Lonesome Town
Page 18
CHAPTER XVII--POPLARS FOUR
HAD Peter Pape been at home in Hellroaring the late afternoon of thiscrowded day in New York, he doubtless would have saddled Polkadot andclimbed to some lonely mesa for meditative fingering of the odd chaininto which he had forged himself as a link. Instead, he locked himselfin the Astor suite, little used hitherto except for sleep. The telephonehe silenced with a towel wrapped around the bell. He closed the windowsagainst distractions from the street and switched off the electric fan,the whirr of which sounded above the traffic roar.
Yet with all these aids to concentration, his resume of facts newlygiven out in the affairs of his self-selected lady reached noconclusion. Varying the metaphor, no point or eye could he see to thatneedle, greater than Central Park itself, which would sew the fate ofthe Lauderdales. The best he could do in preparation for contingenciesahead was to throw a diamond hitch around his resolve to do and dareunquestioningly in the service to which he now was sworn--to advancefrom initiate into full membership of the triumvirate.
He planned by the clock. At six sharp, he rang for dinner upstairs.Seven found him again in the garb worn from the West, which appealed tohim as more suitable than any of the "masterpieces" tailored for lessimportant functions than that of to-night.
The blond floor-clerk, whose hall desk stood near the entrance door tohis suite, awaited his approach with an "Indian sign" of warning. Butshe and he couldn't have come from the same tribe; at least he did notgrasp its import until later developments translated it for him.
"Oh, Mr. Pape," she lisped, as, actually, he was about to pass her bywithout his usual breezy greeting, "you've had three calls s'evening.You're getting so popular. But I must say I don't wonder at all."
"Three calls--and for me?" He was halted by honest amaze. "How come? Imean, from whom and what about? Say, was one a lady's voice, sort ofcool, yet kind, soft yet strong, gentle yet----"
"No such riddle voice helloed you," snapped the girl. "Three adult malesthey were that wanted you and one of them none too kind or soft orgentle, at that. I told 'em what I thought was the truth. Personally,you know, I make a specialty of the truth when it doesn't do any harm. Isaid that you hadn't been in since morning. They didn't appear to haveany names, no more than messages to leave."
"Saves time answering." Pape got underway for the elevator. "Greetingsand thank-yous, ma'am, and many of them. If any more males call me, Imay not be in _until_ morning."
"You _do_ lead the life!"
Her exclamation faded into her stock-in-trade smile. But curiosity wasin the baby stare with which she followed him to the grated door. Aqueer customer among the Astor's queer. At that, though, as she admittedto her deeper self, she was "intrigued" rather than "peeved" by hisutter lack of interest in what she did with her blond self when offduty.
Swinging across the rotunda six floors below, Pape was startled to see aface he recognized--that "fightingest" face of the bully with whom hehad gone the single round on the park butte-top. A clockward glancereminded him that he was in considerable of a hurry. He had adequatetime to keep the most important appointment of his recent life, althoughnone to spare. The pug probably had been one of those to call him on the'phone. But wonder over how and why he had been located by his lateantagonist must be deferred until some moment less engaged.
Next second Pape heard what he instantly surmised to be the voice of asecond of the three inquirers--that of Swinton Welch, boss digger at thefour poplars. Now, he really felt indebted to the dapper sub-contractorwho, together with the "grave diggers," on the sacred spot, had put himin stride for the vast progress of his day. Moreover, he was interestedin the possible connection between Welch and the unnamed battler he hadovercome, as indicated by their joint wait at his hotel. Although helocated Welch at once leaning against the news-stand, he felt he shouldnot stop, even for a word of thanks or a pointed question. Tilting thebrim of his sombrero over his eyes, he made for the Broadway entrance.
"There he goes, Duffy!"
From close behind, the thin voice of the thin boss answered several ofthe queries which Pape might have put without need of his putting them.So, the name of his adversary of the night before was Duffy! There wassome connection between him and Welch. Both were waiting for him.
A heavy hand clamped his shoulder. "Hey you, what's your hurry?"
Shaking the clutch, Pape turned forcefully just as Welch joined Duffy.With but a fragment of a prefatory plan, his arms flung out flail-likeand brought his two untimely callers into violent collision. A short-armjab just below the curve of Duffy's ribs doubled him over his undersizedpartner with a yap of pain. Before the lobby crowd realized thatanything untoward was being punched, Pape's identity as aggressor hadbeen lost by his dash for the revolving exit.
Almost was he within one of the door's compartments when againhalted--this time by a slender youth with an eye-brow mustache.
"I beg pardon, but isn't this Mr. Why-Not----"
That is as far as the probable third of the "adult males" got with hismannerly question. Perhaps the weariness of his voice and the weaknessof his hirsute adornment gave Pape the idea. At any rate an unoccupiedarm chair stood ready. Seizing the man's slender shoulders, he seatedhis third caller therein with more force than courtesy.
