"Will you wait and see that mine are safely sent home?" She leaned back, and her troubled twilight eyes besought him.
"I'll wait, never fear. I've been looking everywhere for you. I wanted to find you, and I didn't want to. I've been to every cafe in town. How in the world did you fall in with the old bell-cow and her calf?"
When Lorelei had explained, he nodded his complete understanding. "She's just the sort to do a thing like that. Thompson, the first martyr, was a decent fellow, I believe; then she kidnapped Bellaire, a young wine-agent. Tuberculosis got him, and she's been known ever since as 'the widow T. B.' I suppose you'd call her 'the leading Juvenile.'"
Lorelei felt a great relief at the presence of this far from admirable young man, for, despite his vicious reputation, he seemed clean and wholesome as compared with Bergman. She was sure, moreover, that he was trustworthy, now that he knew and liked her, and she remembered that of all the men she had met since that newspaper scandal had appeared, he alone had betrayed no knowledge of it in word or deed.
On this occasion Wharton justified her faith. He ignored Bergman's scowls; he proceeded to monopolize the manager's favorite with an arrogance that secretly delighted her; he displayed the assurance of one reared to selfish exactions, and his rival writhed under it. But Bergman was slow to admit defeat, and when his unspoken threats failed to impress the girl he began to ply Wharton with wine. Bob accepted the challenge blithely, and a drinking-bout followed.
The widow T. B. and her party looked on with enjoyment.
Dawn was near when the crowd separated and the hostess was driven away, leaving Lorelei at the door of a taxi-cab in company with her two admirers. The girl bade them each good night, but Bergman ignored her words and, stepping boldly in after her, spoke to the driver.
Bob had imbibed with a magnificent disregard of consequences, and as a result he was unsteady on his feet. His hat was tilted back from his brow, his slender stick bent beneath the weight he put upon it.
"Naughty, naughty Nobel!" he chided. "Come out of that cab; you and I journey arm and arm into the purpling East."
"Drive on," cried Bergman, forcing Lorelei back into her seat, as she half rose.
Bob leaned through the open cab window, murmuring thickly: "Nobel, you are drunk. Shocked—nay, grieved—as I am at seeing you thus, I shall take you home."
"Get out, will you?" snapped the manager, undertaking to slam the door.
But Wharton was in a declamatory mood and went on, swingingly: "The sky is faintly flushed with pink; Apollo in his chariot draws nigh. The morning-glory closes with the sun, Bergman, and if a fairy princess is late she will be shut out and forced to sleep on the petals of a rose. My dear Nobel, don't spoil her beauty sleep."
"I'm tired of your insolence. I'll—"
Bergman never finished his sentence, for in his rage he committed a grave blunder—he struck wildly at the flushed face so close to his, and the next instant was jerked bodily out of his seat. Lorelei uttered a cry of fright, for the whole side of the cab seemed to go with her employer.
There was a brief scuffle, a whirl of flying arms, then Bergman's voice rose in a strangely muffled howl, followed by nasal curses. With a bellow of anguish he suddenly ceased his struggles, and Lorelei saw that Bob was holding him by the nose. It happened to be a large, unhandsome, and fleshy member, and, securely grasping it, Bergman's conqueror held him at a painful and humiliating disadvantage.
Bob was panting, but he managed to say, "Come! We will run for the lady—once around the block."
A muffled shriek of pain was the answer, but the street was empty save for some grinning chauffeurs, who offered no assistance.
"Be a good fellow. I insist, my dear Nobel. Advance! Double quick!Charge!"
The two men moved away haltingly, then at a zigzag trot, and finally at a slow run. They disappeared around the corner, Bob Wharton leading, Bergman bent double and screaming poisonous oaths.
"Drive on, quickly," Lorelei implored, but the chauffeur cranked his motor reluctantly, craning his neck in an evident desire to see more of this interesting affray. His companions were laughing loudly and slapping their thighs. Despite Lorelei's hysterically repeated orders, he experienced difficulty in starting the machine; finally he lifted the hood and fumbled inside. A moment passed, then another; he cranked once more, but as the motor was seized with a fit of shuddering the two white-fronted figures turned the upper corner and approached. Their relative positions were unchanged. The block was a short one, yet they seemed winded. Bergman was sobbing now like a woman, and he was followed by three curious newsboys.
Bob paused at the starting-point and wheezed: "Bravo! You done noble, Nobel. We've learned some new steps, too, eh?" All power of resistance had left the victim, who seemed upon the verge of collapse. "I say we've learned some new steps; haven't we, Bergy?" He tweaked the distorted member in his grasp, and Bergman's head wagged loosely.
A late diner cruised uncertainly down the street, and, sensing the unusual, paused, rocking in his tracks.
"Whash trouble? Shome fightin' goin' on?" he inquired, brightly.
"Oh, please—please—" Lorelei cried, tremulously. "Don't—"
"Canter for the kind lady," Wharton insisted. "Come on." He began to lift and lower his shoulders in imitation of a rider. Bergman capered awkwardly. "Once more."
"Fine!" shouted the drunken spectator, clapping his hands loosely."Tha's bully. Now make 'im shingle-foot."
"Single-foot? Certainly. He's park gaited."
"Mr. Wharton! BOB—" Lorelei's agonized entreaty brought her admirer to the cab door, but he fetched his prisoner in tow. "Let him go or—we'll all be arrested."
"Want see 'im shingle-foot," eagerly importuned the stranger.
"I'll take off his bridle if you insist. But it's a grand nose. I—love it. Never was there such a nose."
Bergman, with a desperate wrench, regained his freedom and staggered away with his face in his hands.
"It—actually stretched," said Bob, as he regretfully watched his victim. "I dare say I'll never find another nose like it."
The appreciative bystander lurched forward and flung an arm over his shoulder, then, peering in at the girl, exclaimed: "Good, wasn't it? I had a horse once, an' I know. You're a'right, m' frien'. Let's go get another one."
Lorelei's cab got under way at last, but barely in time, for a crowd was assembling. She sank back weakly, and her last glimpse showed Wharton arm-in-arm with the tipsy wayfarer.
