“PLAY FOR ME,” THEODORE SAID. “STAND BY THAT BIG TREE SO I CAN LOOK AT YOU.”
“PLAY FOR ME,” THEODORE SAID. “STAND BY THAT BIG TREE SO I CAN LOOK AT YOU.”
217
Theodore turned, saw, and realized at that moment. He discovered in her what he had long desired. She loved him! All the old longing, all the strength and passion within him broke loose at the nearness of her. Suddenly he stretched out his arms and drew her still nearer. Jinnie felt every muscle of his strongly fibered body grow tense at her touch. She tried to draw away from his encircling arms, but the rise and fall of her bosom, girlishly curved—the small-girl shyness that caused her to endeavor to unloose his strong hands, only goaded him to press her closer.
“Don’t leave me, my dearest, my sweet,” he breathed, kissing her lids and hair. “I love you! I love you!”
She gasped once, twice, and her head fell upon his breast, and for a moment she lay wrapped in her youthful modesty as in a mantle.
“Kiss me, Jinnie,” Theodore murmured entreatingly.
She buried her head closer against him.
“Kiss me,” he insisted, drawing her face upward. His lips fell upon hers, and Jinnie’s eyes closed under the magic of her first kiss.
The master-passion of the man brought to sudden life corresponding emotions in the girl—emotions that hurt and frightened her. She put her hand to his face, and touched it. He drew back, looking into her eyes.
“Don’t,” she breathed. “Don’t kiss me any more like—like that.”
“But you love me, my girlie, sweet?” he murmured, his lips roving over her face in dear freedom. “You do!... You do!”
Jinnie’s arms went about him, but her tongue refused to speak.
“Kiss me again!” Theodore insisted.
Oh, how she wanted to kiss him once more! How she gloried in the strong arms, and the handsome face strung tense with his love for her! Then their lips met in the wonders218of a second kiss. Jinnie had thought the first one could never be equaled, but as she lay limply in his arms, his lips upon hers, she lost count of everything.
It might have been the weird effect of the shadows, or the deep, sudden silence about them that drew the girl slowly from his arms.
“I want my fiddle,” she whispered. “Let me go!”
Faint were the inflections of the words; insistent the drawing back of the dear warm body.
Theodore permitted her to get up, and with staggering step she took her position at the tree trunk.
Then he sank down, hot blood coursing through his veins. Long ago he had realized in Jinnie and the fiddle essentials—essentials to his future and his happiness, and to-day her kisses and divine, womanly yielding had only strengthened that realization. Nothing now was of any importance to him save this vibrant, temperamental girl. There was something so delightfully young—so pricelessly dear in the way she had surrendered herself to him. The outside world faded from his memory as Jinnie closed her eyes, and with a very white face began to play. For that day she had finished with the song of the fairies, the babbling of the brook, and the nodding rhythm of the flowers in the summer’s breeze. All that she considered now was Theodore and his kisses. The bow came down over a string with one long, vibrating, passionate call. It expressed the awakening of the girl’s soul—awakened by the touch of a man’s turbulent lips—Jinnie’s God-given man. Her fiddle knew it—felt it—expressed it!
With that first seductive kiss the soul-stirring melody was full born within her, as a world is called into the firmament by one spoken word of God. And as she played, Theodore moved silently toward her, for the fiddle was flashing out the fervor of the kisses she had given him.219
He was close at her feet before he spoke, and simultaneously the white lids opened in one blue, blue glance.
“Jinnie!” breathed Theodore, getting up and holding out his arms. “Come to me! Come to me, my love! I can’t live another moment without you.”
The bow and fiddle remained unnoticed for the next half hour, while the two, the new woman and the new man, were but conscious of one another, nothing else.
At length Theodore spoke.
“Jinnie, look up and say, ‘Theodore, I love you’.”
It was hard at first, because her mind had never reached the point of speaking aloud her passionate love for him, but Theodore heard the halting words, and droned them over to himself, as a music lover delights in his favorite strains.
“And you love me well enough to marry me some day?” he murmured.
Marry him! This, too, was a new thought. Jinnie’s heart fluttered like a bird in her breast. To be with him always? To have him for her own? Of course, he was hers, and she was his! Then into her mind came the thought of Lafe, Peggy, and Bobbie, and the arms around him relaxed.
“I love you better’n anybody in the world,” she told him, pathetically, “but I can’t ever leave the cobbler.... They need me there.”
“They can’t keep you,” he cried passionately. “I want you myself.”
His vehemence subdued her utterly. She glanced into his face. In his flashing eyes, Jinnie read a power inimitable and unsurpassed.
“I couldn’t ever leave ’em,” she repeated, quivering, “but couldn’t they live––”
“We’d take the little blind boy,” promised Theodore.220
Jinnie remained pensive. To bring the shine in her eyes once more, he said:
“Wouldn’t you like Bobbie to live with us?”
“Yes, of course; but I couldn’t leave Lafe and Peg in Paradise Road.”
Theodore surrounded the entreating, uplifted face with two strong hands.
“I know that. We’ll take care of them all––”
Still Jinnie held back her full surrender.
