CHAPTER XVIII
PIPPIN KEEPS WATCH, WITH RESULTS
Mary was a long time going to bed that night. In the first place shecould not find her blue ribbon bow, and being as economical as she wasmethodical, this distressed her. It was a new ribbon, bought at aspecial sale, and marked down almost unbelievably low, because there wasa flaw in the weaving which would never be seen when made up. It was agood bow too; it is not everyone who can make a pretty bow; and Mary wasperfectly sure that she had pinned it on her neat collar this evening.She searched the room thoroughly--such a pretty, tidy room, all whiteand blue like her kitchen--even peeping under bed and bureau, but noblue bow was to be found.
Then there was her chapter to be read; hard reading to-night, though itwas Ruth, which she loved; hard to keep her mind on the text, her eyeson the page. Everything was all a-flutter, somehow. Mary sighed, and puther bookmark in soberly. She was not a very good girl, she thought, tobe thinking of--other things--when she was reading her Bible. Then--bluekimono substituted for blue one-piece dress--out came Mary's hairpinsand down came Mary's hair. It took a good while to do Mary's hair. Itwas not only the quantity of it--it flowed down and about her like acloak--it was the quality. It _would_ curl up round the brush, andbreak into ripples in the very teeth of the comb. It was a storagebattery of electricity, and if a thunderstorm were to come on now, whileit was down, you would see long golden strands separate themselves fromthe mass and fly straight up from her head. There being no thunderstormsthis night, Mary, with firm, long strokes of the brush, with searchingarguments of the comb, brought all the unruly gold into subjection, madeit lie as nearly smooth as it could over her shoulders, finally braidedit tight in two massive braids to be tossed back over her shoulders witha little sigh.
"_That's_ done!" said Mary.
But even then, and even when her prayers were said and herself composedin her narrow white bed, as Saint Ursula in her wide one in theParmegianino picture (looking rather like her, I declare!), Mary was notready for sleep.
But through her brain of weal and woe So many thoughts went to and fro, That vain it were her eyes to close.
Most of her thoughts hovered, it must be confessed, about Pippin on hisstraw mattress in the shed. Why did she think about him so much? Maryasked herself, and found no answer, unless the blood tingling in hercheeks were an answer.
Mary's had been a cool, detached, impersonal little life, in the yearsof her girlhood. Life at the Home, pleasant, regular, unconnected withemotions in any way, had changed the trembling, palpitating child whostarted at every sudden sound into a calm, self-possessed, rathermatter-of-fact young woman. She did not often think of the old days. Whyshould she? They were gone, and where was the sense in stirring herselfall up when it did no good to any one? It stood to reason!
But Pippin's story to-night brought the old time back whether she wouldor no. She lay still, staring out into the starlit night. His story--howstrange that he should have had such a childhood! Was that why sheseemed to have known him all her life? The old times! Perhaps it was thestraw mattress that brought it back so clear. She could smell that mustystraw now, so unlike the clean, fresh smell of that nice new one out inthe shed.
She saw her mother, the little gray shawl drawn tightly over hershoulders, the fair hair strained back from the face with its too earlylines of pain and grief; saw her eyes as they followed the poor beddragged almost from under their feet by the shambling figure. Oh! howshe had hated that sodden, stumbling figure! And the child, clingingpassionately to those poor skirts--thin, worn to shreds, but alwaysclean; poor mother was always clean!--clinging, crying, shaken with apassion of anger, grief, tenderness, which swept away all power ofspeech--could that child be herself? Yet he was kind, when he was sober;yes, father was kind--indeed, he had never been hard to her. Often andoften he would call her to him, caress her, call her his littlegal--while her flesh shrank from him, loathing the smell of liquor--healways smelled of liquor, even when sober--of rank tobacco--pah!
Mary supposed she was hard-hearted: how could she love a man like that?She adored her mother; the tears came smarting into her eyes at thethought of her. But for him, mother might be alive to-day; poverty,hunger, hard work, had aged her, killed her, long before her time, poormother! Look at her there; see her eyes following the mattress.
Mary turned in her bed, and a sigh that was almost a sob broke from her.She hated wicked people--yes, she hated them; and weak people, too,people who made others suffer just because they were too feeble to denythemselves the drink that was poison--
"I _hate_ them!" said Mary aloud. Then she thought of Pippin, andblushed again. Pippin did not hate wicked or weak people. He seemed tolove them. How was it? Mary, cool, kind, a little aloof, did notunderstand it. They had talked together a good deal during these pasttwo weeks, and she had wondered at the glow in his eyes, the thrill inhis voice, when he spoke of his religion. Mary was a goodCongregationalist; she went to church, and said her prayers, and readher Bible. She supposed--why, of course she loved the Lord; she would bea wicked girl if she didn't; but--well, she was different, that was all.Of course, with all he had gone through--how bright his eyes were! Howstrong his faith must be! She supposed she was cold-hearted; yet whenPippin sang a hymn, she felt as if Heaven was close by. It surely was aprivilege to know a person like that. And to think that he had oncebeen--how to believe it? How not to believe anything he said, with thosebright eyes looking straight into her? Perhaps the Lord would soften herheart-- Pippin was right down there in the shed--think of it! She hopedhe wouldn't lie cold; it felt so safe, having him there! She put anextra comforter--she did hope he would sleep well--
At this point Mary went to sleep herself.
