VICIOUS LUCIUS
Lucius Fry lived up back of the Power-house on the outskirts ofTinkletown. He had a wife, two children and a horse and buggy. For agreat many years he had led a quiet, peaceful, even suppressedexistence. Being a rather smallish, bony sort of man, with a largeAdam's apple and bow legs, he was an object of considerable scorn notonly to his acquaintances but to his wife and children, and after afashion, to his horse.
The latter paid absolutely no attention to him when he said "Get-ap," orwhen he applied the "gad"; she neither obeyed the command nor resentedthe chastisement. She jogged along in her own sweet way quite as if hewere nowhere in the vicinity. His wife abused him, and his childrenignored him. No one, it would appear, had the slightest use or respectfor Lucius Fry.
He was, by profession, a well-digger. The installation of a water-workssystem in Tinkletown had made him a well-digger in name only. For amatter of five or six years, barring the last six months, he had been inthe employ of his wife. She took in washing, and it was his job tocollect and deliver the "wash" three times a week. In return for this hereceived board and lodging and an occasional visit to themoving-picture theatre. One of his daughters clerked in thefive-and-ten-cent store, and the other, aged twelve, was errand girl toMiss Angie Nixon, the fashionable dressmaker.
Lucius had married very much above him, so to speak. That is to say, hiswife was something like nine or ten inches the taller of the two. Whenthey appeared on the street together,--which was seldom,--you could seehim only if you chanced to be on _that_ side of her. Mrs. Fry was nearlysix feet tall and very wide, but Lucius was not much over five feet two.He had a receding chin that tried to secrete itself behind a scant,dun-colored crop of whiskers, cultivated by him with two purposes inview; first, to provide shelter for his shrinking chin, and second, toavoid the arduous and unnecessary task of shaving.
_When they appeared on the street together_]
Roughly speaking, Lucius was a shiftless creature. It had long been theconsensus of opinion--freely expressed throughout Tinkletown--that hedid not amount to a tinker's dam.
However that may be, some six or seven months prior to the incidentsabout to be related, Mr. Fry himself wrought a tremendous andunbelievable change in the foregoing opinion. Almost in the wink of aneyelash he passed through a process of transmogrification that not onlybewildered him but caused the entire community to sit up and take noticeof him.
It all came about in the oddest sort of way. For a number of yearsLucius had been in the habit of currying the old grey mare on Saturdaymornings. Away back in his mind lurked an hereditary respect for theSabbath. He wanted old Peggy to be as clean as possible onSunday--observing the same principle, no doubt, that induces a greatmany people to take a bath on Saturday night. Moreover, he changed thebedding in her stall on Saturdays, employing a pitchfork and a spade.
For a number of years Peggy had put up with these attentions, respondingamiably to his directions--such as "Get over, dern ye," or "Whoa, back,""Stan' still, can't ye?" and so on.
One never-to-be-forgotten Saturday morning in the spring of the year,Peggy happened to be peevish. The cause of her peevishness was a swarmof intensely active flies. Mr. Fry was accustomed to an occasional swishof her tail across his face. He even welcomed it, for the flies botheredhim almost as much as they did Peggy. On mornings when he felt unusuallytired, he was rather grateful to Peggy for including him in the sweep ofher tail.
But on this particular morning the exasperated nag planted one of herhoofs on Mr. Fry's toes while he was engaged in brushing out the kinksin her mane.
Mrs. Fry happened to be in the stable at the time, seeing if the henshad mislaid anything in the hay. She was astonished by the roar of amighty oath, followed almost instantly by a thunderous thump on thebarrel-like anatomy of the family horse. A second or two later Peggy'shead came in for a resounding whack, and the stream of profanityincreased to a torrent.
Springing to her feet, the surprised lady cast a startled glance overthe manger into the stall. Her husband had old Peggy backed up againstthe partition and was preparing to deliver a third blow with the spadewhen she called out to him: "Stop it, you little fool!"
Mr. Fry's attention was diverted. Peggy was spared the impending blow.Instead, the outraged hostler charged around the partition, through anarrow passage and into the presence of his wife. He hobbled painfully.Inarticulate sounds issued from his compressed lips. He gripped thespade-handle so tightly that cords stood out on his rather formidableforearms.
Mrs. Fry got as far as "You ugly little--" and then, as he bore downupon her, turned to flee. He altered his course, and as she passed himon the way to the open door, the flat of the spade landed with impellingforce upon the broadest part of her person. The sound was not so hollowas that which resulted from the wallop on Peggy's ribs, but its echo wasa great deal more far-reaching. Indeed, Mrs. Fry's howl could have beenheard a quarter of a mile away. She passed through the door into thebarnyard on the wing, as it were.
_He altered his course, and as she passed him, the flatof his spade landed with impelling force_]
Lucius blindly took another swing at her with the spade as she made herexit. Missing her by several feet, he spun completely around severaltimes with the momentum; then, not to be deprived of the full measure oftriumph, he hurled the implement after her retreating figure. Rageimproved the accuracy as well as the force of his effort. The spadecaught Mrs. Fry below the waistline and for nearly a month thereaftershe was in the habit of repairing with female visitors to an upstairsbedroom where she proudly revealed to them the extensive welt producedby her husband's belated return to power.
