Somewhere in Red Gap

  SOMEWHERE IN RED GAP

  by

  HARRY LEON WILSON

  Illustrated by John R. Neill, F. R. Gruger, and Henry Raleigh

  New YorkGrosset & DunlapPublishers

  "SHE WAS STANDING ON THE CENTRE TABLE BY NOW, SO SHECOULD LAMP HERSELF IN THE GLASS OVER THE MANTEL"]

  ToGEORGE HORACE LORIMER

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I. The Red Splash of RomanceII. Ma Pettengill and the Song of SongsIII. The Real Peruvian DoughnutsIV. Once a Scotchman, AlwaysV. Non Plush UltraVI. Cousin Egbert IntervenesVII. Kate; or, Up From the DepthsVIII. Pete's B'other-in-lawIX. Little Old New York

  I

  THE RED SPLASH OF ROMANCE

  The walls of the big living-room in the Arrowhead ranch house aretastefully enlivened here and there with artistic spoils of the owner,Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill. There are family portraits in crayon,photo-engravings of noble beasts clipped from the _Breeder's Gazette_,an etched cathedral or two, a stuffed and varnished trout of such sizethat no one would otherwise have believed in it, a print in threecolours of a St. Bernard dog with a marked facial resemblance to thelate William E. Gladstone, and a triumph of architectural perspectiverevealing two sides of the Pettengill block, corner of Fourth and Mainstreets, Red Gap, made vivacious by a bearded fop on horseback who doffshis silk hat to a couple of overdressed ladies with parasols in apassing victoria.

  And there is the photograph of the fat man. He is very large--both highand wide. He has filled the lens and now compels the eye. His broad facebeams a friendly interest. His moustache is a flourishing, uncurbed,riotous growth above his billowy chin.

  The checked coat, held recklessly aside by a hand on each hip, revealsan incredible expanse of waistcoat, the pattern of which raveshorribly. From pocket to pocket of this gaudy shield curves a watchchain of massive links--nearly a yard of it, one guesses.

  Often I have glanced at this noisy thing tacked to the wall, entrancedby the simple width of the man. Now on a late afternoon I loiteredbefore it while my hostess changed from riding breeches to the gown oflavender and lace in which she elects to drink tea after a day's hardwork along the valleys of the Arrowhead. And for the first time Iobserved a line of writing beneath the portrait, the writing of myhostess, a rough, downright, plain fashion of script: "Reading from leftto right--Mr. Ben Sutton, Popular Society Favourite of Nome, Alaska."

  "Reading from left to right!" Here was the intent facetious. And MaPettengill is never idly facetious. Always, as the advertisements say,"There's a reason!" And now, also for the first time, I noticed someprinted verses on a sheet of thickish yellow paper tacked to the wallclose beside the photograph--so close that I somehow divined an intimaterelationship between the two. With difficulty removing my gaze from thegentleman who should be read from left to right, I scanned these verses:

  SONG OF THE OPEN ROAD

  A child of the road--a gypsy I-- My path o'er the land and sea; With the fire of youth I warm my nights And my days are wild and free. Then ho! for the wild, the open road! Afar from the haunts of men. The woods and the hills for my spirit untamed-- I'm away to mountain and glen.

  If ever I tried to leave my hills To abide in the cramped haunts of men, The urge of the wild to her wayward child Would drag me to freedom again.

  I'm slave to the call of the open road; In your cities I'd stifle and die. I'm off to the hills in fancy I see-- On the breast of old earth I'll lie.

  WILFRED LENNOX, the Hobo Poet, On a Coast-to-Coast Walking Tour. These Cards for sale.

  I briefly pondered the lyric. It told its own simple story and could atonce have been dismissed but for its divined and puzzling relationshipto the popular society favourite of Nome, Alaska. What could there be inthis?

  Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill bustled in upon my speculation, but asusual I was compelled to wait for the talk I wanted. For some momentsshe would be only the tired owner of the Arrowhead Ranch--in the teagown of a debutante and with too much powder on one side of hernose--and she must have at least one cup of tea so corrosive that theScotch whiskey she adds to it is but a merciful dilution. She now drankeagerly of the fearful brew, dulled the bite of it with smoke from ahurriedly built cigarette, and relaxed gratefully into one of thosechairs which are all that most of us remember William Morris for. Eventhen she must first murmur of the day's annoyances, provided this timeby officials of the United States Forest Reserve. In the beginning Imust always allow her a little to have her own way.

  "The annual spring rumpus with them rangers," she wearily boomed. "Everyyear they tell me just where to turn my cattle out on the Reserve, andevery year I go ahead and turn 'em out where I want 'em turned out,which ain't the same place at all, and then I have to listen patientlyto their kicks and politely answer all letters from the higher-ups andwait for the official permit, which always comes--and it's wearing on abody. Darn it! They'd ought to know by this time I always get my ownway. If they wasn't such a decent bunch I'd have words with 'em, givingme the same trouble year after year, probably because I'm a weak,defenceless woman. However!"

  The lady rested largely, inert save for the hand that raised thecigarette automatically to her lips. My moment had come.

  "What did Wilfred Lennox, the hobo poet, have to do with Mr. Ben Sutton,of Nome, Alaska?" I gently inquired.

  "More than he wanted," replied the lady. Her glance warmed withmemories; she hovered musingly on the verge of recital. But thecigarette was half done and at its best. I allowed her another moment, amoment in which she laughed confidentially to herself, a little dry,throaty laugh. I knew that laugh. She would be marshalling certainevents in their just and diverting order. But they seemed to be many andof confusing values.

  "Some said he not only wasn't a hobo but wasn't even a poet," shepresently murmured, and smoked again. Then: "That Ben Sutton, now, he'sa case. Comes from Alaska and don't like fresh eggs for breakfastbecause he says they ain't got any kick to 'em like Alaska eggs havealong in March, and he's got to have canned milk for his coffee. Say, Igot a three-quarters Jersey down in Red Gap gives milk so rich that thecream just naturally trembles into butter if you speak sharply to it oreven give it a cross look; not for Ben though. Had to send out forcanned milk that morning. I drew the line at hunting up case eggs forhim though. He had to put up with insipid fresh ones. And fat, that man!My lands! He travels a lot in the West when he does leave home, and hetells me it's the fear of his life he'll get wedged into one of themnarrow-gauge Pullmans some time and have to be chopped out. Well, as Iwas saying--" She paused.

  "But you haven't begun," I protested. I sharply tapped the printedverses and the photograph reading from left to right. Now she becameanimated, speaking as she expertly rolled a fresh cigarette.

  "Say, did you ever think what aggravating minxes women are after theybeen married a few years--after the wedding ring gets worn a little bitthin?"

  This was not only brutal; it seemed irrelevant.

  "Wilfred Lennox--" I tried to insist, but she commandingly raised thenew cigarette at me.

  "Yes, sir! Ever know one of 'em married for as long as ten years thatdidn't in her secret heart have a sort of contempt for her life partneras being a stuffy, plodding truck horse? Of course they keep a certaindull respect for him as a provider, but they can't see him as dashingand romantic any more; he ain't daring and adventurous. All he ever doesis go down and open up the store or push back the roll-top, and keepfrom getting run over on the street. One day's like another with him,never having any wild, lawless instincts or reckless moods that make aman fascinating--about the nearest he ever comes to adventure is when heopens the bills the first of the month. And
she often seeing him withoutany collar on, and needing a shave mebbe, and cherishing her own secretromantic dreams, while like as not he's prosily figuring out how he'sgoing to make the next payment on the endowment policy.