"So glad to meet you, Mr. Pape," this in a sort of gasp. "I've been hereto see you several times. A small matter of business. I'm from the----"
Pape did not wait. He was not nearly so much concerned over the sourceof the youth as that Welch and Duffy soon would be up and after him. Hehad no time for further bouts with one, two or three, regardless of aconstitutional disinclination to shirk battle. He pushed through therevolving door and into the traffic out front. On the opposite side ofBroadway, he dived into the up-tide of pedestrians.
One observation disturbed him as he eased himself into an empty taxi,with an order to stop at the Maine Monument. Although all others of thevaried sky-signs were alive, flaunting the wan daylight with theirartificial blaze, the rose-wrought welcome to Why-Not Pape was dead.He'd find time in the morning to set off a less artificial blaze ofindignation before the electric company for their neglect. Surely theycould spare him as many kilowatts as that sausage maker or this moviemaid! His need of the hired cheer of the sign no longer was urgent, nowthat he had been hand-clasped into the Lauderdale triumvirate. Still,the sign that had lit his way to Jane was worthy of perpetuation.
----
Before night-fall no likely place was left in the near vicinity of thepoplars four for any old lady's "laborer" to dig. From the shadow of thepark wall, where crouched a poke-bonneted figure, sounded an order tocease work.
"Hope has died hard, harder even than you have dug, you humansteam-shovel. I guess it's no use." Jane's voice was as forlorn as shelooked when Pape swung up at her call.
He leaned upon the man-sized spade which he had purchased at a smallhardware store near Columbus Circle just before keeping theirrendezvous. He mopped from brow, neck and hands the sweat of toil ashonest as ever he had done.
"So far as I've been able to discover," the girl continued, "this is theonly group of trees the length and breadth of the park that answersdescription. But evidently they are not the ones of grandfather'srhyme."
Pape drew some few breaths calculated to steady his pulse to normal."Being only one of the laboring class and uneducated as most over theultimate object of my labors--in other words, never having glimpsed theword-map of that crypt, I can't be of much mental assistance."
"Oh, I shouldn't mind telling you the lines if I only could rememberthem," Jane conceded. "One distinctly says to dig near the 'whisper ofpoplars four.' Confound grandfathers and their mysterious ways! Despiteyour willingness and energy, Mr. Pape----"
"Peter, if you please, Jane."
"Peter, we shall have to give it up. If you'll smooth back the earthyou've disturbed, I'll take off my two score years and ten."
"You mean to retire my little old lady of the park
?"
"Must, I'm due to return to Aunt Helene's to-night from my--my visit. Ihave on my gray suit under this loose old black thing and a hat in mybag. If you'll escort me to the house, I'll be that much more obliged."
Tugging at the strings of the poke bonnet, she stepped toward the coverof a nearby black haw whose flat-topped, branch-end clusters of bloomgleamed like phosphorus over a dark sea. He turned back to his task withhis consistent superiority to intelligent inquiry. Muscularly, at least,he had earned her confidence. So far free from interruption more stayingthan a chance glance or careless comment, they seemed about to end anevening successful in its unsuccess, when there sounded a verbalassault.
"You're under arrest--the both of yous--and caught with the goods, atthat!"
To Pape's ears the Irish accent had a familiar sound. Straightening toconfront the two uniformed figures now materializing from the dusk andthe hillock's crest, he executed a signal which he hoped would beunderstood by his companion as a suggestion that she "slide out"--leavehim to wriggle from the clutch of the law as best he might.
"Arrest? And for what, if you have time to swap me word for word?" heput demand.
"For the messing up and maltreating of Central Park in violation ofenough statutes to hang and then jail you for a year. Don't botherdenying or it'll be used again you. We been watching a whole half hour.You haven't a chance at a get-away, so come along nice andcompanionable."
The last admonition was shared with the bent old lady, who was toodim-sighted, evidently, to have seen her laborer's telepogram and nowappeared from around the misnamed white-blooming black haw.
"We wouldn't like to be rough with a lady."
The suggestive warning came from the second officer. At his voice, Papesprang forward and peered into two familiar faces--into the chiseledsmile of 'Donis Moore and the fat surprise of the "sparrow cop," PudgeO'Shay. He couldn't decide at the moment whether to be sorry or hopefulthat these two friendly enemies should be the ones again to catch him atmisdemeanor within the sacred oblong of the park.
Jane didn't like, any more than they, that they should be "rough" withher, to judge by the readiness with which she gave up the possibility ofescape and ranged alongside the Westerner, quite a bit less humped andhelpless looking, however, than in her approach.