Not until she was safely inside her little apartment, with the chain on the door, did she surrender; then she burst into a trembling, choking fit of laughter. But her estimate of Wharton had risen, and for the first time he seemed not entirely bad.
Jimmy Knight felt his sister's desertion quite as keenly as did his mother and father, for his schemes, though inchoate, were ambitious, and his heart was set upon them. Lorelei's obstinacy was exasperating—a woman's unaccountable freakishness.
He confided his disappointment to Max Melcher. "It's pretty tough," complained Jimmy. "I had Merkle going, but she crabbed it. Then just as that boob Wharton was getting daffier over her every day she gets her back up and the whole thing is cold."
"You mean it's cold so far as you're concerned," Melcher judicially amended.
"Sure. She's sore on me, and the whole family."
"Then this is just the time to marry her off. New York is a mighty lonesome place for a girl like her. Suppose I take a hand."
"All right."
"Will you declare me in?"
"Certainly."
Melcher eyed his associate coldly. "There's no 'certainly' about it.You'd throw your own mother if you got a chance. But you can't throwme, understand? You try a cross and—the cold-meat wagon for yours.I'll have you slabbed at the morgue."
Jimmy's reply left no doubt of the genuineness of his fears, if not of his intentions. Strange stories were told in the Tenderloin—tales of treachery punished and ingratitude revenged. Jimmy knew several young men who appeared out of the East Side at Melcher's signal. They were inconspicuous fellows, who bore fanciful dime-novel names—Dago Red, Izzy the Toad, Jew Mike, the Worm, and the rest—and no rustler's stronghold of the old-time Western cattle country ever boasted more formidable outlaws than they. New York is law-ridden, therefore corruption reigns; vice is capitalized, and in consequence there are men who live not only by roguery, but by violence. They hide in the crannies of the underworld; politics is their protection. At election times they do service for men high in authority; betweenwhiles they thrive on the bickerings and feuds among the despoilers. Jim knew these gunmen well; he had no wish to know them worse.
"I can't promise anything definite when she's sore on me," he declared.
"Oh yes, you can. She'll marry to please your mother and father, and she'll fix them up the first thing. Get them to agree to split their share, and I'll take a hand. If it doesn't go through there's no harm done."
"I don't see how you're going to frame a marriage—and yet she won't stand for anything else."
"You'll have to help, of course, and so will your mother. I've a hunch that we can handle Wharton all right—through booze. A man can be made to marry anybody if he's drunk enough."
"He's about ready to ask her—SHE'S the one to fix. She hates men, though, and that Merkle story made her crazy."
"Sore, eh?"
"She talked the Dutch route—thinks her good name is gone, and regards every man as a hyena."
Melcher pondered for several moments. "I think I know Lorelei better than you do," he stated, deliberately, "and I believe we can pull this off, provided Wharton really wants to marry her. Anyhow, he's so rich it's worth the odds, and she's just the sort to fall for it."
"What's the idea?"
"If she's sore about that story in The Despatch we'll pull another one—and keep pulling them."
"Humph! That'll queer Wharton."
"Not if you get inside his shirt and make him believe they're lies. You and your mother will have to convince her that he's her only 'out.'"
"I don't think much of that program," Jim protested, nervously.
Melcher smiled. "A girl like her can be driven anywhere if she's handled right. Between you and your mother and Lilas you can do it."
"Perhaps, but I doubt it. Ma's got her afraid of men. If we could scare her good, if we could tip some John to rough it with her some night, she might stampede to the altar."
"That's easy, but you can't put a stop-order on a thing like that.There's no telling how far the guy might go."
"Oh, she'll take care of herself," said Jim, carelessly; "she's as strong as a pony."
"If you'll take the chance I'll stake a shillaber to do it. I've got half a dozen high-class fellows working the hotels, and Lilas knows some of them."
Jim shrugged disgustedly. "I suppose I'll have to repent and be a good boy," he snorted, "and let Lorelei weep on my shoulder. Gee! She makes me sick."
"I'll take care of my part, and—maybe we can put it through. This is out of my line, but they do it abroad, so why not here? The girl's no more than human." Mr. Melcher seemed ingenuously pleading for reasonableness. "If we make good I'll hang out a sign, 'Max Melcher, Matrimonial Agent.' Meanwhile I want it understood with your mother that I share in what comes her way."
"I'll fix that," promised Jim.
He found it, in fact, no very difficult task to regain at least a part of his sister's lost esteem, though the process took time. He went about it with the lazy, cat-like patience of his kind, behaved himself, kept his mouth shut, and assumed just enough of an injured air to be plausible. He enlisted the aid of his mother and of Lilas Lynn, and meanwhile made himself as agreeable as possible to Robert Wharton.
Melcher was as good as his word, and there shortly appeared in The Despatch an unpleasant rehash of the former story. It was published in connection with the Hammon divorce proceedings, news of which was exciting comment, and it further smirched Lorelei's reputation. Wharton ignored it utterly, but Merkle was prompt in his indignation and sympathy. This unshaken confidence in her afforded Lorelei far more comfort than Bob's unconcerned attitude, which might be merely the result of his own lax standards. Upon the other men she knew the effect of the story was quickly noticeable, and she was forced to be on guard at all times. Several whom she considered sincere admirers proved to be quite the opposite; some whom she had counted as friends dropped her entirely; others of a different sort undertook to press their acquaintance beyond prudent bounds.
Jim was appropriately indignant, but helpless, and Mrs. Knight unweariedly blamed everything upon her daughter's desertion of the family circle, predicting more evil to follow unless Lorelei came home at once. She also dwelt upon the fact that Peter was steadily failing and was in immediate need of both medical and surgical attention. The doctor had pronounced sentence, prescribing a total change of living and a treatment by foreign specialists.
In some unaccountable way the story of Nobel Bergman's humiliation became public and afforded the basis for a newspaper article that brought him to Lorelei's dressing-room in a fine fury. Even after she had convinced him of her innocence his resentment was so bitter that she expected her dismissal at any time.
