CHAPTER VII
THE CLOSER BOND
Once in the second taxicab Burke's difficulties were not at an end.
"I want to get this poor young girl home without humiliating her or herfamily, if I can," was his mental resolve. "But I can't quite plan it.I wish I could take her to Dr. MacFarland, but his office is 'waydowntown from here."
When the car drew up before the door of Lorna's home, from which shehad departed in such blithe spirits, Bob's heart was thumping almostguiltily. He felt in some ridiculous way as though he were almostresponsible for her plight himself. Perhaps he had done wrong to waitso long. Yet, even his quick eyesight had failed to discover theknockout drops or powder which the wily Shepard had slipped into thatdisastrous glass of beer. Maybe his interference would have saved herfrom this unconscious stupor, indeed, he felt morally certain that itwould; but Bob knew in his heart that the clever tricksters would haveturned the tables on him effectively, and undoubtedly in the end wouldhave won their point by eluding him and escaping with the girl. It wasbetter that their operations should be thwarted in a manner which wouldprevent them from knowing how sharply they were watched. Bob knew thatthese men were to be looked after in the future.
He cast aside his thoughts to substitute action.
"Here's your number, mister," said the chauffeur, who opened the door."Can I help you with the lady?"
"Thank you, no. What's the charge?"
The driver twisted the lamp around to show the meter, and Burke paidhim a good tip over the price of the ride.
"Shall I wait for you?" asked the driver.
"No; that's all. I'll walk to the subway as soon as my friend gets in.Good night."
The chauffeur lingered a bit as Bob took the girl in his arms. Theofficer understood the suggestion of his hesitation.
"I said good night!" he spoke curtly.
The taxi man understood this time; there was no mistaking the firmnessof the hint, and he started his machine away.
The Bartons lived in one of the apartments of the building. The frontdoor was locked, and so Bob was forced reluctantly to ring the bellbeneath the name which indicated their particular letter box.
He waited, holding the young girl in his arms.
"Oh, I'm so sick!" he heard her say faintly, and he realized that shewas regaining consciousness.
"If only I can get her upstairs quietly," he thought.
He was about to swing her body around in his arms so that he could ringonce more when there was a turning of the knob.
"Who is it?" came a frightened voice.
It was Mary Barton at the doorway.
"S-s-s-h!" cautioned Bob. "It's Burke. I'm bringing Miss Lorna home?Don't make any noise."
"Oh!" gasped the unhappy sister. "What's wrong? Is she hurt?"
"No!" said Bob. "Fortunately not."
"Is she-- Oh-- Is she--drunk?"
Burke calmed her with the reassurance of his low, steady voice.
"No, Miss Mary. She was drugged by those rascals, and I saved her intime. Please don't cry, or make a noise. Let me take her upstairs andhelp you. It's better if she does not know that I was the one to bringher home."
Mary tried to help him; but Bob carried the girl on into the hall.
"Is your father awake?"
"No; I told him two hours ago, when he asked me from his room, thatLorna had returned and was asleep. He believed me. I had to fib tosave him from breaking his dear old daddy heart. Is she injured atall?"
It was plainly evident that the poor girl was holding her nerves inleash with a tremendous effort.
Bob kept on toward the stairs.
"She'll be all right when you get her into her room. Give her somesmelling salts, and don't tell your father. Didn't he hear the bell?"
"No; I've been waiting for her. I put some paper in the bell so thatit would only buzz when it rang. Let me help you, Mr. Burke. How onearth did you----" She was eager in spite of her anxiety.
To see the young officer returning with her sister this way was more ofa mystery than she could fathom. But, at Bob's sibilant command forsilence, she trustingly obeyed, and went up before him to guide the wayalong the darkened stairway.
At last they reached the door of their apartment.
Mary opened it, and Bob entered, walking softly. She led the way toher humble little bedroom, the one which she and Lorna shared. Boblaid the sister upon the bed, and beckoned Mary to follow him. Lornawas moving now, her hands tremulous, and she was half-moaning.
"I want my Mary. I want my Mary."
Her sister followed Burke out into the hall, which led down the stepsto the street.
"Now, remember, don't tell her about being drugged. A man at one ofthe tables put some knockout drops into a glass of water"--Bob wassoftening the blow with a little honest lying--"and I rescued her justin time. She knows nothing about it--only warn her about the companythat she was in. I have learned that they are worse than worthless. Iwill attend to them in my own way, and in the line of my work, MissMary. But, as you love your sister, don't ever let her go with thosemen again."
Mary's hand was outstretched toward the young man's, and he took itgently.
"You've done much for Lorna," she breathed softly, "and more for me!"