“Can I take Happy Pete, too? And the cats? There’s an awful lot of ’em.... Milly Ann does have so many kitties,” she ended naïvely.
Theodore laughed delightedly.
“Dearest little heart! Of course we’ll take them all, every one you love!”
“Will you tell Lafe about—about us?” Jinnie asked shyly, “I—I––” but she had no more time to finish.
“I’ll tell him to-morrow, Jinnie!” exclaimed Theodore. “Are you happy, dearest?”
“So happy,” she sighed, with loving assurance.
The rest of the day they were like two frolicking children, eating their luncheon under the tall trees. When the shadows fell, they left their trysting place, and with their arms about each other, went slowly back to the automobile.
221CHAPTER XXXIWHAT THEODORE TOLD HIS FRIEND
“He’s been gone all day,” mourned Molly miserably to Jordan Morse. They had finished dinner; Molly had put Mrs. King to bed, and the two were seated in chairs on the lawn. Every minute that passed and found Theodore still away was like an eternity to the woman. She had always hated the office hours which took him from the house, hated the business friends who dropped in now and then and changed the conversation from the delicate personal things she always managed to dwell upon.
During the years she had been companion to Mrs. King, Theo’s dinner and luncheon hours were ones of joy to her. Now this day had passed without him.
“He’ll show up before long,” Morse said presently. “What a lot of worry you have over that man!... Now if you had a problem on your hands like mine––”
The soft chug of a motor cut off his ejaculation.
“He’s coming, now,” he said, getting up.
Molly responded coldly to Theodore’s friendly salute from the car.
As Mr. King walked quickly toward them, Morse called laughingly,
“We had just decided you’d been kidnapped.”
“Nothing like that,” answered Theodore, “I’ve been in the country.... Sit down, Jordan; no use standing up!” And Theodore seated himself on the grass.222
“It’s been a fine day,” he went on boyishly, scarcely knowing what to say.
“Lovely,” agreed Molly, and Jordan supplemented this by asking:
“Have a—pleasant ride?”
“Yes, delightful! One doesn’t realize how murky the city is until he goes in the country for a day.”
After a time, during which he looked up through the enfolding green of the trees, he proceeded calmly,
“I took Miss Grandoken on a picnic.”
Morse’s sudden glance at Molly warned her to control herself.
“She’s an odd child,” continued Theodore, “but, then, all geniuses are. I don’t know when I’ve so thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
Morse’s “That’s good,” was closely followed by Molly’s curt question, “Where’d you go?”
“Just up the lake a ways. We took some picnic stuff––”
“And her fiddle, I suppose?” cut in Molly sarcastically.
“Of course. Jinnie’s not Jinnie without her fiddle.”
“She does play well,” admitted Jordan.
“More than well,” interpolated Theodore. “She plays divinely.”
Then again they fell into an oppressive silence.
Molly was so curious to know the events of the day she could scarcely control her impatience.
Suddenly Mr. King announced:
“I’m going to marry Jinnie Grandoken.”
Molly and Morse slowly got to their feet. They stood looking down upon the young millionaire with jaws apart and startled eyes.
“Well, you needn’t look as if I were about to commit some crime,” he said, quizzing them with laughing eyes.223“I suppose a chap can get married if he wants to; can’t he?”
“It’s ridiculous,” blurted Miss Merriweather.
A drawn, helpless expression had crept into her eyes, making her appear like an old woman.
Theodore got to his feet.
“What’s ridiculous?” he demanded, immediately on the defensive. “My wanting to be happy?”
“Not that quite,” replied the woman, “but surely you can’t––”
“I can and I will!” exclaimed Theodore decidedly. “I couldn’t be happy without her, and mother––”
“It’ll kill ’er,” warned Molly significantly.
“Not at all,” denied Theodore. “My mother’s a woman of sense! When she knows her big boy’s madly in love with the sweetest girl in the world, she’ll take it as a matter of course.”
Miss Merriweather turned toward the house.
“I think I’ll go,” she said in strained tones.
She had almost reached the veranda when Theodore called her.
“Molly!” he shouted.
“Yes?”
“Don’t tell mother. I want to surprise her.”
“Very well,” and the woman went on again, trembling from the blow which had struck her in the face.
The two men, lolling under the trees, said but little more, and with burning heart and unsettled mind, Jordan Morse went back to his apartment.
He had scarcely settled himself before his telephone tinkled. Taking down the receiver, he said,
“Well?”
A faint voice answered him.
“It’s Molly, Jordan!... Listen! I’m down at the224foot of the hill. Do come here! I’m nearly frantic.... Yes, I’ll wait.”
Very soon Molly saw Jordan crossing the street, and she went to meet him.
“Let’s walk,” she said fretfully. “I can’t breathe.”
“If you feel like I do,” replied Morse moodily, “I pity you.”
He led her to a small park where they sat down upon one of the wooden benches.
“I’m shocked beyond expression,” said Molly wearily.
“So am I,” replied Morse. Then picking up the thread of thought which had troubled him all the evening, he went on, “I need my boy! Every night I’m haunted by dreams. I’d give up my plans about Jinnie if I had him....”
“Well, I never!” ejaculated Molly.