* * * * *
She slept peacefully for some hours, lying still and straight as SaintUrsula herself; then she began to dream. Pippin was not sleeping well,out there in the shed; likely it had come up cold in the night. He hadgot up and come into the house, for warmth, of course. She heard himstumbling about among the chairs and tables; if she had only shown himthe switch! Hark! He was whistling, calling out--_hark!_
Mary sprang up, broad awake. Something was going on downstairs. Voices,low and angry, hasty steps--the house on fire? She was up in an instant,slipped on the blue kimono and over it a heavy cloak, ran down the backstairs just as John Aymer ran down the front. Opening opposite doorsquietly, they came upon a strange sight.
In the middle of the kitchen was Pippin, at grips with another man ofslighter build than himself; at one side stood a third man, older andheavier than either, watching the two.
They struggled silently for a moment; then Pippin's greater strengthprevailing, he forced the other back toward the wall. Suddenly thelatter wrenched his right hand free; wrenched himself round; there was aflash of bright metal--Pippin ducked, and the brass knuckles crashedinto the smooth plaster, cracking and starring it. Pippin had beenstruggling cheerfully and composedly up to now, but when his eye caughtthe brazen flash, he went dead white under his tan. With a sharp blow hebeat down the murderous hand, caught the ruffian by the throat, ran himback across the room and dashed him against the opposite wall with aviolence that shook the house. The man dropped like lead, and Pippin,towering over him like Michael over the dragon, turned to face theother. At this moment, before any one could move, the outer door wasopened and a giant form appeared in the doorway, lantern in one hand,truncheon in the other.
"What's going on here?" asked Dennis Cassidy, the night watchman.
The elder man stepped quickly between him and the others.
"Officer, I give this man in charge!" his voice was quiet, but venomous."Assault and battery, mebbe manslaughter, too. He's half killed my son,a respectable tradesman."
The policeman looked from one to the other; then, as Bashford stretchedhis hand toward Pippin's collar, he motioned him back.
"Hold still!" he commanded. "Everybody stand where they be!" Turning fora moment in the doorwa
y, he drew forth his whistle and sounded a long,piercing note. "Now then, you!" he nodded to Bashford. "What are you andyour respectable tradesman son doing here this time o' night? Hallo,young chap!" as he recognized Pippin. "_You_ in this game?"
Mr. Aymer stepped forward.
"Good evening, Cassidy. This is the young man I told you about, who wasgoing to watch the house for me. These are the men he found--Isuppose--breaking and entering. I think--I am _sure_ of his honesty!"The last phrase was uttered somewhat explosively. Mrs. Aymer had creptdownstairs after him, and pinched his arm violently.
"That's as may be, sir! Don't you say anything yet, my bo!" to Pippin."I asked _you_," he spoke to Bashford, "what you and your son were doinghere this time o' night."
"Watchin' him!" the reply came coolly. "I give him in charge, officer,and it's your dooty to arrest him. If you don't know him, ask the ThirdDistrict force! Ask 'em what they know about Pippin the Kid, aliasMoonlighter, alias Jack-o'-lantern--he's well known to every cop in thatdistrict. Me and my son have seen him wormin' his way in here, deceivin'this good gentleman and his family; me and my son have knowed him froma--" Mr. Bashford paused a moment--"knowed him for a crook from wayback."
"I don't believe a word of it!" said John Aymer.
Pippin looked up, white to the lips, but his chin held high.
"It's true!" he said.
There was a moment of dead silence, broken only by a tiny squeak fromthe stairs where Mrs. Aymer crouched invisible. All eyes were fixed onPippin, and he held them all, glancing from one to the other.
"Up to three years ago," he said slowly, "I was all that. I'm straightnow. I'm an honest man. Mr. Aymer, sir, I'd ought to have told youbefore; I ask your pardon! But I'm an honest man, and I come hereto-night to protect your property."
"You _ought_ to have told me, Lippitt!" Mr. Aymer spoke in a troubledvoice. "I ought to have known if there was anything like this behindyou."
A little blue figure came forward, a little warm hand was slipped intoPippin's.
"I knew!" said Mary-in-the-kitchen. "He told me!"
