CHAPTER XXXIV
IN WHICH TWO MASSEYS MEET IN MEXICO
And while things were moving toward their crisis for Larry and Ruthanother drama was progressing more or less swiftly to its conclusiondown in Vera Cruz. Alan Massey had found his cousin in a wretched,vermin haunted shack, nursed in haphazard fashion by a slovenly,ignorant half-breed woman under the ostensible professional care of amercenary, incompetent, drunken Mexican doctor who cared little enoughwhether the dog of an American lived or died so long as he himselfcontinued to get the generous checks from a certain newspaper in NewYork City. The doctor held the credulity of the men who mailed thosechecks in fine contempt and proceeded to feather his nest valiantlywhile his good luck continued, going on many a glorious spree at thepaper's expense while Dick Carson went down every day deeper into thevalley of the shadow of death.
With the coming of Alan Massey however a new era began. Alan was apt toleave transformation of one sort or another in his wake. It was notmerely his money magic though he wielded that magnificently as was hishabit and predilection, spent Mexican dollars with a superb disregard oftheir value which won from the natives a respect akin to awe and wroughtmiracles wherever the golden flow touched. But there was more than moneymagic to Alan Massey's performance in Vera Cruz. There was also themagic of his dominating, magnetic personality. He was a born master andevery one high or low who crossed his path recognized his rightfulascendency and hastened to obey his royal will.
His first step was to get the sick man transferred from the filthy hovelin which he found him to clean, comfortable quarters in an ancient adobepalace, screened, airy, spacious. The second step was to secure theservices of two competent and high priced nurses from Mexico City, one anAmerican, the other an English woman, both experienced, intrepid,efficient. The third step taken simultaneously with the other two was todismiss the man who masqueraded as a physician though he was nothing inreality but a cheap charlatan fattening himself at the expense ofweakness and disease. The man had been inclined to make trouble at firstabout his unceremonious discharge. He had no mind to lose without aprotest such a convenient source of unearned increment as those checksrepresented. He had intended to get in many another good carouse beforethe sick man died or got well as nature willed. But a single interviewwith Alan Massey sufficed to lay his objections to leaving the case. Inconcise and forcible language couched in perfect Spanish Alan had made itclear that if the so-called doctor came near his victim again he would beshot down like a dog and if Carson died he would in any case be tried forman slaughter and hanged on the spot. The last point had been furtherpunctuated by an expressive gesture on the speaker's part, pointing tohis own throat accompanied by a significant little gurgling sound. Thegesture and the gurgle had been convincing. The man surrendered the casein some haste. He did not at all care for the style of conversationindulged in by this tall, unsmiling, green-eyed man. Consequently heimmediately evaporated to all intents and purposes and was seen no more.The new physician put in charge was a different breed entirely, a man whohad the authentic gift and passion for healing which the born doctoralways possesses, be he Christian or heathen, gypsy herb mixer or tenthousand dollar specialist. Alan explained to this man precisely what wasrequired of him, explained in the same forcible, concise, perfect Spanishthat had banished the other so completely. His job was to cure the sickman. If he succeeded there would be a generous remuneration. If he failedthrough no fault of his there would still be fair remuneration thoughnothing like what would be his in case of complete recovery. If he failedthrough negligence--and here the expressive gesture and the gurgle wererepeated--. The sentence had not needed completion. The matter wassufficiently elucidated. The man was a born healer as has been recordedbut even if he had not been he would still have felt obliged to moveheaven and earth so far as in him lay to cure Dick Carson. Alan Massey'smanner was persuasive. One did one's best to satisfy a person who spokesuch Spanish and made such ominous gestures. One did as one wascommanded. One dared do no other.
As for the servants whom Alan rallied to his standard they were slavesrather than servants. They recognized in him their preordained master,were wax to his hands, mats to his feet. They obeyed his word asobsequiously, faithfully and unquestioningly as if he could by a clap ofhis lordly hands banish them to strange deaths.
They talked in low tones about him among themselves behind his back.This was no American they said. No American could command as thisgreen-eyed one commanded. No American had such gift of tongues, suchgestures, such picturesque and varied and awesome oaths. No Americancarried small bright flashing daggers such as he carried in his innerpockets, nor did Americans talk glibly as he talked of weird poisons,not every day drugs, but marvelous, death dealing concoctions done up inlustrous jewel-like capsules or diluted in sparkling, insidious gorgeoushued fluids. The man was too wise--altogether too wise to be anAmerican. He had traveled much, knew strange secrets. They ratherthought he knew black art. Certainly he knew more of the arts of healingthan the doctor himself. There was nothing he did not know, thegreen-eyed one. It was best to obey him.