  "It's a hard, tiresome life women lead, chained to these here plodders.That's why rich widows generally pick out the dashing young devils theydo for their second, having buried the man that made it for 'em. Oh,they like him well enough, call him 'Father' real tenderly, and seethat he changes to the heavy flannels on time, but he don't ever thrillthem, and when they order three hundred and fifty dollars' worth of dudsfrom the Boston Cash Emporium and dress up like a foreign countess, theydon't do it for Father, they do it for the romantic guy in the magazineserial they're reading, the handsome, cynical adventurer that has suchan awful power over women. They know darned well they won't ever meethim; still it's just as well to be ready in case he ever should make RedGap--or wherever they live--and it's easy with the charge account there,and Father never fussing more than a little about the bills.

  "Not that I blame 'em. We're all alike--innocent enough, with freakshere and there that ain't. Why, I remember about a thousand years ago Iwas reading a book called 'Lillian's Honour,' in which the rightful earldidn't act like an earl had ought to, but went travelling off over themoors with a passel of gypsies, with all the she-gypsies falling in lovewith him, and no wonder--he was that dashing. Well, I used to think whatmight happen if he should come along while Lysander John was out withthe beef round-up or something. I was well-meaning, understand, but atthat I'd ought to have been laid out with a pick-handle. Oh, the nicestof us got specks inside us--if ever we did cut loose the best one of uswould make the worst man of you look like nothing worse than a naughtylittle boy cutting up in Sunday-school. What holds us, of course--wealways dream of being took off our feet; of being carried off by mainforce against our wills while we snuggle up to the romantic brute andplead with him to spare us--and the most reckless of 'em don't often gettheir nerve up to that. Well, as I was saying--"

  But she was not saying. The thing moved too slowly. And still the womanpaltered with her poisoned tea and made cigarettes and mutteredinconsequently, as when she now broke out after a glance at thephotograph:

  "That Ben Sutton certainly runs amuck when he buys his vests. He musthave about fifty, and the quietest one in the lot would make a leopardskin look like a piker." Again her glance dreamed off to visions.

  I seated myself before her with some emphasis and said firmly: "Now,then!" It worked.

  "Wilfred Lennox," she began, "calling himself the hobo poet, gets intoRed Gap one day and makes the rounds with that there piece of poetry yousee; pushes into stores and offices and hands the piece out, and like asnot they crowd a dime or two bits onto him and send him along. That'swhat I done. I was waiting in Dr. Percy Hailey Martingale's office for alittle painless dentistry, and I took Wilfred's poem and passed him atwo-bit piece, and Doc Martingale does the same, and Wilfred blew on tothe next office. A dashing and romantic figure he was, though kind offat and pasty for a man that was walking from coast to coast, but asmooth talker with beautiful features and about nine hundred dollars'worth of hair and a soft hat and one of these flowing neckties. Red itwas.

  "So I looked over his piece of poetry--about the open road for hisuntamed spirit and him being stifled in the cramped haunts of men--andof course I get his number. All right about the urge of the wild to herwayward child, but here he was spending a lot of time in the crampedhaunts of men taking their small change away from 'em and not seeming tostifle one bit.

  "Ain't this new style of tramp funny? Now instead of coming round to theback door and asking for a hand-out like any self-respecting tramp hadought to, they march up to the front door, and they're somebody with twoor three names that's walking round the world on a wager they made withone of the Vanderbilt boys or John D. Rockefeller. They've walkedthirty-eight hundred miles already and got the papers to prove it--aletter from the mayor of Scranton, Pennsylvania, and the mayor ofDavenport, Iowa, a picture post card of themselves on the courthousesteps at Denver, and they've bet forty thousand dollars they could startout without a cent and come back in twenty-two months with money intheir pocket--and ain't it a good joke?--with everybody along the wayentering into the spirit of it and passing them quarters and such, andthank you very much for your two bits for the picture post card--andthey got another showing 'em in front of the Mormon Tabernacle at SaltLake City, if you'd like that, too--and thank you again--and now they'llbe off once more to the open road and the wild, free life. Not! Yes, twoor three good firm Nots. Having milked the town they'll be right down tothe dee-po with their silver changed to bills, waiting for No. 6 to comealong, and ho! for the open railroad and another town that will skinpretty. I guess I've seen eight or ten of them boys in the last fiveyears, with their letters from mayors.

