The American Claimant

  CHAPTER XIII.

  The days drifted by, and they grew ever more dreary. For Barrow'sefforts to find work for Tracy were unavailing. Always the firstquestion asked was, "What Union do you belong to?"

  Tracy was obliged to reply that he didn't belong to any trade-union.

  "Very well, then, it's impossible to employ you. My men wouldn't staywith me if I should employ a 'scab,' or 'rat,'" or whatever the phrasewas.

  Finally, Tracy had a happy thought. He said, "Why the thing for me todo, of course, is to join a trade-union."

  "Yes," Barrow said, "that is the thing for you to do--if you can."

  "If I can? Is it difficult?"

  "Well, Yes," Barrow said, "it's sometimes difficult--in fact, verydifficult. But you can try, and of course it will be best to try."

  Therefore Tracy tried; but he did not succeed. He was refused admissionwith a good deal of promptness, and was advised to go back home, wherehe belonged, not come here taking honest men's bread out of theirmouths. Tracy began to realize that the situation was desperate, and thethought made him cold to the marrow. He said to himself, "So there isan aristocracy of position here, and an aristocracy of prosperity, andapparently there is also an aristocracy of the ins as opposed to theouts, and I am with the outs. So the ranks grow daily, here. Plainlythere are all kinds of castes here and only one that I belong to, theoutcasts." But he couldn't even smile at his small joke, although hewas obliged to confess that he had a rather good opinion of it. He wasfeeling so defeated and miserable by this time that he could no longerlook with philosophical complacency on the horseplay of the youngfellows in the upper rooms at night. At first it had been pleasant tosee them unbend and have a good time after having so well earned it bythe labors of the day, but now it all rasped upon his feelings and hisdignity. He lost patience with the spectacle. When they were feelinggood, they shouted, they scuffled, they sang songs, they romped aboutthe place like cattle, and they generally wound up with a pillow fight,in which they banged each other over the head, and threw the pillows inall directions, and every now and then he got a buffet himself; and theywere always inviting him to join in. They called him "Johnny Bull," andinvited him with excessive familiarity to take a hand. At first he hadendured all this with good nature, but latterly he had shown by hismanner that it was distinctly distasteful to him, and very soon he saw achange in the manner of these young people toward him. They were souringon him as they would have expressed it in their language. He had neverbeen what might be called popular. That was hardly the phrase for it; hehad merely been liked, but now dislike for him was growing. His casewas not helped by the fact that he was out of luck, couldn't get work,didn't belong to a union, and couldn't gain admission to one. He got agood many slights of that small ill-defined sort that you can't quiteput your finger on, and it was manifest that there was only one thingwhich protected him from open insult, and that was his muscle. Theseyoung people had seen him exercising, mornings, after his cold spongebath, and they had perceived by his performance and the build of hisbody, that he was athletic, and also versed in boxing. He felt prettynaked now, recognizing that he was shorn of all respect except respectfor his fists. One night when he entered his room he found about adozen of the young fellows there carrying on a very lively conversationpunctuated with horse-laughter. The talking ceased instantly, and thefrank affront of a dead silence followed. He said,

  "Good evening gentlemen," and sat down.

  There was no response. He flushed to the temples but forced himselfto maintain silence. He sat there in this uncomfortable stillness sometime, then got up and went out.

  The moment he had disappeared he heard a prodigious shout of laughterbreak forth. He saw that their plain purpose had been to insult him.He ascended to the flat roof, hoping to be able to cool down his spiritthere and get back his tranquility. He found the young tinner up there,alone and brooding, and entered into conversation with him. They werepretty fairly matched, now, in unpopularity and general ill-luck andmisery, and they had no trouble in meeting upon this common ground withadvantage and something of comfort to both. But Tracy's movements hadbeen watched, and in a few minutes the tormentors came straggling oneafter another to the roof, where they began to stroll up and down in anapparently purposeless way. But presently they fell to dropping remarksthat were evidently aimed at Tracy, and some of them at the tinner.The ringleader of this little mob was a short-haired bully and amateurprize-fighter named Allen, who was accustomed to lording it over theupper floor, and had more than once shown a disposition to make troublewith Tracy. Now there was an occasional cat-call, and hootings, andwhistlings, and finally the diversion of an exchange of connectedremarks was introduced:

  "How many does it take to make a pair?"

  "Well, two generally makes a pair, but sometimes there ain't stuffenough in them to make a whole pair." General laugh.

  "What were you saying about the English a while ago?"

  "Oh, nothing, the English are all right, only--I--"

  "What was it you said about them?"

  "Oh, I only said they swallow well."

  "Swallow better than other people?"

  "Oh, yes, the English swallow a good deal better than other people."

  "What is it they swallow best?"

  "Oh, insults." Another general laugh.

  "Pretty hard to make 'em fight, ain't it?"

  "No, taint hard to make 'em fight."

