Flowing Gold

by Rex Beach

  CHAPTER XXI

  "Why the SOS?" Mallow voiced this question as he entered Gray's hotelroom early the following evening.

  "I'm in a predicament and I hope you can help me," the latterexplained. "I'm trying to remember something and I can't. I have a coldspot in my head."

  Mallow deposited his bag with a sigh of relief. "Glad it's no worse.Anybody can cure a cold in the head."

  "Sit down and light up while I tell you about it." In a few sentencesGray made known the story of Ozark Briskow's infatuation, and thereason for his own interest therein. "The woman is of the common'get-rich-quick' variety," he concluded, "and she won't do."

  "She didn't pull the family estate and her father's slaves and theorange grove on you, did she?"

  "Oh no. She used that on Buddy and he believes it implicitly--soimplicitly that she warned me to keep off the track. She showed herteeth, in a nice way. I've seen her somewhere; in some place where Ishould not have been. But where? It must have been in this country,too--not abroad--or I'd remember her."

  "Maybe I haven't been as wild as you, Governor. This is a big countryand I've missed a lot of disreputable joints."

  The former speaker smiled. "You have trained yourself to rememberfaces, Mallow. Your researches--scientific researches, my dearProfessor--have led you into quarters which I have never explored. Imust identify this venturesome little gold digger without delay, forBuddy yearns to make her all his; matrimony is becoming the one objectof his life."

  "Why not let the poor carp have her? It's tough enough for a dame toget by since prohibition. I don't see how they make it, with everybodysober. Chances are she'd get the worst of the swap, at that."

  "Not unlikely, but that is neither here nor there. Understand me, I'mno seraph; I pose as no model of rectitude, and, unfortunately for mypeace of mind, Miss Montague is a really likable young person. ButBuddy has a mother and a sister, and they hold me responsible for him.We three are dining downstairs in an hour; perhaps you could look in onus?"

  "Sure. I'll give her the once over," Mallow agreed. "If she's anybodyin our set, I'll know her."

  The dinner had scarcely started when Gray heard his name paged and leftthe table. In the lobby Mallow was waiting with a grin upon his face.

  "Is that her?" he inquired.

  "That is the girl."

  "_Girl?_ 'Arline Montague,' eh? Her name is Margie Fulton and she hadher hair up when they built the Union Pacific."

  "Nonsense! You're mistaken. She can't be more than twenty-five--thirtyat most."

  "A woman can be as young as she wants to be if she'll pay the price.Margie had her face tucked up two years ago. Cost her five thousandbucks."

  "I--can't believe it."

  "You see it every day. Look at the accordion-pleated beauts in themovies. Why, some of those dolls nursed in the Civil War! Those facesurgeons have ironed the wrinkles out of many a withered peach, andyou're dining with Margie Fulton, the Suicide Blonde. I know her kid."

  "Her _what?_" Mallow's hearer gasped.

  "Sure. She was married to Bennie Fulton, the jockey, and they had aboy. Bennie was ruled off in New Orleans and started a gambling house."

  "New Orleans! Wait--I'm beginning to remember."

  Into Gray's mind came an indistinct memory; the blurred picture of arace track with its shouting thousands, a crowded betting ring; then,more clearly, a garish, over-furnished room in a Southern mansion;clouds of tobacco smoke rising in the cones of bright light aboveroulette and poker tables; negro servants in white, with trays; mintjuleps in tall, frosted glasses; a pretty girl with straw-coloredhair--"You're right!" he agreed, finally. "She was a 'come-on.'"

  "That's her. She worked the betting ring daytimes and boosted inBennie's place at night. Whenever she was caught she suicided. That'show she got her name."

  "Just what do you mean by that?"

  "Why, the usual stuff. A bottle of water with a poison label. If amullet threatened to call the police, she'd cry, 'You have ruined mylife!' Then with shaking hand she'd pull the old skull bottle and drinkherself to death. Of course, the poor leaping tuna usually got the acidout of her hand in time to save her. She saw to that."

  Gray was laughing silently. "My dear Professor," he confessed, "wisdom,of a sort, is mine; sometimes I grow weary with the weight of myexperiences and wonder why the world so seldom shows me something new.But beside you I am as a babe. Tell me, what has become of theex-jockey husband?"

  "She divorced him. Mind you, Margie was square, like most of those'come-ons.' She'd 'how dare' a guy that so much as looked at her. Youknow the kind I mean."

  "And the child? Where do you suppose she keeps it?"