  "But this here Wilfred Lennox had a new graft. He was the first I'd giveup to for mere poetry. He didn't have a single letter from a mayor, noreven a picture card of himself standing with his hat off in front ofPike's Peak--nothing but poetry. But, as I said, he was there with atalk about pining for the open road and despising the cramped haunts ofmen, and he had appealing eyes and all this flowing hair and necktie. SoI says to myself: 'All right, Wilfred, you win!' and put my purse backin my bag and thought no more of it.

  "Yet not so was it to be. Wilfred, working the best he could to make aliving doing nothing, pretty soon got to the office of Alonzo Price,Choice Improved Real Estate and Price's Addition. Lon was out for themoment, but who should be there waiting for him but his wife, Mrs.Henrietta Templeton Price, recognized leader of our literary andartistic set. Or I think they call it a 'group' or a 'coterie' orsomething. Setting at Lon's desk she was, toying petulantly with horridold pens and blotters, and probably bestowing glances of disrelish fromtime to time round the grimy office where her scrubby little husbandtoiled his days away in unromantic squalor.

  "I got to tell you about Henrietta. She's one of them like I just saidthe harsh things about, with the secret cry in her heart for romance andadventure and other forbidden things and with a kindly contempt forpeaceful Alonzo. She admits to being thirty-six, so you can figure itout for yourself. Of course she gets her husband wrong at that, as womenso often do. Alonzo has probably the last pair of side whiskers outsideof a steel engraving and stands five feet two, weighing a hundred andtwenty-six pounds at the ring side, but he's game as a swordfish, and asfor being romantic in the true sense of the word--well, no one that everheard him sell a lot in Price's Addition--three miles and a half up onthe mesa, with only the smoke of the canning factory to tell a body theywas still near the busy haunts of men, that and a mile of concretesidewalk leading a life of complete idleness--I say no one that everlistened to Lon sell a lot up there, pointing out on a blue print theproposed site of the Carnegie Library, would accuse him of not beingromantic.

  "But of course Henrietta never sees Lon's romance and he ain't alwayshad the greatest patience with hers--like the time she got up the ArtLoan Exhibit to get new books for the M.E. Sabbath-school library andgot Spud Mulkins of the El Adobe to lend 'em the big gold-framed oilpainting that hangs over his bar. Some of the other ladies objected tothis--the picture was a big pink hussy lying down beside theocean--but Henrietta says art for art's sake is pure to them that arepure, or something, and they're doing such things constantly in theEast; and I'm darned if Spud didn't have his oil painting down and themosquito netting ripped off it before Alonzo heard about it and put theNot-at-All on it. He wouldn't reason with Henrietta either. He just saidhis objection was that every man that saw it would put one foot upgroping for the brass railing, which would be undignified for aSabbath-school scheme, and that she'd better hunt out something withclothes on like Whistler's portrait of his mother, or, if she wanted thenude in art, to get the Horse Fair or something with animals.

  "I tell you that to show you how they don't hit it off sometimes. ThenHenrietta sulks. Kind of pinched and hungry looking s
he is, drapes herblack hair down over one side of her high forehead, wears daringgowns--that's what she calls 'em anyway--and reads the most outrageouskinds of poetry out loud to them that will listen. Likes this OmarSomething stuff about your path being beset with pitfalls and gin fizzesand getting soused out under a tree with your girl.

  "I'm just telling you so you'll get Henrietta when Wilfred Lennox dripsgracefully in with his piece of poetry in one hand. Of course she musthave looked long and nervously at Wilfred, then read his poetry, thenlooked again. There before her was Romance against a background ofAlonzo Price, who never had an adventurous or evil thought in his life,and wore rubbers! Oh, sure! He must have palsied her at once, this wild,free creature of the woods who couldn't stand the cramped haunts of men.And I have said that Wilfred was there with the wild, free words abouthimself, and the hat and tie and the waving brown hair that give him somuch trouble. Shucks! I don't blame the woman. It's only a few yearssince we been let out from under lock and key. Give us a little time toget our bearings, say I. Wilfred was just one big red splash before heryearning eyes; he blinded her. And he stood there telling how this herelife in the marts of trade would sure twist and blacken some of the veryfinest chords in his being. Something like that it must have been.

