The Vagrant Duke

  CHAPTER IX

  SHAD IS UNPLEASANT

  Peter returned from New York on Thursday night, having accomplished hiscurious mission. He had first intercepted Beth on her way to the kitchenand sworn her to secrecy, advising her to say nothing to Mrs. Bergenabout the events of the previous night. And she had agreed to respecthis wishes. On the way to New York he had sat in the rumble of the lowred runabout, Miss Peggy McGuire at the wheel, driving the fashionableFreddy. Miss McGuire after having yielded, the night before, to themusical predilections of Miss Delaplane, had apparently reconsideredPeter's social status and had waved him to the seat in the rear with amere gesture and without apologies. And Peter, biting back a grin andtouching his hat, had obeyed. The familiarities tolerable in such awilderness as Black Rock could not of course be considered in the hallsof the fashionable hotel where Miss Peggy lived in New York, and whereby dint of great care and exclusiveness she had caught a hold of thefringe of society. But Peter sat up very straight, trying not to hearwhat was said in front. If he could only have worn his Colonel's uniformand decorations, or his Grand Ducal coronet, and have folded his arms,the irony would have been perfection.

  He had gone to Sheldon, Senior, in the morning and in return forMcGuire's check had been given cash in the shape of ten virginal fivehundred dollar bills. This money had been put into an envelope and wasnow folded carefully in Peter's inside pocket. Sheldon, Senior, to besure, had asked questions, but with a good grace Peter had evaded him.Dick Sheldon was out of town, so Peter put in the remaining periodbefore his train-time in a music store where he spent all the money thatremained of his salary, on books, a few for the piano but most of themfor Beth. Peter had wasted, as he had thought, two perfectly good yearsin trying to learn to sing. But those two years were not going to bewasted now--for Beth was to be his mouthpiece. He knew the beginnings ofa training--how to give her the advantage of the instruction he hadreceived from one of the best teachers in Milan. He was lucky enough tofind books on the Italian method of voice production and on the way backto McGuire's, armed with these, he stopped off at the Bergen house inBlack Rock village and returned Beth's call.

  There he found Shad Wells, in his shirt-sleeves, smoking a pipe in theportico, and looking like a thundercloud. In response to Peter's query,he moved his right shoulder half an inch in the direction of the door,and then spat in the geranium bed. So Peter knocked at the door, softlyat first, then loudly, when Beth emerged, her sleeves rolled to hershoulders and her arms covered with soapsuds.

  "Why, Shad," she said witheringly, after she had greeted Peter, "youmight have let me know! Come in, Mr. Nichols. Excuse my appearance.Wash-day," she explained, as he followed her into the dark interior.

  "I can't stop," said the visitor, "I just came to bring these books----"

  "For _me_!" she exclaimed, hurriedly wiping her arms on her apron.

  "I got them in New York----"

  She pulled up the shade at the side, letting in the sunlight, an actpermissible in the parlors of Black Rock only on state occasions, forthe sunlight (as every one knew) was not kind to plush-coveredfurniture.

  "For _me_!" Beth repeated softly. "I didn't think you meant it."

  "_Tone production--Exercises_," explained Peter, "and here's one on _TheLives of the Great Composers_. I thought you might be interested inreading it."

  "Oh, yes. I am--I will be. Thank you ever so much----"

  "Of course you can't do much by yourself just yet--not without apiano--to get the pitch--the key--but I've brought a tuning forkand----"

  "But I've got the harmonium----," Beth broke in excitedly. "It's alittle out of tune, but----"

  "The harmonium!" asked the bewildered Peter. "What's that?"

  Beth proudly indicated a piece of furniture made of curly walnut whichstood in the corner of the room. There were several books on the top ofit--_Gospel Tunes_--_Moody and Sankey_, a Methodist Episcopal hymn book,and a glass case containing wax flowers.

  "We play it Sundays----," said Beth, "but it ought to help----"

  "You play----!" he said in surprise.

  "Aunt Tillie and I--oh, just hymns----." She sat, while Peter watched,began pumping vigorously with her feet and presently the instrumentemitted a doleful sound. "It has notes anyhow," said Beth with a laugh.

  "Splendid!" said Peter. "And when I've told you what to do you canpractice here. You'll come soon?"

  She nodded. "When?"

  "To-morrow--sometime?" And then, "What's the matter with Wells?" heasked.

  She frowned. "He just asked me to marry him. It's the twenty-seventhtime."

  "Oh----"

  "I can't be botherin' with Shad--not on wash-day--or any other day," sheadded as though in an afterthought.

  Peter laughed. He was quite sure that nobody would ever make her doanything she didn't want to do.