Other press stories followed; the girl suddenly found herself notorious; scarcely a day passed without some disagreeable mention of her. There was published a highly imaginative but circumstantial account of a weak-minded youth whom she had driven to suicide—utterly false, of course, but difficult to deal with. A Sunday "special" appeared—one of those fantastic, colored-supplement nightmares—in which she was pictured as a vampire with an angel's face. It was the hackneyed "moth and flame" story. The page was luridly decorated with a swarm of entomological curiosities—winged bipeds supposedly representing her fatuous admirers. These fond victims of her enticements appeared to be badly singed and crippled.
Adoree Demorest, as indignant as Lorelei herself, declared finally that her friend must be the object of a premeditated attack directed by some strong hand, and once this suspicion had entered Lorelei's mind it took root in spite of its seeming extravagance. Her good sense argued that she was of too little consequence to warrant such an assault, but her relatives seized the suggestion so avidly as to more than half convince her.
Mrs. Knight attributed this injustice first to Bergman, then to Merkle, whom she hated bitterly since her unfortunate attempt at blackmail; Jim was inclined to agree with her.
"Money can do anything," he stated, gloomily, "and these big guys amuse themselves by hunting beautiful women. It's a game with them. When one of 'em takes a fancy to a girl she's a goner. It may not be Merkle in this case, but—you're the handsomest woman in New York, and I'll bet some old spider is weaving his web for you. When he has spoiled your good name and ruined your chances of marrying or of making an honest living he'll creep out and show himself. They frame innocent men for Sing Sing in this town, so why can't they frame a girl for something else?"
Lorelei abhorred spiders; the picture of some evil-minded millionaire enmeshing her in a web of intrigue brought a sickening feeling of helplessness and apprehension. Of course she thought the idea utterly fantastic, but Jim and her mother appeared to believe it, and her own notions of the city's wickedness were so vivid that anything seemed possible. Certainly some malign influence seemed to be deliberately at work against her, and a thousand disagreeable incidents, once she took time to reflect upon them, bore out her suspicions. She was half minded to run away, but dared not.
Mrs. Knight, as always, ended her sympathetic reassurances by saying,"If you were only married, my dear, that would end all our troubles."
The climax of these annoyances came one night after a party at which Lorelei had been presented to an old friend of Miss Lynn's. Lilas had introduced the man as one of her girlhood chums, and Lorelei had tried to be nice to him; then in some way he arranged to take her home. The memory of that ride was a horror.
Lorelei, as Jim had said, was strong, and she fought the ruffian's attack with the desperation of utter terror; but her shame at the indignity was so keen that she refrained as long as possible from crying for help. Then, hearing her screams, the chauffeur stopped his car and made an investigation. Fortunately for her, he was more of a man than most night-hawk drivers, and he promptly summoned an officer.
Miss Lynn's girlhood friend waited for no test of the law; he beat a hasty retreat, uttering threats that rang in Lorelei's ears and redoubled her previous fears.
Her wrists and arms bore purple marks, her dress was torn, her limbs shook from the effects of her struggle, and even when she had gained the security of her rooms she was unable to shake off her fright. Neither could she sleep, for menacing forms crouched in the darkness: most of the night she walked the floor in a panic.
She knew now that she was hunted; the man had told her so. She felt like a deer cowering in a brake with the hounds working close. Her cover seemed pitifully insecure.
Thus far Max Melcher's campaign had worked even better than he had expected; and meanwhile he had employed Jim in assiduously cultivating Robert Wharton and arranging as many meetings as possible between Bob and Lorelei. A short experience had taught Jim to avoid his victim in daylight, for in Bob's sober hours the two did not agree; but once mellowed by intoxication, Wharton became imbued with a carnival spirit and welcomed Jim as freely as he welcomed every one. Incidentally the latter managed to reap a considerable harvest from the association, for Bob was a habitual gambler, and the courteous treatment he received at Melcher's place seemed to reconcile him to the loss of any amount of money.
When, on the morning after her distressing adventure, Lorelei sent for her brother and demanded vengeance upon her assailant he decided that it was time to test the issue. He pretended, of course, to be ferociously enraged, but on learning over the telephone that the wretch had left the city he declared that there was nothing to be done except perhaps exact an explanation from Lilas.
Miss Lynn, however, could offer no excuse. She was heartbroken at the occurrence, but she was too full of her own troubles to give way to her sympathy for others. Jarvis Hammon, it seemed, had heard about the party, and was furious with her.
"You must expect to meet some muckers in this business," she remarked, philosophically, "and you've had so much notoriety, my dear, that the fellow probably wouldn't believe you were all right."
Jim agreed. "I guess you'll have to forget it, Sis. Just don't think about it. I'll bring Wharton around to-night, and we four will have supper, eh?"
Lilas's hesitation in accepting this invitation seemed genuine, but she acquiesced finally, saying with a short laugh: "All right. Maybe a little jealousy won't hurt my lord and master. He's getting too bossy, anyhow."
When the four set out that night Robert Wharton was in exceptional spirits and, as always, devoted himself to Lorelei. For him life was a joyous adventure; he took things as they came, and now that he knew the girl for what she was he did not allow himself the slightest liberty. He was a fervent suitor, to be sure, yet he courted her with jests and concealed his ardor behind a playful raillery.
Jim had ordered supper at a popular Washington Heights inn, and thither the quartette were driven in an open car which he hired in the square beside the theater.
As the glassy expanse of upper Broadway unrolled before them Bob explained: "My chauffeur quit to invest his savings in real estate, so I sold my machine. If he'd only listened to my advice and bought stocks with my money I might have made a good commission and afforded to keep a car. But nobody deals with the brokers nowadays." He sighed gloomily. "We live lonely lives. We are objects of suspicion—even the newsboys bite the pennies we give them."
Jim scoffed. "I suppose you Pittsburg plunderers don't know where your next meal is coming from."
"Mine is coming from you, I hope, otherwise I'll be a public charge until banking-hours."
"You've been gambling again," Lorelei accused.
Bob nodded carelessly.
At their destination they found seats on a balcony overlooking the Hudson; and Jim, being in funds, played host with a prodigality that mimicked Wharton.