“The trouble with you is you haven’t any heart,” went on Jordan. “How you put your mind on anything but finding that child I don’t know. But I notice you manage to keep close on Theo’s heels every minute.”
“I love him,” admitted Molly.
“Don’t you love your son, your poor little lost son?”
“Of course, Jordan! Don’t be stupid!... Of course I do, but I don’t know where he is.”
“And you’re making very little effort to find him, that’s evident. You’ve seen him, and I haven’t, yet I’d give half my life to get my hands on him.” He paused, drew a long breath, and proceeded, “I’ll warn you of this much, Molly. When I do find him—and find him I will—you won’t get a chance to even see him.”
“Oh, Jordan!” gasped Molly.
“That’s right,” he insisted, with an ugly shrug. “I tell you, Molly, I’ve always been impressed with the idea mothers cared more for their children than fathers, but I’m over that now since knowing you.”225
“Oh, Jordan!” repeated Molly faintly once more.
Not heeding her appealing voice, he rushed on, “I’d be willing to strangle half the world for money to hire detectives to search for him. But as I’ve said before, I’d let Jinnie alone if I had him—and work for him with my two hands—if I had to dig graves.”
Molly turned her startled eyes upon the excited man. She had never known the depths of his nature.
“You make me tired,” he proceeded with sarcasm. “What in hell do you think Theodore could see in you when a girl like Jinnie cares for him?”
“Why, Jordan Morse!” stammered the woman. “How dare you talk to me like that?”
“Because it’s true,” replied Jordan hotly. “You’re like a lot of women—if a man looks sidewise at you, you think he’s bowled over with your charms. Good Heavens! It’s sickening!”
“I didn’t ask you here to talk like this,” said Molly.
“What if you didn’t?” snapped Jordan. “Youcan talk now if you want to! I’m going home in five minutes, and I want some money before I go, too.”
“I’ll give you some to-morrow. Now what’re you going to do about Theodore?”
“Well, he won’t marry Jinnie,” replied Morse slowly.
“How can you help it?”
“That’s what I’m going to figure out. If I can get her away from Grandoken’s, she won’t get back, I can tell you that. But that damn cobbler and Theo’ll make such a devilish row––”
“You needn’t be profane,” chided Molly.
“A woman like you’s enough to make any man swear.... Now listen to me. The very fact that Jinnie ran away from home shows me that Tom Singleton told her I put ’im in a mad house! Jinnie, of course, told Grandoken.226I’ve got to get that cobbler—and—you’ve got to help me get Jinnie––”
“Haven’t I done all I could?” gasped Molly. “I can’t go down there and take her by the nape of the neck, can I?”
“No, but I will! Now let’s go! I want to do some pretty tall thinking before morning. Once let those two people be married and I’m lost.”
“So am I,” muttered Molly, swaying at his vehement words.
They threaded their way back to the hill, and Morse left Molly at her gate. As she walked slowly up the road, she could see the light in Theodore’s window, and his shadow thrown on the curtain.
227CHAPTER XXXIIJORDAN MORSE’S PLAN
The next morning Jordan Morse rose after a sleepless night, his face drawn in long, deep-set lines. The hours had been spent in futile planning. To save himself from the dire consequences of his misdeeds, to procure the money which would come to Jinnie when she was eighteen years old, was the one idea that dinned constantly at his brain. She and the cobbler would have to be put out of the way, and this must be done before Theodore announced publicly his intention of marrying the girl. Jordan had no wish to break his friendship with Theodore, so he could do nothing openly. If it were a mere case of filching what little he could from Jinnie’s estate before she became of age, it would be an easy matter, but the girl must disappear. How? Where? There was finality in one of his decisions that moment. He must get possession of her that very day. Theodore would let no grass grow under his feet. He would marry her offhand, and educate her afterwards.
Jordan wondered vaguely if the Jewish cobbler had an enemy among the shortwood gatherers. If so, and the man could be found, it would bring his own salvation.
With this desire uppermost in his mind, Jordan wended his way to the lower part of the town, passed into Paradise Road, and paused a second in front of Lafe Grandoken’s shop to read the sign:228
“Lafe Grandoken: Cobbler of Folks’ and Children’s Shoes and Boots.”
His lips curled at the crude printing, and he went on past the remaining shanties to the entrance to the marsh. At the path where Jinnie had so many times brought forth her load of wood, he paused again and glanced about. As far north as he could see, the marsh stretched out in misty greenness. The place seemed to be without a human being, until Jordan suddenly heard the crackling of branches, and there appeared before him a young man with deep-set, evil eyes, and large, pouting mouth. Upon his shoulders was a shortwood strap.
At the sight of Mr. Morse, the wood gatherer hesitated, made a sort of obeisance, and proceeded to move on. Jordan stopped him with a motion of his hand.
“In a hurry?” he asked good-naturedly.
“Got to sell my wood,” growled the man.
Morse appraised him with an analytical glance.
“What’s your name?” he demanded.
“Maudlin Bates. What’s yours?”
“Jordan Morse.... Just wait a minute. I want to talk to you.”
Down came the shortwood strap on the ground. Maudlin scented something interesting.
“I got to sell my wood,” he repeated, surly-toned. However, he nodded his head when Jordan explained that it might be to his advantage to tarry a while.
