The Crimson Gardenia and Other Tales of Adventure
door of the frozen North was creaking on its hinges, and just beyond lay
the good, glad world of men and things.
June could stand it no longer; so she told her sorrow to Llewellyn, who
had half guessed it, anyhow, and he in turn retold it to his
fellow-Wags.
The Scrap Iron Kid was for killing Hope at once, and argued that it was
by far the simplest way out of June's trouble, carrying with it also an
agreeable element of retribution. Hope had hurt the Wag-lady, therefore
the least atonement he could offer was his blood. But Dummy, the foxy
old alibi man of the outfit, said:
"I've got a better scheme. Hope wants to do the right thing, and June'll
make him if she has a chance. The company will get its coin, she'll get
her square guy, an' nobody'll be hurt, provided he has time to swing
himself. The ace in the hole is Sammy Sternberg; he's got the books. Now
what's the answer?"
"Steal the books!" chorused the Wags; and Dummy smiled.
"Why, sure."
"You can't stick up no saloon full of rough-necks and sleepers," said
Scrap Iron. "Sammy caches his books in the safe when he's off shift, and
we can't blow the safe, 'cause the joint never closes."
But the Dummy only grinned, for this was the sort of job he liked, and
then he proceeded to make known his plan.
Those were terrible hours for June. She prayed with all the earnestness
of her earnest being that her lover might be spared; repeatedly she
strained her tear-filled eyes to the southward. As for Hope, he had
tasted the consequences of his guilt, and his face grew lined and
haggard with the strain of waiting. He could have met the future with
some show of resignation had it not been for the knowledge of his
sweetheart's suffering; but as the hours passed and that thin black line
of soot still hung upon the horizon, he thought he would go mad.
On the second day a steamer showed, hull down, having wormed her way
through the floes, and Nome marched out upon the shore ice in a body.
June and Harry went with the others, hand in hand, and the man walked as
if he were marching to the gallows. It was not the P. C. steamer, after
all; it was the whaler _Jeanie_. The fleet was in the offing, however,
so she reported, and would be in within another twenty-four hours, if
the pack kept drifting.
Hope ground his teeth, and muttered: "Poor little June! I wish it were
over for your sake!" and she nodded wearily.
But as they neared the shore again they heard rumors of strange doings
in their absence. There had been a daring daylight hold-up at the
Miners' Rest. Six masked men had taken advantage of the exodus to enter
and clean out the place at the point of the gun, and now Sammy Sternberg
was poisoning the air with his complaints.
Details came flying faster as they trudged up into Front Street, and Doc
Whiting paused to say:
"That's the nerviest thing yet, eh, Harry?"
"Was anybody hurt?"
"No damage done except to Sammy's feelings."
"They surely didn't get much money?"
"Oh, no! Their total clean-up wasn't a hundred dollars; but they lugged
off Sammy's books."
June felt herself falling, and grasped weakly at her lover's arm, for
she saw it all. "Come!" she said, and dragged him up to her own cabin,
then on to the Wag-boys' door. They were all there, sprawled about and
smoking.
"You did this!" she said, shakingly. "You did it for me!"
"Did what?" they asked in chorus, looking at her blankly.
"Oh, we know," said Harry Hope. "You've given me a chance--and I'll make
good!" His own voice sounded strange in his ears.
There was an instant's awkward pause, and then the Scrap Iron Kid said,
simply, "You'd better!" and the others nodded.
Llewellyn spoke up, saying, "Reddy is our regular chef; but I'd like to
have you see me cook a goose." Then he drew from his inside pocket what
seemed to be a leaf torn from a ledger, and, unfolding it, he struck a
match, then lighted it.
"I suppose I ought to be a man and face the music," Hope managed to
stutter, "but I'm going to cheat the ends of justice for June's sake.
I'm much obliged to you."
When they had gone off, hand in hand, the Scrap Iron Kid nodded
approvingly to George, saying, "That was sure some cookin' you did,
pal."
And Llewellyn answered, "Yes, I cooked your goose and mine, but she'll
be happy, anyhow."
"MAN PROPOSES--"
THE STORY OF A MAN WHO WANTED TO DIE
I
There were seventeen policies in all and they aggregated an even million
dollars. It thrilled Butler Murray to note his own name neatly typed
upon the outside of each. Those papers possessed a remarkable
fascination for him, not only because they meant the settlement of his
debt to Muriel, but because his life, instead of being the wholly
useless thing he had come to regard it, was really, by virtue of those
documents, a valuable asset upon which he could realize at once.
One million dollars was a great deal of money, even to Butler Murray,
and yet it was so easy! Why, it was even easier to make that amount than
it had been to spend it! Although the former process might not prove so
amusing, it at least offered a degree of interest wholly lacking in the
latter.
When DeVoe entered, Murray greeted him warmly. "I'm glad I caught you,
Henry. They told me you've been out West somewhere."
"Yes, I'm promoting, you know--mines!" DeVoe flung off his fur coat and
settled into an easy-chair.
"Getting along all right?"
"No. My friends either know too little about mines or too much about me.
I've a good proposition, though, and if I could ever get started, I'd
clean up a million."
"It's not so hard to make a million dollars."
"How the deuce do you know? You've never had to try. By the way, why are
you living here at the club? Where is Mrs. Murray?"