There was a sweet pressure from those soft, clasping fingers whichthrilled Bob as though somehow he was burying his face in a bunch ofroses--like that first one which had tapped its soft message foradmission to his heart, back in the hospital.
"Good night. Don't worry. It's all ended well, after all."
Mary drew away her fingers reluctantly as he backed down one step.
"Good night--Bob!"
That was all. She slipped quietly inside the apartment and closed thedoor noiselessly behind her.
Bob slowly descended the steps; oddly enough, he felt as though it werean ascension of some sort. His life seemed to be going into higherplanes, and his hopes and ambitions came fluttering into his brain likethe shower of petals from some blossom-laden tree. He felt anew thespring of old dreams, and the surge of new ones.
He stumbled, unsteady in his steps, his hands trembling on the railingof the stairs, until he reached the street level. He hurried outthrough the hallway and closed the door behind him.
How he longed to retrace his steps for just one more word! That firsttender use of his name had a wealth of meaning which stirred him morethan a torrent of endearing terms.
The keen bracing air of the early spring morning thrilled him.
He hurried down the street toward the subway station, elated, exalted.
"It's worth fighting every gangster in New York for a girl like her!"he told himself. "I never realized how bitter all this was until itstruck home to me--by striking home to some one who is loved by thegirl--I love."
The trip downtown was more tiring than he had expected. The stimulusof his exciting evening was now wearing off, and Bob went direct to thestation house to be handy for the duty which began early in the day.It was not yet dawn, but the rattling milk carts, the stirring oftrucks and the early stragglers of morning workers gave evidence thatthe sun would soon be out upon his daily travels.
The day passed without more excitement than usual. Bob took his turnafter a short nap in the dormitory room of the station house. Duringhis relief he rested up again. When he was preparing to start outagain upon patrol a letter was handed him by the captain.
"Here, Burke, a little message from your best girl, I suppose," smiledhis superior.
Bob took it, and as he opened it again he felt that curious thrillwhich had been aroused in him by the winsome charm of Mary Barton. Itwas a brief note which she had mailed that morning on her way to work.
"DEAR MR. BURKE--Everything was all right after all our worry. Lornais heartily repentant, and thinks that she had to be brought home byone of her 'friends' (?). She has promised never to go with themagain, and, aside from a bad headache to-day, she is no worse for herfol
ly. Father knows nothing, and, dear soul, I feel that it is betterso. I can never thank you enough. I hope to see you soon.
"Cordially, "MARY."
Bob folded the note and tucked it into his breast pocket. The captainhad been watching him with shrewd interest, and presently heintercepted: "Ah, now, I guessed right. Why, Bobbie Burke, you're evenblushing like a schoolgirl over her first beau."
Burke was just a trifle resentful under the sharp look of the captain'sgray eyes; but the unmistakable friendliness of the officer's facedrove away all feeling.
"I envy you, my boy. I am not making fun of you," said the captain,with keen understanding.
"Thank you, Cap," said Bob quietly. "You guessed right both times.It's my first sweetheart."
He buttoned his coat and started for the door.
"You'd better step around to Doc MacFarland's on your rounds thisevening and let him look you over. It won't take but a minute, and Idon't expect him around the station. You're not on peg-post to-night,so you can do it."
"All right, Cap."
Burke saluted and left the station, falling into line with the othermen who were marching out on relief.
A half hour later he dropped into the office of the police surgeon, andwas greeted warmly by the old gentleman.
MacFarland was smoking his pipe in comfort after the cares and worriesof a busy day.
"Any more trouble with the gangsters, Burke?" he asked.
Bob, after a little hesitation decided to tell him about the adventureof the night before.
"I want your advice, Doc, for you understand these things. Do yousuppose there's any danger of Lorna's going out with those fellowsagain? You don't suppose that they were actually going to entice herinto some house, do you?"
MacFarland stroked his gray whiskers.
"Well, my boy, that is not what we Scotchmen would call a vera cannythought! You speak foolishly. Why, don't you know that is organizedteamwork just as fine as they make it? Those two fellows, Baxter, Ithink you said, and Craig, are typical 'cadets.' They are the prettyboys who make the acquaintance of the girls, and open the way fortemptation, which is generally attended to by other men of strongercaliber. This fellow Shepard is undoubtedly one of the head men oftheir gang. If Jimmie the Monk is mixed up in it that is theconnecting link between these fellows and the East Side. And it's backto the East Side that the trail nearly always leads, for over in theEast Side of New York is the feudal fastness of the politician whotells the public to be damned, and is rewarded with a fortune for hispains. The politician protects the gangster; the gangster protects theprocurer, and both of them vote early and often for the politician."