  "Anyway, about a quarter to six a procession went up Fourth Street,consisting of Wilfred Lennox, Henrietta, and Alonzo. The latter wastripping along about three steps back of the other two and every once ina while he would stop for a minute and simply look puzzled. I saw him.It's really a great pity Lon insists on wearing a derby hat with hisside whiskers. To my mind the two never seem meant for each other.

  "The procession went to the Price mansion up on Ophir Avenue. And thatevening Henrietta had in a few friends to listen to the poet recite hisverses and tell anecdotes about himself. About five or six ladies inthe parlour and their menfolks smoking out on the front porch. The mendidn't seem to fall for Wilfred's open-road stuff the way the ladiesdid. Wilfred was a good reciter and held the ladies with his voice andhis melting blue eyes with the long lashes, and Henrietta was envied forhaving nailed him. That is, the women envied her. The men sort ofslouched off down to the front gate and then went down to the TemperanceBilliard Parlour, where several of 'em got stewed. Most of 'em, like oldJudge Ballard, who come to the country in '62, and Jeff Tuttle, who'salways had more than he wanted of the open road, were very cold indeedto Wilfred's main proposition. It is probable that low mutterings mighthave been heard among 'em, especially after a travelling man that wasplaying pool said the hobo poet had come in on the Pullman of No. 6.

  "But I must say that Alonzo didn't seem to mutter any, from all I couldhear. Pathetic, the way that little man will believe right up to thebitter end. He said that for a hobo Wilfred wrote very good poetry,better than most hobos could write, he thought, and that Henriettaalways knew what she was doing. So the evening come to a peaceful end,most of the men getting back for their wives and Alonzo showing up infair shape and plumb eager for the comfort of his guest. It was Alonzo'snotion that the guest would of course want to sleep out in the frontyard on the breast of old earth where he could look up at the prettystars and feel at home, and he was getting out a roll of blankets whenthe guest said he didn't want to make the least bit of trouble and forone night he'd manage to sleep inside four stifling walls in a regularbed, like common people do. So Lon bedded him down in the guest chamber,but opened up the four windows in it and propped the door wide open sothe poor fellow could have a breeze and not smother. He told thisdowntown the next morning, and he was beginning to look right puzzledindeed. He said the wayward child of Nature had got up after about halfan hour and shut all the windows and the door. Lon thought first he wasintending to commit suicide, but he didn't like to interfere. He wastelling Jeff Tuttle and me about it when we happened to pass his office.

  "'And there's another funny thing,'" he says. 'This chap was telling usall the way up home last night that he never ate meat--simply fruits andnuts with a mug of spring water. He said eating the carcasses ofmurdered beasts was abhorrent to him. But when we got down to the tablehe consented to partake of the roast beef and he did so repeatedly. Weusually have cold meat for lunch the day after a rib roast, but therewill be something else to-day; and along with the meat he drank twobottles of beer, though with mutterings of disgust. He said spring waterin the hills was pure, but that water out of pipes was full of typhoidgerms. He admitted that there were times when the grosser appetitesassailed him. And they assailed him this morning, too. He said he mightbring himself to eat some chops, and he did it without scarcely astruggle. He ate six. He said living the nauseous artificial life evenfor one night brought back the hateful meat craving. I don't know. He isundeniably peculiar. And of course you've heard about Pettikin's affairfor this evening?'