Not completely satisfied, however, he set out in pursuit of her,principally on one foot, but with a swiftness that surprised both ofthem. Overtaking her near the barnyard gate, he pulled up suddenly,realizing the peril of being too precipitate. He was rushing intodisaster. She was likely to turn and snatch the offensive away from him.But just as he was on the point of turning to run the other way, sheflopped down on her knees and began begging him for God's sake to spareher! Her eyes were tightly closed, and her arms were raised to shieldher face.
Seizing this fine opportunity, he edged around in front of her, took themost careful, deliberate aim, and forthwith planted his fist solidlyupon her unprotected nose.
He had always wanted to do it, but never before had the opportunitypresented itself. He couldn't remember when he had caught her with hereyes closed before. She invariably stayed awake longer than he did atnight, telling him the same thing she had told him the night before, andin the morning she kicked him out of bed before his eyes were open. Nowhere was the golden, long-desired chance. It might never occur again. Sohe swung with all his might and main.
Mrs. Fry involuntarily arose from her knees, balanced on her heels for asecond or two and then sat down some distance away with the same heelsin the air.
Then and there Lucius Fry ceased to be a person of no consequence.
Two or three neighbours, bent on rescuing Mrs. Fry, got no nearer thanthe barn-lot fence. Lucius, still hopping around on one foot, gatheredup a stick of stove-wood in each hand, and let fly at them with suchdetermination and precision that they decided to let him go ahead andmurder her.
When Mrs. Fry's daughters hurried into the house a short time afterward,they found their mother dressing and bandaging Mr. Fry's foot andchokingly inquiring if she was hurting him. Between sentences sheapplied a wet towel to a prodigious, unrecognizable object that had oncebeen her nose.
Juliet, the elder, planted herself in front of her father andpassionately inquired if it was true that he had dared to strike hermother.
Lucius, with rare forethought, had provided himself with a stick ofstove-wood before entering the house. He now held it in his right hand.He was not going to take any chances on his wife's treachery. He wasready for the slightest sign of an uprising. Without answering hisdaughter's question, he took a firm grip on the stick and started toarise from his chair, upset
ting the pail of water that his wife had beenusing. Mrs. Fry screeched.
"Don't hit her! Don't kill her, Lucius! For God's----"
"Shut up!" snarled Lucius. "I'm goin' to belt the life out of her if shecomes around here disturbin' the peace. I'm peaceable now, Stella--we'vegot perfect peace now, ain't we? But if she tries to--Well, you'll seewhat'll happen, young lady. Go an' get a mop and clean up that water.D'ye hear me? Beat it!"
"For the Lord's sake, Juliet, do what he tells you," begged Mrs. Fry.
"An' do it _quick_," said Mr. Fry.
Having so suddenly--and unintentionally--gained the upper hand in hishousehold, he was determined if possible to retain it. Temporarily atleast he had his wife scared almost to death and so submissive that hecouldn't think of half enough indignities to heap upon her, no matterhow hard he tried; and his disdainful daughters spoke in hushed voices,and got up every morning to start the kitchen fire, and carried in thewood, and waited on him first at meals, and allowed him to read _TheBanner_ before any one else claimed it, and fed the chickens, andbehaved as daughters ought to behave. It was too good to be true. But aslong as it really appeared to be true, he couldn't afford to relax foran instant; he went about with a perpetual scowl and swore from morningtill night.
Every other week he went out to the stable, and after closing the doors,proceeded to belabour an old saddle with a pitchfork handle. The soundsreaching the back porch of the house caused Mrs. Fry to cover her earsand moan: "Poor old Peggy! O-oh! My gracious! He'll--he'll kill her!"
Occasionally he threw a stove-lid or a hatchet or something else at hiswife, but his aim was singularly bad, for try as he would, he did notappear to come closer than five or six feet to her with any of themissiles. Once in a while he displayed the most appalling desire todestroy everything in sight. On such occasions he smashed chairs, brokeup the crockery or tramped all over the garments that Mrs. Fry had justhung out to dry. By mistake, he once picked up a hot stove-lid, and thenhe swore in earnest. His dutiful wife wrapped his hand up in soda andcalled the stove-lid a "nasty old thing!"
In a very short time everybody in Tinkletown was talking about LuciusFry. Some one, lying with a little more enterprise than the rest,started the report that he had gone to Boggs City, the county seat, andhad thrashed a bartender who refused to sell him a drink. This reportgrew until Lucius was credited with having polished off a whole bar-roomfull of men without so much as sustaining a scratch himself.
When Lucius appeared on Main Street, men who had never noticed himbefore went out of their way to be polite and friendly. Women who pitiedMrs. Fry looked at him with interest and called him, under their breath,a "big ugly brute." Children stopped playing and ran when they sawLucius Fry approaching.
Harry Squires, editor of _The Banner_, in reporting one of Mr. Fry'smost violent eruptions, alluded to him as "vicious Lucius." The nameclung to the little man. It was some time before the general publiccould utter it with confidence. Haste was not conducive to accuracy.Rash assuredness frequently turned Mr. Fry into "Vooshious Lishius" or"Lishius Vooshious" or even "V'looshious Ooshious."