  "Ain't it, really?"

  "No, taint hard. It's impossible." Another laugh.

  "This one's kind of spiritless, that's certain."

  "Couldn't be the other way--in his case."

  "Why?"

  "Don't you know the secret of his birth?"

  "No! has he got a secret of his birth?"

  "You bet he has."

  "What is it?"

  "His father was a wax-figger."

  Allen came strolling by where the pair were sitting; stopped, and saidto the tinner;

  "How are you off for friends, these days?"

  "Well enough off."

  "Got a good many?"

  "Well, as many as I need."

  "A friend is valuable, sometimes--as a protector, you know. What do youreckon would happen if I was to snatch your cap off and slap you in theface with it?"

  "Please don't trouble me, Mr. Allen, I ain't doing anything to you."

  "You answer me! What do you reckon would happen?"

  "Well, I don't know."

  Tracy spoke up with a good deal of deliberation and said:

  "Don't trouble the young fellow, I can tell you what would happen."

  "Oh, you can, can you? Boys, Johnny Bull can tell us what would happenif I was to snatch this chump's cap off and slap him in the face withit. Now you'll see."

  He snatched the cap and struck the youth in the face, and before hecould inquire what was going to happen, it had already happened, and hewas warming the tin with the broad of his back. Instantly there was arush, and shouts of:

  "A ring, a ring, make a ring! Fair play all round! Johnny's grit; givehim a chance."

  The ring was quickly chalked on the tin, and Tracy found himself aseager to begin as he could have been if his antagonist had been a princeinstead of a mechanic. At bottom he was a little surprised at this,because although his theories had been all in that direction for sometime, he was not prepared to find himself actually eager to measurestrength with quite so common a man as this ruffian. In a moment all thewindows in the neighborhood were filled with people, and the roofs also.The men squared off, and the fight began. But Allen stood no chancewhatever, against the young Englishman. Neither in muscle nor in sciencewas he his equal. He measured his length on the tin time and again; infact, as fast as he could get up he went down again, and the applausewas kept up in liberal fashion from all the neighborhood around.Finally, Allen had to be helped up. Then Tracy declined to punish himfurther and the fight was at an end. Allen was carried off by some ofhis friends in a very much humbled condition, his face bl
ack and blueand bleeding, and Tracy was at once surrounded by the young fellows,who congratulated him, and told him that he had done the whole housea service, and that from this out Mr. Allen would be a little moreparticular about how he handled slights and insults and maltreatmentaround amongst the boarders.

  Tracy was a hero now, and exceedingly popular. Perhaps nobody hadever been quite so popular on that upper floor before. But if beingdiscountenanced by these young fellows had been hard to bear, theirlavish commendations and approval and hero-worship were harder still toendure. He felt degraded, but he did not allow himself to analyze thereasons why, too closely. He was content to satisfy himself withthe suggestion that he looked upon himself as degraded by the publicspectacle which he had made of himself, fighting on a tin roof, for thedelectation of everybody a block or two around. But he wasn't entirelysatisfied with that explanation of it. Once he went a little too farand wrote in his diary that his case was worse than that of the prodigalson. He said the prodigal son merely fed swine, he didn't have to chumwith them. But he struck that out, and said "All men are equal. I willnot disown my principles. These men are as good as I am."

  Tracy was become popular on the lower floors also. Everybody wasgrateful for Allen's reduction to the ranks, and for his transformationfrom a doer of outrages to a mere threatener of them. The young girls,of whom there were half a dozen, showed many attentions to Tracy,particularly that boarding house pet Hattie, the landlady's daughter.She said to him, very sweetly,

  "I think you're ever so nice."

  And when he said, "I'm glad you think so, Miss Hattie," she said, stillmore sweetly,

  "Don't call me Miss Hattie--call me Puss."

  Ah, here was promotion! He had struck the summit. There were no higherheights to climb in that boarding house. His popularity was complete.

  In the presence of people, Tracy showed a tranquil outside, but hisheart was being eaten out of him by distress and despair.

  In a little while he should be out of money, and then what should he do?He wished, now, that he had borrowed a little more liberally from thatstranger's store. He found it impossible to sleep. A single torturing,terrifying thought went racking round and round in his head, wearing agroove in his brain: What should he do--What was to become of him? Andalong with it began to intrude a something presently which was very likea wish that he had not joined the great and noble ranks of martyrdom,but had stayed at home and been content to be merely an earl and nothingbetter, with nothing more to do in this world of a useful sort than anearl finds to do. But he smothered that part of his thought as well ashe could; he made every effort to drive it away, and with fair success,but he couldn't keep it from intruding a little now and then, and whenit intruded it came suddenly and nipped him like a bite, a sting, aburn. He recognized that thought by the peculiar sharpness of its pang.The others were painful enough, but that one cut to the quick whenit came. Night after night he lay tossing to the music of the hideoussnoring of the honest bread-winners until two and three o'clock in themorning, then got up and took refuge on the roof, where he sometimes gota nap and sometimes failed entirely. His appetite was leaving him andthe zest of life was going along with it. Finally, one day, being nearthe imminent verge of total discouragement, he said to himself--and tookoccasion to blush privately when he said it, "If my father knew what myAmerican name is,--he--well, my duty to my father rather requires thatI furnish him my name. I have no right to make his days and nightsunhappy, I can do enough unhappiness for the family all by myself.Really he ought to know what my American name is." He thought over it awhile and framed a cablegram in his mind to this effect:

  "My American name is Howard Tracy."