Bob sighed.
"Isn't there some way that this young girl can be warned about thedangers she is running into? It's terrible to think of a thing likethis threatening any girl of good family, or any other family for thatmatter."
"You must simply warn her sister and have her watch the younger girllike a hawk."
MacFarland cleaned out his pipe with a scalpel knife, and put inanother charge of tobacco.
He puffed a blue cloud before Bob had replied.
"I wish there were some way I could get co-operation on this. I'mgoing to hunt these fellows down, Doc. But it seems to me that theauthorities in this city should help along."
"They are helping along. The District Attorney has sent up gangsterafter gangster; but it's like a quicksand, Burke--new rascals seem toslide in as fast as you shovel out the old ones."
"I have the advantage now that they don't know who is looking afterLorna," said Bobbie. "But it was a hard job getting them off my track."
"That was good detective work--as good as I've heard of," said thedoctor. "You just keep shy now. Don't get into more gun fights andfist scraps for a few days, and you'll get something on them again.You know your catching them last night was just part of a general lawabout crime. The criminal always gives himself away in some little,careless manner that hardly looks worth while worrying about. Thosetwo fellows never dreamed of your following them--they let the name ofthe restaurant slip out, and probably forgot about it the next minute.And Jimmie the Monk has given you a clue to work on, to find out theconnection. Keep up your work--but keep a bullet-proof skin for awhile."
Bob started toward the door. A new idea came to him.
"Doctor, I've just thought of something. I saw a picture in the paperto-night of a big philanthropist named Trubus, or something like that,who is fighting Raines Law Hotels, improper novels, bad moving picturesand improving morals in general. How do you think it would do to givehim a tip about these fellows? He asks for more money from the publicto carry on their work. They had a big banquet in his honor lastnight."
MacFarland laughed, and took from his desk a letter, which he handed toBob with a wink. The young officer was surprised, but took the paper,and glanced at it.
"There, Burke, read this letter. If I get one of these a day, I getfive, all in the same tune. Isn't that enough to make a man die amiser?"
Officer 4434 took the letter over to the doctor's student lamp and readwith amusement:
"DEAR SIR--The Purity League is waging the great battle against sin.
"You are doubtless aware that in this glorious work it is necessary forus to defray office and other expenses. Whatever tithe of yourblessings can be donated to our Rescue Fund will be bread cast upon thewaters to return tenfold.
"A poor widow, whose only child is a beautiful girl of seventeen, hasbeen taken under the care of our gentle nurses. This unfortunatewoman, a devout church attendant, has been prostrated by the wantonconduct of her daughter, who has left the influence of home to enterupon a life of wickedness.
"If you will contribute one hundred dollars to the support of thismiserable old creature, we will have collected enough to pay her apension from the interest of the fund of ten dollars monthly. Uponreceipt of your check for this amount we will send you, expressprepaid, a framed membership certificate, richly embossed in gold, andsigned by the President, Treasurer and Chaplain-Secretary of the PurityLeague. Your name will be entered upon our roster as a patron of theorganization.
"Make all checks payable to William Trubus, President, and onout-of-town checks kindly add clearing-house fee.
"'Charity shall cover the multitude of sins.'"--I Peter, iv. 8.
"Yours for the glory of the Cause, "WILLIAM TRUBUS, "President, The Purity League of N. Y."
As Officer Burke finished the letter he looked quizzically at Dr.MacFarland.
"How large was your check, doctor?"
"My boy, I came from Scotland. I will give you three guesses."
"But, doctor, I see the top of the letter-head festooned with abouttwenty-five names, all of them millionaires. Why don't these mencontribute the money direct? Then they could save the postage. Thisletter is printed, not typewritten. They must have sent out thousandsabout this poor old woman. Surely some millionaire could give up onemonkey dinner and endow the old lady?"
"Burke, you're young in the ways of charity. That old woman is anendowment herself. She ought to bring enough royalties for the PurityLeague to buy three new mahogany desks, hire five new investigators andfour extra stenographers."
The old doctor's kindly face lost its geniality as he pounded on thetable with rising ire.
"Burke, I have looked into this organized charity game. It is adisgrace. Out of every hundred dollars given to a really worthy cause,in answer to hundreds of thousands of letters, ninety dollars go tooffice and executive expenses. When a poor man or a starving womanfinally yields to circumstances and applies to one of theserichly-endowed institutions, do you know what happens?"
Burke shook his head.
