CHAPTER XXVI
JOURNEY'S END
The capacity of the human brain for surprise, like that of the humanbody for pain, is limited. For a single instant a sense of utterunreality struck John like a physical blow. The world flickered beforehis eyes and the air seemed full of strange noises. Then, quitesuddenly, these things passed, and he found himself looking at her witha total absence of astonishment, mildly amused in some remote corner ofhis brain at his own calm. It was absurd, he told himself, that heshould be feeling as if he had known of her presence there all thetime. Yet it was so. If this were a dream, he could not be taking themiracle more as a matter of course. Joy at the sight of her he felt,keen and almost painful, but no surprise. The shock had stunned hissense of wonder.
She was wearing a calico apron over her dress, an apron that hadevidently been designed for a large woman. Swathed in its folds, shesuggested a child playing at being grown up. Her sleeves were rolledback to the elbow, and her slim arms dripped with water. Strands ofbrown hair were blowing loose in the evening breeze. To John she hadnever seemed so bewitchingly pretty. He stared at her till the pallorof her face gave way to a warm red glow.
As they stood there, speechless, there came from the other side of thechimney, softly at first, then swelling, the sound of a child's voice,raised in a tentative wail. Betty started violently. The next momentshe was gone, and from the unseen parts beyond the chimney came thenoise of splashing water.
And at the same instant, through the trap, came a trampling of feet andthe sound of whispering. The enemy had reached the top floor.
John was conscious of a remarkable exhilaration. He felt insanelylight-hearted. He laughed aloud at the thought that until then he hadcompletely forgotten the very existence of these earnest seekers afterhis downfall. He threw back his head and shouted. There was somethingso ridiculous in their assumption that they mattered to a man who hadfound Betty again.
He thrust his head down through the trap, to see what was going on. Thedark passage was full of indistinct forms, gathered together in puzzledgroups. The mystery of the vanished object of their pursuit was beingdiscussed in hoarse whispers.
Suddenly there was an excited shout, then a rush of feet. John drewback his head, and waited, gripping his stick.
Voices called to each other in the passage below.
"De roof!"
"On top de roof!"
"He's beaten it for de roof!"
Feet shuffled on the stone floor. The voices ceased abruptly. And then,like a jack-in-the-box, there popped through the trap a head andshoulders.
The new arrival was a young man with a shock of red hair, a brokennose, and a mouth from which force or the passage of time had removedthree front teeth. He held on to the edge of the trap, and stared up atJohn.
John beamed down at him, and shifted his grip on the stick.
"Who's here?" he cried. "Historic picture. 'Old Dr. Cook discovers theNorth Pole.'"
The red-headed young man blinked. The strong light of the open air wastrying to his eyes.
"Youse had best come down," he observed coldly. "We've got youse."
"And," continued John, unmoved, "is instantly handed a gum-drop by hisfaithful Eskimo."
As he spoke, he brought the stick down on the knuckles which disfiguredthe edges of the trap. The intruder uttered a howl and dropped out ofsight. In the passage below there were whisperings and mutterings,growing gradually louder till something resembling coherentconversation came to John's ears, as he knelt by the trap makingmeditative billiard shots with the stick at a small pebble.
"Aw g'wan! Don't be a quitter."
"Who's a quitter?"
"Youse a quitter. Get on top de roof. He can't hoit youse."
"De guy's gotten a big stick."
John nodded appreciatively.
"I and Theodore," he murmured.
A somewhat baffled silence on the part of the attacking force wasfollowed by further conversation.
"Gee! Some guy's got to go up."
Murmur of assent from the audience.
A voice, in inspired tones: "Let Sam do it."
The suggestion made a hit. There was no doubt about that. It was asuccess from the start. Quite a little chorus of voices expressedsincere approval of the very happy solution to what had seemed aninsoluble problem. John, listening from above, failed to detect in thechoir of glad voices one that might belong to Sam himself. Probablygratification had rendered the chosen one dumb.