  "He knows I was at the Cabin yesterday," she said in a low voice. "Hewas watchin'."

  Peter was silent a moment, glancing at the books he had just broughther.

  "Of course if he has any claim on you, perhaps----," he began, when shebroke in.

  "Claim! He hasn't," she gasped. "I'll do as I please. And he'd betterquit pesterin' me or I'll----"

  "What?"

  She laughed.

  "I'll put him through the clothes-wringer."

  Peter grinned. "He almost looks as though you'd done that already."

  And as she followed him to the door, "I thought I ought to tell youabout Shad. When he gets ugly--he's ugly an' no mistake."

  "Do you still think he'll--er--swallow me at one gobble?" he asked.

  She stared at him a moment and then laughed with a full throat. "I hopehe don't--at least not 'til I've had my singin' lessons."

  "I think I can promise you that," said Peter.

  She followed him out to the porch, where they looked about for Shad. Hehad disappeared. And in the "Lizzie," which had been panting by the sideof the road, Peter was conducted by the soiled young man at the wheel toBlack Rock House.

  Nothing unusual had happened in his absence, nor had any other messageor warning been posted, for Stryker, released for this duty, hadsearched all the morning and found nothing. "Hawk" was waiting, bidinghis hour.

  Curiously enough, an astonishing calm seemed to have fallen over theperson of Jonathan K. McGuire. When Peter arrived he found his employerseated on the portico in a wicker chair, smoking his after-supper cigar.True, the day guards were posted near by and Stryker hovered as was hiswont, but the change in his employer's demeanor was so apparent thatPeter wondered how such a stolid-looking creature could ever have losthis self-control. It was difficult to understand this metamorphosisunless it could be that, having come to a decision and aware of theprospect of immunity, if only a temporary one, McGuire had settled downto make the best of a bad job and await with stoicism whatever thefuture was to bring. This was Peter's first impression, nothing elsesuggesting itself, but when he followed the old man up to his room andgave him the money he had brought he noted the deeply etched lines atnostril and jaw and felt rather than saw the meaning of them--thatJonathan McGuire was in the grip of some deep and sinister resolution.There was a quality of desperation in his calmness, a studiedindifference to the dangers which the night before last had seemed soappalling.

  He put the money in the safe, carefully locked the combination and thenturned into the room again.

  "Thanks, Nichols," he said. "You'd better have some supper and get tobed to-night. I don't think you'll be needed." And then, as Peter's lookshowed his surprise, "I know my man better than you do. To-morrow nightwe shall see."

  He closed his lips into a thin line, shot out his jaw and lowered hisbrows unpleasantly. Courage of a sort had come back to him, the courageof the animal at bay, which fights against the inevitable.

  To Peter the time seemed propitious to state the need for theobservation towers and he explained in detail his projects. But McGuirelistened and when Peter had finished speaking merely shook his head.

&
nbsp; "What you say is quite true. The towers must be built. I've thought sofor a long time. In a few days we will speak of that again--_afterto-morrow night_," he finished significantly.

  "As you please," said Peter, "but every day lost now may----"

  "We'll gain these days later," he broke in abruptly. "I want you to stayaround here now."

  On Friday morning he insisted on having Peter show him the tree wherethe placard had been discovered, and Peter, having taken lunch with him,led him down to the big sugar maple, off the path to the cabin. Petersaw that he scanned the woods narrowly and walked with a hand in hiswaist-band, which Peter knew held an Army Colt revolver, but the whinewas gone from his voice, the trembling from his hands. He walked aroundthe maple with Peter, regarding it with a sort of morbid abstraction andthen himself led the way to the path and to the house. Why he wanted tolook at the tree was more than Peter could understand, for it was Peter,and not he, who was to keep this costly assignation.

  "You understand, Nichols," he said when they reached the portico,"you've agreed to go--to-night--at eleven."

  "I wish you'd let me meet him--without the money."

  "No--no. I've made up my mind----," gasped McGuire with a touch of hisold alarm, "there can't be any change in the plan--no change at all."

  "Oh, very well," said Peter, "it's not my money I'm giving away."

  "It won't matter, Nichols. I--I've got a lot more----"

  "But the principle----" protested Peter.

  "To H---- with the principle," growled the old man.