  That wouldn't be suggesting anything. His father could understand thatas he chose, and doubtless he would understand it as it was meant, asa dutiful and affectionate desire on the part of a son to make his oldfather happy for a moment. Continuing his train of thought, Tracy saidto himself, "Ah, but if he should cable me to come home! I--I--couldn'tdo that--I mustn't do that. I've started out on a mission, and Imustn't turn my back on it in cowardice. No, no, I couldn't go home,at--at--least I shouldn't want to go home." After a reflective pause:"Well, maybe--perhaps--it would be my duty to go in the circumstances;he's very old and he does need me by him to stay his footsteps down thelong hill that inclines westward toward the sunset of his life. Well,I'll think about that. Yes, of course it wouldn't be right to stay here.If I--well, perhaps I could just drop him a line and put it off a littlewhile and satisfy him in that way. It would be--well, it would mareverything to have him require me to come instantly." Another reflectivepause--then: "And yet if he should do that I don't know but--oh, dearme--home! how good it sounds! and a body is excusable for wanting to seehis home again, now and then, anyway."

  He went to one of the telegraph offices in the avenue and got the firstend of what Barrow called the "usual Washington courtesy," where "theytreat you as a tramp until they find out you're a congressman, and thenthey slobber all over you." There was a boy of seventeen on duty there,tying his shoe. He had his foot on a chair and his back turned towardthe wicket. He glanced over his shoulder, took Tracy's measure, turnedback, and went on tying his shoe. Tracy finished writing his telegramand waited, still waited, and still waited, for that performance tofinish, but there didn't seem to be any finish to it; so finally Tracysaid:

  "Can't you take my telegram?"

  The youth looked over his shoulder and said, by his manner, not hiswords:

  "Don't you think you could wait a minute, if you tried?"

  However, he got the shoe tied at last, and came and took the telegram,glanced over it, then looked up surprised, at Tracy. There was somethingin his look that bordered upon respect, almost reverence, it seemed toTracy, although he had been so long without anything of this kind he wasnot sure that he knew the signs of it.

  The boy read the address aloud, with pleased expression in face andvoice.

  "The Earl of Rossmore! Cracky! Do you know him?"

  "Yes."

  "Is that so! Does he know you?"

  "Well--yes."

  "Well, I swear! Will he answer you?"

  "I think he will."

  "Will he though? Where'll you have it sent?"

  "Oh, nowhere. I'll call here and get it. When shall I call?"

  "Oh, I don't know--I'll send it to you. Where shall I send it? Give meyour address; I'll send it to you soon's it comes."

  But Tracy didn't propose to do this. He had acquired the boy'sadmiration and deferential respect, and he wasn't willing to throw theseprecious things away, a result sure to follow if he should give theaddress of that boarding house. So he said again that he would call andget the telegram, and went his way.

  He idled along, reflecting. He said to himself, "There is somethingpleasant about being respected. I have acquired the respect of Mr. Allenand some of those others, and almost the deference of some of them onpure merit, for having thrashed Allen. While their respect and theirdeference--if it is deference--is pleasant, a deference based upon asham, a shadow, does really seem pleasanter still. It's no real merit tobe in correspondence with an earl, and yet after all, that boy makes mefeel as if there was."

  The cablegram was actually gone home! the thought of it gave him animmense uplift. He walked with a lighter tread. His heart was full ofhappiness. He threw aside all hesitances and confessed to himselfthat he was glad through and through that he was going to give up thisexperiment and go back to his home again. His eagerness to get hisfather's answer began to grow, now, and it grew with marvelous celerity,after it began. He waited an hour, walking about, putting in his time aswell as he could, but interested in nothing that came under his eye, andat last he presented himself at the office again and asked if any answerhad come yet. The boy said,

  "No, no answer yet," then glanced at the clock and added, "I don't thinkit's likely you'll get one to-day."

  "Why not?"

  "Well, you see it's getting pretty late. You can't always
tell where'bouts a man is when he's on the other side, and you can't always findhim just the minute you want him, and you see it's getting about sixo'clock now, and over there it's pretty late at night."

  "Why yes," said Tracy, "I hadn't thought of that."

  "Yes, pretty late, now, half past ten or eleven. Oh yes, you probablywon't get any answer to-night."