"She is at the farm with the children. We have--separated."
"_No!_ Jove! I'm sorry. What does it mean--the road to Reno?"
"I hardly think she will divorce me, on account of the publicity;
although she ought to."
"Woman scrape, I suppose."
"No, nothing like that. I've spent all her money."
DeVoe opened his eyes in amazement. "Oh, see here now, you couldn't
spend it _all_! Why, she had even more than you!"
"It's all gone--hers and mine."
"Good _Lord_!"
"Yes. I was always extravagant, but I've been speculating lately. I
thought I'd get a sensation either way the market went, but I was
disappointed. I dare say I have exhausted my capabilities for
excitement. It's a long story, and I won't bore you with it, but, to be
exact, all I have left is the town house and the farm and the place in
Virginia. There isn't enough income, however, to keep any one of them
going."
"Well, well! You _have_ been stepping along. Why, it's inconceivable!"
DeVoe stirred uneasily in his chair. The calm indifference of this
broad-shouldered, immaculate fellow amazed him. He could not tell
whether it was genuine or assumed, and in either event he was sorry he
had come, for he did not like to hear tales of misfortune. Butler
Murray, the millionaire, was a good man to know, but--
"I sent for you because I need--"
"See here, Butler," the younger man broke in, abruptly, "you know I
can't lend. I'm borrowing myself. In fact, I was going to make a touch
on you."
"Oh, I don't want your money; I want your help. I think, perhaps, I'm
entitled to it, eh?"
Henry flushed a trifle. "You're welcome to that at all times, of course,
and if I had a bank-roll, I'd split it with you, but I just can't seem
to get started."
"Suppose you had twenty-five thousand dollars, cash; would that help?"
"Help! Great Heavens! I could swing this deal; it would put me on my
feet."
"I'm ready to pay you that amount for a few weeks of your time."
"Take a year of it, two years. Take my life's blood. Twenty-five
thousand! You needn't tell me any more; just name the job and I'll take
my chances of being caught. But--I say, you just told me you were
broke."
"I received about fifty thousand dollars from the sale of the yacht, and
I invested the money. I want you to help me realize on that investment."
Murray tossed the packet of papers he had been examining into DeVoe's
lap.
After scrutinizing them an instant, the latter looked up with a crooked,
startled stare.
"Are you joking? Why, these are your insurance policies!"
"Exactly! There are seventeen of them, and they foot up one million
dollars--the limit in every company. They begin to expire in March, and
I don't intend to renew them. In fact, I couldn't if I wanted to."
The two men regarded each other silently for a moment, then the younger
paled.
"Are you--crazy?" he gasped.
"The doctors didn't think so, and that is the heaviest life insurance
carried by any man in America, with a few exceptions. Do you think they
would have passed me if I'd been wrong up here?" He tapped his forehead.
"I intend that you shall receive twenty-five thousand dollars of that
money; the rest will go to Muriel."
DeVoe continued to stare alternately at the policies and his friend;
then cleared his throat nervously.
"Let's talk plainly."
"By all means. You will need to know the truth, but you are the only one
outside of myself who will. For some time I have felt the certainty that
I am going to die."
"Nonsense! You are an ox."
"The more I've thought about it the more certain I've become, until now
there isn't the slightest doubt in my mind. I took my last dollar and
bought that insurance. Do you understand? I'm considered rich, therefore
they allowed me to take out a million dollars."
"Sui--God Almighty, man!" DeVoe's sagging jaw snapped shut with a click.
"Let me finish; then you can decide whether I'm sane or crazy, and
whether you want that twenty-five thousand dollars enough to help me. To
begin with, I'll grant you that I'm young--only forty--healthy and
strong. But I'm broke, Henry. I don't believe you realize what that
means to a chap who has had two fortunes handed to him and has
squandered both. I'm really twice forty years of age, perhaps three
times, for I have lived faster than most men. I have been everywhere, I
have seen everything, I have done everything--except manual labor, and
of course I don't know how to do that--I have had every sensation. I'm
sated and old, and sometimes I'm a bit tired. I have no enthusiasm left,
and I'm bankrupt. To make matters worse I have a wife who knows the
truth and two lovely children who do not. Those kids believe I'm a hero
and the greatest man in all the universe; in their eyes I'm a sort of
demigod, but in a few years they'll learn that I have been a waster and
thrown away not only my own fortune, but the million that belonged to
them. That will be tough for all of us. Muriel knows how deeply I've
wronged her, but she is too much a thoroughbred to make it public.
Nevertheless, she detests me, and I detest myself; she may decide to
divorce me. At any rate, I have wrecked whatever home life I used to
have, for I'll never be able to support her, even if I sell the three
places. I'll be known as a failure; I'll be ridiculed by the world. On
the other hand, if I should die before next March she would be rich
again." Murray's eyes rested upon the package of policies. "Perhaps time
would soften her memory of me. The youngsters would have what they're
entitled to, and they would always think of me as a grand, good,
handsome parent who was taken off in his prime." He smiled whimsically
at this. "That is worth something to a fellow, isn't it? I don't want
them to be disillusioned, Henry; I don't want to endure their pity and
toleration. I don't want to be in their way and hear them say, 'Hush!
Here comes poor old father!' Do you understand?"
"To a certain extent. Then you really intend--to kill yourself?" DeVoe