by Jack London
CHAPTER XI
Over in the corner Vance Corliss leaned against the piano, deep inconversation with Colonel Trethaway. The latter, keen and sharp andwiry, for all his white hair and sixty-odd years, was as young inappearance as a man of thirty. A veteran mining engineer, with arecord which put him at the head of his profession, he represented aslarge American interests as Corliss did British. Not only had acordial friendship sprung up between them, but in a business way theyhad already been of large assistance to each other. And it was wellthat they should stand together,--a pair who held in grip and coulddirect at will the potent capital which two nations had contributed tothe development of the land under the Pole.
The crowded room was thick with tobacco smoke. A hundred men or so,garbed in furs and warm-colored wools, lined the walls and looked on.But the mumble of their general conversation destroyed the spectacularfeature of the scene and gave to it the geniality of commoncomradeship. For all its _bizarre_ appearance, it was very like theliving-room of the home when the members of the household come togetherafter the work of the day. Kerosene lamps and tallow candles glimmeredfeebly in the murky atmosphere, while large stoves roared their red-hotand white-hot cheer.
On the floor a score of couples pulsed rhythmically to the swingingwaltz-time music. Starched shirts and frock coats were not. The menwore their wolf- and beaver-skin caps, with the gay-tasselled ear-flapsflying free, while on their feet were the moose-skin moccasins andwalrus-hide muclucs of the north. Here and there a woman was inmoccasins, though the majority danced in frail ball-room slippers ofsilk and satin. At one end of the hall a great open doorway gaveglimpse of another large room where the crowd was even denser. Fromthis room, in the lulls in the music, came the pop of corks and theclink of glasses, and as an undertone the steady click and clatter ofchips and roulette balls.
The small door at the rear opened, and a woman, befurred and muffled,came in on a wave of frost. The cold rushed in with her to the warmth,taking form in a misty cloud which hung close to the floor, hiding thefeet of the dancers, and writhing and twisting until vanquished by theheat.
"A veritable frost queen, my Lucile," Colonel Trethaway addressed her.
She tossed her head and laughed, and, as she removed her capes andstreet-moccasins, chatted with him gayly. But of Corliss, though hestood within a yard of her, she took no notice. Half a dozen dancingmen were waiting patiently at a little distance till she should havedone with the colonel. The piano and violin played the opening bars ofa schottische, and she turned to go; but a sudden impulse made Corlissstep up to her. It was wholly unpremeditated; he had not dreamed ofdoing it.
"I am very sorry," he said.
Her eyes flashed angrily as she turned upon him.
"I mean it," he repeated, holding out his hand. "I am very sorry. Iwas a brute and a coward. Will you forgive me?"
She hesitated, and, with the wisdom bought of experience, searched himfor the ulterior motive. Then, her face softened, and she took hishand. A warm mist dimmed her eyes.
"Thank you," she said.
But the waiting men had grown impatient, and she was whirled away inthe arms of a handsome young fellow, conspicuous in a cap of yellowSiberian wolf-skin. Corliss came back to his companion, feelingunaccountably good and marvelling at what he had done.
"It's a damned shame." The colonel's eye still followed Lucile, andVance understood. "Corliss, I've lived my threescore, and lived themwell, and do you know, woman is a greater mystery than ever. Look atthem, look at them all!" He embraced the whole scene with his eyes."Butterflies, bits of light and song and laughter, dancing, dancingdown the last tail-reach of hell. Not only Lucile, but the rest ofthem. Look at May, there, with the brow of a Madonna and the tongue ofa gutter-devil. And Myrtle--for all the world one of Gainsborough'sold English beauties stepped down from the canvas to riot out thecentury in Dawson's dance-halls. And Laura, there, wouldn't she make amother? Can't you see the child in the curve of her arm against herbreast! They're the best of the boiling, I know,--a new country alwaysgathers the best,--but there's something wrong, Corliss, somethingwrong. The heats of life have passed with me, and my vision is truer,surer. It seems a new Christ must arise and preach a newsalvation--economic or sociologic--in these latter days, it mattersnot, so long as it is preached. The world has need of it."
The room was wont to be swept by sudden tides, and notably between thedances, when the revellers ebbed through the great doorway to wherecorks popped and glasses tinkled. Colonel Trethaway and Corlissfollowed out on the next ebb to the bar, where fifty men and women werelined up. They found themselves next to Lucile and the fellow in theyellow wolf-skin cap. He was undeniably handsome, and his looks wereenhanced by a warm overplus of blood in the cheeks and a certain mellowfire in the eyes. He was not technically drunk, for he had himself inperfect physical control; but his was the soul-exhilaration which comesof the juice of the grape. His voice was raised the least bit andjoyous, and his tongue made quick and witty--just in the unstablecondition when vices and virtues are prone to extravagant expression.
As he raised his glass, the man next to him accidentally jostled hisarm. He shook the wine from his sleeve and spoke his mind. It was nota nice word, but one customarily calculated to rouse the fightingblood. And the other man's blood roused, for his fist landed under thewolf-skin cap with force sufficient to drive its owner back againstCorliss. The insulted man followed up his attack swiftly. The womenslipped away, leaving a free field for the men, some of whom were forcrowding in, and some for giving room and fair play.
The wolf-skin cap did not put up a fight or try to meet the wrath hehad invoked, but, with his hands shielding his face, strove to retreat.The crowd called upon him to stand up and fight. He nerved himself tothe attempt, but weakened as the man closed in on him, and dodged away.