  "We had. Just before leaving the house I had received Henrietta's cardinviting me to the country club that evening 'to meet Mr. WilfredLennox, Poet and Nature Lover, who will recite his original verses andgive a brief talk on "The World's Debt to Poetry."' And there you havethe whole trouble. Henrietta should have known better. But I've let outwhat women really are. I told Alonzo I would sure be among thosepresent, I said it sounded good. And then Alonzo pipes up about BenSutton coming to town on the eleven forty-two from the West. Ben makes atrip out of Alaska every summer and never fails to stop off a day or twowith Lon, they having been partners up North in '98.

  "'Good old Ben will enjoy it, too,' says Alonzo; 'and, furthermore, Benwill straighten out one or two little things that have puzzled me aboutthis poet. He will understand his complex nature in a way that I confessI have been unequal to. What I mean is,' he says, 'there was talk when Ileft this morning of the poet consenting to take a class in poetry forseveral weeks in our thriving little city, and Henrietta was urging himto make our house his home. I have a sort of feeling that Ben will beable to make several suggestions of prime value. I have never known himto fail at making suggestions.'

  "Funny, the way the little man tried to put it over on us, letting on hewas just puzzled--not really bothered, as he plainly was. You knewHenrietta was still seeing the big red splash of Romance, behind whichthe figure of her husband was totally obscured. Jeff Tuttle saw thefacts, and he up and spoke in a very common way about what would quicklyhappen to any tramp that tried to camp in his house, poet or no poet,but that's neither here nor there. We left Alonzo looking cheerilyforward to Ben Sutton on the eleven forty-two, and I went on to do someerrands.

  "In the course of these I discovered that others besides Henrietta hadfell hard for the poet of Nature. I met Mrs. Dr. Percy Hailey Martingaleand she just bubbles about him, she having been at the Prices' the nightbefore.

  "'Isn't he a glorious thing!' she says; 'and how grateful we should befor the dazzling bit of colour he brings into our drab existence!' Sheis a good deal like that herself at times. And I met Beryl Mae Macomber,a well known young society girl of seventeen, and Beryl Mae says: 'He'sawfully good looking, but do you think he's sincere?' And even Mrs.Judge Ballard comes along and says: 'What a stimulus he should be to usin our dull lives! How he shows us the big, vital bits!' and her at thatvery minute going into Bullitt & Fleishacker's to buy shoes for hernine year old twin grandsons! And the Reverend Mrs. Wiley Knapp in atthe Racquet Store wanting to know if the poet didn't make me think ofsome wild, free creature of the woods--a deer or an antelope poised forinstant flight while for one moment he timidly overlooked man in hishideous commercialism. But, of course, she was a minister's wife. I saidhe made me feel just like that. I said so to all of 'em. What else couldI say? If I'd said what I thought there on the street I'd of beenpinched. So I beat it home in self-protection. I was sympathizing goodand hearty with Lon Price by that time and looking forward to Ben Suttonmyself. I had a notion Ben would see the right of it where these poordubs of husbands wouldn't--or wouldn't dast say it if they did.

  "About five o'clock I took another run downtown for some things I'dforgot, with an eye out to see how Alonzo and B
en might be coming on.The fact is, seeing each other only once a year that way they're apt tokind of loosen up--if you know what I mean.

  "No sign of 'em at first. Nothing but ladies young and old--even some ofus older ranching set--making final purchases of ribbons and such forthe sole benefit of Wilfred Lennox, and talking in a flushed mannerabout him whenever they met. Almost every darned one of 'em had made ita point to stroll past the Price mansion that afternoon where Wilfredwas setting out on the lawn, in a wicker chair with some bottles of beersurveying Nature with a look of lofty approval and chatting withHenrietta about the real things of life.

