The Splendid Outcast

  *CHAPTER IV*

  *OUTCAST*

  When Jim Horton, Corporal of Engineers, took his twin brother's uniformand moved off into the darkness toward the German lines, Harry Hortonremained as his brother had left him, bewildered, angry, and still verymuch afraid. The idea of taking Jim Horton's place with his squadnearby did not appeal to him. The danger of discovery was tooobvious--and soon perhaps the squad would have to advance into thedreadful curtain of black that would spout fire and death. He was fedup with it. The baptism of fire in the afternoon had shaken him whenthey lay in the field. It was the grinning head of Levinski of thefourth squad that had done the business. He had found it staring at himin the wheat as the platoon crawled forward. It wasn't so much that itwas an isolated head, as that it was the isolated head of Levinski, forhe hadn't liked Levinski and he knew that the man had hated him. And nowLevinski had had his revenge. Harry had been deathly ill at thestomach, and had not gone forward with the platoon. He had seen thewhites of the eyes of his men as they had glanced aside at him--andspat.

  Why the H---- he had ever gone into the thing ... And now ... supposeJim didn't come back! What should he do? Why had the Major picked himout for this duty! His thoughts wandered wildly from one fancied injuryto another. And Jim--it was like him to turn up and plunge into thiswild venture that would probably bring them both to court-martial. Andif Jim was shot, what the devil was he to do? Go on through the serviceas Jim Horton, Corporal of Engineers? He cursed silently while hegroveled in the gully waiting for the shots that were to decide hisfate.

  For a moment he gathered nerve enough to pick up Jim's rifle andaccoutrement with the intention of joining the squad of engineers. Butjust at that moment there were sounds of shots within the wood, followedby others closer at hand, and then bullets ripped viciously through thefoliage just above him. By a movement just ahead of him he knew thatthe line was advancing. He couldn't ... his knees refused him ... so hecrawled into the thicket along the gully and lay upon the ground amongthe fallen leaves. More shots. Cries all about him. A grunt of painafter a shrapnel burst nearby ... the rush of feet as the second wavefiltered through ... then the rapid crackle of the engagement in thewood. Jim was there--in _his_ uniform. He'd be taking long chancestoo. He had always been a fool....

  From his cover he marked the dawn while the fighting raged--thensunrise. The fire seemed to slacken and then move farther away. Theline was still advancing and only the wounded were coming in--some ofthem walking cases, with bandaged heads and arms. He eyed them throughthe bushes furtively--vengefully. Why couldn't he have gotten a woundlike that--in the afternoon in the wheat field--instead of finding thehead of Levinski and the terror that it had brought? Other wounded werecoming on stretchers now. The gully near him made an easy path to theplain below and many of them passed near him ... but he lay very stillbeneath the leaves. What if Jim came back on a stretcher...! Whatshould he do?

  Then suddenly as though in answer to his question two men emerged fromthe hollow above and approached, carrying something between them. Therewas a man of Harry's own platoon and a sergeant of the company. He heardtheir voices and at the sound of them he cowered lower.

  "Some say he showed yellow yesterday in the wheat field," said theprivate.

  "Yellow! They'd better not let _me_ hear 'em sayin' it----"

  They were talking about _him_--Harry Horton. And the figure, lyingawkwardly, a shapeless mass----?

  At the risk of discovery, the coward straightened and peered down intothe white face ... Jim!

  Harry Horton didn't remember anything very distinctly for a while afterthat, for his thoughts were much confused. But out of the chaos emergedthe persistent instinct of self preservation. There was no use tryingto find Jim's squad now. He wouldn't know them if he saw them. And howcould he explain his absence with no wound to show? For a moment thedesperate expedient occurred to him of thrusting himself through the legwith the bayonet. He even took Jim's weapon out of its scabbard. Butthe blue steel gave him a touch of the nausea that had come over him inthe wheat field.... That wouldn't do. And what was the use? They hadHarry Horton lying near death on the stretcher. What mattered whathappened to the brother? There was no chance now to exchangeidentities. Perhaps there was never to be a chance.

  He sank down again into the thicket, pulling the leaves about him. Hewould find a way. It could be managed. "Missing"--that was the safestway out.

  That night, limping slightly, he emerged and made his way to the rear.It was ridiculously easy. Of the men he met he asked the way to thebillets of the --th Regiment. But he didn't go where they told him. Hefollowed their instructions until out of sight of them, and then went inthe opposite direction.

