speeches in Harlem, and on the West Side, lithographsof his stern, resolute features hung in every delicatessen shop, andthat he might be recognized, was extremely likely.
He whispered to Miss Forbes what he had said, and what Winthrop hadsaid.
"But you DON'T mean to leave him," remarked Miss Forbes.
"I must," returned Peabody. "I can do nothing for the man, and youknow how Tammany will use this--They'll have it on the street by ten.They'll say I was driving recklessly; without regard for human life.And, besides, they're waiting for me at headquarters. Please hurry. Iam late now."
Miss Forbes gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Why, I'm not going," she said.
"You must go! _I_ must go. You can't remain here alone."
Peabody spoke in the quick, assured tone that at the first hadconvinced Miss Forbes his was a most masterful manner.
"Winthrop, too," he added, "wants you to go away."
Miss Forbes made no reply. But she looked at Peabody inquiringly,steadily, as though she were puzzled as to his identity, as though hehad just been introduced to her. It made him uncomfortable.
"Are you coming?" he asked.
Her answer was a question.
"Are you going?"
"I am!" returned Peabody. He added sharply: "I must."
"Good-by," said Miss Forbes.
As he ran up the steps to the station of the elevated, it seemed toPeabody that the tone of her "good-by" had been most unpleasant. Itwas severe, disapproving. It had a final, fateful sound. He wasconscious of a feeling of self-dissatisfaction. In not seeing thepolitical importance of his not being mixed up with this accident,Winthrop had been peculiarly obtuse, and Beatrice, unsympathetic.Until he had cast his vote for Reform, he felt distinctly ill-used.
For a moment Beatrice Forbes sat in the car motionless, staringunseeingly at the iron steps by which Peabody had disappeared. For afew moments her brows were tightly drawn. Then, having apparentlyquickly arrived at some conclusion, she opened the door of the car andpushed into the crowd.
Winthrop received her most rudely.
"You mustn't come here!" he cried.
"I thought," she stammered, "you might want some one?"
"I told--" began Winthrop, and then stopped, and added--"to take youaway. Where is he?"
Miss Forbes flushed slightly.
"He's gone," she said.
In trying not to look at Winthrop, she saw the fallen figure,motionless against the pillar, and with an exclamation, bent fearfullytoward it.
"Can I do anything?" she asked.
The crowd gave way for her, and with curious pleased faces, closed inagain eagerly. She afforded them a new interest.
A young man in the uniform of an ambulance surgeon was kneeling besidethe mud-stained figure, and a police officer was standing over both.The ambulance surgeon touched lightly the matted hair from which theblood escaped, stuck his finger in the eye of the prostrate man, andthen with his open hand slapped him across the face.
"Oh!" gasped Miss Forbes.
The young doctor heard her, and looking up, scowled reprovingly.Seeing she was a rarely beautiful young woman, he scowled lessseverely; and then deliberately and expertly, again slapped Mr. JerryGaylor on the cheek. He watched the white mark made by his hand uponthe purple skin, until the blood struggled slowly back to it, and thenrose.
He ignored every one but the police officer.
"There's nothing the matter with HIM," he said. "He's dead drunk."
The words came to Winthrop with such abrupt relief, bearing sotremendous a burden of gratitude, that his heart seemed to fail him.In his suddenly regained happiness, he unconsciously laughed.
"Are you sure?" he asked eagerly. "I thought I'd killed him."
The surgeon looked at Winthrop coldly.
"When they're like that," he explained with authority, "you can't hurt'em if you throw them off the Times Building."
He condescended to recognize the crowd. "You know where this manlives?"
Voices answered that Mr. Gaylor lived at the corner, over the saloon.The voices showed a lack of sympathy. Old man Gaylor dead was anovelty; old man Gaylor drunk was not.
The doctor's prescription was simple and direct.
"Put him to bed till he sleeps it off," he ordered; he swung himself tothe step of the ambulance. "Let him out, Steve," he called. There wasthe clang of a gong and the rattle of galloping hoofs.