"God bless you!" Pippin grasped the little hand and squeezed it tillMary had to bite her lips to keep back a scream.
But now the younger Bashford, regaining the senses which had beenknocked out of him, struggled up on his elbow and pointed a shakingfinger at Pippin.
"Yes, he's straight!" he cried in a voice broken with passion. "Yes,he's an honest man all right, all right! Get his wheel, his innercentlittle scissor-grinder's wheel! Bring it in from the shed where he'skep' it handy. Nipper Crewe's wheel, well known to every burglar in thestate, with the finest kit of breakin' tools made by man hid away in it!Fetch the wheel, somebody! The ---- skunk has broke my leg or I'd go."
What is this? From dead white Pippin has gone vivid scarlet from brow toneck. He steps forward hastily.
"I'll bring the wheel!" he says.
"No you don't!" the giant policeman fills the doorway, seeming to expandtill it is a close fit on either side. "No, nor you either!" as theelder Bashford made a motion. "You three stay where you be! Yes, sir, ifyou'll be so kind!" This to John Aymer, who has silently indicated hisreadiness to go.
No one speaks while the householder slips out. Pippin, still holding thelittle hand, has dropped his brave crest and stands with hanging headand downcast looks. What can it mean? Mary casts little anxious glancesat him. Mrs. Aymer weeps audibly on the stairs; the Bashfords, fatherand son, seem to swell with anticipatory triumph; Dennis Cassidy,thoroughly puzzled, glowers at the three from under his shaggy eyebrows.
As the light rattle of the wheel was heard, Pippin started, and darted astrange look at Mary.
"I ask your pardon, Miss Mary!" he muttered. "I hadn't ought--"
Mr. Aymer entered with the wheel, and Nosey Bashford struggled to hisknees, still pointing his shaking finger.
"Fetch it here!" he shrieked. "I know the trick of it. Here!" In hiseagerness he scrambled up and hopped on one foot (his leg was notbroken, by the way, only twisted in falling) to where John Aymer stood.His fingers hovered over the wheel, clutching and clawing witheagerness; his breath whistled through his teeth. John Aymer looked athim and turned away with a shudder of disgust. "Here! Here it is! See,copper? See, Governor? You shove back this plate--look! look, now, andsee how straight he is! He, he! What--damn!--what's this?"
He broke short off, and stood glaring. All the others pressed eagerlyforward, save Pippin, who stood like a statue, looking at the floor.Dennis Cassidy, with a massive shove, sent Nosey staggering back, thenthrust his finger into the narrow cavity and drew out, and held up--alittle bow of blue ribbon.
It was at this instant, before any one had time to speak, that a firm,quick foot crunched on the gravel outside. Some one came up the step,and looking over the policeman's shoulder, stood in silent amazement.Pippin looked up, uttered a great cry, and sprang forward.
"Elder!" he cried. "Elder Hadley, sir! I'm straight! As God is above usin Heaven, sir! I'm straight."
The air turned black about him, and for a moment he saw nothing butwhirling sparks of fire. When his vision cleared, he found himselfleaning on Lawrence Hadley's shoulder. A sob broke from him.
"I'm straight, Elder!" he repeated.
"Of course you are straight, Pippin! Easy, old chap. Take it easy! Lookout, officer!"
Mr. Dod Bashford, after one glance at the contents of the secretcompartment, had been edging unostentatiously toward the door. AsCassidy stepped aside to let the chaplain enter, he made a sudden dash,amazingly swift for so heavy a man, and diving between the colossallegs, got halfway out of the door; but calculating his chance a littletoo closely, he upset the equilibrium of Mr. Cassidy, who sat downsuddenly and heavily, blocking the doorway more completely than before.
"Hold on, Dod!" he said, seizing Mr. Bashford's legs in a grip of iron."Hold on! I ain't sure about young Pippin, or whatever his name is, butI've no doubts about you, my man. You're wanted on several counts, and Idon't doubt but your respectable son is too. _Hold still!_ You don'twant I should have to knock you out before the ladies, do you? I'mashamed of you!"
Bashford struggled savagely, desperately, muttering curses under hisbreath. His son moved quietly to the window and investigated thefirmness of the fly screen.
But now more footsteps were heard. Two men came running along the lane,into the yard, up the steps; stars shone, truncheons waved, handcuffsclinked. In two minutes all was over, and the Bashfords, relapsinginstantly into the hunch, skulk, cringe of the habitual criminal, stoodin apparent humility before the Force.
One of the newcomers, surveying the group, broke into a jovial laugh.
"Well done, Dennis Cassidy!" he cried. "Bully for you! Let's hear anyonesay again that you go to sleep on your beat!"
Pippin; A Wandering Flame Page 18