  Peter turned and went back to the Cabin, somewhat disgusted with hiswhole undertaking. Already he had been here for five days and, exceptfor two walks through the woods for purposes of investigation, nothingthat he had come to do had been accomplished. He had not yet evenvisited the sawmills which were down on the corduroy road five milesaway. So far as he could see, for the present he was merely McGuire'shandy man, a kind of upper servant and messenger, whose duties couldhave been performed as capably by Stryker or Shad Wells, or even JesseBrown. The forest called him. It needed him. From what he had heard heknew that down by the sawmills they were daily cutting the wrong trees.He had already sent some instructions to the foreman there, but he couldnot be sure that his orders had been obeyed. He knew that he ought tospend the day there, making friends with the men and explaining thereasons for the change in orders, but as long as McGuire wanted himwithin telephone range, there was nothing to do but to obey.

  He reached the Cabin, threw off his coat, and had hardly settled down atthe table to finish his drawing, a plan of the observation towers, whenBeth appeared. He rose and greeted her. Her face was flushed, for shehad been running.

  "Has Shad been here?" she asked breathlessly.

  "No."

  "Oh!" she gasped. "I was afraid he'd get here before me. I took theshort cut through the woods."

  "What's the matter?"

  "He said he--he was going to break you to bits----"

  "To bits! Me? Why?"

  "Because he--he says I oughtn't to come here----"

  "Oh, I see," he muttered, and then, with a grin, "and what do _you_think about it, Beth?"

  "I'll do what I please," she said. "So long as I think it's all right.What business has he got to stop me!"

  Peter laughed. "Don't let's bother then. Did you bring your books?"

  She hadn't brought them. She had come in such a hurry.

  "But aren't you afraid--when he comes?" she asked.

  "I don't know," said Peter. "Do you think I ought to be?"

  "Well, Shad's--he's what they call a Hellion around here."

  "What's a--er--Hellion?"

  "A--a scrapper."

  "Oh, a fighting man?"

  "Yes."

  Peter sat down at the piano and struck loudly some strident discords inthe bass. "Like this!" he laughed. "Isn't it ugly, Beth--that's whatfighting is--I had it day and night for years. If Shad had been in thewar he wouldn't ever want to fight again."

  "Were you in the war?" asked Beth in amazement.

  "Of course. Where would I have been?" And before she could reply he hadswept into the rumbling bass of the "Revolutionary Etude." She sank intoa chair and sat silent, listening, at first watching the door, and thenas the soul of the artist within her awoke she forgot everything but themusic.

  There was a long silence at the end when Peter paused, and then he heardher voice, tense, suppressed.

  "I could see it--you made me see it!" she gasped, almost in a whisper."War--revolution--the people--angry--mumbling--crowding, pushing ... acrowd with guns and sticks howling at a gate ... and then a man tryingto speak to them--appealing----"

  Peter turned quickly at the words and faced her. Her eyes were likestars, her soul rapt in the vision his music had painted. Peter hadlived that scene again and again, but how could Beth know unless he hadmade her see it? There was something strange--uncanny--in Beth's visionof the great drama of Peter's life. And yet she had seen. Even now herspirit was afar.

  "And what happened to the man who was appealing to them?" he askedsoberly.

  She closed her eyes, then opened them toward him, shaking her head."I--I don't know--it's all gone now."

  "But you saw what I played. That is what happened."

  "What do you mean?" She questioned, startled in her turn.

  Peter shrugged himself into the present moment. "Nothing. It'sjust--revolution. War. War is like that, Beth," he went on quietly aftera moment. "Like the motif in the bass--there is no end--the threat of itnever stops--day or night. Only hell could be like it."

  Beth slowly came out of her dream.

  "You fought?" she asked.

  "Oh, yes."

  Another silence. "I--I think I understand now why you're not afraid."

  "But I _am_ afraid, Beth," he said with a smile. "I was always afraid inthe war. Because Death is always waiting just around the corner. Nobodywho has been in the war wants ever to fight again."

  He turned to the piano. "They all want happiness, Beth. Peace. This!" hefinished, and his roving fingers played softly the Tschaikowsky"Reverie."

  When he had finished he turned to her, smiling.

  "What vision do you see in that, Beth?"

  She started as though from a dream. "Oh, happiness--and sadness, too."

  "Yes," said Peter soberly. "No one knows what it is to be happy unlessone has been sad."

  "That's true, isn't it?" she muttered, looking at him in wonder. "Inever knew what unhappiness was for--but I guess that's it."

  He caught the minor note in her voice and smiled.

  "Come now," he said, "we'll have our first lesson."

  "Without the books?"

  "Yes. We'll try breathing."

  "Breathing?"

  "Yes--from the diaphragm."

  And as she looked bewildered, "From the stomach--not from thechest--breathe deeply and say 'Ah.'"

  She obeyed him and did it naturally, as though she had never breathed inany other way.