“I’ll pay you for your time,” agreed Morse eagerly.
Side by side they seated themselves on a fallen tree. The young wood gatherer looked wicked enough to do anything that might be requested of him.
“Are you married?” asked Morse.
Maudlin’s face darkened.
“No,” he grunted moodily.229
“Ha! In love? I see!” laughed the other.
Maudlin turned sheepish eyes on his interrogator; then looked down, flushed, and finished:
“I’d a been married all right if it hadn’t been for a damn bloke along Paradise Road,” he explained.
“Yes? Tell me about it.”
“Oh, what’s the use! Everybody’s stickin’ their noses in my business, and it ain’t nothin’ to do with ’em uther.”
“I might help you,” suggested Jordan, seemingly interested.
“Ain’t anybody c’n help me,” sulked Maudlin. “Got the richest man in town ’gainst me, and money’s what makes the mare go.”
The words “richest man” startled Morse, but he only said, “That’s so! But tell me just the same.”
“Aw, it’s only a wench I wanted! A mutt by the name of King butted in on me.”
Jordan Morse mentally congratulated himself that he had struck the right nail on the head the very first whack.
To gain possession of Jinnie’s money meant finding his boy, and that was the dearest wish of his heart.
“You might tell me about it,” he reiterated slowly. “I ought to be able to help you.”
“Naw, you can’t!” scoffed Maudlin. “My pa and me’s tried for a long time, but there ain’t nothin’ doin’ with Jinnie. She’s a sure devil, Jinnie is.”
Jordan’s blood tingled in anticipation.
“Is that the girl’s name?” he queried.
“Yes, she’s a niece of a cobbler up the track yonder, and as pretty a little minx as walks Paradise Road. If I had ’er I’d fix her. I’d beat her till she minded me, I c’n tell y’ that!”
“I believe beating’s the way to subdue most women,” said Morse, lighting a cigarette. But as he said this, a230slight smile passed over his face. He thought of Molly Merriweather in connection with the man’s logic.
“It’s the way pa done to my stepmother,” observed Maudlin presently. “She was a onery woman as ever you see, but pa one day just licked her, and then licked ’er every day till now she don’t dast but mind ’im.... I’d do that with Jinnie if I had ’er.”
Morse watched rings of smoke curl upward in the summer air, breaking among the branches of the trees.
“Why don’t you steal ’er?” he demanded at length.
Bates’ lower jaw fell down, showing discolored teeth. He stared at his inquisitor in consternation. Then he dropped back into his former slovenly attitude.
“I never thought o’ that,” said he.
“I’ll help you,” offered Morse, carelessly, brushing ashes from his coat lapel.
Maudlin turned his eyes slowly from their straight ahead position until they came directly upon the handsome face of the other man. Then the two looked long and steadily at each other.
“What’re you drivin’ at?” blurted Bates.
“Only that I’m also interested in getting Jinnie away from Grandoken. The fact is I hate King, and I think it’s a good way to get even with him.”
He refrained, however, from mentioning he was Jinnie’s relative.
“D’you have me in mind when you come here?” questioned Bates.
“No! But I felt sure there’d be some young buck round here who’d fallen in love with the girl before this. And I found you without asking––”
“I’d make her beg me to marry her after I’d had ’er a week or two,” interrupted Maudlin, with dilating pupils. “How could we steal ’er?”231
“Just steal ’er, I said,” replied Morse.
“And I said, ‘How?’”
Morse waited a minute until Bates repeated once more, “How, mister?” then he asked:
“Can you run a motor car?”
“No, but my pa can.”
“My God! You musn’t mention this to any one, not even your father. I’ll run the car myself. You go to the cobbler and by some excuse get the girl in the car—after that I’ll see to her.”
Bates narrowed his eyes.
“No, you won’t see to nothin’,” he growled surlily. “I don’t take a step till I know I get ’er. I’ll marry ’er all right, but she’s got to want to marry me first.”
“I don’t care what you do with ’er,” replied Morse morosely. “Marry ’er or not, just get her, that’s all!”
“The cobbler’s got a vixen of a wife,” complained Maudlin at length.
“Persuade her to go somewhere, can’t you?” snapped Morse.
“Yes, that’s easy,” drawled Maudlin, wobbling his head.
For a long time they sat talking and planning, until at length Morse put his hand in his pocket and handed the other man some money. Maudlin tucked it away with a grin.
“Easy cash, eh? What’d you say the dame’s name was?”
“Merriweather—Molly Merriweather. She’s companion to Mr. King’s mother.”
“Jinnie fiddles all the afternoon.... Mebbe she won’t go.”
“Yes, she will. Tell her Miss Merriweather wants her to arrange a surprise for Theodore King. Tell ’er Miss Merriweather wants her to play.”232
Bates laughed evilly.
“That’ll fix the huzzy. Anything about that damn fiddle’ll fetch ’er every time! When I get ’er I’ll bust it up for kindlin’ wood.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Morse, rising. “You go this afternoon at three o’clock to Grandoken’s, tell Jinnie what I told you to, get the cobbler into an argument, and I’ll do the rest.”