  Mallow reflected. "The last time I saw the little cherub he was singingbass in a bellboys' quartette at Hot Springs. He hops bells at theArlington summers and butchers peanuts at the track during theseason--you know, hollers 'Here they come!' before they start, thenwhen the women jump up he pinches the betting tickets out of their lapsand cashes them with the bookies."

  "Could you get hold of this--this boy basso and bring him here withoutletting him or his mother know?"

  "I can if he's still at Hot Springs, and I saw him there the last timeI was up. The little darling got me into a crap game and ran in someshaped dice. Of course, it would cost something to get him."

  "How much?"

  Mallow "shot" his cuff and upon it gravely figured up the probableexpense. "Well, there would be the fares and the eats and his bit--hewouldn't come for nothing. He'd gyp me for ten dollars, but he'dprobably come for five. I'd offer him three--"

  "There is a thousand dollars in it if you can produce him within thenext forty-eight hours. I doubt my ability to sit on the safety valvemuch longer than that, for Buddy Briskow is rapidly breaking out withmatrimonial measles. If I throw cold water on him it will onlyaggravate the disease."

  "A thousand dollars!" Mallow cried. "Why, for a thousand berries I'llbring you his head on a platter. I'll car the little devil down andlock him in a suitcase." The speaker hesitated a moment beforeconcluding. "It's a dirty trick on Margie, though."

  "I know. But I'm thinking of Buddy. Now, in Heaven's name, hurry! Myconstitution may survive a few more road houses, but my reputation willnot."

  That night was a repetition of the one before, but with variations andwith trimmings, for Buddy wore his "two-pint trousers" again, and thistime they were loaded, hence Gray had a chance to observe him at hisbest--or worst. A little liquor went a long way with the boy; hederived much effect, many by-products, so to speak, from even a fewdrinks, and the elder man was forcibly reminded of Gus Briskow'sstatement that his son had a streak of the Old Nick in him. It wastrue; Buddy was indeed like a wild horse. Artificially stimulated, hebecame a creature of pure impulse, and those impulses ran the entiregamut of hilarity: he played the drum; he wrestled with a burlydoorman; he yelled, whenever he found what he called a good "yellingplace"; he demonstrated his ability to sing "Silver Threads Among theGold" to the accompaniment of a four-piece orchestra energeticallyengaged in playing something quite modern and altogether different.These, and many other accomplishments equally unsuspected, hedisplayed. On the way from one lively resort to a livelier he conceivedthe unique idea that he could "swap ends" with his touring car in muchthe same manner that he could turn a nimble cow pony, and he tried it.Happily, the asphalt was wet, and in consequence the maneuver was not atotal failure, although it did result in a crumpled mud guard and arunaway. Milk-wagon horses in Dallas, it appeared, were not schooled tothe sight of spinning motor cars, and the phenomenon filled at leastone with abysmal horror.

  Gray felt sure that he had visibly aged as a result of that ride, andhe began to understand why a new crop of wrinkles was appearing aboutthe corners of Margie Fulton's eyes. No wonder she was beginning tolook a trifle weary.

  Fearing that Buddy was likely to turn sentimental without warning, theelder man monopolized as much of "Miss Montague's" time and attentionas possible; he danced with her frequently, and h
e assiduously devotedhimself to winning her favor. The result was a tribute to his actingand to his magnetism. In a moment of abandon she confided to him thatshe wished he had Buddy's money or--that he was a marrying man. Both ofBuddy's flasks had been emptied by this time, however, so Gray was notunduly beguiled by this flattery.

  On the whole, it was a horrible night.

  As Gray languidly crept into bed about daylight he had the satisfactionof knowing that he had at least excited his young friend's openjealousy. That might act as a stay. On the other hand, of course, itmight have directly the opposite effect--one could never tell--and itmight be the part of wisdom, therefore, to gain possession of thatdiamond ring.

  Buddy sought him out in the lobby, early the next afternoon, and aftera colorless greeting, said, queerly, "Would you mind comin' up to myroom for a minute?"

  "Certainly not. I'd have looked in on you before this if I'd thoughtyou were up." As the two mounted the wide marble stairs Gray went on,cheerfully: "Not looking your best this morn--afternoon, my lad. As forme, I am, in a manner of speaking, reborn. I have taken a new start.Careful reflection upon the providential outcome of that amazing skidhas convinced me that whatever joys or sorrows assail me hereafter,however much or little of life is spared me, it will be all 'velvet.' Atouch of mascaro about my temples and I shall look as young as I didyesterday. What are we going to do to-night?"

  "I dunno."