  "Fine," he cried and touched a note on the piano. "Now sing it. Throw itforward. Softly first, then louder----"

  It was while she was carrying out this instruction that a shadowappeared on the doorsill, followed in a moment by the figure of ShadWells. Beth's "Ah" ceased suddenly. The visitor stood outside, his handson his hips, in silent rage.

  Peter merely glanced at him over his shoulder.

  "How are you, Wells?" he said politely. "Won't you come in? We've havinga singing lesson."

  Shad did not move or speak as Peter went on, "Take the chair by thedoor, old man. The cigarettes are on the table. Now, Beth----"

  But Beth remained as she was, uneasily regarding the intruder, for sheknew that Shad was there for no good purpose. Peter caught her look andturned toward the door, deliberately ignoring the man's threateningdemeanor.

  "We won't be long," he began coolly, "not over half an hour----"

  "No, I know ye won't," growled Shad. And then to the girl, "Beth, comeout o' t
here!"

  If Shad's appearance had caused Beth any uncertainty, she found herspirit now, for her eyes flashed and her mouth closed in a hard line.

  "Who are you to say where I come or go?" she said evenly.

  But Shad stood his ground.

  "If you don't know enough to know what's what I'm here to show you."

  "Oh, I say----," said Peter coolly.

  "You can say what you like, Mister. And I've got somethin' to say to youwhen this lady goes."

  "Oh,----" and then quietly to Beth, "Perhaps you'd better go. Bring thebooks to-morrow--at the same time."

  But Beth hadn't moved, and only looked at Peter appealingly. So Peterspoke.

  "This man is impolite, not to say disagreeable to you. Has he any rightto speak to you like this?"

  "No," said Beth uneasily, "but I don't want any trouble."

  Peter walked to the door and faced Shad outside.

  "There won't be any trouble unless Wells makes it." And then, as if anew thought had come to him, he said more cheerfully, "Perhaps hedoesn't quite understand----"

  "Oh, I understand, all right. Are you goin', Beth?"

  She glanced at Peter, who nodded toward the path, and she came betweenthem.

  "Go on back, Shad," she said.

  "No."

  "Do you mean it? If you do I'm through with you. You understand?"

  Peter took the girl by the arm and led her gently away.

  "Just wait a minute, Wells," he flung over his shoulder at the man,"I'll be back in a second."

  The careless tone rather bewildered the woodsman, who had expected tofind either fear or anger. The forester-piano-player showedneither--only careless ease and a coolness which could only be becausehe didn't know what was coming to him.

  "D--n him! I'll fix him!" muttered Shad, quivering with rage. But Peterhaving fortified himself with a cigarette was now returning. Wellsadvanced into an open space where there was plenty of room to swing hiselbows and waited.

  "Now, Wells," said Peter alertly, "you wanted to see me?"

  "Yes, I did, ye stuck-up piano-playin', psalm-singin' ---- ---- --------." And suiting the action to the word leaped for Peter, both fistsflying.

  The rugged and uncultured often mistake politeness for effeminacy,sensibility for weakness. Shad was a rough and tumble artist of a highproficiency, and he had a reputation for strength and combativeness. Hewas going to make short work of this job.

  But Peter had learned his boxing with his cricket. Also he had practicedthe _Savate_ and was familiar with _jiu jitsu_--but he didn't needeither of them.

  Wells rushed twice but Peter was not where he rushed. The only damage hehad done was to tear out the sleeve of Peter's shirt.

  "Stand up an' fight like a man," growled Shad.

  "There's no hurry," said Peter, calmly studying Shad's methods.

  "Oh, _ain't_ there!"

  This bull-like rush Peter stopped with a neat uppercut, straighteningShad's head which came up with a disfigured nose and before he couldthrow down his guard, Peter landed hard on his midriff. Shad winced butshot out a blow which grazed Peter's cheek. Then Peter countered onShad's injured nose. Shad's eyes were now regarding Peter inastonishment. But in a moment only one of them was, for Peter closed theother.

  "We'd better stop now," gasped Peter, "and talk this over."

  "No, you ---- ---- ----," roared Shad, for he suspected that somewherein the bushes Beth was watching.

  Peter lost what remained of his shirt in the next rush and sprained athumb. It didn't do to fight Shad "rough and tumble." But he got away atlast and stood his man off, avoiding the blind rushes and landing almostat will.

  "Had enough?" he asked again, as politely as ever.

  "No," gulped the other.

  So Peter sprang in and struck with all the force of his uninjured handon the woodsman's jaw, and then Shad went down and lay quiet. It hadbeen ridiculously easy from the first and Peter felt some pity for Shadand not a little contempt for himself. But he took the precaution ofbending over the man and extracting the revolver that he found in Shad'ship pocket.