And while Alan Massey's various arts operated Dick Carson passed througha series of mental and physical evolutions and came slowly back toconsciousness of what was going on.
At first he was too close to the hinterland to know or care as to whatwas happening here, though he did vaguely sense that he had left thelower levels of Hell and was traversing a milder purgatorial region. Hedid not question Alan's presence or recognize him. Alan was at firstsimply another of those distrusted foreigners whose point of view andcharacter he comprehended as little as he did their jibbering tongues.
Gradually however this one man seemed to stand out from the others andfinally took upon himself a name and an entity. By and by, Dick thought,when he wasn't so infernally-tired as he was just now he would wonder whyAlan Massey was here and would try to recall why he had disliked him so,some time a million years ago or so. He did not dislike him now. He wastoo weak to dislike anybody in any case but he was beginning to connectAlan vaguely but surely with the superior cleanliness and comfort andcare with which he was now surrounded. He knew now that he had beensick, very sick and that he was getting better, knew that before long hewould find himself asking questions. Even now his eyes followed AlanMassey as the latter came and went with an ever more insistent wondermentthough he had not yet the force of will or body to voice that pursuingquestion as to why Alan Massey was here apparently taking charge of hisown slow return to health and consciousness.
Meanwhile Alan wired Tony Holiday every day as to his patient's conditionthough he wrote not at all and said nothing in his wires of himself.Letters from Tony were now beginning to arrive, letters full of eagergratitude and love for Alan and concern for Dick.
And one day Dick's mind got suddenly very clear. He was alone with thenurse at the time, the sympathetic American one whom he liked better andwas less afraid of than he was of the stolid, inexorable British lady.And he began to ask questions, many questions and very definite ones. Heknew at last precisely what it was he wanted to know.
He got a good deal of information though by no means all he sought. Hefound out that he had been taken desperately ill, that he had beensummarily removed from his lodging place because of the owner'ssuperstitious dread of contagion into the miserable little thatchroofed hut in which he had nearly died thanks to the mal-practice ofthe rascally, drunken doctor and the ignorant half-breed nurse. Helearned how Alan Massey had suddenly appeared and taken things in hisown hands, discovered that in a nutshell the fact was he owed his lifeto the other-man. But why? That was what he had to find out from AlanMassey himself.
The next day when Alan came in and the nurse went out he askedhis question.
"That is easy," said Alan grimly. "I came on Tony's account."
Dick winced. Of course that was it. Tony had sent Massey. He was here asher emissary, naturally, no doubt as her accepted lover. It was kind.Tony was always kind but he wished she had not done
it. He did not wantto have his life saved by the man who was going to marry Tony Holiday. Herather thought he did not want his life saved anyway by anybody. Hewished they hadn't done it.
"I--I am much obliged to you and to Tony," he said a little stiffly. "Ifear it--it was hardly worth the effort." His eyes closed wearily.
"Tony didn't send me though," observed Alan Massey as if he had read theother's thought. "I sent myself."
Dick's eyes opened.
"That is odd if it is true," he said slowly.
Alan dropped into a chair near the bed.
"It is odd," he admitted. "But it happens to be true. It came aboutsimply enough. When Tony heard you were sick she went crazy, sworeshe was coming down here in spite of us all to take care of you. ThenMiss Clay's child died and she had to go on the boards. You canimagine what it meant to her--the two things coming at once. Sheplayed that night--swept everything as you'd know she would--got 'emall at her feet."
Dick nodded, a faint flash of pleasure in his eyes. Down and out as hewas he could still be glad to hear of Tony's triumph.
"She wanted to come to you," went on Alan. "She let me come insteadbecause she couldn't. I came for--for her sake."
Dick nodded.
"Naturally--for her sake," he said. "I could hardly have expected you tocome for mine. I would hardly have expected it in any case."
"I would hardly have expected it of myself," acknowledged Alan with a wrysmile. "But I've had rather a jolly time at your expense. I've alwaysenjoyed working miracles and if you could have seen yourself the way youwere when I got here you would think there was a magic in it somehow."
"I evidently owe you a great deal, Mr. Massey. I am grateful or at leastI presume I shall be later. Just now I feel a little--dumb."