  Once inside his spacious suite, Buddy flung himself into a chair andwith trembling fingers lit a cigarette. It was evident that he hadsomething to say, but either dreaded saying it or knew not where tobegin. His companion, meanwhile, pretended to look out upon the streetbelow. In reality, he was observing the young giant. Poor Buddy! He wassuffering.

  The latter cleared his throat several times before he managed to say,"You don't want me to marry Arline, do you, Mr. Gray?"

  "Frankly, my boy, I do not."

  "Why?"

  "There are many reasons."

  "What's one?"

  "I don't think you love her."

  Briskow stirred. "Is that why you--went an' got that di'mon' ring I hadmade?" When this query met with a nod the young Texan's face flamed andhis eyes glowed. "What in hell--" He swallowed his anger, rose to hisfeet and made a nervous circuit of the room before coming to a pause atGray's side. His lips were working; there was a tragic, a piteousappeal in his eyes; his voice shook as he stammered: "I didn't mean tobreak out at you, Mr. Gray. I like you. Gee! I--You're kinda like Godto me. I'd ruther be like you than--well, there ain't nobody I likelike I like you--You could get her away from me if you wanted to,but--you wouldn't do a trick like that, would you? I was mighty happytill you came--You--got that ring with you?"

  "I have it in my pocket."

  "I want it." Buddy extended a quivering hand.

  "Why?"

  "I'm goin' to ask her to marry me, to-day. If she won't I'm goin' to--"

  "She will."

  Buddy gasped. "You _sure?_"

  "I'm quite sure she would if you asked her. But I don't want you to askher." When an expression of pained reproach leaped into the lad's face,the speaker explained, quickly: "Don't think for a moment that I carefor her, nor that she has the slightest interest in me. It is you thatI care for. What you just said pleased me, touched me. I wish you couldunderstand how much I really do care for you, Buddy. Won't you wait--afew days, before you--"

  "I _can't_ wait."

  "You must."

  The men eyed each other steadily for a moment, then Buddy demanded,querulously, "What have you got against her, anyhow?"

  "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

  "She told me everything there is to tell an' I told you. I don't carewhat she's done--if she ever done anything. She's had a hard time."

  "Will you wait forty-eight hours?"

  "No."

  "Twenty-four?"

  "Gimme that ring!" When Gray made no move the speaker ran on,excitedly: "I'm a man. I'm of age. It's none of your business what Ido--nor Pa's or Ma's, either. It won't do no good for them to come."

  Gray went to the door, locked it and pocketed the key. "Buddy"--hisvoice was firm, his face was set--"you are a man, yes, although youwere only a boy a few weeks ago. You are going to act like a man, now."

  "You goin' to try an' _hold_ me here?" The inquiry was one of mingledastonishment and anger, for young Briskow could scarcely believe hiseyes. "Don't do that, Mr. Gray. I--Nobody can't _make_ me do anything.Please don't! That's plumb foolish."

  "What if I told you that Miss Montague is--"

  Buddy interrupted with a harsh cry. "Damn it! I said I wouldn't listento anything against her. I'm tellin' you, again, keep your mouth shutabout her." The youth's face was purple; he was trembling; his fistswere clenched, and with difficulty he restrained even a wilderoutburst. "You can have the ring, but--you lemme out of here, quick."When this command went unheeded he strode toward the bedroom, intendingto use the other exit, but his caller intercepted him. "Lemme out!" theyoung man shouted.

  "One of us is going to remain in this room, and I think it will beyou." As Gray spoke he jerked off his coat and flung it aside. "Betterstrip, Buddy, if you mean to try it."

  Buddy recoiled a step. Incredulously he exclaimed: "You--you wouldn'ttry _that_! This is my room. You must be crazy."

  "I think I am, indeed, to endure what I have endured these last twodays; to make myself ridiculous; to be humiliated; to risk my businessruin just to save a young fool from his folly." Impatience, resentment,anger were in the speaker's tone.

  "I never ast you. You butted in--tried to cut me out. That's dirty. Youwas lyin' when you said--"

  "Have it that way. I've run out of patience."

  Ozark Briskow, too, had reached the limit of his endurance; heexploded. Momentarily he lost his head and cursed Gray vilely. Foranswer the latter moved close and slapped him across the mouth, saying:"Fight, you idiot!"

  Buddy's low, gasping cry had the effect of a roar; it left the roomechoing, then savagely he lunged at his assailant. He was blind, in himwas a sudden maniacal impulse to destroy; he had no thought ofconsequences. Gray knocked him down.

