Now poor Tom Dunstan's cold, Our shop is duller; Scarce a tale is told, And our talk has lost the old Red-republican color!
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'She's coming, she's coming!' said he; 'Courage, boys I wait and see! 'FREEDOM'S AHEAD!' --Robert Buchanan.
THE HERO IS LURED TO AN ADVENTURE INTO THE UNCONVENTIONAL AND HEARS MUCH THAT IS PAINFUL TO A WELL-REGULATED MINDNear the close of a fine spring afternoon James Farnum and Alice Frome were walking at the lower end of Powers Avenue. In the conventional garb he affected since he had become a man of substance the lawyer might have served as a model of fashion to any aspiring youth. His silk hat, his light trousers, the double- breasted coat which enfolded his manly form, were all of the latest design. The weather, for a change, was behaving itself so as not to soil the chaste glory of Solomon thus displayed. There had been rain and would be more, but just now they passed through a dripping world shot full of sunlight.
"Of course I'm no end flattered at being allowed to go with you. But I'm dying of curiosity to know where we are going."The young woman gave James her beguiling smile. "We're going to call on a sick man. I'm taking you along as chaperon. You needn't be flattered at all. You're merely a convenience, like a hat pin or an umbrella.""But I'm not sure this is proper. Now as your chaperone--""You're not that kind of a chaperon, Mr. Farnum. You haven't any privileges. Nothing but duties. Unless it's a privilege to be chosen. That gives you a chance to say something pretty."They crossed Yarnell Way. James, looking around upon the wrecks of humanity they began to meet, was very sure that he did not enjoy this excursion. An adventure with Miss Frome outside of the conventions was the very thing he did not want. What in the world did the girl mean anyhow? Her vagaries were beginning to disturb her relatives. So much he had gathered from Valencia.
Before he had got as far as a protest Alice turned in to the entrance of a building and climbed a flight of stairs. She pushed a button. A woman of rather slatternly appearance came to the door.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Maloney. I've come to see how Mr. Marchantis."
The landlady brushed into place some flying strands of hair. "Well,now, Miss Frome, he's better to-day. The nurse is with him. If you'll jist knock at the door 'twill be all right."While they were in the passage James interposed an objection. "My dear Miss Frome, I really don't think--"She interrupted brightly. "I'm glad you don't. You're not expected to, you know. I'm commanding this expedition. Yours not to answer why. Yours but to do and die." And she knocked on the door of the room at which they had stopped.
It was opened by a nurse in uniform. James observed that she, too, like Mrs. Maloney, brightened at sight of the visitor.
"Mr. Marchant will be pleased to see you, Miss Frome."He was. His gladness illuminated the white face through the skin of which the cheek bones appeared about to emerge. A thin blue- veined hand shot forward to meet hers.
"Oh, comrade, but I'm glad to meet you." "I think you know Mr. Farnum."The man propped up in bed nodded a little grin at the lawyer. "We've met. It was years ago in Jeff's rooms.""Oh--er--yes. Yes, I remember."
Presently Jeff and Sam Miller dropped in to see the invalid. From chance remarks the lawyer gathered that the little cobbler had brought himself so low by giving his overcoat one bitter night to a poor girl he had found shivering in the streets.
The frankness with which they discussed before Alice Frome things never referred to in good society shocked James.
It appeared that the story of this little factory girl who had been led astray was still urgent in Marchant's mind. At the time of their arrival he had just finished scribbling some verses hot from his heart. Jeff read themaloud, in spite of the poet's modest insistence that they were only a first draft.
"This is a story that two may tell, I am the one, the other's in hell; A story of passionate amorous fire, With the glamor of love to attune the lyre.
She traveled the road at breakneck speed, I opened the gates and saddled the steed; "Ride free!" I cried as we dashed along. Her sweet voice echoed a mocking song.""'Fraid it doesn't always scan. They seldom do," apologized the author of the verses.
Jeff rapped for order. "The sense of the meeting is that the blushing poet will please not interrupt.""Nights of the wildest revel and mirth, Days of sorrow, remorse, and dearth, A heaven of love and a hell of regret-- But there's always the woman to pay my debt.
'Sin,' says the preacher, 'shall be washed free, The blood of the Lamb was shed for thee.' Smugly I pass the sacred wine, The woman in hell pays toll for mine.
'I am a pillar of Church and State, She but the broken sport of Fate; This is a story that two may tell, I am the one, the other's in hell.'"There was a moment's silence after Jeff had finished. "What are you going to call your verses?" the nurse asked. "I'll call them, 'She Pays.' That's the idea of it."James was distinctly uneasy. There was positively something indecent about this. He had an aversion to thinking about unpleasant things. Every well-regulated mind ought to have. He would like to make a protest, but he could not very well do that here. He promised himself to let Alice Frome know as soon as they were alone what he thought about her escapades into this world below the dead line.
He moved uncomfortably in his chair, and in doing so his gaze fell full into the eyes of Sam Miller. The fat librarian was staring at him out of a very white face. Before James could break the spell an unvoiced question had been asked and answered.
