This Beats Hell by Dixie Willson

by Monte Herridge

  hand—and he didn’t even know them for

  “Know her?” he asked pointedly.

  tears. He knew them just as love for the truest,

  “Yes,” said Darby. He couldn’t trust

  best, most courageous heart he had ever himself to say more.

  known. He thought of those tears as the best

  “Good!” exclaimed the other. “Fine!

  of his man’s estate.

  I’ll pay you a hundred dollars for her

  The corners of the picture were getting

  address!”

  ragged. It wanted a case. So he went to the Darby didn’t know what the game

  jeweler and bought a fifty-dollar watch—and was—but he didn’t want to discuss Amy.

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  “She’s—dead,” he said almost under

  “Yes,

  me,” laughed Jim, “but not you, his breath. And, picking up his light, went into old top. Gizzards, but you’re slicked up some.

  the main building, and locked the heavy doors Though you’d forgot your old friends! Looks behind him, leaving his guest the choice of the like the world’s doin’ good by you all right.”

  little outer office, or the street.

  “Yes,” Darby smiled. “I’m gettin’ on

  When he returned two hours later, good. Looked you up to ask”—he hesitated Chapin was gone, and on the desk was a

  for a minute, swallowed, then met Jim’s eye scrawled note. It read:

  squarely to make himself be calm “to ask for one of them little picture you took of—Amy.”

  Sorry, but I don’t believe you. I don’t think

  “Sure thing.” answered Jim heartily. “I

  your lady friend is dead, and I’m going to find her. Her keep all my filums. Make you one tonight.

  picture and a detective can get her for me as quick as Say”—pulling his watch from his damp

  you could, and save me the hundred besides. Thanks.

  overall pocket—“it’s ten to eleven. I’ll hurry When Darby made ready to go home,

  up and do the block and meet you at Martie’s he found that, not only the lower scrap of the for lunch at twelve, and we’ll print one this snap-shot was missing—but in his watch, noon!”

  which had been left as usual in his street-coat,

  “All right,” Darby nodded, “twelve

  the place where her face had been was empty.

  o’clock it is. Here’s your machinery.” And Two or three days went by, and Darby

  exchanging Jim’s hand-shake for the iron

  missed the picture much. It had come to mean hook, as the ice-man mounted the dripping a lot to him—that face. He missed it so much rear step, and shucked his horses on. Darby that he forgot to wonder why Chapin had

  turned up the street. But twenty feet away Jim wanted it—why he had wanted her—and hailed him.

  finally he took a day to hunt up the ice-man

  “Just happened to think,” he called “I

  and ask for another.

  took that filum over to Amy yesterday. But we He went to the ice-office and got the

  can get it off her after we eat. So-long.”

  route and, at the hour which brought the

  wagon farthest from the brick boarding-house.

  IV.

  Darby came up beside and waited till Jim and his iron hook, came clinking around from the THE ice-wagon lumbered on, Michael Darby

  nearest back door.

  staring after it. Amy! Yesterday! Pink and He hadn’t seen Jim since Amy’s white and words and smiles and sun and grass birthday. It took all the courage he had to see and eyes and lips came in a crazy

  him now. Apparently it took all Jim’s courage kaleidoscope of sound and scene to his

  too—for a foot from Darby’s trim straight breathless senses. The day—the day—the ice-figure, he stopped and stared utterly man had dared him—and he’d kissed her—

  speechless.

  and her voice singing—the neighbor’s baby to

  “Great Gizzards!” he cried at last. “It’s sleep—her fingers on his broken wrist—and Michael Darby!” and slamming his hook over then—and then—the night and her thin skirt, the hedge—he seized Darby’s hand with a

  and her white face and maybe—maybe after

  grip like the end of the world.

  all he could tell her—maybe he could tell

  “Hello, Jim,” said Darby at last. “Been

  her—show her—find her—give her.

  quite a while, ain’t it? You look just the same His next conscious moment was in her

  though.”

  kitchen, his head on her kitchen table, and once more he knew tears, not as tears, but just

  This Beats Hell

  7

  as love for the truest, best, most courageous and with her hands managed to motion the

  heart he had ever known.

  introduction her lips failed in making.

