Lonesome Town

by E. S. Dorrance and James French Dorrance

  CHAPTER XIX--TEN OF TO-MORROW MORN

  Not until the police court arraignment, held shortly after theprescribed hour next morning, had Peter Pape been impressed by thepersonality and power of ex-Judge Samuel Allen. Pinkish were the littlejurist's cheeks, modest his mustaches and by no means commanding hischubby, under-height figure. Yet at that bar of "justice" in themagistrate's court, he had proved a powerful ally.

  Mrs. Sturgis' first act after Irene's return home with her out-on-bailsthe evening before had been to send for the judge. He had pointed thatthe truth must not come out in open court--that the romance of a newsearch for Granddad Lauderdale's mysterious legacy would be seized uponby reporters and given undesirable newspaper publicity. Personally, heappeared more amused by the escapade than shocked, as was the matron,and had refused to take it seriously for a moment. He had undertaken tofix things along the lines of "silence, secrecy and suppression" if thetwo culprits would promise to go and sin no more.

  And with a neatness and dispatch that made his nondescript looks andmild manner seem a disguise, he had made good his promise. Thecomplicity of Miss Jane Lauderdale had been dismissed in a whisper and awave of the hand. Caught at digging in sacred ground on a bet, hercompanion's case was only one more illustration of the efficiency of thepark police. This plea, to the utter astonishment of Peter Pape, hadbeen briefly outlined by the jurist and a fine of ten dollars set. Aword from the magistrate had persuaded the press representative presentto crumple his sheet of notes and promise not even a brevity of a casewhich, less expertly suppressed, would have been worth headlines. By themagic of political affiliations between attorney and magistrate, Irenewas returned the ransom jewelry and her two prisoners were freed.

  Not until the chief culprit found himself standing alone on the curbbefore the antiquated court-house did he appreciate the seriousconsequences to himself of the contretemps. The two girls, with whom hehad not accomplished a single word aside, had just driven off in JudgeAllen's soft-sirened car. He had not been offered a lift, not even byIrene. As for Jane, she had given no sign of recognizing his existencebeyond her two rather abstracted nods of "good-morning" and "good-by."Until now he had tried to ascribe this manner to her idea of proprietyin court proceedings, as also Irene's mercifully subdued air. That bothshould desert him the moment they were free was enough of a shock tohold him on the spot, pondering. The cut had been unanimous, as thoughforeplanned. So smoothly had it seemed to sever all connection betweenthem that he did not realize it until staring after the numerals on thetail-plate of the automobile.

  She had "quit him cold," his self-selected lady. True, she had done soseveral times before. But it mattered more now. He had declared hisfealty; to some extent, had proved it; had hoped that he was gaining inher esteem. Now he was dropped, like a superfluous cat, in a strangealley. He felt as flattened-out as the cement of the pavement on whichhe stood. Into it, through the soles of his boots, his heart seemed tosink from its weight ... down ... down.

  But as his heart sank, his mind rose in a malediction strong as hispulse was weak:

  "To hell with the perquisites of our young ladies of to-day! Do I sayso--or _don't_ I?"

  His plans for the morning, which had included a start at that "round andround" stroll in search of four poplars within earshot of the parkmenagerie, were scrambled as had been his breakfast eggs. Not even theshell of a plan was left. The divine triumvirate was reduced to itsoriginal separateness--a blind father over in the East Side yellowbrick, a daughter luxuriously ensconced on the avenue, a Westernstray-about-town, lonely and alone.

  And the worst of it was that he could not see just how to right himself;could not blame Jane any more than Irene or himself. Loyalty was a thingto live, not to talk about. After his statements to Jane, both directand through her father, he looked, in the light of cousinly disclosures,an arrant philanderer--the sort of man who was willing, in Montana sportparlance, "to play both ends against the middle."

  The tongue of the bobbed-haired youngling had run according to form. Herbelief in her own desirability had put him at a serious disadvantage. Hecould not follow the cousins, demand a hearing and assert unmanfullythat he didn't love the one who said he did, but did love her who nowbelieved that he did not.