"I'll say this is a pleasure--to be pinched by the only two friends I'vegot on the Force," offered Pape with his hand. "How are you to-night,'Donis Moore? O'Shay, greetings!"
"No shaking with prisoners!" The gruffness of the foot policeman wasremindful of that previous meeting in which his whistle had beenmistaken for a quail's.
Adonis ignored proprieties and gripped the proffered hand.
"What you up to now, Montana--unhorsed and scratching up our frontyard?"
"I'm a-digging," Pape returned.
"A-digging for what?"
Jane supplied: "For an herb called Root-of-Evil."
"I see. Herb-roots for mother, eh?" Moore squinted a confidential winktoward the Westerner. "If you'd taken my advice, you'd be throwingsomething better than dirt around for some one younger and----"
"But I did take your advice. This is what it led me to."
"Not in them clothes, you didn't. Why don't you hire out to the SewerDepartment, if excavating's your line? Sorry, but you and mother is inDutch with us."
There came a growl from Pudge. "Not Dutch--German, and with more thanus. Report of your doin's was 'phoned the station. They sent me out toround you up. I happened on me handsome friend here off-duty and broughthim along for good measure. I was minded to leave you go that othertime, you cheerful lunatic. But now I'm a-going to take you in. Watch'em, 'Donis, whilst I go ring for the wagon."
At this mention of the auto-patrol vehicle, behind the gratings of whichthe lawless and unfortunate are exhibited, like caged wildlings, throughthe city streets, Jane stepped toward Pape. He felt her hand steal intothe crook of his elbow, as if for protection from such a disgrace.Although personally he had no objection to wagoning across the park tothe Arsenal, he vibrated to her mute appeal.
"As a favor, Moore, would you mind walking us to your calaboose?" heasked. "I give you my cross-my-heart-and-hope that we'll not try to getaway. Don't refuse on mother's account. She's mighty spry on her feet."
Pudge O'Shay continued to grumble. Being a sparrow cop was no job for aflat-foot, especially a fat one, he declared. He was tired and sorry forhimself out loud. After a small controversy, however, he withdrew hisobjection to the stroll, if not taken at speed.
The procession started along No. 1 Traverse, the shortest route to theArsenal. The arresting officer led. The prime culprit, his young-oldaccomplice clinging to his arm, followed. The dismounted officer broughtup as rear guard.
"Got a permit for your automatic?" Pape was able to ask Jane in a murmurwell below the scrunch of feet.
"No. But I've got the automatic with me."
"Slip it to me!"
He did not explain the request. Whether he meant to force a gun-pointescape and needed her pistol to supplement his own against their twocaptors or whether he feared some such desperate initiative on her part,he left her to wonder. Watching their chance, he whispered "Now!" Nextsecond he had safe inside his own coat pocket that very small, veryblack and very competent looking something with which she had commandedhim in vain earlier in the day.
"Just try to trust me, Jane," was his response to the unquestioningobedience which had produced it from the blouse beneath her old-ladyblack.
"To try to trust you is getting easier, Peter."
The guarded admission sounded sweeter than the rhododendrons smelled. Hefelt happier going to jail with Jane than ever in his life before; wasluxuriating in sentimentality when a roar like that of flaunted Fatelacerated the air. Pape started and stared about; saw that they werenearing Fifth Avenue and the menagerie that flanks the Arsenal; assumedthat some monarch of the wild caged there had but vented his heart. Acalming hand he placed over the girl's two which had gripped his arm.
"Just a moth-eaten old lion dreaming of his native jungle and talking inhis sleep."
"But you don't understand what it might mean, that Nubian roar. It maybe another clew to point the location of--of what grandfather buried inthe park, you know."
Through the gloom he stared down into the gloomier scoop of her bonnet.
"Say," he enquired, mildly as he could, "you ain't going to ask me nextto play Daniel and to dig in that lion's den?"
"Hush. Don't make fun. This is very important. If we can find fourpoplars over on this side of the park, within earshot of the menagerielions--The first crypt verse starts off like this:
"'List to the Nubian roar And whisper of poplars four.'"
"I wish I could remember more accurately! It rhymes about bed-rock andcrock, height and might and fight, then trails off into figures. But Iam certain about those first two lines. Maybe we're getting close. Withthat Nubian roar as a center, let's walk round and round, in wideningcircles, until we list to the whisper of poplars four."
Pape's perplexity had not been eased by his steady stare into the poke.
"Very nice," he said, "that stroll round and round, provided we don't gotoo fast and get dizzy. But we can't start at the present moment."
"Why not?"--she, this time impatiently.
"You forget, my dear young lady, that we are arrested."
That was true. They were--and before the door of their jail.