When you go away, will you see this man,—this Gentleman George?"
"I'm sure to pretty soon."
"Will you give him a message from me?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Tell him that though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they are always going. Retribution will come—"
Her severe voice faltered, and while she was recovering breath the young criminal observed, curiously, "Gentleman George is a pretty close connection of yours."
She saw that he did not know what the connection was, and would not enlighten him.
"I wish you'd let me carry back to him that little shoe mascot."
"Never."
"Most all gamblers have something they hang on to," he said, with a disappointed air. "Gentleman George's shoe is known by all his pals. It used to bring him luck, and when he'd be caught and searched he used to beg to have it back. I carry a rabbit's foot."
Miss Gastonguay was conscious of a feeble passing surprise at his superstition, but she was not able to discuss it, and pointing to his foot asked, "Can you walk on it?"
"No, ma'am, I guess you'll have to provide the means of locomotion."
"Come out to the stable, then."
"First let me return some of your property," and he gallantly extended her handsome gold watch and chain.
She slapped her side, "I had it here just now."
"Yes, ma'am, I wanted you to see how easy I could get it from you."
"Have you any more of my property?" she asked, harshly.
"Not a stiver. We tumbled things back pretty quick, when we found Gentleman George's picture by your bed. He'd get after us if we meddled with you. You're not his sister, are you?"
"Come with me to the stable," she responded. "I will lend you a horse. Ride him to any of the near stations. Dismount when you get there, andturn him loose. Have you money enough for a ticket?"
"Yes, ma'am."
His spirits were rising, now that there was a sure prospect of his escape, and he even grinned facetiously at Prosperity and Tribulation, who shrank in dismay from him, and hid the musket between them.
Miss Gastonguay went swiftly to the stable, followed closely by the limping burglar, and at a little distance by her two servants. A few minutes later her departing prisoner threw her a civil farewell as he clambered on the back of the tall black horse. "I'm obliged for your interest, ma'am. I've talked pretty freely to you. If you ever see Gentleman George again, I wish you'd speak a good word for me. I'd like to join in some of his big propositions."
She fell back in disgust, and as the gray morning swallowed his figure, she passionately muttered, "Moral obliquity,—just like the other,—youthful, enthusiastic,—a face set to do evil. God pity him."
With hanging head she went slowly to the house until startled into a peevish exclamation by the sudden appearance of her niece.
"Chelda, what are you doing here?"
"I was going to see if our prisoner is safe," replied the young lady, smoothly. "I have just been telephoning to the police station."
"And pray, who told you to do that? This ismy house. Go telephone back that the policemen are not to come until I send for them."
"Very well, aunt," she replied, submissively, "but can you stop them?"
"You are a meddlesome girl," said Miss Gastonguay, and she gave relief to her overwrought feelings by stamping her foot at her.
Chelda said nothing, but her expression was not a pleasant one as she gazed after the retreating figure. "You let that burglar go," she murmured, revengefully, "why did you do it? It is really quite puzzling,—and who is to be pitied? One should really look into so interesting a matter. There is such a lack of pity in the world."