  Just as a peach was as much the down on its cheek as the pit, theresponse he craved from Jane must have a delicate, adhering confidenceover its heart and soul. If she did not know the one-woman-ness of hisfeeling for her, then the time had not come to tell her. He wouldn'thave wished to talk her into caring for him, even were he given toverbal suasion. Trust was not a thing to be added afterward. It must becomponent, delicate, adhering--part of the peach. She did--she mustalready trust him. But she must have her own time for realization.

  As for Irene, he'd have to boomerang the extravagant utterances and actsof that perquisitory young admirer back to their source as little like acad as possible. He felt sure she would not have seized on him had sheknown the havoc she wrought. She must not be unduly humiliated.

  If only folks were wholly good or wholly bad, therefore deserving ofabsolute punishment or absolute reward as in the movies, life and itsliving would be less of a strain. So philosophized Peter Pape. If, forinstance, Jane were a perfect heroine, she would have loved and trustedhim at first sight, as he had her. If he were a _reel_ hero, eithercaveman or domesticated, he'd have conquered her by brawn or brain longere this pitiable pass. Mills Harford, as rival, would have beenulteriorly and interiorly bad, rather than a likeable, fine chap muchmore worthy the girl, no doubt, than himself. Judge Allen, as builder ofbarriers between them, should be a long-nosed, hard-voiced,scintillating personage, instead of the rosy, round, restrained littleman he was. And "the young lady of to-day"--There would be needed a longexplanatory sub-title between a close-up of that guilelessly guilty,tender torment and one of her prototype, the histrionic, hectic vamp ofyesteryear.

  Still stationed on the curb, Pape gained strength from these theories toadvance into consideration of his most effective and immediate coursetoward the end of his present adventure. He had decided that he mustcontinue his attempt to serve in the disintegrated triumvirate, that hemust again force his presence upon Jane if she did not send for himsoon, that he must fail absolutely to recognize the insidious claims ofIrene, when he became conscious of the purring approach of a sport car.On hearing himself hailed by name, he looked up and saw that the manbehind the wheel was Mills Harford.

  "Have they come or gone?" the real-estater asked.

  "Both." Pape's mind still was somewhat afield.

  "Just my luck to be too late. Mrs. Sturgis might have 'phoned me sooner.Seems to me I should have been sent for first, whatever the scrape. Tellme, she got off all right--Miss Lauderdale?"

  "Why not?" Pape nodded, his mental eye upon the good and bad in thisrival to whom the baby vamp in the cast had erroneously assigned thesuccessful suitor role. "We both are loose," he added. "She got offscot-free and I, fortunately, was able to pay my fine. Mr. Allen fixedeverything. He's a capable somebody, the judge, a valuable acquaintancefor anybody restricted to life in an overgrown town like N' York. He hasa new client if anything else happens to me."

  At these assorted remarks Harford's manner changed. The concern on hishandsome face made way for a positive glare as he leaned over the sideof the car toward his informant.

  "Can't say I'm greatly concerned in what may or may not happen to you inthe near or far future, Pape, but I'll contribute gratis a word or twoof advice. Remember that you are in the semi-civilization of N' YorkTown, not the wild and woolly. Be a bit more careful."

  "Ain't used to being careful for my own sake." The Westerner all at oncefelt inspired that the occasion was one for a show of good-cheer. "Likeas not, though, I'd better take your advices to heart, especially asthey're gratis, for the sake of my friends and playmates."

  Harford snapped him up. "At any rate, in the future don't involve women.If you must run amuck, run it and muck it alone. If you make any moredisturbance
around Miss Lauderdale, you'll hear from me."

  Now, this sounded more like "legitimate" than the movies. The potentialvillain's sneer and tone of superiority brought out the regular impulsesof a hero like a rash on Pape. Only with effort did he guard his tongue.

  "Wouldn't take any bets on my being in a listening mood, Harfy," he maderemark.

