CHAPTER III
THE FINAL KICK
It was Saturday, and Ethel Manton was lunching early that she mightaccompany her fifteen-year-old brother on a ride through the park.
A certain story in the morning paper arrested her attention, and shereread it with flushed face and tightening lips. It was well done, asnewspaper stories go, this account of a lurid night on Broadway whichwound up in a crescendo of brilliance with the flooring of a policeman.No names were mentioned, but the initiated who read between the linesknew that only one man could have pulled off the stunt and gotten bywith it.
"For goodness' sake, Eth, aren't you ever going to finish? You'll wastethe whole afternoon over that old paper!"
Young Charlie had bolted his luncheon and waited impatiently in a deepwindow-seat overlooking the park. His sister laid down the paper with asigh.
"Are the horses ready?" She asked the question in a dull, listlesstone, so unlike her usual self that even Charlie noticed.
"Gee! You don't seem very keen about it. And look what a day! You looklike you were going to a funeral."
Before the girl could reply he turned again to the window: "Look, ataxi is stopping and somebody is getting out. Oh, it's Bill Carmody!Ain't he a crackerjack, though? Say, Eth, why don't you marry Bill?He's just crazy about you--everybody says so, and----"
"Charlie!" The word was jerked out hysterically, and the boy waspuzzled at the crimson of her face.
"Well, I don't care, it's so! And then I'd be a brother-in-law to BillCarmody! Why, he can lick everybody down to the gym. He put on thegloves with _me_ once," he boasted, swelling visibly, "just sparring,you know; but he promised to teach me the game. And football! Therenever was a half-back like Bill Carmody! Why he----"
"Do hush! He might hear you. Run along, now. You ride on and I willovertake you. I--I must see Mr. Carmody alone."
"_Mr._ Carmody! So you two have had a scrap! Well, if I was a girl, andBill Carmody wanted to marry _me_, you bet, I'd marry him before he gota chance to change his mind. You bet, when I grow up I'm going to bejust like him--so there!"
The boy flounced defiantly out of the room, leaving the girl alone witha new fear.
Since the death of her parents she had bravely and capably undertakenthe management of the household, and her chief care was this impulsiveboy who was so dear to her heart.
"Look after Charlie as long as he shall need you." The words of herdying mother came to her vividly. "He is really a noble littlefellow--but hard to manage."
And now, added to the sorrow that already seemed crushing her, was thisnew anxiety.
Charlie had set up an idol--and the fact that his idol was also heridol--although she never admitted it--struck fear to her heart. For theundiscerning eyes of the boy were blind to the feet of clay.
In the library across the hall, William Carmody paced nervously up anddown, pausing at each turn to gaze abstractedly out of the window.
After what seemed an interminable wait, the portieres parted and thegirl stepped into the room. In her hand she carried a carefully foldednewspaper. She crossed to the table and, regarding the man with a cold,disconcerting stare, waited for him to speak.
"Hello, Ethel! No, thank you, I have had luncheon. I----" His gazeencountered the unwavering blue eyes, and he suddenly dropped the airof flippant assurance. "Er, I came to see you," he added lamely.
"Yes?" There was little of encouragement in the word with itsaccompanying inflection.
"You see, I am leaving New York."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, I am going away." He paused, but receiving no answer, continued,"I am going away to--to make good. And I came to say good-by. When Ireturn, if--if you are still free, I will have something to tellyou--something I have often told you before, but--well, things will bedifferent, then."
"I suppose you said good-by to your _other_ friends last night?" Herglance rested for a moment on the folded newspaper, and the silky sneerof her retort was brutal--with the studied brutality of the female ofthe species who would inflict pain. The man winced under its sting.
"Last night cannot be recalled," he replied gravely. "Whatever happenedthen is past and gone. You are right; figuratively speaking, I _have_said good-by to the others--to Broadway, and all it stands for. Youalone know of my going. I am making no promises. If I fail no one willknow--nor care. When I make good I will return--and then----"
The girl looked up. Their glances met, and in the depths of the steadygray eyes the soft blue ones read purpose--unflinching purpose to fightand win for the glory of an infinite love.
Her eyes dropped. She felt the hot blood mount to her face under thecompelling magnetism of his gaze. She loved this man. In all the worldno other could so move her. She loved--yet feared him. The verystrength of him--the overmastering force of his personality--hisbarbaric disregard of conventionality at once attracted and frightenedher.
In that moment she knew, deep down in her heart, that if this manshould take her in his arms and hold her close against the throbbing ofhis great heart, his lips find hers, and should he pour into her earsthe pent-up torrent of his love, her surrender would be complete.