  Gently Amy smoothed his hair, and

  “Mr. Biswell is a detective,” she

  patted his shoulder—and by and by, he felt added, trying to smile, “he got me off Jim’s other tears than his own—hot drops flooding snapshot picture from—from your waste-the back of his neck where he knew his basket. He—came to—to see me.”

  happiness couldn’t have spilled them—and he Her face was a queer mixture of

  reached for the hand on his arm—and—and in emotion, and Darby, facing Mr. Biswell,

  the door of Martie’s, Jim looked up the street remembered for the first time to wonder about and down the street, and at two o’clock, he the meaning of that call from Chapin! And swore from the bottom of his heart and went there flashed, too, a thought of the terror Amy back to the ice-wagon in an unnecessary clean had always had for things “again the law.” But collar!

  quicker than both thoughts, was one of thanks

  “Say but you’re fine, Darby.” Amy

  that, whatever the trouble, he could have come beamed, when the end of the afternoon had back in time.

  them fairly calm again. “Just be taking the

  “What is it, Amy.” he said gently—

  peeling of banana for your lunch off, so I reaching for her hand. “Tell me all about it—

  won’t have to let you out of my sight a won’t you?”

  minute! Such head aches I’ve give myself for

  “Darby,” she faltered, “if you—if just

  you—and—and heart aches too,” she added

  it don’t lose me you—it’s all right. I’ll tell you softly. “But I knew you’d come. I knew you’d all the paper of the man with the big spectacle come. When I heard you that night sayin’ you says—if you promise to stick by me—no

  couldn’t get along without me—I was so matter what, Darby.”

  happy I could ’a’ gone on dyin’ ’thout

  “Why sure, you bet, Amy,” he assured

  knowin’ it at all. Even if I was sittin’ down, her. “There ain’t nothing can take us apart and in the shadows so you couldn’t see me—

  now.”

  you could ’a’ heard all of me beatin’ for joy.”

  Amy searched his face with anxious

  And that night—when Darby turned

  eyes.

  smiling, at the corner, to wave answer to “Promise?”

  she

  persisted. “You’ll sure

  Amy’s radiant farewell—that night began the stick by me, Darby?”

  fourth half of Michael Darby’s life.

  Darby nodded solemnly—and glanced

  at the now impatient Mr. Biswell.

  V.

  “Well then,” began Amy, drawing a

  long, legal-looking document from her pocket, NEAR noon the next day, after Darby, in his and unfolding it slowly. “It’s—here’s what it once cherished room, had tried in vain to says—Darby.”

  sl
eep—he rose, dressed carefully, and hurried And Darby—as he drew his chair close

  like a boy on the top of the world—back to the to hers, and patted one of her hands

  glory of Amy’s smile. He found her, much

  reassuringly, saw the faces of the neighbor’s agitated, sitting as stiffly as was possible for children mashed excitedly against the

  her—on the red velvet settee in her parlor—

  window—looking for what the police” was

  and in her best spring rocker—sat a hawk-

  going to do to Amy Shores!

  nosed gentleman with dark-rimmed glasses, and impatient fingers—tapping the chair arms.

  VI.

  Amy rose nervously to meet Darby,

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  THROUGH the sweet wide country of free for me if I took to gettin’ five hundred summer time in Iowa—a special train took its dollars a week salary. But you’ll have me beat way one late afternoon, some four weeks later, out pretty soon,” she dimpled. “Mr. Chapin and in a special car—a car with wide says you’re the best manager on the show!”

  windows, a fresh green rug, and a vase of Darby smiled his appreciation and

  flowers on its table, sat Michael Darby in went on sizing up the poster critically.

  white ducks and canvas shoes, a panama

  “Them’s nice fancy letters on the

  pushed back on his head, busily checking in a second line, ain’t they,” he remarked.

  small note-book.

  “Beginnin’ with the ‘Princess Amy, have you Across from his wicker chair, was seen her. She tips the scale at five hundred and another—a specially made one—in which thirty-seven pounds, measures five feet nine Amy, in a cool, blue silk, coming from the and a half inches around the waist and—’

  rear platform, presently seated herself.

  Amy, now, ain’t you afraid such overfed

  In her hands was a bit of white statements are against the law?”

  sewing—a dainty curtain for one of the car But Amy—was too busy fitting the

  windows—but she put it aside now, to lean new-curtain to the back window to mind.

  back in her chair—and study a brightly When it was done, she stood looking out lettered three-sheet, pinned across the opposite across the moving country, over which the side of the car.

  warm twilight was folding caressingly. Darby, Darby, smiling fondly at her, shoved

  joining her, had to pinch her cheek and then back his hat, and let his eyes follow hers.

  kiss it soundly to bring back her wandering

  “Funny, ain’t it?” he chuckled. “The

  attention.

  world do move fast. You—you like it all right,

  “Mrs. Darby,” he demanded. “what

  do you, honey?” he asked anxiously. “It—it you thinkin’ about?”

  doesn’t tire you?”

  “I was thinkin’,” she smiled, taking his

  Amy laughed a gay answer: “I’m crazy

  hand in both hers. “I was thinkin’ of that night about it.” she said. “I never knew such by the river—and where you was goin’ so fast excitement! I was crazy about it right from the when I stopped you—and I was thinkin’” —

  start—right from when the detective that she said tenderly—“I was thinkin’ that by followed up my picture for Mr. Crispin first quite considerable—this beats hell!”

  told me, but I was afraid you wouldn’t feel so