"My dear fellow, nothing would please me better than to have you continuedumb on that subject. I did this thing as I've done most things in mylife to please myself. I don't want your thanks. I would like a little ofyour liking though. You and I are likely to see quite a bit of each otherthese next few weeks. Could you manage to forget the past and call a kindof truce for a while? You have a good deal to forgive me--perhaps morethan you know. If you would be willing to let the little I have done downhere--and mind you I don't want to magnify that part--wipe off the slateI should be glad. Could you manage it, Carson?"
"It looks as if it hardly could be magnified," said Dick with suddenheartiness. "I spoke grudgingly just now I am afraid. Please overlook it.I am more than grateful for all you have done and more than glad to befriends if you want it. I don't hate you. How could I when you have savedmy life and anyway I never hated you as you used to hate me. I've oftenwondered why you did, especially at first before you knew how much Icared for Tony. And even that shouldn't have made you hate mebecause--you won."
"Never mind why I hated you. I don't any more. Will you shake hands withme, Carson, so we can begin again?"
Dick pulled himself weakly up on the pillow. Their hands met.
"Hang it, Massey," Dick said. "I am afraid I am going to like you. I'veheard you were hypnotic. I believe on my soul you came down here to makeme like you? Did you?"
But Alan only smiled his ironic, noncommital smile and remarked it wastime for the invalid to take a nap. He had had enough conversation forthe first attempt.
Dick soon drifted off to sleep but Alan Massey prowled the streets of theMexican city far into the night, with tireless, driven feet. The demonswere after him again.
And far away in another city whose bright lights glow all night TonyHoliday was still playing Madge to packed houses, happy in her triumphbut with heart very pitiful for her beloved Miss Clay whose sorrow andcontinued illness had made possible the fruition of her own eager hopes.Tony was sadly lonely without Alan, thought of him far more often andwith deeper affection even than she had while she had him at her beck andcall in the city, loved him with a new kind of love for his generouskindness to Dick. She made up her mind that he had cleared the shieldforever by this splendid act and saw no reason why she should keep himany longer on probation. Surely she knew by this time that he was a maneven a Holiday might be proud to marry.
She wrote this decision to her uncle and asked to be relieved fromher promise.
"I am sorry," she wrote, "if you cannot approve but I cannot help it. Ilove him and I am going to be engaged to him as soon as he comes back toNew York if he wants it. I am afraid I would have married him and goneto Mexico with him, given up the play and broken my promise to you, if hewould have let me. It goes that far and deep with me.
"People are crazy over his pictures. The exhibition came off last weekand they say he is one of the greatest living painters with a wonderfulfuture ahead of him. I am so proud and happy. He is fine everyway now,has really sloughed off the past just as he promised he would. So please,dear Uncle Phil, forgive me if I do what you don't want me to. I have tomarry him. In my heart I am married to him already."
And this was the letter Philip Holiday found at his place at breakfast onthe morning of the day Geoffrey Annersley was expected. He read itgravely. Rash, loving, generous-hearted Tony. Where was she going? Ahwell, she was no longer a child to be protected from the storm and stressof life. She was a woman grown, woman enough to love and to be lovedgreatly, to sacrifice and suffer if need be for love's mighty sake. Shemust go her way as Ted had gone his, as their father had gone his beforethem. He could only pray that she was right in her faith that for love ofher Alan Massey had been born anew.
His own deep affection for Ned's children seemed at the moment a sadlypowerless thing. He had coveted the best things of life for them, happy,normal ways of peace and gentle living. Yet here was Ted at twentyalready lived through an experience, tragic enough to leave its scarletmark for all the rest of his life and even now on the verge ofvoluntarily entering a terrific conflict from which few returned aliveand none came back unchanged. Here was Tony taking upon herself thethraldom of a love, which try as he would Philip Holiday could not seein any other light but as at best a cataclysmic risk. And at this veryhour Larry might be learning that the desire of his heart was dust andashes, his hope a vain thing, himself an exile henceforth from the thingsthat round out a man's life, make it full and rich and satisfying.
And yet thinking of the three Philip Holiday found one clear ray ofcomfort. With all their vagaries, their rash impulsions, their willfulblindness, their recklessness, they had each run splendidly true to type.Not one of the three had failed in the things that really count. He hadfaith that none of them ever would. They might blunder egregiously,suffer immeasurably, pay extravagantly, but they would each keep thatvital spirit which they had in common, untarnished and undaunted, anunconquerable thing.