"The object of divine assistance enters a room, which has nice oakbenches down either side. She, and most of them are women (for menhave a chance to panhandle, and consider it more self-respecting to begon the streets than from a religious corporation), waits her turn,until a diz
zy blonde clerk beckons condescendingly. She advances tothe rail, and gives her name, race, color, previous condition ofservitude, her mother's great grandmother's maiden name, and a lot ofother important charitable things. She is then referred to room sixhundred and ninety. There she gives more of her autobiography. Fromthis room she is sent to the inspection department, and she isinvestigated further. If the poor woman doesn't faint from hunger andexhaustion she keeps up this schedule until she has walked a Marathonaround the fine white marble building devoted to charity. At last shegets a ticket for a meal, or a sort of trading stamp by which she canget a room for the night in a vermin-infested lodging house, upon theadditional payment of thirty cents. Now, this may seem exaggerated,but honestly, my boy, I have given you just about the course of actionof these scientific philanthropic enterprises. They are spic and spanas the quarterdeck of a millionaire's yacht."
MacFarland was so disgusted with the objects of his tirade that hetried three times before he could fill his old briar pipe.
"Doctor, why don't you air these opinions where they will count?" askedBobbie. "It's time to stop the graft."
"When some newspaper is brave enough to risk the enmity of churchpeople, who don't know real conditions, and thus lose a fewsubscribers, or when some really charitable people investigate forthemselves, it will all come out. The real truth of that quotation atthe bottom of the Purity League letter should be expressed this way:'Charity covers a multitude of hypocrites and grafters.' And to mymind the dirtiest, foulest, lowest grafter in the world is the man whodoes it under the cloak of charity or religion. But a man whoproclaims such a belief as mine is called an atheist and a destroyer ofideals."
Burke looked at the old doctor admiringly.
"If there were more men like you, Doc, there wouldn't be so muchhypocrisy, and there would be more real good done. Anyhow, I believeI'll look up this angelic Trubus to see what he's like."
He took up his night stick and started for the door.
"I've spent too much time in here, even if it was at the captain'sorders. Now I'll go out and earn what the citizens think is the easymoney of a policeman. Good night."
"Good night, my lad. Mind what I told you, and don't let those EastSide goblins get you."
Burke had a busy night.
He had hardly been out of the house before he heard a terrificexplosion a block away, and he ran to learn the cause.
From crowded tenement houses came swarming an excited, terror-strickenstream of tenants. The front of a small Italian store had been smashedin. It was undoubtedly the work of a bomb, and already the cheapstructure of the building had caught the flames. Men and women,children by the dozen, all screeched and howled in a Babel of half adozen languages as Bob, with his fellow officers, tried to calm them.
The engines were soon at the scene, but not until Bob and others haddashed into the burning building half a dozen times to guide thefrightened occupants to the streets.
Mothers would remember that babies had been left inside--after theythemselves had been brought to safety. The long-suffering policemenwould rush back to get the little ones.
The fathers of these aliens seemed to forget family ties, and even thatchivalry, supposed to be a masculine instinct, for they fought withfist and foot to get to safety, regardless of their women and thechildren. The reserves from the station had to be called out to keepthe fire lines intact, while the grimy firemen worked with might andmain to keep the blaze from spreading. After it was all over Burkewondered whether these great hordes of aliens were of such benefit tothe country as their political compatriots avowed. He had been readinglong articles in the newspapers denouncing Senators and Representativeswho wished to restrict immigration. He had seen glowing accounts ofthe value of strong workers for the development of the country'senterprise, of the duty of Americans to open their national portal tothe down-trodden of other lands, no matter how ignorant orpoverty-stricken.
"I believe much of this vice and crime comes from letting this rabbleinto the city, where they stay, instead of going out into the countrywhere they can work and get fresh air and fields. They take the jobsof honest men, who are Americans, and I see by the papers that thereare two hundred and fifty thousand men out of work and hunting jobs inNew York this spring," mused Bob. "It appears to me as if we mightlook after Americans first for a while, instead of letting in morescum. Cheap labor is all right; but when honest men have to pay highertaxes to take care of the peasants of Europe who don't want to work,and who do crowd our hospitals and streets, and fill our schools withtheir children, and our jails and hospitals with their work and theirdiseases, it's a high price for cheap labor."
And, without knowing it, Officer 4434 echoed the sentiments of a greatmany of his fellow citizens who are not catering to the votes offoreign-born constituents or making fortunes from the prostitution ofworkers' brain and brawn.
The big steamship companies, the cheap factory proprietors and thegreat merchants who sell the sweat-shop goods at high-art prices, themanipulators of subway and road graft, the political jobbers, theanarchistic and socialistic sycophants of class guerilla warfare arecontinually arguing to the contrary. But the policemen and the firemenof New York City can tell a different story of the value of our alienpopulation of more than two million!