Mrs. Fry, in course of time, grew to be very proud of her master, thedespot of Power-house Gully. She revealed her pride every time she fellin with acquaintances on the way to church. In reply to an oft-repeatedquestion as to why Mr. Fry did not go to church with her any longer, sheinvariably gave the supercilious reply that nowadays when she requestedher husband to go to church, he told her to go to hell instead--and thatwas the kind of a man she respected, she said, not one of yourweak-kneed, henpecked cowards who go to church because they are moreafraid of their wives than they are of the devil. And while themountainous Mrs. Fry was no longer able to thrash her five-foot-twohusband, she still inspired fear among churchgoers of both sexes and allages. She frequently asserted that she could lick any man in Tinkletownexcept her husband--and moreover, if any officer of the law everattempted to arrest Lucius for what he did to her, she'd beat his headoff--that's what she'd do.
The marshal of Tinkletown, Anderson Crow, on three separate occasionsorganized a posse to go out to Power-house Gully to arrest Lucius on thecomplaint of neighbours who said they couldn't stand hearing his wife'showls any longer. On each of these occasions, the marshal got as far asthe Fry front gate, backed by eight or ten of the huskiest men in town.There they were intercepted by Mrs. Fry, who told them that Lucius wasupstairs peaceably reloading his double-barreled shotgun, or oiling uphis trusty old horse-pistol, as the case may have been, and she didn'tbelieve he would like to be disturbed.
"Is he ca'am an' quiet, Stella?" Marshal Crow would ask.
"As quiet as a lamb," Mrs. Fry would reply.
"Then I guess we'd better leave him alone," the Marshal would say,adding: "But if he ever goes on the rampage again, just you send for me,Stella, an' I'll come as quick as I can."
And the wife of Vicious Lucius would say: "Don't forget to bring theundertaker with you when you come, Anderson. You won't need a doctor."
At times Lucius would feel his courage slipping. At such times he wouldgo out to the barn and jostle old Peggy around in the stall, hopingagainst hope, but without the desired result. She simply _wouldn't_ stepon his foot.
One bitter cold night just before Christmas, a group of Tinkletown'sforemost citizens sat around the big sheet-iron stove in Lamson's store.Outside, the wind was blowing a gale; it howled and shrieked around thecorners of the building, banged forgotten window-shutters, slammedsuspended signboards with relentless fury, and afforded unlimited foodfor reflection, reminiscence and prophecy. It was long past Mr. Lamson'scustomary hour for closing the store, but with rare tact the loungerspermitted him to do most of the talking. It was nice and warm in thevicinity of the stove, and there were tubs of dried apples and prunesand a sack of hazel nuts within easy reach.
"I'll never forget the Christmas I spent out in Nebraska," Mr. Lamsonwas saying. He was probably the most travelled man in town. Every timehe told a story, he went a little farther West. (Harry Squiresdisconcerted him on one occasion by asking in his most ironic manner ifhe didn't think it would be a good idea to settle in California when hegot there, and Mr. Lamson, after thinking it over, stopped hissubscription to _The Banner_.) "Yes sir; that was a terrible winter. Idon't know as I ever told you about it, but we had to drive twenty-sixmiles in sleighs to get a tree on Christmas Eve. I mean a Christmastree. The thermometer registered twenty-six below zero and--"
He was interrupted by the opening of the door. An icy draft swept downthe length of the store.
"Shut that door!" roared out Marshal Crow.
But the door remained open. Whereupon every one craned his neck to seewho was responsible. There was no one in sight.
"That's funny," said Newt Spratt. "I shut it tight when I came in awhileago."
"Well, go and shut it again," ordered Mr. Crow. "Do you want us tofreeze our ears right here in sight o' Jim Lamson's stove?"
Newt got up and kicked the door shut, saw that it was latched, andreturned to his place near the stove. Marshal Crow, during his absence,had bettered his position. He had exchanged a seat on a box of soap forthe cane-bottom chair Newt had been occupying.
"As I was sayin'," resumed Mr. Lamson, "the thermometer registered--"
Again the door flew open, banging against a barrel of sugar. With oneaccord the assembled group arose and peered at the open door.
"Well, now, that _is_ funny," said Newt. "I latched her sure that time."
"Acts like ghosts," said Elmer K. Pratt, the photographer.
"If I was a drinking man," said Alf Reesling, the town drunkard, "I'dthink I had 'em."
Marshal Crow stalked to the door, pulling his coat-collar up about histhroat as he encountered the furious blast of the wind.
At the top of the steps leading up to the porch stood a small figurewrapped in a shawl. The light from within shone full upon the figure. Itwas that of a young girl, and she was looking intently up the street.
"Well, of all the--Say, don
't you know it's after nine o'clock?"exclaimed the old Marshal. "What's a young girl like you doin' out thistime o' night?"
"Is--is that you, Mr. Crow?" quaked the girl without turning her head.
"It is. What's that got to do with it?"
"I--You don't see him anywheres up the street, do you?"
"Come inside if you want to talk to me. I ain't goin' to stand here inthis door an' freeze to death. Come in here, I say."
"I dassent. Maybe he follered me."
"Maybe who follered you?"
"Him."
By this time several other customers had joined the Marshal.
"Why, it's Lucius Fry's girl Elfaretta," said Elmer K. Pratt. "What'sthe matter, Elfie?"