The police officer approached Winthrop. "They tell me Jerry stepped infront of your car; that you wasn't to blame. I'll get their names andwhere they live. Jerry might try to hold you up for damages."
"Thank you very much," said Winthrop.
With several of Jerry's friends, and the soiled person, who now seemeddissatisfied that Jerry was alive, Winthrop helped to carry him up oneflight of stairs and drop him upon a bed.
"In case he needs anything," said Winthrop, and gave several bills tothe soiled person, upon whom immediately Gaylor's other friends closedin. "And I'll send my own doctor at once to attend to him."
"You'd better," said the soiled person morosely, "or, he'll try toshake you down."
The opinions as to what might be Mr. Gaylor's next move seemedunanimous.
From the saloon below, Winthrop telephoned to the family doctor, andthen rejoined Miss Forbes and the Police officer. The officer gave himthe names of those citizens who had witnessed the accident, and inreturn received Winthrop's card.
"Not that it will go any further," said the officer reassuringly."They're all saying you acted all right and wanted to take him toRoosevelt. There's many," he added with sententious indignation, "thatknock a man down, and then run away without waiting to find out ifthey've hurted 'em or killed 'em."
The speech for both Winthrop and Miss Forbes was equally embarrassing.
"You don't say?" exclaimed Winthrop nervously. He shook thepoliceman's hand. The handclasp was apparently satisfactory to thatofficial, for he murmured "Thank you," and stuck something in thelining of his helmet. "Now, then!" Winthrop said briskly to MissForbes, "I think we have done all we can. And we'll get away from thisplace a little faster than the law allows."
Miss Forbes had seated herself in the car, and Winthrop was crankingup, when the same policeman, wearing an anxious countenance, touchedhim on the arm. "There is a gentleman here," he said, "wants to speakto you." He placed himself between the gentleman and Winthrop andwhispered: "He's 'Izzy' Schwab, he's a Harlem police-court lawyer anda Tammany man. He's after something, look out for him."
Winthrop saw, smiling at him ingratiatingly, a slight, slim youth, withbeady, rat-like eyes, a low forehead, and a Hebraic nose. He wonderedhow it had been possible for Jerry Gaylor to so quickly secure counsel.But Mr. Schwab at once undeceived him.
"I'm from the Journal," he began, "not regular on the staff, but I send'em Harlem items, and the court reporter treats me nice, see! Nowabout this accident; could you give me the name of the young lady?"
He smiled encouragingly at Miss Forbes.
"I could not!" growled Winthrop. "The man wasn't hurt, the policemanwill tell you so. It is not of the least public interest."
With a deprecatory shrug, the young man smiled knowingly.
"Well, mebbe not the lady's name," he granted, "but the name of theOTHER gentleman who was with you, when the accident occurred." Hisblack, rat-like eyes snapped. "I think HIS name would be of publicinterest."
To gain time Winthrop stepped into the driver's seat. He looked at Mr.Schwab steadily.
"There was no other gentleman," he said. "Do you mean my chauffeur?"Mr. Schwab gave an appreciative chuckle.
"No, I don't mean your chauffeur," he mimicked. "I mean," he declaredtheatrically in his best police-court manner, "the man who to-day ishoping to beat Tammany, Ernest Peabody!"
Winthrop stared at the youth insolently.
"I don't understand you," he said.
"Oh, of course not!" jeered "Izzy" Schwab. He moved excite
dly fromfoot to foot. "Then who WAS the other man," he demanded, "the man whoran away?"
Winthrop felt the blood rise to his face. That Miss Forbes should hearthis rat of a man, sneering at the one she was to marry, made him hatePeabody. But he answered easily:
"No one ran away. I told my chauffeur to go and call up an ambulance.That was the man you saw."
As when "leading on" a witness to commit himself, Mr. Schwab smiledsympathetically.
"And he hasn't got back yet," he purred, "has he?"
"No, and I'm not going to wait for him," returned Winthrop. He reachedfor the clutch, but Mr. Schwab jumped directly in front of the car.
