The Landloper: The Romance of a Man on Foot
“It's because you might feel bad, m'sieu'. P'raps not, for I'm only poor
man and don't count.”
“What have they said to you?”
“It's nottin's,” said Etienne, stubbornly. “You shall not think you got
me into trouble. You did not. I would have done it maself as soon as I
thought of it.”
“I command you to tell me what has been said to you, Etienne.”
“They say that I shall be discharge from the rack. They say I have
talk too much to my compatriots about the poison water. But I shall
talk--yes--jesso!”
“Who says so?”
“The yard boss say to me that. Oh, there's no mistake. He have the
power, M'sieu' Farr. The super tell the yard boss, the mill agent tell
the super, the alderman tell the mill agent, the mayor he tell the
alderman.”
“And probably Colonel Symonds Dodd told the mayor,” growled Farr. “It's
a great system, Etienne. Nobody too small--nobody too big!”
“But I do not care. I shall talk some more--yes, I shall talk in the
_hotel de ville_ when you shall tell me to talk. I was scare at
first and I tol' you I would not talk; but now I have found out I
can talk--and I am not scare any more, and I will talk.” Pride and
determination were in the old man's tones. Since that most wonderful
evening in all his life when he had heard his voice as if it were the
voice of another man ringing forth denunciation of those in high places,
the old rack-tender had referred to that new manifestation of himself as
if he were discussing another man whom he had discovered. The memory of
his feat was ever fresh within him. And his meek pride was filled with
much wonderment that such a being should have been hidden all the years
in Etienne Provancher. Many men had called around to shake his hand and
increase his wonderment as to his own ability.
“We will wait awhile,” counseled Farr, understanding the pride and
treating it gently. “Stay at your work and be very quiet, Etienne, and
they will not trouble you. You need your money, and I will call on you
when you can help again.”
“Then I will come. I shall be sorry to see somebody have my rake and
pole, but I shall come.”
A moment of silence fell between them, and during that moment a young
woman passed rapidly along the sidewalk. Walker Farr shut his eyes
suddenly, as a man tries to wink away what he considers an illusion, and
then opened his eyes and made sure that she was what she seemed; there
was no mistaking that face--it was Kate Kilgour.
He stared after her. She halted on the next corner, peered up at the
dingy street light to make sure of the sign legend on its globe and then
turned down an alley.
“Ba gar!” commented old Etienne, putting Farr's thoughts into words,
“that be queer t'ing for such a fine, pretty lady to go down into Rose
Alley, because Rose Alley ain't so sweet as what it sounds.”
Then two men came hurrying past without paying any attention to the
denizens of the neighborhood who were sitting in the gloom on the stoop.
The street light revealed the faces of the men as it had shown to them
the girl's features. One was Richard Dodd. Unmistakably, they were
following the girl. Farr heard Dodd say: “Slow up! Give her time to get
there. She's headed all right.”
And Farr stared after those men, more than ever amazed.
One of them was obtrusively a clergyman--that is to say, he was cased in
a frock-coat that flapped against his calves, wore a white necktie, and
carried a book under his arm.
Dodd was attired immaculately in gray, and as he walked he whipped a
thin cane nervously. They began to stroll soon after they had hurried
past the stoop, and were sauntering leisurely when they turned into Rose
Alley.
“I now say two ba gars!” exploded Etienne. “Because I been see the
jailbird, Dennis Burke, all dress up like minister, go past here with
the nephew of Colonel Dodd. And they go 'long after la belle mam'selle.”
“A jailbird!”
“He smart, bad man, that Dennis Burke. But he was hire by the big man
to do something with the votes on election-time--so to cheat--and he
get caught and so he been in the state prison. But he seem to be out all
free now and convert to religion in some funny way. Eh?”
“Etienne, are you sure of what you are talking about?” demanded Farr.
His voice trembled. The visit of that handsome girl to that quarter of
the city--those men so patently pursuing her--there was a sinister look
to the affair.
“Oh, we all know that Burke. He hire many votes in this ward for many
years. He known in Marion just so well as the steeple on the _hotel de
ville_. And that odder--that young mans, we know him, for his oncle is
Colonel Dodd. Oh yes!”
“Good night, Etienne--and to you Miss Zelie!” said Farr, curtly, walking
off toward the entrance of Rose Alley. He did not ask the old man to
go with him. He was drawn in two directions by his emotions and stopped
after he had taken a few steps. This seemed like espionage in a matter
which was none of his concern. It was entirely possible that the
confidential secretary of Colonel Dodd and the nephew of that gentleman
might have common business even in Rose Alley and at that time of
evening.
But the matter of that masquerading ballot-falsifier, just out of state
prison, overcame Farr's scruples about meddling in the affairs of Kate
Kilgour.
He turned the corner into the alley in season to see the two men far
ahead of him; they passed out of the radiance shed by a dim light and he
saw no more of them. He walked the length of the alley and was not able
to locate any of the party. At its lower end the alley was closed in by
houses, and it was plain that the people he sought had not passed out
into another thoroughfare. He marched back, scrutinizing the outside of
buildings, trying to conjecture what business the handsome girl and
the two men could have in that section at that hour, and where they had
entered to prosecute that business.