It was a charming place for a supper; the wooded bluffs fell away abruptly and a cool breath from the river refreshed the diners; the inn itself was just comfortably filled with merry-makers whom the heat had driven from the asphalt canons farther down-town; in the distance the Jersey lights winked like glittering brilliants sewed into the night; other illuminations swam through the mysterious void separating the shores; an orchestra played, not too loudly, and several couples were dancing. It had been a stifling week; people complained that they could not dine in comfort, yet they tangoed and trotted bravely wherever there was music and an open floor.
Contrary to her custom, Lilas Lynn allowed herself free rein, and for once drank more than was good for her, rejoicing openly in the liberty she had snatched.
It is a peculiar experience to sit soberly through a meal and see one's companions become intoxicated. Lorelei had often done so, carelessly enough, but now her recent worries had not only depressed her, but made her pensive, and it was in no approving mood that she watched Lilas and Bob respond to the effect of the wine. The whole procedure struck her, like her present life as a whole, as both inane and wicked, and she longed desperately to lay hold of something really decent, true, and permanent.
Jimmy Knight's admirable hospitality continued; he devoted his entire attention to his guests, he made conversation and he led it into the channels he desired it to follow. Then, when the psychological moment had come, he acted with the skill of a Talleyrand. No one but he knew precisely how Bob's proposal was couched, whence it originated, or by what subtlety the victim had been induced to make it. As a matter of fact, it was no proposal, and not even Bob himself suspected how his words had been twisted. He was just dimly aware of some turn in the conversation, when he heard Jim exclaim:
"By Jove, Sis, Bob asks you to marry him!"
In prize-ring parlance, Jimmy had "feinted" his opponent into a lead, then taken prompt advantage to "counter."
Lorelei awoke to her surroundings with a start, sensing the sudden gravity that had fallen upon her three companions.
"What—?"
Lilas nodded and smiled at the bewildered lover. "That's the way to put it over, Bob—before witnesses."
"Don't joke about such things," cried Lorelei, sharply.
"Joke? Who's joking?" Jim was indignant and glanced appealingly at Bob."You meant it, didn't you?"
"Sure. No joking matter," Bob declared, vaguely.
"I was just saying that this is no life for a fellow to lead—batting 'round the way I do; then Jim said—I meanIsaid—I needed a wife, a beautiful wife. I never saw a girl beautiful enough to suit me before, and he said—"
Jim's relief came as an explosion.
"There! That's English. You spoke a mouthful that time, Bob, for she certainly is a beauty bright. But I didn't think you had the nerve to ask her. If she says yes, you'll be the luckiest man in New York—the whole town's crazy about her."
"We'll make her say yes," Lilas added, with drunken decision. "Come, dear, say it." She bent a flushed face toward Lorelei and laid a loose hand upon her arm. "Well? What's your answer?"
Bob fixed heavy eyes upon his heart's desire and echoed: "Yes. What d' you say?" More than once in his sober moments he had pondered such a query, and now that it appeared to have taken shape without conscious effort, he was not displeased with himself.
"I say, YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING," Lorelei responded, curtly.
Now Bob, like all men in his condition, was quite certain that he was in perfect possession of his faculties, and therefore he very naturally resented such an absurd assertion. "Don't you b'lieve it," he protested. "I know what I'm doing, all right, all right."
"A man never speaks his mind until he's ginned," Lilas giggled.
"Righto! I'm not half drunk yet."
Jim urged the suitor on with a nervous laugh, at the same time avoiding his sister's eyes. "She's stalling, Bob. Make her answer."
"Yes or no?" forcefully insisted the wooer, determined, now, to show his complete sobriety.
"No."
Jim seized Wharton's hand and shook it lustily. "Congratulations, old man; that means yes. I'm her brother, and I know. Why, she told father that you were her ideal, and pa said he'd die happy if you two were married. He meant it, too; he's a mighty sick man."
Lorelei stirred uncomfortably, and the faint color in her cheeks faded slowly. "We'll talk about it some other time—to-morrow. Please don't tease the poor man any more. He didn't know what he was saying, and—now, for Heaven's sake, talk about something else."
Jim leaped to his feet with a grin and a chuckle, then drew Lilas from her chair, saying: "The lovers are embarrassed, and they're dying to be alone. Let's leave 'em to talk it over."
"She's a dear, Bob, and I wish you both joy. But don't kiss her here," said Lilas, warningly; then with a wave of her hand she turned toward the dancing-room with Jim.
"Call us when you've fixed the date," laughed the latter, over his shoulder.
When he and Lilas had danced the encore and returned to the table Bob rose unsteadily, glass in hand, and nodded at them.
"Thanks, noble comrades," he proclaimed; "she's mine!"
"Hurrah!" Lilas kissed Lorelei effusively. Jim seized Bob's hand, crying:
"Brother!" He waved to a waiter and ordered a magnum of champagne. "Bring me a wreath of orange blossoms and a wedding-cake, too." His jubilation attracted the attention of the other diners; the occupants of a near-by table began to applaud, whereupon Bob beamed with delight.
Lorelei was very white now, but she was given no chance to speak. Nor was there anything for her to say, torn as she was by conflicting emotions and uncertain of what feeling most strongly possessed her. Foremost in her thoughts was the realization that she had won the fight she had been reared and trained for, that the climax of her worldly hopes had come; but with this she also experienced a sickly loathing for herself. During Bob's protestations of love she had fought a brief but disastrous battle. That moral perfidy which had been her teaching since childhood had influenced her decision no more perhaps than her terror at the plight in which her mysterious persecution had left her. Weighing on the same side with these considerations were also the needs of her family, her own bitter distaste for her present life, and her desire for peace and outward respectability even at the cost of secret degradation. She had decided swiftly, recklessly, reasoning that this proffered marriage was merely a bargain by which she got more than she gave. She had accepted without allowing her better self an opportunity to marshal its protests, and, having closed her eyes and leaped into the dark, it now seemed easier to meet new consequences than to heed those higher feelings that were tardily struggling for expression. She did pity Wharton, however, for it seemed to her that he was the injured party. When he was himself he was a very decent fellow, and it was a contemptible trick thus to cheat him. It would have been less ignoble to sell herself outright to a man she detested—for the transaction would then have been one of dollars and cents, purely, a sacrifice prompted by necessity, so she reasoned—whereas to impose upon the weakness of one she rather liked was not only dishonest, but vile.