“You’ll be sure to be there?”
“Of course! What’d you think I am? Keep your mouth shut! Be sure of that.”
“Three o’clock, then,” said Maudlin, getting up. “So long!” and lifting his wood, he went on his way rejoicing.
233CHAPTER XXXIIITHE MURDER
At half past one that afternoon a messenger appeared at Grandoken’s with a letter for Jinnie.
Peggy called the girl to the shop.
“Boy’s got something for you,” she declared. “It’s a letter, I guess.”
Jinnie held out her hand with thumping pulses, took the extended pencil, and signed her name to a blank page. Then the boy held out the missive. Of course it was from Theodore, thought Jinnie. She had scarcely slept the night before, fitfully dreaming of him. Throwing a shy smile at Peg, she went into her bedroom and shut the door. With a long, ecstatic breath, she set herself to the delightful task of slowly perusing the beloved epistle.
“My darling,” Jinnie read, and she kissed those two words, each one separately. Then she whispered them again, “My darling,” and read on:
“I’m coming this afternoon at three to see your uncle, and I thought you might like me to talk with him alone. It will be a simple matter for you to take the little blind boy and go away for an hour or so, but be sure and return at four. By that time I’ll have our arrangements all made, but I won’t go until I see you.
“I send all my love to you, my sweetheart.
“Your own,
“Theodore.”
234
Jinnie kissed the words “my sweetheart” too, and then joyfully slipped the letter inside her dress. She daren’t speak of his coming, for how could she conceal her happiness from Lafe?
At two o’clock, she said to Peggy:
“May I take Bobbie for a little walk, dear?”
The blind child heard the request and scrambled up.
“Can I go, Peggy?” he pleaded.
Peg glared at the girl.
“I thought you always fiddled in the afternoon,” she queried.
“I do generally,” acquiesced Jinnie, “but—to-day––”
“Well, go ’long,” said Peg, not very graciously. “I’m goin’ over to Miss Bates’ a while. Maudlin come by just now, an’ said would I come over.... Get back early!”
Jinnie dressed Bobbie with trembling fingers. The boy noticed she could scarcely button his jacket.
“What’s the matter, Jinnie dear?” he whispered.
Jinnie was just slipping on his cap as he spoke. She bent and kissed him passionately.
“Nothing, honey, only Jinnie’s happy, very happy.”
“I’m so glad,” sighed Bobbie, with a smiling wag. “I’m happy too. Let’s go on the hill, and take Petey.”
“It’d be lovely, dear,” replied the girl.
A few minutes later, with the little dog at their heels, they were wending their way up the board walk to the hill.
Mr. Grandoken, alone in his shop, worked with contented vigor. The days, those beautiful summer days, were bringing untold joy to him. Peggy seemed in brighter spirits, and Jinnie’s radiant face made Lafe rejoice. Little Bobbie’s stars were always shining nowadays, so what more could the dear man want? As he sat tip-tapping, he took himself in fancy to that day ahead when Heaven would unfold another blessing for Peg—for him. He put down235his hammer and glanced out of the window, and suddenly Maudlin Bates loomed up, with all his hulking swagger obliterating the shoemaker’s mental bliss.
Lafe nodded as Maudlin stepped into the shop. There was an unusually aggressive expression upon the young wood gatherer’s face, and Mr. Grandoken refrained from asking him to sit down. Instead he questioned:
“Brought some cobblin’?”
“No,” said Bates. “Wanted to talk to you; that’s all.”
“Hurry up, then, ’cause I’m busy.”
“Where’s Jinnie?” queried Maudlin.
Swift anger changed the cobbler’s face.
“What’s that to you?” he demanded. “And you needn’t be drippin’ tobacco juice around my shop.”
“Won’t hurt it, I guess,” answered Maudlin insolently, sitting down heavily.
With every passing minute, Lafe was growing more and more enraged.
“Yap me your business and get out,” he ordered, picking up his hammer.
He settled his eyes on the sodden face before him, and for a minute or two each plumbed the strength of the other.
“I’m goin’ to marry Jinnie,” announced Maudlin, drawing his large feet together and clasping his fingers over his knees.
The cobbler deliberately placed the hammer beside him once more and leaned back against the wall.
“Who said so?” he asked.
“I do,” defied Maudlin, swaggering.
“Is that what you come to say to me?”
“Yep.”
“Well, now you’re done with your braggin’, get out, an’ get out quick.”236
But Maudlin didn’t move.
“I said to scoot,” said Lafe presently, in suppressed tones. He was magnificent in his ferocity.
“I heard you!” observed Maudlin, still sitting, though a little cowed in his former egotistical spirit.
Lafe picked up the hammer and pounded frantically on the sole of a shoe.
“I’m goin’ to have money,” muttered Maudlin when the cobbler paused for a few nails.
As Lafe proceeded with his work silently, Maudlin said:
“I’ll marry Jinnie and take the empty shack next to pa’s. I got money, I said.”
Lafe’s lips were moving rapidly, but the other could not hear what he was saying. The fact was, the cobbler was asking for strength and self-control.
“Where’s Jinnie?” demanded Maudlin again.
“She ain’t here,” said Lafe, “an’ I want you to get out before she comes.”