“I must continue to blame it all on the nice old ladies,” he told
himself, smiling at the shamed zest he was finding in this hunt. “But I
hope this knight-errantry will not grow to be a habit with me. I
mustn't forget that I have another job on hand for nine o'clock--also
knight-errantry!”
He paused under the dim light where his men had disappeared and looked
at his cheap watch.
Twenty-five minutes of nine!
Then he heard a woman's protesting voice. She cried “No, _no_, NO!” in
crescendo.
He gazed at the house from which the voice seemed to come. It was near
at hand, a shabby little cottage with a thin slice of yard closed in by
a dilapidated picket fence. He perceived no observers in the alley, and
he stepped into the yard. The front windows were open, for the evening
was warm, but no lights were visible in the house.
He heard the protesting cry again. It was more earnest.
He head the rumble of a man's voice, but could not catch the words.
Whatever was happening was taking place in some rear room.
“No, I say, no! Unlock that door,” cried the voice, passionately.
Farr troubled his mind no longer with quixotic considerations about
intrusion. He hoisted himself over the window-sill into the darkened
front room, passed down a short corridor and, when he heard the voice
once again on the inside of a door which he found locked, he immediately
kicked the door open. He appeared to those in the room, heralded by an
amazing crash and flying splinters.
First of all, he was astonished to find two women there; one was Miss
Kilgour and the other was her mother. And there were the two men whom he
had followed.
Farr swept off his hat and addressed the girl.
“I happened to be passing and heard your voice,” he said. “If you are--”
He hesitated, a bit confused, realizing all at once that knight-errantry
in modern days is not quite as free and easy a matter as it used to be
when damsels were in distress in the ruder times of yore. “I am at your
service,” he added, a bit curtly.
But she did not reply. Her attitude was tense, her cheeks were flaming,
her eyes were like glowing coals.
“You lunatic, you have come slamming in here, disturbing a private
wedding,” announced the man in the white tie, slapping his palm upon the
book he carried.
“Get out of here!” shouted Dodd. He had dodged into a corner of the
room, his face whitening, when Farr had burst in. He remained in the
corner now, brandishing his cane.
The uninvited guest surveyed the young man with more composure than he
had been able to command when he looked at the girl.
Etienne Provancher had fortified him with some valuable information.
“Mr. Richard Dodd, I'll apologize and walk out of here after you have
explained to me why you have faked up into a parson one Dennis Burke,
late of the state prison, to officiate at weddings.”
Upon the silence that followed the girl thrust an “Oh!” into which she
put grief, protest, anger, consternation.
“Mother!” she cried. “Did you know? How could you allow--how did you
come to do such a terrible thing?”
Her mother put her hands to her face and sat down and began to sob with
hysterical display of emotion. Farr scowled a bit as he looked at
her. She was overdressed. There was an artificial air about her whole
appearance--even her hysterics seemed artificial.
The girl turned from her with a gesture of angry despair as if she
realized, from experience, that she could expect, at that juncture, only
emotion without explanation.
“Hold on here,” cried Dodd, “hold on here, everybody! This is all right.
You just let me inform you, Mr. Butter-in, that Mr. Burke has full
authority to solemnize a marriage. He is a notary and was commissioned
at the last meeting of the governor and council. And I know that,” he
added, attempting a bit of a swagger, “for I secured the commission for
him myself.” He came out of his corner and shook his cane at Farr. “I
want you to understand that I have political power in this state!”
“I wouldn't brag about that kind of political power, when you can use it
to make notaries out of jailbirds. That must be a nice bunch you have up
at your State House!”
“On your way!” Again the cane swished in front of Farr's face.
“I beg your pardon, madam,” apologized Farr, bowing to the girl. “You
seem to be the only one in this room entitled to that courtesy,” he
added, with a touch of his cynicism. “Am I intruding on your personal
business?”
“You are not,” she answered, her eyes flashing. “I am glad you came
in here. I could have stopped the wretched folly myself, but you have
helped me, and I thank you.” She delivered that little speech with
vigor.
“Kate!” pleaded Dodd. “This isn't fair. I meant it all right. Here's
your mother here! You wouldn't be reasonable the other way. We had to do
something. For the love of Heaven, be good. You know I--”
She had turned her back on him. Now she whirled and spat furious words
at him, commanding him to be silent.
“Do you want to spread all this miserable business before this
gentleman?” she demanded. “I am ashamed--ashamed! My mother to consent
to such a thing!”
She turned her back on him again and walked to and fro, beating her
hands together in her passion. And now ire boiled in Dodd. He directed
it all at the man who had interfered.
“This is no business of yours, you loafer. I don't know who you are, but
you--”
Farr grabbed the switching cane as he would have swept into his palm an
annoying insect. He broke it into many pieces between his sinewy fingers
and tossed the bits into Dodd's convulsed face.
“You'll know me better later on--you and your uncle, too. Ask him what
I advised him to do about having his weapon loose on his hip--take the
same advice for yourself.”
Then his expression altered suddenly. A disquieting jog of memory
prompted him to yank out the cheap watch.
Twelve minutes to nine.