  As he straightened and turned he saw Beth standing in the path regardinghim.

  "Beth!" he exclaimed with a glance at Shad. "You saw?"

  "Yes." She covered her face with her hands. "It was horrible."

  "I tried to avoid it," he protested.

  "Yes, I know. It was his own fault. Is he badly hurt?"

  "No, I think not. But you'd better go."

  "Why?"

  "It will only make matters worse if he sees you."

  She understood, turned and vanished obediently.

  Then Peter went to the house, got a basin and, fetching some water fromthe creek, played the Samaritan. In a while Shad gasped painfully andsat up, looking at the victor.

  "Sorry," said Peter, "but you _would_ have it."

  Shad blinked his uninjured eye and rose, feeling at his hip.

  "I took your revolver," said Peter calmly.

  "Give it here."

  "A chap with a bad temper has no business carrying one," said Petersternly.

  "Oh----." The man managed to get to his feet.

  "I'm sorry, Shad," said Peter again, and held out his hand. "Let's befriends."

  Shad looked at the hand sullenly for a moment. "I'll fix _you_, Mister.I'll fix you yet," he muttered, then turned and walked away.

  If Peter had made one friend he had also made an enemy.

  The incident with Shad Wells was unfortunate, but Peter didn't see howit could have been avoided. He was thankful nevertheless for his Englishschooling, which had saved him from a defeat at the hands of a"roughneck" which could have been, under the circumstances, nothing lessthan ignominious. For if Shad Wells had succeeded in vanquishing him,all Peter's authority, all his influence with the rest of the men inMcGuire's employ would have gone forever, for Shad Wells was not thekind of man upon whom such a victory would have lightly sat. If he hadthrashed Peter, Shad and not Peter would have been the boss of BlackRock and Peter's position would have been intolerable.

  As Peter laved his broken knuckles and bruised cheek, he wondered if,after all, the affair hadn't been for the best. True, he had made anenemy of Shad, but then according to the girl, Shad had already been hisenemy. Peter abhorred fighting, as he had told Beth, but, whatever theconsequences, he was sure that the air had cleared amazingly. He wasaware too that the fact that he had been the champion of Beth'sindependence definitely stood forth. Whatever the wisdom or thepropriety, according to the standards of Black Rock society, of Beth'svisits to the Cabin, for the purpose of a musical education or for anyother purposes, Peter was aware that he had set the seal of his approvalupon them, marked, that any who read might run, upon the visage of Mr.Wells. Peter was still sorry for Shad, but still more sorry for Beth,whose name might be lightly used for her share in the adventure.

  He made up his mind to say nothing of what had happened, and he feltreasonably certain that Shad Wells would reach a similar decision. Hewas not at all certain that Beth wouldn't tell everybody what hadhappened for he was aware by this time that Beth was the custodian ofher own destinies and that she would not need the oracles of Black Rockvillage as censors of her behavior.

  But when he went up to the house for supper he made his way over thelog-jam below the pool and so to the village, stopping for a moment atthe Bergen house, where Beth was sitting on the porch reading _The Livesof the Great Composers_. She was so absorbed that she did not see himuntil he stood at the little swing gate, hat in hand.

  She greeted him quietly, glancing up at his bruised cheek.

  "I'm so sorry," she said, "that it was on my account."

  "I'm not--now that I've done the 'gobbling,'" he said with a grin. Andthen, "Where's Shad?"

  "I haven't seen him. I guess he's gone in his hole and pulled it inafter him."

  Peter smiled. "I just stopped by to say that perhaps you'd better saynothing. It would only humiliate him."

  "I wasn't go
in' to--but it served him right----"

  "And if you think people will talk about your coming to the Cabin, Ithought perhaps I ought to give you your lessons here."

  "Here!" she said, and he didn't miss the note of disappointment in hertone.

  "If your cousin Shad disapproves, perhaps there are others."

  She was silent for a moment and then she looked up at him shyly.

  "If it's just the same to you--I--I'd rather come to the Cabin," shesaid quietly. "It's like--like a different world--with your playin' an'all----" And then scornfully, "What do I care what they think!"

  "Of course--I'm delighted. I thought I ought to consult you, that's all.And you'll come to-morrow?"

  "Yes--of course."

  He said nothing about the meeting that was to take place that night withthe mysterious "Hawk" at the maple tree. He meant to find out, ifpossible, how Beth could be concerned (if she was concerned) in thefortunes of the mysterious gentleman of the placard, but until helearned something definite he thought it wiser not to take Beth furtherinto his confidence.