Part 35 (1/2)
”Has she a comfortable place? Do you think Governor Hamilton would let me visit her?”
”It is horrible!” Farnsworth blurted. ”She's penned up as if she were a dangerous beast, the poor girl. And that d.a.m.ned scoundrel--”
”Son, son!”
”Oh, it's no use to try, I can't help it, Father. The whelp--”
”We can converse more safely and intelligently if we avoid profanity, and undue emotion, my son. Now, if you will quit swearing, I will, and if you will be calm, so will I.”
Farnsworth felt the sly irony of this absurdly vicarious proposition.
Father Beret smiled with a kindly twinkle in his deep-set eyes.
”Well, if you don't use profane language, Father, there's no telling how much you think in expletives. What is your opinion of a man who tumbles a poor, defenseless girl into prison and then refuses to let her be decently cared for? How do you express yourself about him?”
”My son, men often do things of which they ought to be ashamed. I heard of a young officer once who maltreated a little girl that he met at night in the street. What evil he would have done, had not a pa.s.sing kind-hearted man reminded him of his honor by a friendly punch in the ribs, I dare not surmise.”
”True, and your sarcasm goes home as hard as your fist did, Father. I know that I've been a sad dog all my life. Miss Roussillon saved you by shooting me, and I love her for it. Lay on, Father, I deserve more than you can give me.”
”Surely you do, my son, surely you do; but my love for you will not let me give you pain. Ah, we priests have to carry all men's loads. Our backs are broad, however, very broad, my son.”
”And your fists devilish heavy, Father, devilish heavy.”
The gentle smile again flickered over the priest's weather-beaten face as he glanced sidewise at Farnsworth and said:
”Sometimes, sometimes, my son, a carnal weapon must break the way for a spiritual one. But we priests rarely have much physical strength; our dependence is upon--”
”To be sure; certainly,” Farnsworth interrupted, rubbing his side, ”your dependence is upon the first thing that offers. I've had many a blow; but yours was the solidest that ever jarred thy mortal frame, Father Beret.”
The twain began to laugh. There is nothing like a reminiscence to stir up fresh mutual sympathy.
”If your intercostals were somewhat sore for a time, on account of a contact with priestly knuckles, doubtless there soon set in a corresponding uneasiness in the region of your conscience. Such shocks are often vigorously alterative and tonic--eh, my son?”
”You jolted me sober, Father, and then I was ashamed of myself. But where does all your tremendous strength lie? You don't look strong.”
While speaking Farnsworth leaned near Father Beret and grasped his arm.
The young man started, for his fingers, instead of closing around a flabby, shrunken old man's limb, spread themselves upon a huge, knotted ma.s.s of iron muscles. With a quick movement Father Beret shook off Farnsworth's hand, and said:
”I am no Samson, my son. Non sum qualis eram.” Then, as if dismissing a light subject for a graver one, he sighed and added; ”I suppose there is nothing that can be done for little Alice.”
He called the tall, strong girl ”little Alice,” and so she seemed to him. He could not, without direct effort, think of her as a magnificently maturing woman. She had always been his spoiled pet child, perversely set against the Holy Church, but dear to him nevertheless.
”I came to you to ask that very question, Father,” said Farnsworth.
”And what do I know? Surely, my son, you see how utterly helpless an old priest is against all you British. And besides--”
”Father Beret,” Farnsworth huskily interrupted, ”is there a place that you know of anywhere in which Miss Roussillon could be hidden, if--”
”My dear son.”
”But, Father, I mean it.”