Part 40 (1/2)

”Well, Mr. Magee?” asked Professor Bolton, laying down the paper which he had been perusing at a distance of about an inch from his nose.

”Once again, Professor,” laughed Magee, ”reporters have entered your life.”

The old man sighed.

”It was very kind of her,” he said, ”not to mention that I was the person who compared blondes of the peroxide variety with suffragettes.

Others will not be so kind. The matter will be resurrected and used against me at the trial, I'm sure. A plucky girl, Mr. Magee--a very plucky girl. How times do change. When I was young, girls of her age would scarcely have thought of venturing forth into the highways on such perilous missions. I congratulate you. You showed unusual perception.

You deserve a great reward--the young lady's favor, let us say.”

”You got to get me out of this,” Max was still telling the mayor.

”For G.o.d's sake,” cried Cargan, ”shut up and let me think.” He sat for a moment staring at one place, his face still lacking all emotion, but his eyes a trifle narrower than before. ”You haven't got me yet,” he cried, standing up. ”By the eternal, I'll fight to the last ditch, and I'll win. I'll show Drayton he can't play this game on me. I'll show the _Star_. That dirty sheet has hounded me for years. I'll put it out of business. And I'll send the reformers howling into the alleys, sick of the fuss they started themselves.”

”Perhaps,” said Professor Bolton. ”But only after the fight of your life, Cargan.”

”I'm ready for it,” cried Cargan. ”I ain't down and out yet. But to think--a woman--a little bit of a girl I could have put in my pocket--it's all a big joke. I'll beat them--I'll show them--the game's far from played out--I'll win--and--if--I--don't--”

He crumbled suddenly into his seat, his eyes on that unpleasant line about ”Prison Stripes for the Mayor”. For an instant it seemed as though his fight was irrevocably lost, and he knew it. Lines of age appeared to creep from out the fat folds of his face, and stand mockingly there. He looked a beaten man.

”If I don't,” he stammered pitifully, ”well, they sent him to an island at the end. The reformers got Napoleon at the last. I won't be alone in that.”

At this unexpected sight of weakness in his hero, Mr. Max set up a renewed babble of fear at his side. The train was in the Reuton suburbs now. At a neat little station it slowed down to a stop, and a florid policeman entered the smoking-car. Cargan looked up.

”h.e.l.lo, Dan,” he said. His voice was lifeless; the old-time ring was gone.

The policeman removed his helmet and s.h.i.+fted it nervously.

”I thought I'd tell you, Mr. Cargan,” he said ”I thought I'd warn you.

You'd better get off here. There's a big crowd in the station at Reuton.

They're waiting for you, sir; they've heard you're on this train. This lying newspaper, Mr. Cargan, it's been telling tales--I guess you know about that. There's a big mob. You better get off here, sir, and go down-town on a car.”

If the mighty Cargan had looked limp and beaten for a moment he looked that way no more. He stood up, and his head seemed almost to touch the roof of the car. Over that big patrolman he towered; his eyes were cold and hard again; his lips curved in the smile of the master.

”And why,” he bellowed, ”should I get off here? Tell me that, Dan.”

”Well, sir,” replied the embarra.s.sed copper, ”they're ugly. There's no telling what they might do. It's a bad mob--this newspaper has stirred 'em up.”

”Ugly, are they?” sneered Cargan. ”Ever seen the bunch I would go put of my way for, Dan?”

”I meant it all right, sir,” said Dan. ”As a friend to a man who's been a friend to me. No, I never saw you afraid of any bunch yet, but this--”

”This,” replied Cargan, ”is the same old bunch. The same lily-livered crowd that I've seen in the streets since I laid the first paving stone under 'em myself in '91. Afraid of them? h.e.l.l! I'd walk through an ant hill as scared as I would through that mob. Thanks for telling me, Dan, but Jim Cargan won't be in the mollycoddle cla.s.s for a century or two yet.”

”Yes, sir,” said the patrolman admiringly. He hurried out of the car, and the mayor turned to find Lou Max pale and fearful by his side.

”What ails you now?” he asked.

”I'm afraid,” cried Max. ”Did you hear what he said? A mob. I saw a mob once. Never again for me.” He tried to smile, to pa.s.s it off as a pleasant jest, but he had to wet his lips with his tongue before he could go on. ”Come on, Jim. Get off here. Don't be a fool.”

The train began to move.