  "You'll listen to what I have to say, I guess, mood or no mood," Harfordcontinued. "Your debut into a circle where you never can belong wasamusing at first. But any joke may be overplayed. This one is gettingtoo tiresome to be practical. I've tried to keep to myself what I thinkabout an oil-stock shark like you catapulting himself into such a familyas the Sturgis', but if you want me to illustrate----"

  He had slid over on the seat from behind the steering wheel. Now he halfrose, his hand upon the latch of the car door, as though about todescend to the pavement. But he did not turn the handle.

  With synchronous movements Pape stepped to the running board, clappedtwo heavy hands upon the real-estater's immaculately tailored shouldersand sat his would-be social mentor down upon the seat with what musthave been a tooth-toddling jar. That mention of oil stock had beenseveral syllables too many in strictures to which he was not accustomed.

  Only Jane and Curtis Lauderdale had direct knowledge of hiswrong-righting mission to the East and they, he felt certain, had notspoken with Harford since he with them. The question was pertinent howthis handsome, fiery-pated young metropolitan, so frankly andunexpectedly showing himself as an out-and-out enemy, had happened onthe connection. To wring the facts out of him then and there would havebeen a treat. Yet neither the time nor set was propitious for measuresas drastic as their slump to type in character and motivation madeimminent.

  "Having just been before the august court, I ain't homesick to return,"Pape said, easing, but not foregoing his shoulder hold. "So if you'lljust postpone that illustration until a more suitable time and place forme to illustrate back what I think of your dam' impudence, I won't gethauled in again and you hauled out of a reg'lar back-home bashing up."

  By way of agreement, Harford threw off his hold and moved across theseat. That he made no further effort to leave the car did not deceivePape as to his courage or capacity. His coloring bespoke a temper offierce impulses and physically he looked fit, a few pounds heavy, butstrong-framed and plastered with muscles.

  Pape dismissed the present opportunity by stepping back to the pavement."Let's hope our trails will cross soon in a get-together place. I'mmighty interested in oil stock and I've got to get exercise somehow."

  "Where did the others go from here?" Harford enquired, with an abruptresumption of his accustomed _savoir-faire_.

  "Heard the judge say 'Home, James' to his chauffeur"--Pape, adaptably."I wouldn't have been here to answer your questions if he hadn't plumbforgot to ask me to climb aboard."

  The forward movement of the sport car made safe Harford's back-thrownjibe:

  "He didn't forget, Pape. He _remembered_ not to ask you to ride. It'sbeen a generation since Judge Allen has appeared in police court. He'sthrough with you, as are the rest of us."

  "Oh, no, he ain't," the ranchman called after the car, with what outwardcheer he could exact from his inner confidence. "He's only begun withme--he and the rest of you."

  In retrospect the maliciousness of the rich real-estater's snub gainedupon him. So he was not and never could be of their sort--was a socialineligible!

  He didn't feel that way. In blood, brain and brawn he always hadconsidered himself anybody's equal. And what else mattered in themake-up of he-man? He owed it to the expanses from which he hadcome--limitless space, freedom of winds, resource to feed the world--toshow Harfy, the Sturgises and even the Lauderdales just what, from whatand toward what he was headed. He owed it to the graduate school of theGreat West to prove the manliness of its alumni. He owed it to all thepast Peter Stansburys and Papes who had done and dared to demonstratethat the last of the two lines had inherited some degree of theircourage, good-faith and initiative. Before to-day he had been asked asto his family tree. He must show these Back Easters some symbol of themyriad horsepower of the roof of the continent, a share in which hadstrengthened him to defy difficulty and command success. Why should he?For certain he wouldn't be Why-Not Pape if he let them twit him twice!He'd show them--by some sign, he'd show them that he, too, was born toan escutcheon rampant!

  As he started toward Lexington Avenue and a disengaged taxi, he searchedthe sea of resource for the likeliest channel through which to bring hispromise-threat into port and the anchorage of accomplishment.