But she was in a wanton mood to-night, and of late a voice had been desperately urging her to grasp at what she could, that she might, as long as possible, delay her descent into worse conditions.
She heard Lilas inquiring: "When does the marriage come off? Right away?"
Bob, who appeared somewhat dazed by the suddenness and the completenessof his good fortune, smiled vacantly. "Any time suits me," he said."I'm a happy man—little Joys are capering all over the place and oldDr. Gloom has packed his grip."
Jim startled them all by saying, crisply: "Let's make it to-night. I know Bob—he's not the sort to wait."
"Fine! Never thought of that." Bob welcomed the suggestion with a delight that drowned Lorelei's frightened protest; then, as the idea grew in his mind, he joyously appropriated it as his own. A mere proposal of marriage and an acceptance were more or less hackneyed; the event contained no elements of the spectacular; but to follow it promptly with a midnight ceremony impressed him as a grandiose achievement and one calculated to shed luster upon his adventurous career. "That's my idea of romance—that's the way I like to do things," he declared. "We'll be married soon's I pay this check." Fumbling through his pockets, he remembered that his last dollar had gone across Melcher's gaming-table earlier in the evening, and cried in dismay, "Hold on! Nothing doing in the marriage line, after all. I'm bust. Isn't that a burglar's luck? And right on the altar steps, too."
"I'll settle everything—all the way through," Jim offered, eagerly.
Bob feebly demurred, asserting that his temporary financial condition ruined the whole joke, and that he never married without a pocket full of money; but as Jim insisted, and seeing that Miss Lynn was becoming tearful at the thought of a disappointment, he yielded grudgingly.
"But—I say—where do they keep these weddings?" he inquired. "Everything's closed now, and there's nobody dancing at the City Hall, is there?" He appealed helplessly to Jim.
Jim rose to the occasion with the same promptitude he had displayed throughout. "Leave it to Jimmy the Fixer," he cried, reassuringly. "Marriages aren't made in heaven any more—that's old stuff. They're made in Hoboken, while the cab waits. Get your things on, everybody, while I telephone." He allowed no loitering; he waved the girls away, sent the waiter scurrying with his bill, helped Robert secure hat and stick, and then dove into a telephone-booth as a woodchuck enters its hole. When he had disposed his three charges inside a taxi-cab he disappeared briefly, to return with a basket of champagne upon his arm. It is a wise general who provides himself in advance with ammunition.
It was not late, as late hours are computed, but the streets were empty of traffic; hence the driver made good time, and a waiting ferry at the foot of Forty-second Street helped to shorten the journey. The wine-basket was lighter as the machine rushed up the cobbled incline to the crest of the Weehawken bluffs; Bob and Lilas were singing as it tore down the Boulevard.
The smooth celerity with which this whole adventure ran its course argued a thorough preparation on James's part, but Lorelei was in no condition to analyze. On the contrary, she was tossed in the vortex of warring impulses. More than once she laid her hand upon the cab door, feeling that she could not go on with this damnable travesty. But necessity urged; she was tired, disgusted, reckless. Her former arguments continued to prove potent.
Even at the journey's end there was a suspicious lack of delay. The vehicle stopped in a narrow business street, now dark and dismal; its occupants were hurried up a stairway and into a room filled with law-books, where a sleepy Justice of the Peace was nodding in a cloud of cigar smoke. There followed a noisy shuffling of chairs, some mumbled questions and answers, the crackle of papers, a deal of unintelligible rigamarole, then a man's heavy seal-ring was slipped upon Lorelei's finger, and she knew herself to be Mrs. Robert Wharton. It was all confused, unimpressive, unreal. She was never able fully to recall the picture of that room or the events that occurred there. They formed but a part of the kaleidoscopic jumble of the night's occurrences.
The wedding party was in the cab once more, and it was under way. Lilas was singing maudlinly, lying back in Jim's arms with her feet projecting through a window; the groom was laughing foolishly and pawing at his bride. The street lights reeled by in drunken procession. Now that his work was done, Jim flung aside his caution and, popping the cork of a wine-bottle, drank deeply, in disregard of Lilas's attempts to share the contents. He was fiercely elated; he imbibed with the eager thirst of a dipsomaniac. It was all so like a nightmare that Lorelei began to doubt her own sanity.
Once at rest in the dim-lit tunnel of the ferry-boat, however, she was brought sharply to herself by hearing her brother exclaim: "Say! He hasn't kissed her yet."
Lilas shrieked, and Bob stiffened himself, then slipped an arm around his bride. As she shrank away he mumbled angrily: "Here! I won't stand for that," and crushed her to him. He tipped her head back, then pressed his lips to hers, and she yielded, her whole body a-quiver with repugnance. But it was part of the price, she told herself; therefore she paid, although she was like to faint with the effort. She became conscious of a sudden savagery that swept over Bob at her first surrender, and in revulsion fought herself free from his embrace. He followed her, his eyes fierce, his hot breath heavy with the fumes of wine; his clutch hurt her, "By God!" he mumbled, thickly, "You are beautiful—beautiful. And you're mine. She's mine, eh? No foolishness about that, is there?" he appealed to Jim.
As they drew in toward the New York side the chauffeur inquired, "Where to, now?"'
"Why, drive us—" Jim hesitated. There was a silence which Lilas broke with a titter. The bridegroom joined her in an awkward laugh.
"Never thought of that."
"Drive to the Charlevoix," Lorelei said, sharply.
"No women allowed there; it's a stag place," objected Bob.
"Of course! We'll take you home. It's all over now," she told him, faintly.
"You can't get into no hotel without baggage," explained the driver.
"That's right. No baggage, no money. Deuce of a way to get married."Bob turned again to Jim, who solved the difficulty with a word.
"Why, you're both going to Lorelei's place, of course; then you can make your plans to-morrow."
The bride's half-strangled protest was lost in a burst of enthusiasm from Lilas.
"Surest thing you know," she cried; "and we'll stop in my flat for a farewell bottle; I've got a whole case. We'll end the night with another party at Jarvis's expense. He's crazy about marriages, anyhow. Ha! But you needn't tell him I was—full, understand?" She fell silent suddenly, then burst into a loud laugh. "Bah! I should worry!" Jim struggled with her as for a second time she endeavored to thrust her silken ankles through the taxi window.