He said this more gently, because his muttered prayers had somewhat assuaged his rage.
Just then a motor car dashed into the little lane at the side of the house, and Maudlin knew that Morse had arrived.
“I’ll go when I see Jinnie,” he insisted, sinking deeper into his chair, “I want to tell ’er somethin’ about a party.”
“Ain’t no show o’ your seein’ ’er to-day,” replied Lafe. “I bargained with your pa about you lettin’ my girl alone, and that’s all there is to it.”
“Pa’s cobblin’ ain’t nothin’ to do with me,” observed Maudlin darkly. “I’ll wait for ’er!”
At that minute Theodore King’s car drew up in front of the shop, and he stepped out. Maudlin caught a glimpse of him and set his teeth sharply. He’d have it out with this man, too. They might as well all understand what237his intentions were. He wondered if Morse, from his point of vantage, had seen Mr. King arrive.
When Theodore swung into the shop, he paused at the sight of Bates and frowned. He brought to mind the chastening he had given the fellow, and how Jinnie had suffered through his brutality.
Lafe smiled cordially at the young man and asked him to be seated.
“Jinnie’s out,” stated the cobbler.
“I know it!” responded Theodore, taking a chair. “I’ve come to have a talk with you.” Then looking from Mr. Grandoken to Maudlin, he queried, “Will you soon be disengaged?”
Lafe nodded.
“I hope so,” he said disinterestedly.
Lafe always disciplined himself after a siege with his temper.
“He won’t be alone till I get through with ’im,” grunted Maudlin, with an ugly expression. “I been tellin’ ’im I’m goin’ to marry Jinnie.”
Lafe straightened with a throat sound that boded no good for the speaker, and Theodore got swiftly to his feet.
“Don’t repeat what you’ve just said,” the latter gritted between his teeth, whirling on Maudlin.
Bates shot out of his chair at this command.
“My tongue’s my own,” he roared, “and Jinnie’ll be glad to marry me before––”
Theodore’s big fist swept out, striking the man full in the face, and Maudlin dropped like an ox hit with an axe, but he was on his feet in another minute. His rapidly swelling face was blanched with rage.
“Damn you, twicet and three times damn you––”
Lafe made an ejaculation, and neither one of the three238men noticed that the door to the little hall at the back had opened a trifle.
Jordan Morse was peering in upon the enraged trio. He saw the man he’d hired to help him take the first knock down and get up swiftly. He saw Theodore King make another dive at the wood gatherer. The cobbler was in direct range of Jordan’s vision, and he slipped his hand into his pocket, from which he took a revolver. Two quick, short cracks, and the pistol came flying through the room and landed near the cobbler’s bench. Then the kitchen door slammed suddenly. Theodore staggered forward and sank slowly to the floor, while Maudlin fell headlong without a cry.
As in a maze Lafe heard a motor leap away like a mad thing. Through the window he could see Theodore’s car where the young man had left it. He made a desperate effort to rise, but sank back with a shuddering groan. He forced his eyes to Bates, who was close to the shop door, then dragged them backward to Mr. King, whose head was almost under his bench. Each had received a bullet, and both lay breathing unconsciously. The cobbler stooped over and placed his hand under Theodore’s head to straighten it a little. For a full minute nothing was heard but the loud rattling in Maudlin’s throat and the steady, laborious breath of the man at his feet.
Sudden tears diffused the cobbler’s eyes, and he leaned over and tenderly touched the damp forehead of Jinnie’s friend.
“He’s given His angels charge over thee, boy,” he murmured, just as Jinnie, leading Bobbie by the hand, walked in.
The girl took one impetuous step forward and noted Lafe’s white, agonized face. Then she caught a glimpse of the stricken men on the floor. Her tongue refused its239office, and dropping the blind child’s fingers, she came quickly forward.
“Call help! Hurry! Get a doctor!” gasped Lafe, and Jinnie, without saying a word, rushed out.
Afterward she could not measure with accuracy the events of that afternoon. Peggy came home and put the terrified Bobbie in bed, telling him curtly to stay there until she allowed him to get up. Several doctors rushed in and examined both Theodore and Maudlin. Not one word had escaped Jinnie’s pale lips until the wounded men were removed from the shop. Then she sank at the cobbler’s feet.
“Will he die?” she whispered, in awe-stricken tones.
“Maudlin’s dyin’,” replied the cobbler, with bowed head, “an’ Mr. King’s awful bad off, the doctor says.”
Jinnie went to Lafe’s side and put her arm about his neck, and as if it had never been, their joy was blotted out by the hand of a bloody tragedy.
240CHAPTER XXXIVTHE COBBLER’S ARREST
Tearing away from Paradise Road, Jordan Morse drove madly up the hill. No one had seen him come; no one had seen him go. He must get in touch with Molly immediately. In his nervous state he had to confide in some one.
Molly had settled Mrs. King in an easy chair and was on the lawn, pacing restlessly to and fro, when Jordan swiftly drove his machine through the gate and up to the veranda. Catching one hasty glimpse of his haggard face, the woman knew something extraordinary had happened.
“I’ve put my foot in it, all right,” he ejaculated, jumping to the soft grass. “My God! I don’t know what I have done!”
