Part 39 (2/2)

”Well, I haven't,” he said, ”but I'm going with you.”

They boarded the car. They were the only pa.s.sengers. They sat down, and he said, under the roar of the wheels:

”Violet--it's a shame--a d.a.m.n shame, and I'm not going to stand for it.

This a Market Street car?” he asked the conductor who pa.s.sed down the aisle for their fares. The woman paid. When the conductor was gone, Henry continued:

”Three kids and a mother robbed by a Judge who knew better--just to stand in with the kept attorneys of the bar a.s.sociation. He could have knocked the shenanigan, that killed Hogan, galley west, if he'd wanted to, and no Supreme Court would have dared to set it aside. But no--the kept lawyers at the Capital, and all the Capitals have a mutual admiration society, and Tom has always belonged. So he turns you and all like you on the street, and Violet, before G.o.d I'm going to try to help you.”

She looked at the slick, greasy, torn stiff hat, and the dirty, s.h.i.+ny clothes that years ago had been his Sunday best, and the s.h.a.ggy face and the sallow, unwashed skin; and she remembered the man who was.

The car pa.s.sed into South Harvey. She started to rise. ”No,” he said, stopping her, ”you come on with me.”

”Where are we going?” she asked. He did not answer. She sat down.

Finally the car turned into Market Street. They got off at the bank corner. The man took hold of the woman's arm, and led her to the alley.

She drew back.

He said: ”Are you afraid of me--now, Violet?” They slinked down the alley and seeing a light in the back room of a store, Fenn stopped and went up to peer in.

”Come on,” he said. ”He's in.”

Fenn tapped on the barred window and whistled three notes. A voice inside cried, ”All right, Henry--soon's I get this column added up.”

The woman shrank back, but Fenn held her arm. Then the door opened, and the moon face of Mr. Brotherton appeared in a flood of light. He saw the woman, without recognizing her, and laughed:

”Are we going to have a party? Come right in, Marianna--here's the moated Grange, all right, all right.”

As they entered, he tried to see her face, but she dropped her head.

Fenn asked, ”Why, George--don't you know her? It's Violet--Violet Mauling--who married Denny Hogan who was killed last winter.”

George Brotherton looked at the painted face, saw the bald attempt at coquetry in her dress, and as she lifted her glazed, dead eyes, he knew her story instantly.

For she wore the old, old mask of her old, old trade.

”You poor, poor girl,” he said gently. Then continued, ”Lord--but this is tough.”

He saw the miserable creature beside him and would have smiled, but he could not. Fenn began,

”George, I just got tired of coming around here every night after closing for my quarter or half dollar; so for two or three weeks I've been stealing. She caught me at it; caught me stripping a dead engine down in the yards by the round house.”

”Yes,” she cried, lifting a poor painted face, ”Mr. Brotherton--but you know how I happened to be down there. He caught me as much as I caught him! And I'm the worst--Oh, G.o.d, when they get like me--that's the end!”

The three stood silently together. Finally Brotherton spoke: ”Well,” he drew a long breath, ”well, they don't need any h.e.l.l for you two--do they?” Then he added, ”You poor, poor sheep that have gone astray. I don't know how to help you.”

”Well, George--that's just it,” replied Fenn. ”No one can help us. But by G.o.d's help, George, I can help her! There's that much go left in me yet! Don't you think so, George?” he asked anxiously. ”I can help her.”

The weak, trembling face of the man moved George Brotherton almost to tears. Violet's instinct saw that Brotherton could not speak and she cried:

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