"You're sure he ain't follerin' me? Look hard," said the girl.
They all looked hard.
"I don't see anybody, Elfie," said Anderson Crow.
"It's a little early for Santa Claus," said Harry Squires, turning backto the stove, his eye on the only rocking-chair in the place. "Comeinside and tell us all about it."
The girl entered the store, and some one closed the door. She wasshivering, and not altogether from the cold. Her glance darted hitherand thither, as if in quest of a more enduring protection than thatexemplified by the man-power surrounding her.
"Roll that barrel of sugar over against the door," she ordered quickly."I wouldn't have him catch me here for anything."
"You needn't be skeered," said the Marshal. "Ain't we here? Let's see:there's one, two--eight of us. I guess--"
"He'd clean this bunch up as easy as rolling off a log," said Elfaretta,edging toward the fire, but all the while casting uneasy apprehensiveglances over her shoulder.
Newt Spratt and Situate M. Jones jointly took it upon themselves to rollthe barrel of sugar up against the door.
"Are you referring to your estimable dad?" inquired Mr. Squires from therocking-chair.
"Yes, I am," said Elfaretta somewhat defiantly.
"Is he a little more vicious than usual tonight?" asked the reporter.
"He never was worse," said the girl. "He's just simply awful. I had tocome out to see if I couldn't get Mr. Crow to come up to the housean'--an' settle him. He seen me just as I was going out the door, andtook after me. Out by the front gate he slipped on the ice and set downlike a ton of bricks. Oh, I never heard such cussing. You got to come upto the house right away, Mr. Crow. He's just terrible. He--"
"Hold on a minute," interrupted the Marshal. "Go slow, now, an' answermy questions. Is he--"
"He's throwing things around something awful. Ma's in the pantry withthe door locked, and Juliet's hiding up in the--"
"I know all that," broke in Mr. Crow sharply. "You needn't tell me aboutthat. What I want to know is, is he or is he not in his own house, underhis own roof?"
"He is, unless he's still setting out there in the front yard--orfollerin' after me," she concluded with a terrified look at thebarricaded door. "Do you think that barrel's heavy enough to stop him?"
"Well, if he's inside his own house, I can't touch him without awarrant. You'll have to go an' swear out a search-warrant for him,Elfarettie. It's against the law for me to arrest--"
"But ain't it against the law for him to be trying to murder Ma andJuliet and me?"
"There ain't no use arguing about it. I can't go an' get him without awarrant."
"You won't have to go in," said she confidently. "All you got to do isto let him know you're outside--anywheres--looking for him, and he'llcome out; and he'll come without a warrant--you can bet your life onthat, Mr. Crow. He says he's getting awful sick of having nothing tolick but women. He--"
"Did he say that?" demanded Marshal Crow, frowning and pulling at hiswhiskers.
"He put in some extra words, but I can't say 'em," said Elfaretta.
"I've a notion to--to--" began the Marshal in a somewhat bellicosemanner, and then sadly shook his head. "No, it wouldn't be legal. I'm anofficer of the law. But let me tell you one thing, Elfaretta Fry, if I_wasn't_ an officer of the law, I'd take your dad by the back of theneck and shake him till his shoes flew off."
"We're getting away from the main issue," broke in Mr. Squires, thegadfly. "The point is, Anderson, are you going to let Vicious Luciusbeat his family to death, or are you going up to the Gully and arresthim?"
The Marshal looked at Harry reproachfully. "You know I ain't empoweredby law to enter a man's house without a warrant, Harry Squires."
"But the girl says you won't have to. She says her father will be onlytoo glad to step outside."
"How do I know she's telling the truth about all this rumpus? She ain'tunder oath, is she? Well, there's got to be an affidavit, properly swornto, before I do anything. It's the law, an' you know it. She may belyin' like all get-out."
The girl flared up. "I'm going to tell Pa you called me a liar. He'llbust your jaw if--"
"I didn't _call_ you a liar," snapped Anderson. "I only said _maybe_you're lyin'. I leave it to anybody here if I said you was a liar; an'besides, your pa ain't man enough to bust my jaw anyhow. You go home an'tell him I said--"
"Let's get the facts about this present embroglio, Anderson, before wemake arrangements for another," put in Mr. Squires.
"I've no objection to that," said Anderson, a note of relief in hisvoice. "She can't swear out a warrant till tomorrow morning anyhow, sothere's no particular hurry."
"But he's killin' Ma tonight!" burst in the girl.
"Keep cool now, my girl; don't get excited," cautioned the Marshal."What was he plannin' to kill her with? A gun?"
"No, sir. He had a hammer in one hand and a flatiron in the other, thelast I saw of him."
"Well, go on--tell us all about it."
"It was awful sudden. We were all setting around the kitchen stove, andPa was cracking hickory-nuts, just as nice and peaceful as anything. Hewas joking with Ma and telling her he couldn't help it if the women upour way were going plumb crazy over him--specially that Mrs. Banks,whose husband works at the tanyard. Every time Pa goes out in the backyard, she comes and leans on her fence and talks to him, making eyes andgrinning like a cat. She's worse than Mrs. Elam Crippen and Mrs.Ducker--and Ma's been noticing it too. She's worried about Pa.