The ferry drew into its slip, the cab motor shivered, the metallic rattle of windlass and chain proclaimed the return to Manhattan. Up the deserted avenues the vehicle sped, while inside the white-faced bride cowered with fingers locked and heart sick with dread.
Hitchy Koo had gone home. When Lilas ushered her friends in and snapped on the lights, the apartment, save for the delirious spaniel, was unoccupied. She flung down her hat, coat, and gloves, then, with the help of Jim, prepared glasses and a cooler. Lorelei was restless; the thought of more wine, more ribaldry, revolted her, and yet she was grateful for this delay, brief though it promised to be. Any interruption, trivial or tragic, would be welcome. Meanwhile her husband's eyes followed her hungrily.
Strangely enough, the fears that had driven her to this reckless marriage had dwindled steadily since the final words were spoken, and now these apprehensions seemed in no wise so alarming as the consequences of her rash act. She cringed at her own thoughts; they set her to shivering; she stole a glance at her husband and was not reassured, for he continued to eye her with a look she did not like. She was forced to pledge her own happiness in a glass, then in a wild moment of desperation longed to deaden herself with liquor as the others had done.
Jim and Lilas were talking loudly when a key grated in the lock, the door of the little apartment opened and clicked shut again. Another instant and Jarvis Hammon paused on the threshold, glowering.
Lilas's wine-glass shattered upon the floor.
"Jarvis! You frightened me," she cried.
"Evening, Mr. Hammon." Bob lurched to his feet, upsetting his chair."This IS a s'prise."
Jim had risen likewise, but Hammon had eyes for no one except Lilas.
"Ah! You're home again, finally. Where have you been?" he demanded, in a voice heavy with anger. His hostile tone, his threatening attitude brought an uncomfortable silence upon the hearers.
"Now, Jarvis," said the bridegroom, placatingly, steadying himself meanwhile with the aid of the table, "don't be a grouch. Everything's all right."
Lilas remained motionless, staring defiantly. Her face had slowly whitened, and now its unpleasantness matched that of her elderly admirer. Hammon dropped his smoldering gaze to the half-empty glasses, then raised it, scowling at Jim.
"Humph! Who is—this?"
Lilas made her guest known. "Mr. Knight, Mr. Hammon. I believe you knowMiss Knight."
"So YOU'RE the one." Hammon showed his teeth in a sardonic smile.
"I'm the one what?" inquired Jim, with a sickly attempt at pleasantry.
"By God! What does she see in YOU?" Hammon measured the young man with contemptuous curiosity.
"Don't be an ass, Jarvis," began Lilas. "I—"
She was interrupted roughly. "That's precisely what I don't intend to be; and I don't intend that Bob shall be one, either." He turned to young Wharton. "What are you doing here, my boy?" he asked.
"Just stopped in for a minute. You'll find all the bric-a-brac in its place."
"Now don't get funny. I'm sorry to see you with these grafters." Hammon indicated Jim and Lorelei with a nod.
"Eh? What's that?" Bob stiffened, and Jim murmured an indignant protest.
"You heard me. They're grafters, and you'd better cut loose from them."
"Wait a minute. Lorelei's my wife. 'S true, Jarvis."
"Wife?" Hammon took a heavy step forward. "WIFE? Hell, you're drunk,Bob!"
"P'raps. But we're mar—"
"So! You landed him, did you?" Hammon glared at the brother and sister. "You got him drunk and married him, eh? And Lilas helped you, I suppose. Fine! They're crooks, Bob, and they've made a fool of you." Bob checked the speech on Lorelei's lips with an upraised hand, then said slowly, with a painful effort to sober himself: "You're—mistaken, Jarvis. She's an honest girl and a good one, too good for me. You mus' 'pologize."
The elder man breathed an oath. "She's a blackmailer, and so is—this person. Oh, don't look hurt, my friend." He froze Jim with a glare. "Merkle told me how you tried to work your sister off on him. When you couldn't make that go you grabbed the next best man, eh? It's true, Bob; she's a stalking horse for her whole damned family."
Bob centered his eyes laboriously upon the speaker, then said distinctly: "We've been good friends, Jarvis; you're a kind of an uncle to me, but—you're a liar. You've lied 'bout my wife, so I'spose I've got to lick you." With a backward kick he sent his overturned chair flying, then made for Hammon. But Jim seized him by the arm; Lorelei sprang in front of him.
"Mr. Whar—Bob," she cried. "You mustn't—for my sake." The three scuffled for an instant until Hammon said, more quietly:
"I couldn't fight with you, Bob—you're like my own son. But you've been sold out, and—and it looks as if I'd been sold out, too. Now go home and sleep. I didn't come here to quarrel with you; I have a matter of my own to settle." He laid a hand on Bob's shoulder in an effort to pacify him, but the young man's indignation flared into life with drunken persistence. It was Lorelei who at last prevailed upon her husband to leave peaceably, and she was about to accompany him when Lilas Lynn checked her.
During this angry scene Lilas had not risen nor spoken, but had sat with her elbows upon the table, her chin resting upon her interlocked fingers, obviously enjoying it all. Her eyes were very black and very brilliant against her pallor, and she was smiling derisively.
"Wait!" she interposed. "I'm not going to stay here with this old—fool."
Hammon grew purple; he ground his teeth.
"You SHALL stay. We're going to have a talk and settle things once for all."
"See? He's going to settle me."
"Nonsense. I mean—"
"He's liable to harm me." Lilas's words were directed as an appeal to the others, but her eyes mocked Hammon. "Jim, dear, you won't leave me alone?"
Jimmy, not relishing in the least this attempt to goad the millionaire, remained silent, but no words from him were needed.
"We've got to have an understanding, right now," stormed Hammon, "so clear 'em out. Clear 'em out, I say."
Lilas rose swiftly with a complete change of manner; she was smiling no longer; her face was sinister.
"Very well," she agreed. "To-night. Why not? But I want Lorelei to stay and—hear. Yes."
"No, I don't want her."
"I do." Lilas's bad temper flared up promptly from the hot coals of a spiteful drunken stubbornness. "She'll stay till you go, or else I'll put you out too. I don't trust you." She laughed disagreeably.