  He managed at last to get some food at a small farm house and under thepretext of having been sent to borrow peasant clothing for theIntelligence department, managed to get a pair of trousers, shirt, coatand hat. He had buried his rifle the night before and now when theopportunity came he dropped the bundle of Jim Horton's corporal'suniform, weighted by a stone, into deep water from a bridge over ariver. With the splash Corporal James Horton of the Engineers hadceased to exist.

  At the end of two weeks, thanks to some money that he had found in Jim'suniform--and a great deal of good luck--he was safe in a quiet pastoralcountry far from the battle line. Here he saw no uniforms--only old menand women in blouses and sabots, occupying themselves with the harvest,aware only that the Boches were in retreat and that their own fieldswere forever safe from invasion. He represented himself as an Americanart student of Paris, driven by poverty from the city, and offered towork for board and lodging. They took him, and there he stayed forawhile. There was a girl in the family. It was very pleasant. Thenearest town was St. Florentin, and Paris was a hundred miles away. Butafter a few weeks he wearied of it, and of the girl, and having twentyfrancs left in his pockets stole away in the middle of the night.

  Paris was the place for him. There identities were not questioned. Heknew something of Paris. Piquette Morin! He could get her help withouttelling any unnecessary facts. As to Barry Quinlevin and Moira--thatwas different. It wouldn't be pleasant to fall completely in the powerof a man like Barry Quinlevin--even if he was now his father-in-law.And Moira ... No. Moira mustn't ever know if he could prevent it. Andyet if Jim Horton in Harry's uniform had been killed Harry would beofficially dead. He was already dead, to Moira, if Jim Horton hadrevived enough to tell the truth. It wasn't a pretty story to be spreadaround. But if Jim were alive ... what then?

  There were ways of getting along in Paris. He would find a way even if... Moira! He would have liked to be able to go to Moira. She was theone creature in the world whose opinion seemed to matter now. She wouldhave been his on the next furlough. He knew women. If you couldn't getthem one way you could another. Already her letters had beengentler--more conciliatory. His wife--the wife of an outcast! God!Why had he ever gone into the service? How had he known back there thathe wouldn't have been able to stand up under fire--that he would havefound the grinning head of the hated Levinski in the wheat field? Wavesof goose flesh went over him and left him cold and weak.... A sullenmood followed, dull, embittered, and vengeful, against all the world,with only one hope.... If Jim were alive--and silent!

  That opened possibilities--to substitute with his brother and come backto his own--with all the honors of the fool performance! It was _his_name, _his_ job that Jim had taken, and his brother couldn't keep himout of them. He could make Jim give them up--he'd _make_ him. If hecouldn't come back himself, he would drag Jim down with him--they wouldbe outcast together. In the dark that night he would have managed insome way to carry out the Major's orders if Jim hadn't found him just atthe worst moment. What right had Jim to go butting in and making a foolof them both! D--n him!

  He found his way into Paris at the end of a dreary day of tramping. Hehad a few francs lef
t but he was tired and very hungry. With a lieframed he went straight to the apartment of Piquette Morin. She hadgone out of town for a few days.

  That failure baffled him. He had a deposit in a bank, but he dared notdraw it out. So he trudged the weary way up to Montmartre, saving hissous, and hired a bed into which he dropped more dead than alive.

  Thus it was that two nights later, unable yet to bring himself to thepoint of begging from passersby, with scant hope indeed of success, hisweary feet brought him at last to the Rue de Tavennes. Hiding his faceunder the shadow of his hat he inquired of the _concierge_ and foundthat the apartment of Madame Horton was _au troisieme_. He strolled pastthe _porte cochere_ and walked on, looking hungrily up at the lightedwindows of the studio. Moira was there--his wife, Barry Quinlevinperhaps. Who else? He heard sounds of laughter from somewhere upstairs.Laughter! The bitterness of it! But it didn't sound like Moira'svoice. He walked to and fro watching the lighted windows and theentrance of the _concierge_, trying to keep up the circulation of hisblood, for the night was chill and his clothing thin. He had noplan--but he was very hungry and his resolution to remain unknown wasweakening. A man couldn't let himself slowly starve, and yet to seekout any one he knew meant discovery and the horrible publicity that mustfollow. The lights of the _troisieme etage_ held a fascination for him,like that of a flame for a moth. He saw a figure come to a window andthrow open the sash. He stared, unable to believe his eyes. It was aman in the uniform of an officer of the United States Army--his ownuniform and the man who wore it was his brother Jim! Alive--well,covered with honors perhaps--here--in Moira's apartment? What hadhappened to bring his brother here? And Moira ...