"Was he looking for a telephone when he ran up the elevated steps?" hecried.
He shook his fists vehemently.
"Oh, no, Mr. Winthrop, it won't do--you make a good witness. Iwouldn't ask for no better, but, you don't fool 'Izzy' Schwab."
"You're mistaken, I tell you," cried Winthrop desperately. "He maylook like--like this man you speak of, but no Peabody was in this car."
"Izzy" Schwab wrung his hands hysterically.
"No, he wasn't!" he cried, "because he run away! And left an old manin the street--dead, for all he knowed--nor cared neither. Yah!"shrieked the Tammany heeler. "HIM a Reformer, yah!"
"Stand away from my car," shouted Winthrop, "or you'll get hurt."
"Yah, you'd like to, wouldn't you?" returned Mr. Schwab, leaping,nimbly to one side. "What do you think the Journal'll give me for thatstory, hey? 'Ernest Peabody, the Reformer, Kills an Old Man, AND RUNSAWAY.' And hiding his face, too! I seen him. What do you think thatstory's worth to Tammany, hey? It's worth twenty thousand votes!" Theyoung man danced in front of the car triumphantly, mockingly, in afrenzy of malice. "Read the extras, that's all," he taunted. "Read'em in an hour from now!"
Winthrop glared at the shrieking figure with fierce, impotent rage;then, with a look of disgust, he flung the robe off his knees and rose.Mr. Schwab, fearing bodily injury, backed precipitately behind thepoliceman.
"Come here," commanded Winthrop softly. Mr. Schwab warily approached."That story," said Winthrop, dropping his voice to a low whisper, "isworth a damn sight more to you than twenty thousand votes. You take aspin with me up Riverside Drive where we can talk. Maybe you and I can'make a little business.'"
At the words, the face of Mr. Schwab first darkened angrily, and then,lit with such exultation that it appeared as though Winthrop's effortshad only placed Peabody deeper in Mr. Schwab's power. But the rat-likeeyes wavered, there was doubt in them, and greed, and, when they turnedto observe if any one could have heard the offer, Winthrop felt thetrick was his. It was apparent that Mr. Schwab was willing toarbitrate.
He stepped gingerly into the front seat, and as Winthrop leaned overhim and tucked and buckled the fur robe around his knees, he could notresist a glance at his friends on the sidewalk. They were grinningwith wonder and envy, and as the great car shook itself, and ran easilyforward, Mr. Schwab leaned back and carelessly waved his hand. But hismind did not waver from the purpose of his ride. He was not one to becajoled with fur rugs and glittering brass.
"Well, Mr. Winthrop," he began briskly. "You want to say something?You must be quick--every minute's money."
"Wait till we're out of the traffic," begged Winthrop anxiously "Idon't want to run down any more old men, and I wouldn't for the worldhave anything happen to you, Mr.--" He paused politely.
"Schwab--Isadore Schwab."
"How did you know MY name?" asked Winthrop.
"The card you gave the police officer"
"I see," said Winthrop. They were silent while the car swept swiftlywest, and Mr. Schwab kept thinking that for a young man who was afraidof the traffic, Winthrop was dodging the motor cars, beer vans, andiron pillars, with a dexterity that was criminally reckless.
At that hour Riverside Drive was empty, and after a gasp of relief, Mr.Schwab resumed the attack.
"Now, then," he said sharply, "don't go any further. What is this youwant to talk about?"
"How much will the Journal give you for this story of yours?" askedWinthrop.
Mr. Schwab smiled mysteriously.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because," said Winthrop, "I think I could offer you something better."
"You mean," said the police-court lawyer cautiously, "you will make itworth my while not to tell the truth about what I saw?"
"Exactly," said Winthrop.
"That's all! Stop the car," cried Mr. Schwab. His manner wascommanding. It vibrated with triumph. His eyes glistened with wickedsatisfaction.
"Stop the car?" demanded Winthrop, "what do you mean?"