"Then have your way. It's you I want to talk with, anyhow, drunk as you are. Now, Bob—will you say good night?" He waved the two men from the room, and the outer door closed behind them.
Lorelei had little desire to remain as the witness to a distressing scene, but she seized upon the delay, for even a sordid lovers' quarrel was preferable to the caresses of a sodden bridegroom. But daylight seemed a long way off—she feared Bob would not fall asleep during this brief respite.
"Now come with me, if you please." Hammon turned in the direction of the library, and Lilas followed, pausing to light a cigarette with a studied indifference that added fuel to his rage. Lorelei seated herself at the disordered dining-table and stared miserably at the wall.
"Well?" said Hammon, when he and Lilas were alone. "Is this how you live up to your promises?"
"How did you know I went out to-night?" she inquired in her turn.
"I had you watched. After what happened last night I was suspicious. I've been waiting for hours—while you were out with that grafter, drinking, carousing—"
He bent toward her, white with fury, but she blew the smoke from her cigarette into his face, and he checked himself, staring at her strangely. For the first time he forgot his own injured feelings and perceived the insolent defiance in her expression. It took him aback, for in all his aggressive, violent life of conquest no one had ever defied him, no one had ever insulted him nor deliberately set about rousing his ire. But Lilas, he saw, was doing so, and with a purpose. There was more in this woman's bearing, he decided, than reckless defiance—there was an intentional challenge and a threat. Therefore with an effort he governed himself, recoiling in surprise.
She had seated herself upon the edge of the reading-table, one foot swinging idly. She watched him with a brooding, insolent amusement.
"Are you just drunk," he said, uncertainly, "or—have you completely lost your senses?"
"Yes, I'm drunk, but I know what I'm doing. I went out last night, and you warned me. I went out again to-night and—Oh yes! I helped marry your friend's son to a show-girl. What are you going to do about it?"
"I—why, you mustn't talk like that; you're not yourself, Lilas." He ran his eyes over the luxurious little room; he wiped his face with a shaky hand, feeling that it was he who had lost his senses. "The wine is talking. When I asked you to marry me I never dreamed—"
"You never dreamed I'd disobey you, eh? Well, I didn't intend to so early." She laughed again. "Now I suppose you'll drop me. What?"
"There's nothing else to do, if this—But I can't imagine what possessed you."
She eyed him silently with an expression he could not fathom, then asked, "Tell me, do you really care for me?"
Jarvis Hammon was a virile, headstrong man; his world had come suddenly, inexplicably to an end. His voice was hoarse, as he answered:
"Do you think I'd have made a fool of myself if I hadn't? Do you thinkI'd have ruined myself?"
"Have you ruined yourself?" she interrupted, quickly.
"Not quite, perhaps; but what I've lost, what I've sacrificed, would have ruined most men. My home is gone, and my family—as you know—yes, and a good many other things you don't know about. Financially I'm not done for—"
"That's too bad."
"Eh?"
She motioned him to proceed.
"You've cost me dear enough, as money goes, for you've gotten into my brain, somehow. I was never foolish over women until I met you, but you made me lose my grip on things, and indirectly I paid high. I didn't care, though. I was glad. I wanted you at any price. I tried to change the world around to suit me, and—now you've spoiled it all."
"That blackmail cost you something, didn't it?" He agreed, carelessly.
"And your wife's divorce will cost a lot more, won't it? You've squandered quite a fortune on me, too, haven't you?"
He was too bewildered by her expression to do more than stare.
"No woman could totally ruin you; you're too rich for that, but you're hit hard inside, so I guess the price is high enough." Lilas nodded with satisfaction. "Thank God, I'm through, and you'll never paw me over again!"
"I don't understand. What are you getting at?"
"I'll tell you. I never intended to marry you, Jarvis."
He started as if she had struck him.
"That's what I said," she reaffirmed, "and I'll tell you why. Look at me—close."
He did as she directed, but saw nothing, his mind being in chaos. It had been her intention to call Lorelei to witness this dramatic disclosure and thus enhance its effect, but in the excitement of the moment she forgot. "Look at me," she repeated. "I'm Lily Levinski."
"Levinski. A Jew?" he exclaimed, in naive surprise.
"Yes. I'm Joe Levinski's girl. Don't you remember?"
Many times she had rehearsed this declaration, picturing the consternation, the dawning horror it would cause, and deriving a fierce, quivering pleasure from the anticipation, but the real effect was disappointing. Hammon only blinked stupidly, repeating:
"A Jew!" It was plain that the name meant nothing.
She slid down from her perch and approached him, crying roughly, "Don't you remember Joe Levinski?" Hammon shook his head. "He worked for you in the Bessemer plant of the old Kingman mill. Don't you remember?"
"There were four thousand men—"
"He was killed when the converter dumped. You were rushing the work. Do you remember now?" Her words came swift and shrill.
Hammon started; a frown drew his brows together. His mind groped back through the years and memory faintly stirred, but she gave him no leisure to speak.
"I was waiting outside with his dinner-bucket, along with the other women. I saw him go. I saw you kill him—"
"LILAS! Good God, are you crazy?" he burst forth.
"It was murder."
"Murder?"
"It was. You did it. You killed him." She had dropped her cigarette, and it burned a black scar into the rug at their feet. Hammon retreated a step, the girl followed with blazing eyes and words that were hot with hate. "You spilled that melted steel on him, and I saw it all. When I grew up I prayed for a chance to get even, for his sake and for the sake of the other hunkies you killed. You killed my mother, too, Jarvis Hammon, and made me a—a—You made me hustle my living in the streets, and go through hell to get it."
"Be quiet!" he commanded, roughly. "The thing's incredible—absurd.You—the daughter of one of my workmen—and a JEW!"
"Yes. Levinski—Lily Levinski. And you wanted to marry me," she gibed."But I fooled you."
"I guess I—must be—out of my head. I never knew the man—there were thousands of them; accidents were common. But—you say—" He gathered his whirling thoughts, and, strangely enough, grew calm. "You say you prayed for a chance to get even—So, then, you've been humbugging—By God, I don't believe it!"