"Let him alone. He deserves it," the colonel called to Vance as heshowed signs of interfering. "He won't fight. If he did, I think Icould almost forgive him."
"But I can't see him pummelled," Vance objected. "If he would onlystand up, it wouldn't seem so brutal."
The blood was streaming from his nose and from a slight cut over oneeye, when Corliss sprang between. He attempted to hold the two menapart, but pressing too hard against the truculent individual,overbalanced him and threw him to the floor. Every man has friends ina bar-room fight, and before Vance knew what was taking place he wasstaggered by a blow from a chum of the man he had downed. Del Bishop,who had edged in, let drive promptly at the man who had attacked hisemployer, and the fight became general. The crowd took sides on themoment and went at it.
Colonel Trethaway forgot that the heats of life had passed, andswinging a three-legged stool, danced nimbly into the fray. A coupleof mounted police, on liberty, joined him, and with half a dozen otherssafeguarded the man with the wolf-skin cap.
Fierce though it was, and noisy, it was purely a local disturbance. Atthe far end of the bar the barkeepers still dispensed drinks, and inthe next room the music was on and the dancers afoot. The gamblerscontinued their play, and at only the near tables did they evince anyinterest in the affair.
"Knock'm down an' drag'm out!" Del Bishop grinned, as he fought for abrief space shoulder to shoulder with Corliss.
Corliss grinned back, met the rush of a stalwart dog-driver with aclinch, and came down on top of him among the stamping feet. He wasdrawn close, and felt the fellow's teeth sinking into his ear. Like aflash, he surveyed his whole future and saw himself going one-earedthrough life, and in the same dash, as though inspired, his thumbs flewto the man's eyes and pressed heavily on the balls. Men fell over himand trampled upon him, but it all seemed very dim and far away. Heonly knew, as he pressed with his thumbs, that the man's teeth waveredreluctantly. He added a little pressure (a little more, and the manwould have been eyeless), and the teeth slackened and slipped theirgrip.
After that, as he crawled out of the fringe of the melee and came tohis
feet by the side of the bar, all distaste for fighting left him.He had found that he was very much like other men after all, and theimminent loss of part of his anatomy had scraped off twenty years ofculture. Gambling without stakes is an insipid amusement, and Corlissdiscovered, likewise, that the warm blood which rises from hygienicgymnasium work is something quite different from that which poundshotly along when thew matches thew and flesh impacts on flesh and thestake is life and limb. As he dragged himself to his feet by means ofthe bar-rail, he saw a man in a squirrel-skin parka lift a beer-mug tohurl at Trethaway, a couple of paces off. And the fingers, which weremore used to test-tubes and water colors, doubled into a hard fistwhich smote the mug-thrower cleanly on the point of the jaw. The manmerely dropped the glass and himself on the floor. Vance was dazed forthe moment, then he realized that he had knocked the manunconscious,--the first in his life,--and a pang of delight thrilledthrough him.
Colonel Trethaway thanked him with a look, and shouted, "Get on theoutside! Work to the door, Corliss! Work to the door!"
Quite a struggle took place before the storm-doors could be thrownopen; but the colonel, still attached to the three-legged stool,effectually dissipated the opposition, and the Opera House disgorgedits turbulent contents into the street. This accomplished, hostilitiesceased, after the manner of such fights, and the crowd scattered. Thetwo policemen went back to keep order, accompanied by the rest of theallies, while Corliss and the colonel, followed by the Wolf-Skin Capand Del Bishop, proceeded up the street.
"Blood and sweat! Blood and sweat!" Colonel Trethaway exulted. "Talkabout putting the vim into one! Why, I'm twenty years younger if I'm aday! Corliss, your hand. I congratulate you, I do, I heartily do.Candidly, I didn't think it was in you. You're a surprise, sir, asurprise!"
"And a surprise to myself," Corliss answered. The reaction had set in,and he was feeling sick and faint. "And you, also, are a surprise.The way you handled that stool--"
"Yes, now! I flatter myself I did fairly well with it. Did yousee--well, look at that!" He held up the weapon in question, stilltightly clutched, and joined in the laugh against himself.
"Whom have I to thank, gentlemen?"
They had come to a pause at the corner, and the man they had rescuedwas holding out his hand.
"My name is St. Vincent," he went on, "and--"
"What name?" Del Bishop queried with sudden interest.
"St. Vincent, Gregory St. Vincent--"
Bishop's fist shot out, and Gregory St. Vincent pitched heavily intothe snow. The colonel instinctively raised the stool, then helpedCorliss to hold the pocket-miner back.
"Are you crazy, man?" Vance demanded.
"The skunk! I wish I'd hit 'm harder!" was the response. Then, "Oh,that's all right. Let go o' me. I won't hit 'm again. Let go o' me,I'm goin' home. Good-night."
As they helped St. Vincent to his feet, Vance could have sworn he heardthe colonel giggling. And he confessed to it later, as he explained,"It was so curious and unexpected." But he made amends by taking itupon himself to see St. Vincent home.
"But why did you hit him?" Corliss asked, unavailingly, for the fourthtime after he had got into his cabin.
"The mean, crawlin' skunk!" the pocket-miner gritted in his blankets."What'd you stop me for, anyway? I wish I'd hit 'm twice as hard!"