"I mean," said Mr. Schwab dramatically, "that I've got you where I wantyou, thank you. You have killed Peabody dead as a cigar butt! Now Ican tell them how his friends tried to bribe me. Why do you think Icame in your car? For what money YOU got? Do you think you can stackup your roll against the New York Journal's, or against Tammany's?"His shrill voice rose exultantly. "Why, Tammany ought to make me judgefor this! Now, let me down here," he commanded, "and next time, don'tthink you can take on 'Izzy' Schwab and get away with it."
They were passing Grant's Tomb, and the car was moving at a speed thatMr. Schwab recognized was in excess of the speed limit.
"Do you hear me?" he demanded, "let me down!"
To his dismay Winthrop's answer was in some fashion to so juggle withthe shining brass rods that the car flew into greater speed. To "Izzy"Schwab it seemed to scorn the earth, to proceed by leaps and jumps.But, what added even more to his mental discomfiture was, that Winthropshould turn, and slowly and familiarly wink at him.
As through the window of an express train, Mr. Schwab saw the whitefront of Claremont, and beyond it the broad sweep of the Hudson. And,then, without decreasing its speed, the car like a great bird, sweptdown a hill, shot under a bridge, and into a partly paved street. Mr.Schwab already was two miles from his own bailiwick. His surroundingswere unfamiliar. On the one hand were newly erected, untenanted flathouses with the paint still on the window panes, and on the other side,detached villas, a roadhouse, an orphan asylum, a glimpse of the Hudson.
"Let me out," yelled Mr. Schwab, "what you trying to do? Do you thinka few blocks'll make any difference to a telephone? You think you'redamned smart, don't you? But you won't feel so fresh when I get on thelong distance. You let me down," he threatened, "or, I'll----"
With a sickening skidding of wheels, Winthrop whirled the car round acorner and into the Lafayette Boulevard, that for miles runs along thecliff of the Hudson.
"Yes," asked Winthrop, "WHAT will you do?"
On one side was a high steep bank, on the other many trees, and throughthem below, the river. But there were no houses, and at half-pasteight in the morning those who later drive upon the boulevard werestill in bed.
"WHAT will you do?" repeated Winthrop.
Miss Forbes, apparently as much interested in Mr. Schwab's answer asWinthrop, leaned forward. Winthrop raised his voice above the whir offlying wheels, the rushing wind and scattering pebbles.
"I asked you into this car," he shouted, "because I meant to keep youin it until I had you where you couldn't do any mischief. I told youI'd give you something better than the Journal would give you, and I amgoing to give you a happy day in the country. We're now on our way tothis lady's house. You are my guest, and you can play golf, andbridge, and the piano, and eat and drink until the polls close, andafter that you can go to the devil. If you jump out at this speed, youwill break your neck. And, if I have to slow up for anything, and youtry to get away, I'll go after you--it doesn't matter where it is--andbreak every bone in your body."
"Yah! you can't!" shrieked Mr. Schwab. "You can't do it!" The madnessof the flying engines had got upon his nerves. Their poison wassurging in his veins. He knew he had only to touch his elbow againstthe elbow of Winthrop, and he could throw the three of them intoeternity. He was travelling on air, upl
ifted, defiant, carried beyondhimself.
"I can't do what?" asked Winthrop.
The words reached Schwab from an immeasurable distance, as from anotherplanet, a calm, humdrum planet on which events moved in commonplace,orderly array. Without a jar, with no transition stage, instead ofhurtling through space, Mr. Schwab found himself luxuriously seated ina cushioned chair, motionless, at the side of a steep bank. For a milebefore him stretched an empty road. And, beside him in the car, witharms folded calmly on the wheel there glared at him a grim, alert youngman.
"I can't do what?" growled the young man.
A feeling of great loneliness fell upon "Izzy" Schwab. Where were nowthose officers, who in the police courts were at his beck and call?Where the numbered houses, the passing surface cars, the sweatingmultitudes of Eighth Avenue? In all the