  His head whirled with weakness and he stood for a moment leaning againstthe wall, but his strength came back to him in a moment, and he peeredup at the window again. The light had gone out. Jim masquerading inhis shoes--with Moira--as her husband--alone, perhaps, in the apartment!And Moira? The words of conciliation in her last letters which hadseemed to promise so much for the future, had a different significancehere. Fury shook him like a leaf, the fury of desperation, that for themoment drove from his craven heart all fear of an encounter with hisbrother.

  There was a sound of a door shutting and in a moment he saw the man inuniform emerge by the gate of the _concierge_. He walked toward theoutcast, his head bent in deep meditation. There was no doubt about itsbeing Jim. With clenched fists Harry barred his way, the thought thatwas uppermost in his mind finding utterance.

  Jim Horton stopped, stepped back a pace and then peered at the man incivilian clothing from beneath his broad army hat-brim.

  "Harry!" he muttered, almost inaudibly.

  "What are you doing here--in this house?" raged Harry in a voice thickwith passion. And then, as no reply came, "Answer me! Answer me!"

  One of Harry's fists threatened but his brother caught him by the wristand with ridiculous ease twisted his arm aside. He was surprised asHarry sank back weakly against the wall with a snarl of pain. "D--nyou," he groaned.

  This wouldn't do. Any commotion would surely arouse the curiosity ofMadame Toupin, the _concierge_.

  "Keep a civil tongue in your head, Harry," he muttered, "and I'll talkto you."

  He caught him firmly by the arm, but Harry still leaned against thewall, muttering vaguely.

  "A civil tongue--_me_? You--you dare ask me?"

  "Yes," said Jim gently, "I've been trying to find you."

  "Where?" leered Harry, "in my wife's studio?"

  Jim Horton turned suddenly furious, but shocked into silence and inertiaby the terrible significance of the suspicion. But he pulled himselftogether with an effort.

  "Come," he said quietly. "Let's get away from here."

  He felt Harry yield to the pressure of his fingers and slowly they movedinto the shadows down the street away from the gas lamps. A momentlater Harry was twitching at his arm.

  "G-get me something to cat. I--I'm hungry," he gasped.

  "Hungry! How long----?"

  "Since yesterday morning--a crust of bread----"

  And Jim had been eating goose----! The new sense of his own guiltappalled him.

  "Since yesterday----!" he muttered in a quick gush of compassion."We'll find something--a _cafe_----"

  "There's a place in the Rue Berthe--Javet's," he said weakly.

  Jim Horton caught his brother under an elbow and helped him down thestreet, aware for the first time of the cause of his weakness. Hemarked, too, the haggard lines in Harry's face, and the two weeks'growth of beard that effectually concealed all evidence ofrespectability. There seemed little danger of any one's discovering thelikeness between the neatly garbed lieutenant and the civilian whoaccompanied him. But it was well to be careful. They passed abrilliantly lighted restaurant, but in a nearby street after awhile theycame to a small _cafe_, not too brightly lighted, and they entered.There was a polished zinc bar which ran the length of a room with low,smoke-stained ceilings. At the bar were two cochers, in shirt sleeves,their yellow-glazed hats on the backs of their heads, sipping grenadine.There was a winding stair which led to the living quarters above, butthrough a doorway beside it, there was a glimpse of an inner room withtables unoccupied. They entered and Jim Horton ordered a substantialmeal which was presently set before the hungry man. The coffee revivedhim and he ate greedily in moody silence while Jim Horton sat, frowningat the opposite wall. For the present each was deeply engrossed--Jim inthe definite problem that had suddenly presented itself, and thepossible courses of action open to do what was to be required of him;Harry in his food, beyond which life at present held no other interest.But after a while, which seemed interminable to Jim, his brother gave agasp of satisfaction, and pushed back his dishes.

  "Give me a cigarette," he demanded with something of an air.

  Jim obeyed and even furnished a light, not missing the evidences ofDutch courage Harry had acquired from the stimulation of food andcoffee.

  It was curious what little difference the amenities seemed to matter.They were purely mechanical--nor would it matter what Harry was to sayto him. The main thing was to try to think clearly, obliterating hisown animus against his brother and the contempt in which he held him.

  Harry sank back into his chair for a moment, inhaling luxuriously.

  "Well," he said at last, "maybe you've got a word to say about how thedevil you got here."

  "Yes," said Jim quickly. "It's very simple. I was hit. I took youridentity in the hospital. There wasn't anything else to do."

  Harry glowered at the ash of his cigarette and then shrugged heavily.