"Yes, let Sam do it," cried the unseen chorus. The first speaker,unnecessarily, perhaps--for the motion had been carried almostunanimously--but possibly with the idea of convincing the one member ofthe party in whose bosom doubts might conceivably be harbored, went onto adduce reasons.
"Sam bein' a coon," he argued, "ain't goin' to git hoit by no stick.Youse can't hoit a coon by soakin' him on de coco, can you, Sam?"
John waited with some interest for the reply, but it did not come.Possibly Sam did not wish to generalize on insufficient experience.
"We can but try," said John softly, turning the stick round in hisfingers.
A report like a cannon sounded in the passage below. It was merely arevolver shot, but in the confined space it was deafening. The bulletsang up into the sky.
"Never hit me," said John cheerfully.
The noise was succeeded by a shuffling of feet. John grasped his stickmore firmly. This was evidently the real attack. The revolver shot hadbeen a mere demonstration of artillery to cover the infantry's advance.
Sure enough, the next moment a woolly head popped through the opening,and a pair of rolling eyes gleamed up at him.
"Why, Sam!" he said cordially, "this is great. Now for our interestingexperiment. My idea is that you _can_ hurt a coon's head with astick if you hit it hard enough. Keep quite still. Now. What, are youcoming up? Sam, I hate to do it, but--"
A yell rang out. John's theory had been tested and proved correct.
By this time the affair had begun to attract spectators. The noise ofthe revolver had proved a fine advertisement. The roof of the housenext door began to fill up. Only a few of the occupants could get aclear view of the proceedings, for the chimney intervened. There wasconsiderable speculation as to what was passing in the Three Pointscamp. John was the popular favorite. The early comers had seen hisinterview with Sam, and were relating it with gusto to their friends.Their attitude toward John was that of a group of men watching a dog ata rat hole. They looked to him to provide entertainment for them, butthey realized that the first move must be with the attackers. They werefair-minded men, and they did not expect John to make any aggressivemove.
Their indignation, when the proceedings began to grow slow, wasdirected entirely at the dilatory Three Pointers. They hooted the ThreePointers. They urged them to go home and tuck themselves up in bed. Thespectators were mostly Irishmen, and it offended them to see whatshould have been a spirited fight so grossly bungled.
"G'wan away home, ye quitters!" roared one.
A second member of the audience alluded to them as "stiffs."
It was evident that the besieging army was beginning to grow a littleunpopular. More action was needed if they were to retain the esteem ofBroster Street.
Suddenly there came another and a longer explosion from below, and morebullets wasted themselves on air. John sighed.
"You make me tired," he said.
The Irish neighbors expressed the same sentiment in different and moreforcible words. There was no doubt about it--as warriors, the ThreePointers were failing to give satisfaction.
A voice from the passage called to John.
"Say!"
"Well?" said John.
"Are youse comin' down off out of dat roof?"
"Would you mind repeating that remark?"
"Are youse goin' to quit off out of dat roof?"
"Go away and learn some grammar," said John severely.
"Hey!"
"Well?"
"Are youse--?"
"
No, my son," said John, "since you ask it, I am not. I like being uphere. How is Sam?"
There was silence below. The time began to pass slowly. The Irishmen onthe other roof, now definitely abandoning hope of furtherentertainment, proceeded with hoots of derision to climb down one byone into the recesses of their own house.
And then from the street far below there came a fusillade of shots anda babel of shouts and counter-shouts. The roof of the house next doorfilled again with a magical swiftness, and the low wall facing thestreet became black with the backs of those craning over. Thereappeared to be great doings in the street.
John smiled comfortably.
In the army of the corridor confusion had arisen. A scout, clatteringupstairs, had brought the news of the Table Hillites' advent, and therewas doubt as to the proper course to pursue. Certain voices urged goingdown to help the main body. Others pointed out that this would meanabandoning the siege of the roof. The scout who had brought the newswas eloquent in favor of the first course.