"Up to three months ago there wasn't a woman in town that'd look at him,and now they can't seem to look at anybody else. Mrs. Banks came out inher back yard yesterday and gave Pa a good pair of overshoes and a furcap that belonged to her husband. Pa didn't want to take 'em, but shesaid she didn't care if Mr. Banks _did_ get mad; he wasn't much of a mananyhow and she wouldn't take any back talk off'n him. Juliet heard Mrs.Crippen say to Pa the other day that if he'd give her one of hisphotographs, she'd be the happiest mortal alive. And Mrs. Ducker callsto see Ma nearly every washday now, just when she's busiest, and so Pahas to sit and entertain her.
"Yesterday a couple of women that Ma don't even know stopped out infront of the house and giggled at everything Pa said, and one of 'emsaid: 'Oh, you naughty man!' When Pa came into the house, Ma asked himwhat he was saying to those strange women that made 'em call him anaughty man, and Pa looked awful worried and wouldn't tell her. He saidit wasn't his fault if women acted like fools. He's all swelled-up, Pais. Wears his best clothes every day and has taken to smoking cigarettesinstead of a pipe when he's outside the house. Ma was counting up theother day just to see how much the cigarettes cost her, and--But thatwasn't what I started to tell you. I--"
"I seen him walkin' down Cutler Street day before yesterday with awoman," said Alf Reesling. "Fat sort of a woman with a pink hat on."
"That's Mrs. Banks. She--"
"Never mind about Mrs. Banks," interrupted the Marshal. "Confineyourself to the evidence in this case, an' nothing else."
"Well, as I was saying, Pa was peaceful and quiet, cracking nuts on theflatiron. He got hold of a tough hickor'-nut, and it wouldn't crack veryeasy. So he had to hit it as hard as he could. Somehow he missed it, andsmack went the hammer right on his thumb. My goodness! You'd ought tohave
heard him yell. He hopped up and began dancing around the kitchen,sucking his thumb and trying to swear with his mouth full. Masays,--this is all she said,--Ma says: 'Did you hit your finger,Lucius?' Pa let fly the hammer. It didn't miss her head a foot. Then hefired the flatiron at her feet. Ma screamed and started to run to'ardsthe back stairs. Pa knocked over the kitchen table trying to head heroff. She stumbled and fell down on her hands and knees. Then while hewas looking for something to beat her brains out with, she got up andrun into the pantry and locked the door.
"Juliet was squealing her head off. Pa picked up the hammer and startedto'ard her. Juliet made a break for the stairs, and Pa let go with thehammer. He missed her, but he knocked a big hole in the ceiling. Then hegrabbed the tea-kettle off the stove and threw it at the cat. He gotsome of the boiling water on his legs, I guess, because he grabbed 'emin his hands and yelled like an Indian. He swore he'd kill everybody inthe house. So I beat it. He was hunting for the flatiron and the hammer,and I was outside before he noticed me. I grabbed this old redtablecloth as I went out and put it around me. When I saw a light inyour store, Mr. Lamson, I knowed Mr. Crow would be here, so up I came.Now, what are you going to do about it, Mr. Crow?"
The Marshal pondered. "You say your Ma's safely locked in the pantry?"
"She was--unless he busted the door down."
"And Julie is up in the attic?"
"Yes, and she's probably dead by this time. There ain't any lock on theattic door."
"Well, seems to me they're perfectly safe till morning. Julie could jumpout of the attic window if the worst come to the worst. The thing that'sworryin' me is you. Where are you going to sleep tonight, Elfie?"
"Right here in Mr. Lamson's rocking-chair," said the girl promptly.
"I'll take her up to my house," said Alf Reesling. "She can crawl inwith my daughter Queenie."
"That's out of the question," said Harry Squires, arising and lookingaround for his overcoat. "We will need you, Alf. The Marshal is going toorganize a posse and go up to Power-house Gully and capture ViciousLucius dead or alive, before he's half an hour older."
"What's that?" demanded the Marshal, startled.
"You heard what I said. Get into your overcoats and goloshes, gentlemen.The Marshal instructs me to say that we will be leaving here in fiveminutes."
"Well, I'll be dog-goned!" oozed from Marshal Crow's lips. He wasstaring quite hopelessly at Harry Squires.
"Isn't that a fact, Mr. Crow?" inquired Harry, fixing him with a mostdisconcerting look.
Anderson indulged in a short fit of coughing. "Yes," he said, afterrecovering himself, "it _is_ a fact, but I'd like to know how you gotonto it."
"I am a mental telegrapher, Mr. Crow," said the reporter, carefullyplacing a hat upon Mr. Reesling's head. "There's your hat, Alf. Now besure and pick out a good coat."
* * * * *
The Marshal's posse eventually resolved itself into a party oftwo--Anderson Crow and Harry Squires. Elmer K. Pratt remembered that hisyoungest child had the croup, and he couldn't leave her; Situate M.Jones complained of a sudden and violent attack of lumbago; Newt Sprattloudly demanded the flaxseed his wife had asked him to bring home sothat she could make a poultice for a terrible toothache she was enjoyingthat evening; Alf Reesling refused to desert poor little Elfie; and twoother gentlemen succeeded in sneaking out the back way while theMarshal's view was obstructed by the aforesaid slackers. StorekeeperLamson had a perfectly sound excuse. He was a pacifist. However, he waswilling to lend his revolver to the Marshal and a pair of brass "knucks"to Harry Squires.
