Part 12 (1/2)

Mannie stared at him, his eyes filled with surprise.

”Don't you suppose,” he said simply, ”that I know that better than you do?” With a boy's pride in his own incorrigibility he went on boastingly: ”Oh, yes,” he said, ”I used to be awful bad! Cocaine and all kinds of dope, and cigarettes, and whiskey. I was nearly all in--with morphine, it was then--till she took hold of me, and stopped me.”

”She?” said Winthrop.

”Vera,” said Mannie. ”She made me stop. I had to stop. She started taking it herself.”

”What!” cried Winthrop.

”Oh!” exclaimed Mannie hastily, ”I don't mean what you mean--I mean she started taking it to make me stop. She says to me, Mannie, you're killing yourself, and you got to quit it; and if you don't, every time you take a grain, I'll take two. And she did! I'd come home, and she'd see what I'd been doing, and she'd up with her sleeves, and--” In horrible pantomime, the boy lifted the cuff of his s.h.i.+rt, and pressed his right thumb against the wrist of his other arm. At the memory of it, he gave a s.h.i.+ver and, with a blow, roughly struck the cuff into place.

”G.o.d!” he muttered, ”I couldn't stand it. I begged, and begged her not.

I cried. I used to get down, in this room, on my knees. And each time she'd get whiter, and black under the eyes. And--and I had to stop.

Didn't I?”

Winthrop moved his head.

”And now,” cried the boy with a happy laugh, ”I'm all right!” He appealed to the older man eagerly, wistfully. ”Don't you think I'm looking better than I did the last time you saw me?”

Again, without venturing to speak, Winthrop nodded.

Mannie smiled with pride. ”Everybody tells me so,” he said. ”Well, she did it. That's what she did for me. And, I can tell you,” he said simply, sincerely, ”there ain't anything I wouldn't do for her. I guess that's right, hey?” he added.

The eyes of the cruel cross-examiner, veiled under half-closed lids, were regarding the boy with so curious an expression that under their scrutiny Mannie, in embarra.s.sment, moved uneasily. ”I guess that's right,” he repeated.

To his surprise, the District Attorney rose from his comfortable position and, leaning across the table, held out his hand. Mannie took it awkwardly.

”That's all right,” he said.

”Sure, it's all right,” said the District Attorney.

From the hall there was the sound of light, quick steps, and Mannie, happy to escape from a situation he did not understand, ran to the door.

”She's coming,” he said. He opened the door and, as Vera entered, he slipped past her and closed it behind him.

Vera walked directly to the chair at the top of the centre table. She was nervous, and she was conscious that that fact was evident. To avoid shaking hands with her visitor, she carried her own clasped in front of her, with the fingers interlaced. She tried to speak in her usual suave, professional tone. ”How do you do?” she said.

But Winthrop would not be denied. With a smile that showed his pleasure at again seeing her, he advanced eagerly, with his hand outstretched.

”How are you?” he exclaimed. ”Aren't you going to shake hands with me?”

he demanded. ”With an old friend?”

Vera gave him her hand quickly, and then, seating herself at the table, picked up the ivory pointer.

”I didn't know you were coming as an old friend,” she murmured embarra.s.sedly. ”You said you were coming to consult Vera, the medium.”

”But you said that was the only way I could come,” protested Winthrop.

”Don't you remember, you said--”