"Gee!" he cried, "don't I keep tellin' youse dat de Table Hills ishere? Sure, dere's a whole bunch of dem, and unless youse come on downdey'll bite de hull head off of us lot. Leave dat stiff on de roof. LetSam wait here wit' his canister, and den he can't get down, 'cos Sam'llpump him full of lead while he's beatin' it t'roo de trapdoor. Sure!"
John nodded reflectively.
"There is certainly something in that," he murmured. "I guess the grandrescue scene in the third act has sprung a leak. This will wantthinking over."
In the street the disturbance had now become terrible. Both sides werehard at it, and the Irishmen on the roof, rewarded at last for theirlong vigil, were yelling encouragement promiscuously and whooping withthe unfettered ecstasy of men who are getting the treat of their liveswithout having paid a penny for it.
The behavior of the New York policeman in affairs of this kind is basedon principles of the soundest practical wisdom. The unthinking manwould rush in and attempt to crush the combat in its earliest andfiercest stages. The New York policeman, knowing the importance of hissafety, and the insignificance of the gangsman's, permits the opposingforces to hammer each other into a certain distaste for battle, andthen, when both sides have begun to have enough of it, rushes inhimself and clubs everything in sight. It is an admirable process inits results, but it is sure rather than swift.
Proceedings in the affair below had not yet reached thepolice-interference stage. The noise, what with the shots and yellsfrom the street and the ear-piercing approval of the roof audience, wasjust working up to a climax.
John rose. He was tired of kneeling by the trap, and there was nolikelihood of Sam making another attempt to climb through. He got upand stretched himself.
And then he saw that Betty was standing beside him, holding with eachhand a small and--by Broster Street standards--uncannily clean child.The children were scared and whimpering, and she stooped to soothethem. Then she turned to John, her eyes wide with anxiety.
"Are you hurt?" she cried. "What has been happening? Are you hurt?"
John's heart leaped at the anxious break in her voice.
"It's all right," he said soothingly. "It's absolutely all right.Everything's over."
As if to give him the lie, the noise in the street swelled to acrescendo of yells and shots.
"What's that?" cried Betty, starting.
"I fancy," said John, "the police must be taking a hand. It's allright. There's a little trouble down below there between two of thegangs. It won't last long now."
"Who were those men?"
"My friends in the passage?" he said lightly. "Those were some of theThree Points gang. We were holding the concluding exercise of a ratherlively campaign that's been--"
Betty leaned weakly against the chimney. There was silence now in thestreet. Only the distant rumble of an elevated train broke thestillness. She drew her hands from the children's grasp, and coveredher face. As she lowered them again, John saw that the blood had lefther cheeks. She was white and shaking. He moved forward impulsively.
"Betty!"
She tottered, reaching blindly for the chimney for support, and withoutfurther words he gathered her into his arms as if she had been thechild she looked, and held her there, clutching her to him fiercely,kissing the brown hair that brushed against his face, and soothing herwith vague murmurings.
Her breath came in broken gasps. She laughed hysterically.
"I thought they were killing you--killing you--and I couldn't leave mybabies--they were so frightened, poor little mites--I thought they werekilling you."
"Betty!"
Her arms about his neck tightened their grip convulsively, forcing hishead down until his face rested against hers. And so they stood,rigid, while the two children stared with round eyes and whimperedunheeded.
Her grip relaxed. Her hands dropped slowly to her side. She leaned backagainst the circle of his arms, and looked up at him--a strange look,full of a sweet humility.
"I thought I was strong," she said quietly. "I'm weak--but I don'tcare."
He looked at her with glowing eyes, not understanding, but content thatthe journey was ended, that she was there, in his arms, speaking tohim.
"I always loved you, dear," she went on. "You knew that, didn't you?But I thought I was strong enough to give you up for--for aprinciple--but I was wrong. I can't do without you--I knew it just nowwhen I saw--" She stopped, and shuddered. "I can't do without you," sherepented.
She felt the muscles of his arms quiver, and pressed more closelyagainst them. They were strong arms, protecting arms, restful to leanagainst at the journey's end.