Approaching Power-house Gully, the two adventurers observed shadowyforms moving about in the darkness at the foot of the slope. Theypaused.
"Mostly women, I should say," remarked the Marshal.
"Probably hoping that Lucius is a widower by this time," said thereporter.
"So's they c'n send flowers an' victuals to him all the time he's injail," said Anderson. "S'pose you go down an' talk to 'em, Harry, whileI sneak around the back way and reconnoitre."
"That's a good idea," said Harry. "I'll just rush in through the frontdoor, and he'll make a break to escape by the rear, so you'll be rightthere to head him off."
"Come to think of it," said Anderson hastily, "maybe we'd better see ifhe's out in the front yard first. Come on."
Eight or ten people were congregated in front of the Fry house,conversing in a hushed, excited manner. The Marshal and his companionbore down upon them. As the former had remarked, they were "mostly"women. There was but one man in the group. He turned out to be no otherthan Vicious Lucius himself.
_Eight or ten people were congregated in front of the Fryhouse_]
"What's this I hear about you, Lucius Fry?" demanded Anderson Crow.
"Don't you dare arrest Mr. Fry, Anderson Crow," cried one of the ladies."He ain't done anything but give her what she deserves, and----"
"Can I speak to you private, Mr. Crow?" interrupted Vicious Lucius in ahurried manner. He was wearing an overcoat that came down to his heels,and a derby hat that rested rather firmly upon his ears.
Anderson stared at him in horror.
"Good gosh, Lucius, have you--have you had your hands cut off?" hegasped, looking hard at the flapping coat-sleeves.
"Course I ain't," said Mr. Fry, lifting his arms on high, allowing thesleeves to slip down a half a foot or more and revealing his hands."This ain't my coat. It's Jim Banks'. A little too big fer me--and thehat too, I reckon."
"I just couldn't let him catch his death o' cold," explained the buxomMrs. Banks.
"He just simply won't go back into the house," said Mrs. Ducker. "And Idon't blame him, either. He's afraid he might throw her out of a windowand--and break her neck, didn't you say, Lucius?"
"No, I didn't. I said I was afraid I'd break the winder," said Lucius,glaring at Mrs. Ducker from beneath the rim of Mr. Banks' hat.
"Where is your wife?" demanded Anderson.
"In there," said Lucius, pointing a drooping coat-sleeve in the generaldirection of his domicile. "Come on over here by the lamp-post, Mr.Crow. I got something important I want to say to you."
"You ain't going to give yourself up without a fight, are you, Lucius?"cried Mrs. Banks in considerable agitation.
"You leave me alone," snarled Lucius in a manner so malevolent that Mrs.Banks cried out delightedly:
"Oh, ain't he just grand? Did you hear the way he spoke to me, EmmaDucker? Goodness, what would I give if I had a man that could talk to melike--"
"You ought to heard what he said to me when I asked him to come over toour house and--" began Mrs. Ducker somewhat acrimoniously.
"Oh, cut it out--cut it out!" rasped Lucius. "Beat it! Go home, all ofyou! Gosh a'mighty, can't a feller lick his own wife without--Here!Leggo my arm! What in thunder are you tryin' to do, Lou Banks?"
"I'm going to take you over to my house and put your feet in a hotmustard bath, and--"
"No, you ain't! Leggo, I say! Fer the Lord's sake, Officer, chase 'emaway!"
"Move on, now--move on, all of you," commanded the Marshal, waving therevolver in lieu of his well-known night-stick. "What you got to say tome, Lucius?" he asked as the women fell back.
"Do you think they c'n hear?"
"Not unless you whisper loudern' that."
"Well, say, I want you to do me a favour. I want you to take me up tothe jail an' lock me in."
"You--you want to be locked in?"
"I don't care whether you put it that way er to lock all these foolwomen out. It's all the same to me. I ain't had a minute's peace fornearly two months. I--"
"Why don't you go in your own house an' stay there?" demanded Anderson.
"That don't seem to help any. They come to call on me so often you'dthink I was a preacher or a doctor. An' what's more, my wife's beginnin'to get her dander up. I c'n see what's comin'. If she ever--gee, it willbe awful!"
"Then you hain't murdered her yet? I understood you had."
* * * * *
Vicious Lucius looked over his shoulder and drew closer to the Marshal.
"This here strain is gittin' to be too much fer me, Mr. Crow. I can'tkeep it up much longer. I'm breakin' down. I been thinkin' it over, an'I can't see any way out of it except to go to jail fer a month er two."
"What's the charge?" inquired Marshal Crow.
"There won't be any. I'll do it fer nothing. It won't cost you a cent toarrest me."
"That ain't what I mean. What I mean is what offence have you committed?What law have you broke?"
"Well, it's purty hard to say."
"What charge will your wife make ag'inst you? Somebody has to make one,you know."
"That's just it. She won't make any charge against me--positively not.So I've got to do it myself. You've had a lot of experience. What fersort of a charge would you say I ought to bring?"
"Against yourself? It ain't regular, Lucius."
"How about insanity? Wouldn't that be a safe sort of complaint? I beenactin' mighty queer lately."