Molly’s face blanched.
“Tell me quickly,” she implored.
Jordan repeated his conversation with Maudlin Bates, stating how his plans had suddenly matured on hearing the wood gatherer denounce King and Grandoken.
Then he proceeded a little more calmly.
“It seems I hadn’t been at the side door of Grandoken’s shack a minute before Theodore drove up.”
Molly’s hands came together.
“Theodore?” she repeated breathlessly.
“Yes, and the Bates man was with Grandoken. I heard loud talking, stole into the little hall, and found the back241part of the house empty. Jinnie wasn’t there; at least I didn’t see her. Bates had already inveigled Mrs. Grandoken away. I opened the door into the cobbler’s shop just as Theo was striking Bates in the face. I waited a minute, and as Theo struck out again, I fired––”
“Fired!” gasped Molly.
“Yes, at Grandoken. I wanted to kill him––”
“But Theo—you might have hit Theodore, Jordan.”
“But I didn’t, I tell you! I’m sure I didn’t. If I hit any one, ’twas Bates or the cobbler.... Get back near the veranda for fear Theodore ’phones.”
No sooner had the words left his lips than a bell sounded from the house. Molly ran up the steps. As she took down the receiver, she dropped it, but picked it up again.
“Halloa,” she called faintly.
“Is this Theodore King’s home?” shouted a voice.
“Yes.”
“Mr. King’s had an accident. He’s in the hospital. Break the news carefully to his mother, please.”
Dazedly, Molly slipped the receiver back to its hook. She stumbled to the porch and down the steps, her face ashen with anguish.
“You shot Theo, Jordan,” she cried hysterically.
“Shut your head,” growled Morse, glancing furtively about. “Don’t talk so loud.... Now then, listen! There’ll be hell to pay for this. But Bates won’t peach, and I’m sure I clipped the cobbler’s wings. Keep quiet till you hear from me.”
He sprang again into the machine and was gone before the woman could gather her wits together.
She turned and went slowly up the steps. It was her duty to break the news to Theodore’s mother—she who knew so much, but dared to tell so little! How to open the conversation with the gentle sufferer she knew not.242
Mrs. King smiled a greeting as she entered, but at the sight of Molly’s face, her book dropped to the floor.
“What is it?” she stammered.
Molly knelt down beside her.
“Probably very little,” she said hastily. “Don’t get excited—please—but—but––”
“It’s Theodore!” gasped the mother, intuitively.
“He’s hurt a little, just a little, and they’ve taken him to the hospital.”
Mrs. King tried to rise, but dropped back weakly.
“He’s badly hurt or he’d come home.”
“I’ll find out,” offered Molly eagerly. Then as an afterthought, “I’ll go if you’ll promise me to stay very quiet until I get back.”
“I promise,” said Mrs. King, sobbing, “but go quickly! I simply can’t be still when I’m uncertain.”
In another house of lesser proportions, a girl was huddled in a chair, gazing at Lafe Grandoken.
“An’ they told you over the telephone he was dyin’?” he demanded, looking at Jinnie.
“Yes,” gulped Jinnie, “and Maudlin’s dead. The hospital people say Mr. King can’t live.” The last words were stammered and scarcely audible. “Lafe, who shot him?”
“I dunno,” said Lafe.
“Didn’t you see who had the gun?” persisted the girl, wiping her eyes.
“Mr. King didn’t have it; nuther did Maudlin. It came from over there, an’ I heard a car drive away right after.”
Jinnie shook her head hopelessly. It was all so mysterious that her heart was gripped with fright. A short time before, an officer had been there cross-questioning Lafe suspiciously. Then he had gone away with the243pistol in his pocket. She stared out of the window, fear-shadowed. In a twinkling her whole love world had tumbled about her ears, and she listened as the cobbler told her once more the story of the hour she’d been away with Bobbie.
“There’re two men coming here right now,” she said suddenly, getting up. “Lafe, there’s Burns, the cop on this beat.”
“They’re wantin’ to find out more, I presume,” replied Lafe wearily.
As the men entered the shop, Jinnie backed away and stood with rigid muscles. She was dizzily frightened at the sight of the gruff officers, who had not even saluted Lafe.
The foremost man was a stranger to them both.
“Are you Lafe Grandoken?” he demanded, looking at the cobbler.
“Yes,” affirmed Lafe.
The man flourished a paper with staid importance.
“I’m the sheriff of this county, an’ I’ve a warrant for your arrest for murderin’ Maudlin Bates,” he sing-songed.
Jinnie sprang forward.
“Lafe didn’t shoot ’im,” she cried desperately.
The man eyed her critically.
“Did you do it, kid?” he asked, smiling.
“No, I wasn’t here!” answered Jinnie, short-breathed.
“Then how’d you know he didn’t do it?”
For a moment Jinnie was nonplussed. Then she came valiantly to her friend’s aid.
“I know he didn’t. Of course he didn’t, you wicked, wicked men! Don’t you dare touch ’im, don’t you dare!”