"It's true. It's true. It's true," shrilled the girl so hysterically that her voice roused Lorelei, sitting vacant-eyed in the room down the hall, and brought her to her feet with ears suddenly strained. Lorelei could hear only a part of the words that followed, but the tones of the two voices drew her from her retreat and toward the front of the apartment.
"I went through the gutter, I was a girl of the streets," Lilas was saying. "Oh, you're not the first—At last I got on the stage and then—you came. I knew you; I thought I'd die when you first touched me—then I figured it all out, and—you were easy."
"Go on," he said, hoarsely.
"You were a bigger fool than I dreamed, but you were old and you didn't know women. I knew men, though—old men especially."
"You took my money—you let me support you!" cried Hammon, in bitter accusation.
"Oh, I did more than that. I planned everything that has happened to you, even that blackmail."
"Blackmail!" he shouted. "Did you—was that your—?" He grew suddenly apoplectic; his eyes distended and reddened with rage.
His dismay delighted her.
"Certainly," she smiled. "Half the money is in my bank at this minute—besides all the rest you've given me. Oh, I've got enough to live on without marrying you. Who do you think put your wife wise and gave her the evidence for her divorce, eh? Think it over."
As she watched the effect of her words Lilas felt that her satisfaction was now complete; the man's slack jaw, his staring, bloodshot eyes convinced her that this moment was all that she had wished it to be.
"You'll settle with her for a million, and then you'll settle with me for this." She indicated the elaborate apartment with a gesture. "You think this ends our affair, don't you? Well, it doesn't. Oh no! You can't cast me off. I'll drag you through the gutter where you sent me, and you'll either marry me or—the courts and the newspapers will get all your letters. You can't buy them—the letters. I'm rich, understand? Do you remember those letters? You were very indiscreet—and—do you want me to quote them? The less said, the better, perhaps. Your wife will read them and your daughters—"
Jarvis Hammon roused himself at last. Surprise, incredulity, dismay gave place to fury, and, as in all primitive natures, his wrath took shape as an impulse to destroy.
"You'll—do that—eh?" His tone, his bearing were threatening. He advanced as if to seize her in his great hands, and only her quickness saved her.
"Don't touch me!" Her voice ended in a little shriek as she evaded a second effort to grasp her, and placed the table between them. "What do you—mean?"
But it seemed that she had done her work too well, for his answer was like the growl of a hungry beast. His eyes roved over the table for a weapon, and, reading his insane purpose, she cried again:
"Don't do that. I warn you—"
The nearest object chanced to be a crystal globe in which was set a tiny French clock—one of those library ornaments serving as timepiece and paperweight—over this his hand closed; he moved toward her.
"Put that down," she cried. He did not pause. "Put it—" She wrenched at the table drawer and fumbled for something. Hammon uttered a bellow and leaped at her.
It was a tiny revolver, small enough to fit into a man's vest pocket or a woman's purse, but its report echoed loudly. The noise came like a cannon-shot to the girl in the hall outside and brought a cry to her lips. Lorelei flung herself against the library door.
What she saw reassured her momentarily, for, although Lilas was at bay against a book-case, Hammon was rooted in his tracks. A strange, almost ludicrous expression of surprise was on his face; he was staring down at his breast; the revolver lay on the floor between him and Lilas.
Lorelei gasped an incoherent question, but neither of the two who faced each other appeared to hear it or to notice her presence in the room.
"I told you to—keep off," Lilas chattered. Her eyes were fixed upon Hammon, but her out-flung arms were pressed against the support at her back as if she felt herself growing weak. "You did it—yourself. I warned you."
The man merely remained motionless, staring. But there was something shocking in the paralysis that held him and fixed his face in that distorted mold of speechless amazement. Finally he stirred; one hand crept inside his waistcoat, then came away red; he turned, walked to a chair, and half fell upon it. Then he saw Lorelei's face, and her agonized question took shape out of the whirling chaos in his mind.
"Where's Bob?" he said, faintly. "Call him, please."
"You're—hurt. I'll telephone for a doctor; there's one in the house, and—and the police, too." Lorelei voiced her first impulse, then shrilly appealed to Lilas to do something. But Lilas remained petrified in her attitude of retreat; from the pallor that was whitening her cheeks now it might have been she who was in danger of death.
"Don't telephone," said Hammon, huskily. "You must do just as I say, understand? This mustn't get out, do you hear? I'm not—hurt. I'm all right, but—fetch Bob. Don't let him call a doctor, either, until I—get home. Now hurry—please."
Lorelei rushed to the outside door, restraining with difficulty a wild impulse to run screaming through the hall of the apartment building and so arouse the other tenants. But the wounded man's instructions had been terse and forceful, therefore she held herself in check. Fortunately, the hall-man was not at his post, or without doubt he would have read tragedy in her demeanor. With skirts gathered high and breath sobbing in her throat, the girl fled up the stair to her own door, where she clung, ringing the bell frantically.
She could hear Bob's—her husband's voice inside, raised in the best of humor. Evidently he was telephoning.
"Yes. Two hours ago, I tell you. With book, bell, and candle. Sure, I'm happy—couldn't be otherwise, for I'm drunk and married. I knew you'd be glad. What? No; glad because I'm married."
Jim's footsteps sounded, his hand opened the door, then his arm flew out to his sister's support as she staggered in.
"SIS! What the devil?" he cried, aghast at sight of her.
"Something—dreadful."
Bob continued his cheerful colloquy over the wire. "Just got in from your nightly joy-ride, eh? Lucky I caught you. Say! Here she is now. We'll expect a marble clock with gilt cupids from you, Merkle—Want to say hello?" He lurched aside from the telephone as Lorelei snatched the receiver from his hand.
"Mr. Merkle," she cried.
"Hello! Yes. Is that you?" came Merkle's steady voice.
"Come quick—quick."
"What's wrong?" he demanded, with a sharp change of tone. "Has Bob—?"
"No, no. It's Mr. Hammon. He's down-stairs with—Lilas, and he's hurt—shot. I—I'm frightened."
She turned to find Bob and Jim staring at her.
"Come," she gasped. "I think he's—dying."
She led the way swiftly, and they followed.