  It was a blow that would have felled an ox. As the youth lay halfdazed, he heard the other taunting him, mocking him. "Get up, youlummox, and defend yourself. You'll be a man when I get through withyou."

  Codes of combat are peculiar to localities. In the north woods, forinstance, lumberjacks fight with fist and heel; in the Southwest, whena man is mad enough to fight at all, he is usually mad enough to kill.As Buddy Briskow rose to his knees he groped for the nearest weapon,the nearest missile, something--anything with which to slay. His handfell upon a heavy metal vase, and with this he struck wickedly as Grayclosed with him. This time they went down together and rolled acrossthe floor. The legs of a desk crashed and a litter of writing materialswas spilled over them.

  Gray was the first to regain his feet, but his shirt had been torn halfoff and he tasted blood upon his lips. He had met strong men in histime, but never had he felt such a rocklike mass of bone and muscle asnow. Buddy was like a kicking horse; his fists were as hard as hoofs,and that which they smote they crushed or bruised or lacerated. Hepossessed now the supreme strength of a madman, and he was quiteinsensible to pain. He was uttering strange animal sounds.

  "Shut up!" Gray panted. "Have the guts to--keep still. You'll--rousethe--"

  He dodged an awkward swinging blow from the giant and sent him reeling.Buddy fetched up against the solid wall with a crash, for Gray hadcentered every pound of his weight behind his punch, but the countrymanrebounded like a thing of rubber and again they clinched.

  A room cluttered with heavy furniture is not like a boxing ring. Inspite of Gray's skill and an agility uncommon in a man of his size, itwas impossible to stop the other's rushes or to avoid them. Strainingwith each other they ricocheted against tables and chairs, and only thefact that much of the furniture was padded, and the floor thicklycarpeted, prevented the sound of their strugg
le from alarming theoccupants of the halls and the lobby. They fought furiously, moving thewhile like two wrestlers trying for flying holds; time and again theyfell with first one on top and then the other; their flesh suffered andthey grew bloody. The room soon became a litter, for its fittings wereupset, flung about, splintered, as if the room itself had been pickedup and shaken like a doll's house.

  Gray managed to floor his antagonist whenever he had time and space inwhich to set himself, but this was not often, for Buddy closed with himat every opportunity. At such times it was the elder man who sufferedmost.

  In a way it was an unequal struggle, for youth, ablaze with a holyfire, was matched against age, stiffened only by stubborndetermination. Neither man longer had any compunctions; each foughtwith a ferocious singleness of purpose.

  Buddy's face had been hammered to a pulp, but Gray was groaning; hecould breathe only from the top of his lungs, and the bones of his lefthand had been telescoped. Agonizing pains ran clear to his shoulder,and the hand itself was well-nigh useless.

  It was an extraordinary combat; certainly the walls of this luxurioussuite had never looked down upon a scene so strange as this fightbetween friends. How long it continued, neither man knew--not a greatwhile, surely, measured by the clock; but an interminable time as theygauged it. Nor could Calvin Gray afterward recall just how it came toan end. He vaguely remembered Buddy Briskow weaving loosely, rockingforward upon uncertain legs, blindly groping for him--the memory waslike that of a figure seen dimly through a mist of dreams--then heremembered calling up his last reserve of failing vigor. Even as helaunched the blow he knew it was a knockout. The colossus fell, laymotionless.

  It was a moment or two before Gray could summon strength to lendsuccor, then he righted an armchair and dragged Buddy into it. Hereeled as he made for the bathroom, for he was desperately sick; as hewet a towel, meanwhile clinging dizzily to the faucet, his reflectionleered forth from the mirror--a battered, repulsive countenance,shockingly unlike his own.

  He was gently mopping young Briskow's face when the latter revived.Buddy's eyes were wild, he did not recognize this unpleasant strangeruntil a familiar voice issued from the shapeless lips.

  "You'll be all right in a few minutes, my lad."

  Briskow lifted his head; he tried to rise, but fell back limply, for asyet his body refused to obey his will.

  "You--licked me," he declared, faintly. "Licked me good, didn't you?"

  "_Buddy!_ Oh, Buddy--" It was a yearning cry; Gray's streaked, swollenfeatures were grotesquely contorted. "You won't be mad with me, willyou?"

  "Want to fight any more?"

  The victor groaned. "My God, _no!_ You nearly killed me."

  This time Buddy managed to gain his feet. "Then I reckon I'll--go tobed. I feel purty rotten."

  Gray laughed aloud, in his deep relief. "Righto! And after I've phonedfor a doctor, if you don't mind, I'll crawl in with you."