  "I see. They think you're me. That was nice of you, Jim," he sneered,"very decent indeed, very kind and brotherly----"

  "You'd better 'can' the irony," Jim broke in briefly. "They'd have foundus out--both of us. And I reckon you know what that would have meant."

  "H--m. Maybe I do, maybe I don't," he said shrewdly. "It was you whofound me--er--sick. Nobody else did."

  "We needn't speak of that."

  "We might as well. I'd have come around all right, if you hadn't buttedin."

  "Oh, would you?"

  "Yes," said Harry sullenly.

  Jim Horton carefully lighted a cigarette from the butt of the other, andthen said coolly:

  "We're not getting anywhere, Harry."

  "I think we are. I'm trying to show you that you're in wrong on thisthing from start to finish. And it looks as though you might get justwhat was coming to you."

  "Meaning what?"

  "That you'll take my place again. This----!" exhibiting with a grin hisworn garments. "You took mine without a by-your-leave. Now you'll giveit back to me."

  An ugly look came into Jim Horton's jaw.

  "I'm not so sure about that," he said in a tone dangerously quiet.

  "What! You mean that----" The bluster trailed off into silence at thewarning fire in his brother's eyes. But he raised his head in a moment,laughing disagreeably. "I see.
The promotion has got into your head.Some promotion--Lieutenant right off the reel--from Corporal, too.Living soft in the hospital and now----" He paused and swalloweduneasily. "How did you get to the Rue de Tavennes?"

  "They came to the hospital--Mr. Quinlevin and--and your wife. I--Ifooled them. They don't suspect."

  "How--how did you know Moira was my wife?"

  "Some letters. I read them."

  "Oh, I see. You read them," he frowned and then, "Barry Quinlevin'stoo?"

  "Yes--his too. I had to have facts. I got them--some I wasn't lookingfor----"

  "About----?"

  "About the Duc de Vautrin," Jim broke in dryly. "That's one of thereasons why I'm still Harry Horton and why I'm going to stay HarryHorton--for the present."

  If Jim had needed any assurance as to his brother's share in thisintrigue he had it now. For Harry went red and then pale, refusing tomeet his gaze.

  "I see," he muttered, "Quinlevin's been talking."

  "Yes," said Jim craftily, "he has. It's a pretty plan, but it won'tcome off. You always were a rotter, Harry. But you're not going to hurtMoira, if I can prevent."

  It was a half-random shot but it hit the mark.

  "Moira," muttered Harry somberly. "I see. You haven't been wasting anytime."

  "I'm not wasting time when I can keep her--or even you--from gettingmixed up in dirty blackmail. That's my answer. And that's why I'm notgoing to quit until I'm ready."

  Harry Horton frowned at the soiled table cover, his fingers twitching athis fork, and then reached for the coffee pot and quickly poured himselfanother cup.

  "Clever, Jim," he said with a cynical laugh. "I take off my hat to you.I never would have thought you had it in you. But you'll admit thatliving in my wife's apartment and impersonating her husband is going abit too far."

  The laughter didn't serve to conceal either his fear or his fury. Butit stopped short as Jim's fingers suddenly closed over his wrist andheld it in a grip of iron.

  "Don't bring _her_ into this," he whispered tensely. "Do you hear?"And after a moment of struggle with himself as he withdrew his hand,"You dared to think yourself worthy of her. _You_!"

  "Be careful what you say to me," said Harry, trying bravado. "She's mywife."

  "She won't be your wife long, when I tell her what I know about you,"finished Jim angrily.

  He saw Harry's face go pale again as he tried to meet his gaze, saw thefire flicker out of him, as he groped pitiably for Jim's hand.

  "Jim! You--you wouldn't do that?" he muttered.

  Jim released his hand, shrugged and leaned back in his chair.

  "Not if you play straight with me--and with her. You want me to pay thepenalty of what I did for you--to go out into the world--an outcast inyour place. Perhaps I owe it to you. I don't know. But you owe mesomething too--promotion--the _Croix de Guerre_----"

  "The _Croix de Guerre_! Me----?"

  "Lieutenant Harry G. Horton to be gazetted captain--me!" put in Jim,with some pride. "Not you."

  A brief silence in which Harry rubbed his scrawny beard with his longfingers.

  "That might be difficult to prove to my Company captain," he said atlast.

  "You forget my wounds," laughed Jim. "Oh, they're _my_ wounds allright." And then, with a shrug, "You see, Harry, it won't work. You'rehelpless. If I chose to keep on the job, you'd be left out in thecold."

  "You won't dare----"

  "I don't know what I'd dare. It depends on you."

