Part 9 (1/2)
”What do I think? May I ask, without offence, what _you_ think?”
”I think,” said Thord slowly, ”that the King has for once in his life done a wise thing.”
”'For once in his life!'” repeated the stranger dubiously--”Then I presume your King is, generally speaking, a fool?”
”If you are a subject of his--” began Thord slowly----
”Thank Heaven, I am not! I am a mere wanderer--a literary loafer--a student of men and manners. I read books, and I write them too,--this will perhaps explain the eccentricity of my behaviour in trying to read under the lamplight in the rain!”
He smiled again, and the smile was irresistibly pleasant. Something about him attracted Thord, and after a pause he asked:
”If you are, as you say, a wanderer and a stranger in this town, can I be of service to you?”
”You are very kind!” said the other, turning a pair of deep, dark, grey meditative eyes upon him,--”And I am infinitely obliged to you for the suggestion. But I really want nothing. As a matter of fact, I am waiting for two friends of mine who have just gone into one of the foul and filthy habitations here, to see what they can do for a suddenly bereaved family. The husband and father fell dead in the street before our eyes,--and those who picked him up said he was drunk, but it turned out that he was merely starved,--_merely_!--you understand? Merely starved!
We found his home,--and the poor widow is wailing and weeping, and the children are crying for food. I confess myself quite unable to bear the sight, and so I have sent all the money I had about me to help them for to-night at least. By my faith, they are most hopelessly, incurably miserable!”
”Their lot is exceedingly common in these quarters,” said Thord, sorrowfully. ”Day after day, night after night, men, women and children toil, suffer and die here without ever knowing what it is to have one hour of free fresh air, one day of rest and joy! Yet this is a great city,--and we live in a civilized country!” He smiled bitterly, then added--”You have done a good action; and you need no thanks, or I would thank you; for my life's work lies among these wretched poor, and I am familiar with their tragic histories. Good-night!”
”Pray do not go!” said the stranger suddenly--”I should like to talk to you a little longer, if you have no objection. Is there not some place near, where we can go out of this rain and have a gla.s.s of wine together?”
Sergius Thord stood irresolute,--gazing at him, half in liking, half in distrust.
”Sir,” he said at last, ”I do not know you--and you do not know me. If I told you my name, you would probably not seek my company!”
”Will you tell it?” suggested the stranger cheerfully--”Mine is at your service--Pasquin Leroy. I fear my fame as an author has not reached your ears!”
Thord shook his head.
”No. I have never heard of you. And probably you have never heard of me.
My name is Sergius Thord.”
”Sergius Thord!” echoed the stranger; ”Now that is truly remarkable!
It is a happy coincidence that we should have met to-night. I have just seen your name in this very paper which you caught me reading--see!--the next heading under that concerning the King and the Jesuits--'Thord's Rabble.' Are not you that same Thord?”
”I am!” said Thord proudly, his eyes s.h.i.+ning as he took the paper and perused quickly the few flashy lines which described the crowd outside the Cathedral that afternoon, and set him down as a crazy Socialist, and disturber of the peace, ”And the 'rabble' as this scribbling fool calls it, is the greater part of this city's population. The King may intimidate his Court; but I, Sergius Thord, with my 'rabble' can intimidate both Court and King!”
He drew himself up to his full majestic height--a n.o.ble figure of a man with his fine heroic head and eagle-like glance of eye,--and he who had called himself Pasquin Leroy, suddenly held out his hand.
”Let me see more of you, Sergius Thord!” he said,--”You are the very man for me! They say in this paper that you spoke to a great mult.i.tude outside the Cathedral this afternoon, and interfered with the religious procession; they also say you are the head of a Society called the Revolutionary Committee;--now let me work for you in some department of _that_ business!”
”Let you work for me?” echoed Thord astonished--”But how?”
”In this way--” replied the other--”I write Socialistic works,--and for this cause have been expelled from my native home and surroundings. I have a little money--and some influence,--and I will devote both to your Cause. Will you take me, and trust me?”
Thord caught his extended hand, and looked at him with a kind of fierce intentness.
”You mean it?” he said in thrilling tones--”You mean it positively and truly?”