"I should say you had. Ain't you goin' to resist arrest?"
"No, I'm askin' fer it. If you don't want to be seen walkin' through thestreets with me, I'll go on ahead an' wait fer you at the jail."
"Well, this certainly beats all! I thought sure you'd put up an awfulfight, Lucius."
"I want to be locked up so's I won't commit murder," Lucius explainedeagerly.
"Good gracious! You come along with me, Lucius Fry. You got to be putunder lock an' key 'fore this night is over. I can't take no chances onyour murderin' that pore defenceless wife of your'n. You come--"
"I ain't thinkin' of murderin' my wife," protested Lucius, holding back."What I'm scared of is I'll murder one or two of these pesky women--thatBanks woman, fer instance. It's gittin' so I can't stick my nose outsidethe door 'thout her droppin' everything an' runnin' out to gab with me.I don't get a minute's privacy. If it ain't one, it's another. You'dthink I was Napoleon Boneparte, the way them women act. I don't knowwhat's come over 'em."
"Why, it's just 'cause they think you can lick any man in town. That'sthe way with some women. The more brutal a man is to his own wife, themore the other women seem to appreciate him. I must say, it takes apurty good man to lick that wife of your'n--she's twice as big as youare, and--"
"Why, gosh dern it, Mr. Crow, I couldn't lick Stella in a millionyears," whispered Lucius fiercely.
"What's that? You--you say you can't lick your wife?"
"_I should say not!_" exclaimed Mr. Fry, raising his voice inearnestness. Instantly he lowered it, standing on his tip-toes thebetter to impart the following information to the amazed Marshal: "Shecan lick me with both hands tied behind her back. Nobody knows itbetter'n I do. I just got to keep throwin' things at her an' cussin' an'smashin' furniture, an' all that, 'cause if she ever got an idea howscared I am of her, she'd pick me up by the seat of my pants an'--Oh, Itell you it's gettin' to be more'n I c'n stand, Mr. Crow. It's mightyhard to keep on thinkin' you got to keep on bein' brave when you'rescared plumb to death all the time. Why, if Stella ever got onto thefact that I--"
"But you keep on beatin' her just the same, don't you?"
"I never beat her unless her back's turned. First I throw somethin' ather. That's the best way. But you never ought to throw anything unlessyou got somethin' ready in the other hand. _An' hang onto that untilyou're sure she's not goin' to run to'ards you 'stead of the other way._If you're goin' to be a successful wife-beater, you got to use an awfullot of common-sense." He looked over his shoulder. "Come on up thestreet a little ways, Mr. Crow," he said nervously. "Them fool women areedgin' nearer all the time. Next thing you know, they'll be tryin' tosick me onto you, an'--an' I'd have to make good. They got all theirhusbands scared of me, an' they keep tellin' me that I'm the grandestlittle man in the world. You know Jim Banks? Well, he's twice as big asI am. A week or two ago he came out on his back porch an' called me aname. I started over to apologize to him, but he thought I was comin'_after_ him, so he jumped back in the kitchen an' slammed the door. Shetold me he wanted to send fer you, Mr. Crow. I--I wish he had."
"I understand you been makin' threats about what you'd do to me if Iever tried to arrest you," said Anderson sternly. "Is that true?"
"No, it ain't. My wife's been makin' all the threats. She don't make anybones about what _she'll_ do to you if you ever try to arrest me. Shesays she'll bust your head fer you."
Marshal Crow straightened up and glared at the Fry habitation. There wasa light in the kitchen window.
"You wait here, Lucius Fry, an' don't move till I come back. I'm goingin there an' talk to that wife o' yourn."
"You better take a gang o' men with you. Remember, I'm givin' you fairwarnin'. She'll eat you alive."
"I'll take my friend Mr. Squires with me fer a witness--that's all. Isshe out in the kitchen?"
"I don't know. I ain't been in the house since the row. She locked thedoor on me."
The Marshal strode away, leaving Vicious Lucius to the mercy of thewomen. Harry Squires was nowhere in sight. Mr. Crow looked about in somealarm. His speed noticeably decreased. Fumbling in his coat pocket, hefound his police whistle and proceeded to blow a shrill blast upon it. Afew moments passed, and then Harry came hurrying around the corner ofthe house.
"Where have you been, dern you?"
"I've been in the house chatting with Mrs. Fry," said the reporter.
"Is she conscious? Is she able to talk?"
"She certainly is. Come on. She wants to see you."
Harry Squires grasped his arm and led him toward the kitchen door. Mrs.Fry herself admitted them. She looked most formidable.
"Did my daughter Elfaretta ask you to come here and interfere with myprivate affairs, Anderson Crow?" she demanded.
"I am not supposed to answer questions like that, Mrs. Fry," saidAnderson with dignity. "I am pleased to inform you, however, that I havesucceeded in arrestin' your husband, an' I intend to see to it that heis locked up fer--"
"Oh, my goodness!" groaned the gigantic lady, dropping suddenly into achair and lowering her face into her apron.
The Marshal looked at her in astonishment.
"You have got to release Vicious Lucius at once," said Harry Squiressternly. "We can't afford to wreck this poor little woman's life."
"Little--what's that you said?" stammered the Marshal, still gazing atthe ponderous bulk in the chair.