“Well, he’s got to go with me,” affirmed the man in ugly, sneering tones. “Whistle for the patrol, Burns, and we’ll wheel the Jew in!”244
Jinnie heard, as in a hideous dream, the shrill, trilling whistle; heard the galloping of horses and saw a long black wagon draw up to the steps.
When the two sullen men laid violent hold of the wheelchair, Jinnie’s terrified fingers reached toward the cobbler, and the sheriff gave her hand a sharp blow. Lafe uttered an inarticulate cry, and at that moment Jinnie forgot “Happy in Spite,” forgot Lafe’s angels and the glory of them, and sprang like a tiger at the man who had struck her. She flung one arm about his neck and fought him with tooth and nails. So surprised was Policeman Burns that he stood with staring eyes, making no move to rescue his mate from the tigerish girl.
“Damn you! Damn you!” screamed Jinnie. “I’ll kill you before you take ’im.”
Lafe cried out again, calling her name gently, imploringly, and tenderly. When his senses returned, Burns grasped Jinnie in his arms and held her firmly. There she stood panting, trying to break away from the policeman’s detaining fingers. She looked half crazed in the dimming late afternoon light.
“Merciful God, but you’re a tartar, miss!” said the sheriff ruefully. “Well, if she ain’t clawed the blood clean through my skin!”
“She comes of bad stock,” exclaimed Burns. “You can’t expect any more of Jews. Go on; I’ll hold ’er till you and Mike get the chair out.”
Hearing this, Jinnie began to sob hysterically and make more desperate efforts to free herself. The viselike fingers pressed deeper into her tender flesh.
“Here, huzzy, you needn’t be tryin’ none of your muck on me,” said Burns. “Keep still or I’ll break your arm.”
Jinnie sickened with pain, and her eyes sought Lafe’s. If he’d been in his coffin, he couldn’t have been whiter.245
“Jinnie,” he chided brokenly, “you’ve forgot what I told you, ain’t you, lass?”
Through the suffering, tender mind flashed the words he’d taught her.
“There aren’t any angels, Lafe,” she sobbed. “There aren’t any.”
Then, as another man entered the shop, she cried: “Don’t take ’im, oh, please don’t take ’im, not now, not just yet, not till Peggy gets back.”
Turning around in his chair, Lafe looked up at the men.
“Could—I—say—good-bye—to my—wife?” he asked brokenly.
“Where is she?” demanded the officer.
“Gone to the store,” answered Lafe. “She’ll be here in a minute.”
“Let ’er come to the jail,” snapped the angry sheriff. “She’ll have plenty of time to say good-bye there.”
At that they tugged the chair through the narrow door. Then two boards were found upon which to roll it into the patrol.
Inside the shop Jinnie was quiet now, save for the convulsions that rent her body. She looked up at the man holding her.
“Let me go,” she implored. “I’ll be good, awful good.”
Perhaps it was the pleading blue eyes that made the officer release her arms. Jinnie sprang to the door, and as Lafe saw her, he smiled, oh such a smile! The girl ran madly to him.
“Lafe! Lafe!” she screamed. “Lafe dear!”
Lafe bent, touched the shining black curls, and a glorified expression spread over his face.
“He’s given His angels charge over you, lass,” he murmured, “an’ it’s a fact you’re not to forget.”246
Then they rolled him up the planks and into the wagon. With clouded eyes Jinnie watched the black patrol bowl along toward the bridge, and as it halted a moment on Paradise Road to allow an engine to pass, the cobbler leaned far out of his wheel chair and waved a thin white hand at her. Then like a deer she ran ahead until she came within speaking distance of him. The engine passed with a shrieking whistle, and the horses received a sharp crack and galloped off. Jinnie flung out her arms.
“Lafe!” she screamed. “I’ll stay with Peg till you come.”
He heard the words, waved once more, and the wagon disappeared over the bridge.
For full ten minutes after Lafe was taken away, Jinnie sat in the shop like one turned to stone. The thing that roused her was the side door opening and shutting. She got up quickly and went into the little hall, closing the shop door behind her. Mrs. Grandoken, with bundles in her hands, was entering the kitchen. Jinnie staggered after her.
“Peggy,” murmured Jinnie, throwing her arms about the stooped shoulders. “You’ll be good––”
It was as if she had said it to Bobbie, tenderly, low-pitched, and imploring. Peg seemed so miserable and thin.
“What’s the matter with you, kid?” growled Mrs. Grandoken.
“The town folks,” groaned Jinnie, “the town folks’ve made a mistake, an awful mistake.”
Mrs. Grandoken turned sunken eyes upon the speaker.
“What mistake’ve they made?”
Jinnie’s throat hurt so she couldn’t say any more.
“What mistake?” asked Peg again.
“They think Lafe shot––”247
Peggy wheeled on the hesitating speaker. Shoving her to one side, she stalked through the door. Jinnie flew after her.
“Peggy, Peg, he’ll come back!”
Mrs. Grandoken opened the shop door and the empty room with overturned chairs and scattered tools told its silent, eloquent tale.
“Honey,” whispered Jinnie. “Honey dear––”
“God’s Jesus,” muttered Peg, with roving eyes, “God’s Jesus, save my man!”
Then she slid to the floor, and when she once more opened her eyes, Jinnie was throwing water in her face.