His was the master mind, and in all the years to come that mind wouldrule, and she, the weaker one, would be forced under the yoke of itssupremacy. She prayed for strength.
Let those who believe that once the living flesh has turned to clay thespirit dies, ascribe to a trick of memory the vision of her dyingmother that flashed before the eyes of the girl, and the whisperedwords: "Look after Charlie as long as he shall need you."
But those there are who know that in that momentary vision spoke infaint memory-whispers the gentle spirit-mother, who--ranking high inthat vast army which, in the words of the immortal Persian,
"Before us passed the door of Darkness through,"
--would guide the footsteps of her loved ones.
Thus strength came and steeled the heart of one great little woman whobattled alone against love for her right to rule and shape the destinyof lives. The momentary flush receded from her face, and when her eyesagain sought the man's, their glance was coldly repellent. She evenforced a smile.
"Is it so amusing, then--my going?" he asked a little grimly.
"Yes, rather amusing to consider where a man would go and what he woulddo. A man, I mean, whose sole recommendation seems to be that he can'lick' most anybody, and can 'drink more and stay soberer than any ofthe sports he travels with.'"
The dull red flooded the man's face at her words. Unconsciously hesquared his shoulders and there was an unwonted dignity in his reply:
"I am well aware that my accomplishments are more in the nature ofliabilities than assets. In spite of this I will make good--somewhere."
He stepped closer to the girl, and his voice grew harsh, almost raspingin its intensity. "I _can_ beat the game. And I will beat it--now! Justto show you and your kind what a _man_ can do--a man, I mean," headded, "'whose sole recommendation seems to be that he can lick mostanybody--and can drink more and stay soberer than any of the sports hetravels with.' Incidentally, I am glad to know your real opinion of me.I once believed that you were different from the others--that in you Ihad found a woman who possessed a real soul."
He laughed, a short, grating laugh--deep down, as though rude fingersdrew a protest from raw heart-strings--a laugh that is not good tohear.
"I even thought," he went on, "that you cared for me--a little. Thatyou were the one woman who, at the last of things, would give a man ahelping hand, a little word of encouragement and hope, perhaps, insteadof the final kick."
He bowed stiffly and turned toward the door. "Good-by!" he said, andthe heavy portieres closed behind him.
In the room the girl, white as marble, heard the click of the frontdoor, the roar of a newly cranked motor, and the dying _chug, chug_ ofthe retreating taxi.
That afternoon Charlie Manton rode alone, and when he returned, hungryas a young wolf, to be told that his sister had retired with a sickhe
adache, he drew his own conclusions, nodding sagely over his solitarydinner.
Later, as he passed her door on the way to his room, he placed his earat the keyhole and listened a long time to her half-muffled sobs.
"Gee!" he muttered as he passed down the hall, "they must have had anawful scrap!" He turned and quietly retraced his steps. In the libraryhe switched on the lights and crossed to the telephone.
"There isn't any sense in that," he said, speaking to himself. "Billloves Eth--that's a cinch. And she does love him, too, even if shewon't let on.
"She wouldn't stick up in her room all day bawling her eyes out if shedidn't. I'll call Bill up and tell him so, then he'll come and they'llmake up. I bet he's sorry, too, by now."
At the Carmody residence he was told that Bill was not in. He receivedthe same answer from several clubs, at each of which he left explicitinstructions for Mr. Carmody to call him up at the first possiblemoment.
Thereafter Charlie frequented the gymnasiums and made industriousinquiry, but it was many a day before he again saw his idol. BillCarmody was missing from his accustomed haunts, and none could tellwhither he had gone.
Those were days fraught with anxiety for the boy. Ethel, to whom he wasdevoted, went about the house listless and preoccupied, in spite of herefforts to appear cheerful. When he attempted to reason with her sheburst into tears and forbade him to mention Bill Carmody's name in herhearing as long as he lived. Whereupon the youngster retireddisconsolately to his room to think things over.
"Love's a bum thing," he told himself. "If they do get married they dieor get a divorce or something; and if they don't--well, Bill hasprob'ly committed suicide and Eth is moping around, and most likely nowshe'll marry that dang St. Ledger." He made a wry face as he thought ofSt. Ledger.
"Runty little mollycoddle! Couldn't lick a chicken--him and hismonocle. And that day the wind took his hat and rolled it through themud, and he said: 'Oh, pshaw!' instead of damn it! Oh--_slush!_ And Ipromised mother I'd take care of Eth."
He burrowed his face deep into the pillow, as, in spite of himself,tears came to his eyes.
The Promise Page 4