  "What do you mean?" broke in Harry with some spirit. "I couldn't be anyworse off than I am now, even if I told the truth."

  Jim laughed. "_I_ tried to tell in the hospital and they thought I wasbug-house. Try it if you like."

  Harry frowned and reached for another cigarette.

  And then after awhile, "Well--what do you want me to do?"

  His brother examined him steadily for a moment, and then went on.

  "I don't know whether you've learned anything in the army or not. Butit ought to have taught you that you've got to live straight with yourbuddy or you can't get on."

  "Straight!" sneered Harry, "like _you_. You call this straight--whatyou're doing?"

  "No," Jim admitted. "It's not straight. It's crooked as hell, but ifit wasn't, you'd have been drummed out of the Service by now. I don'twant you to think I care about _you_. I didn't--out there. It was onlythe honor of the service I was thinking about. I'd do it again if I hadto. But I do care about this girl you've bamboozled into marryingyou--you and Quinlevin. And whatever the dirty arrangement between youthat made it possible, I want to make it clear to you here and now thatshe isn't going to be mixed up in any of your rotten deals. She isn'tyour sort and you couldn't drag her down to your level if you tried.I'll know more when Quinlevin gets back and then----"

  Jim Horton paused as he realized that he had said too much, for he sawhis brother start and then stare at him.

  "Ah, Barry Quinlevin--is away!"

  Jim nodded. "Yes," he said, "in Ireland."

  Harry had risen, glowering.

  "And you think I'm going to slink off to-night to my kennel and let yougo back to the studio. You in my uniform--as _me_--to Moira."

  Jim Horton thought deeply for a moment and then rose and coollystraightened his military blouse.

  "Very well," he said, "we'll go back to her together."

  He took out some money and carelessly walked toward the bar in the frontroom. But Harry followed quickly and caught him by the arm.

  "Jim," he muttered, "you won't do that!"

  "We'll tell her the truth--I guess you're right. She ought to know."

  "Wait a minute----"

  His hand was trembling on the officer's sleeve and the dark beard seemedto make the face look ghastly under its tan.

  "Not yet, Jim. Not to-night. We--we'll have to let things be forawhile. Just sit down again for a minute. We've got to find a way tostraighten this thing out--to get you back into your old job----"

  "How?" dryly.

  "I--I don't know just now, but we can work it somehow----"

  "It's too late----"

  "You could have been captured by the Boches. We can find a way, whenyou let me have my uniform."

  Jim Horton grinned unsympathetically.

  "There are two wounds in that too, Harry," he said. "Where are yours?"

  And he moved toward the door.

  "Listen, Jim. We'll let things be as they are for the present. BarryQuinlevin mustn't know--you've got to play the part. I see. Come andsit down a minute."

  His brother obeyed mechanically.

  "Well," he said.

  "I'll do what you say--until--until we can think of something." Hetried a smile and failed. "I know it's a good deal to ask you--to takemy place--to go out into the world and be what I am, but you won't haveto do it. You won't have to. We'll manage something--some way. You goback to the studio----" he paused uncertainly, "You're not----?" hepaused.

  Jim Horton read his meaning.

  "Making love to your wife? And if I was, it would only be what youdeserve. She doesn't love you any too much, as it is."

  Harry frowned at the floor, and was silent, but his brother's answersatisfied him.

  "All right. You go back--but I've got to get some money. I can'tstarve."

  "I don't want you to," Jim fumbled in his pockets and brought out somebills. "Here--take these. They're yours anyway. We'll arrange formore later. I've an account at a bank here----"

  "And so have I--but I don't dare----"

  "Very good. What's your bank?"

  "_Hartjes & Cie._"

  "All right. I'll get some checks to-morrow and you can make one payableto yourself. I'll cash it and give you the money. And I'll make oneout at my bank for the same amount, dated back into October, before theBoissiere fight, payable to bearer. You can get it cashed?"

  "Yes."

  "Who?"

  "A woman I know."

  Jim shrugge
d. "All right. But be careful. I'll meet you hereto-morrow night. And don't shave."

  Harry nodded and put the bills into his pocket while Jim rose again.

  "You play the game straight with me," he said, "and I'll put this thingright, even if----"

  He paused suddenly in the doorway, his sentence unfinished, for just infront of him stood a very handsome girl, who had abandoned her companionand stood, both hands outstretched, in greeting.

  "'Arry 'Orton," she was saying joyously in broken English. "You donseem to know me. It is I--Piquette."

  The name Quinlevin had spoke in the hospital!

  Jim glanced over his shoulder into the shadow where Harry had been, buthis brother had disappeared.