"You heard what I said--wreck this poor but proud lady's life. Speak up,Mrs. Fry. Tell the good Marshal all about it."
Whereupon the woebegone Mrs. Fry lifted her head and her voice inlamentation.
"I knew it couldn't last. I might 'a' knowed something would turn up tospoil it. It was too much to expect. Oh, if you only wouldn't lock himup, Mr. Crow! What will people say when they find out you was able toarrest him single-handed, without a gang o' men to help you? Oh, oh,oh!"
Mr. Squires interposed a suggestion just as she was on the verge ofsobs.
"I dare say we could stage a perfectly realistic struggle between Mr.Fry and Mr. Crow. Mr. Fry could trip Mr. Crow up--all in play, youknow; and then I could rush in and grab Mr. Fry from behind while he wasletting on as though he was kicking Mr. Crow in the face. The spectatorswould--"
"I won't be a party to any such monkey business!" exclaimed the Marshalin some heat. "What do you take me for? If I arrest Lucius Fry, I'lljest simply pick him up by the coat-collar and--"
"That's just it," cried Mrs. Fry. "He wouldn't fight back, and how wouldI feel if you carried him off to jail as if he was a lunch-basket? And Iwas beginning to feel so proud and happy. I was getting so I could lookthose cats in the face, all because my husband was the best littledaredevil in the Gully. They used to pity me. Now they are so jealous ofme they don't know what to do. They'd give anything if they had ahusband like Lucius--little as he is. My, how they envy me, and how Ihave been looking down on all of 'em the last six months! And here youarrest him as easy as if he was a little
girl, when I been tellingeverybody there wasn't anybody living that could take my man to jail.Oh, I--I wish I'd never been born!"
* * * * *
Anderson Crow was puzzled. He pulled at his whiskers in the mosthelpless way, and stared wide-eyed.
"But--but ain't you afraid to live with him?" he mumbled. "Ain't youafraid he'll lick you to death sometime when he's in one of--"
"He couldn't lick me if I was chloroformed," blurted out Mrs. Fry,arising suddenly. She bared a huge right arm. "See that? Well, that's asbig as his leg. Don't you ever get it in your head that I can't lickLucius Fry. That ain't the point. I can do it, but I wouldn't do it foranything on earth. I want to be proud of him, and I want these otherwomen to feel sorry for me because I've got a _man_ for a husband, andnot a rabbit. Where is he, Mr. Crow?"
"He's out there waitin' fer me to take him to jail--that is, he _said_he'd wait. Course, if you won't make any affidavit ag'inst him, I--Iguess there's no sense in me lockin' him up. I was doin' it as a--er--asa sort of favour to him, anyhow. He seemed to be afraid he'd kill someof them women that hang around him."
"I just thought he'd act that way. I won't make any charge against him.I want him to stay just the way he is--a fine, upstanding brutal sort offeller. You go out there an' tell him to come in here. I want to go downon my knees again and forgive him."
The Marshal hesitated. He was between two fires. He couldn't very welloblige _both_ of them. Lucius unquestionably was eager to go to jail forreasons of his own, and Mrs. Fry was just as eager that he shouldremain at large. The Marshal scratched his head.
"I feel kinder sorry fer him," he mused. "Like as not, one of them womenwill git so foolish over him that her husband will take it into his headto get a divorce, an'--" He paused in confusion.
"Go on--go on!" pleaded Mrs. Fry, her eyes sparkling.
"Well, from all Lucius says, he despises the whole lot of 'em. Still,that ain't goin' to help _him_ any if Jim Banks er one of them otheridiots gits all het up an' jealous an' goes and sues fer a divorce,namin' Lucius Fry as--"
Mrs. Fry slapped him violently on the back.
"That's just what I want!" she cried eagerly. "I'd be the proudest womanin Tinkletown."
The Marshal stared. Harry Squires covered his mouth with his hand.
"Well, of all the gosh--"
* * * * *
His ejaculation was cut short by the opening of the kitchen door. Luciusstood outlined in the aperture. He was clapping his arms about his body,and his teeth were chattering. The voluminous sleeves flapped like greatlimp wings.
"Say," he whined, "I can't wait out there all night in this kinderweather. If I got to go to jail, I want to do it right away. It'scruelty to animals to leave me standin' out there with nothing on myfeet but carpet-slippers. Come on an'--"
"Come in to the fire an' get warm, Lucius dear," called out his wife, asshrinking and as timid as a whipped child. "I forgive you. Julie!Jul-ie! Come down here an' help me get some hot coffee an' something toeat fer your Pa."
"I--I guess we'd better be goin', Harry," said Marshall Crowuncomfortably. "I got to disperse that crowd o' women out there in thestreet. Good night, Lucius. Night, Mrs. Fry. If you ever need me, allyer got to do is just send word."
Lucius followed him to the door, and would have gone out into the nightwith him if the Marshal had not deliberately pushed him back.
"You--you ain't goin' to desert me, are you?" whispered Lucius fiercely.
The Marshal leaned over and whispered to Lucius.
"If all the other men in this here town had as soft a snap as you'vegot, Lucius Fry, they'd hate to die worse'n ever, because they'd knowthey'd never git back into heaven ag'in."
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