  "Beryl Mae Macomber had traipsed past four times, changing her clothestwice with a different shade of ribbon across her forehead and all hercollege pins on, and at last she'd simply walked right in and asked ifshe hadn't left her tennis racquet there last Tuesday. She says to Mrs.Judge Ballard and Mrs. Martingale and me in the Cut-Rate Pharmacy, shesays: 'Oh, he's just awfully magnetic--but do you really think he'ssincere?' Then she bought an ounce of Breath of Orient perfume and kindof two-stepped out. These other ladies spoke very sharply about thefreedom Beryl Mae's aunt allowed her. Mrs. Martingale said the poet, itwas true, had a compelling personality, but what was our young girlscoming to? And if that child was hers--

  "So I left these two lady highbinders and went on into the retail sideof the Family Liquor Store to order up some cooking sherry, and thereover the partition from the bar side what do I hear but Alonzo Price andBen Sutton! Right off I could tell they'd been pinning a few on. Infact, Alonzo was calling the bartender Mister. You don't know about Lon,but when he calls the bartender Mister the ship has sailed. Ten minutesafter that he'll be crying over his operation. So I thought quick,remembering that we had now established a grillroom at the country club,consisting of a bar and three tables with bells on them, and aChinaman, and that if Alonzo and Ben Sutton come there at all they hadbetter come right--at least to start with. When I'd given my order Isent Louis Meyer in to tell the two gentlemen a lady wished to speak tothem outside.

  "In a minute Ben comes out alone. He was awful glad to see me and I saidhow well he looked, and he did look well, sort of cordial andbulging--his forehead bulges and his eyes bulge and his moustache andhis chin, and he has cushions on his face. He beamed on me in a wide andhearty manner and explained that Alonzo refused to come out to meet alady until he knew who she was, because you got to be careful in a smalltown like this where every one talks. 'And besides,' says Ben, 'he'sjust broke down and begun to cry about his appendicitis that was threeyears ago. He's leaning his head on his arms down by the end of the barand sobbing bitterly over it. He seems to grieve about it as a personalloss. I've tried to cheer him up and told him it was probably all forthe best, but he says when it comes over him this way he simply can'tstand it. And what shall I do?'

  "Well, of course I seen the worst had happened with Alonzo. So I says toBen: 'You know there's a party to-night and if that man ain't seen to hewill certainly sink the ship. Now you get him out of that swamp and I'llthink of something.' 'I'll do it,' says Ben, turning sideways so hecould go through the doorway again. 'I'll do it,' he says, 'if I have touse force on the little scoundrel.'

  "And sure enough, in a minute he edged out again with Alonzo firmlyfastened to him in some way. Lon hadn't wanted to come and didn't wantto stay now, but he simply couldn't move. Say, that Ben Sutton wouldmake an awful grand anchor for a captive balloon. Alonzo wiped his eyesuntil he could see who I was. Then I rebuked him, reminding him of hissacred duties as a prominent citizen, a husband, and the secretary ofthe Red Gap Chamber of Commerce. 'Of course it's all right to take adrink now and then,' I says.

  "Alonzo brightened at this. 'Good!' says he; 'now it's now and prettysoon it will be then. Let's go into a saloon or something like that!'

  "'You'll come with me,' I says firmly. And I marched 'em down to theUnited States Grill, where I ordered tea and toast for 'em. Ben wassensible enough, but Alonzo was horrified at the thought of tea. 'It'stea or nice cold water for yours,' I says, and that set him off again.'Water!' he sobs. 'Water! Water! Maybe you don't know that some dearcousins of mine have just lost their all in the Dayton flood--twentyyears' gathering went in a minute, just like that!' and he tried to snaphis fingers. All the same I got some hot tea into him and sent for EddiePierce to be out in front with his hack. While we was waiting for Eddieit occurs to Alonzo to telephone his wife. He come back very solemn andsays: 'I told her I wouldn't be home to dinner because I was hungry andthere probably wouldn't be enough meat, what with a vegetarian poet inthe house. I told her I should sink to the level of a brute in the nightlife of our gay little city. I said I was a wayward child of Naturemyself if you come right down to it.'

  "'Good for you,' I says, having got word that Eddie is outside with hishack. 'And now for the open road!' 'Fine!' says Alonzo. 'My spirit iscertainly feeling very untamed, like some poet's!' So I hustled 'em outand into the four wheeler. Then I give Eddie Pierce privateinstructions. 'Get 'em out into the hills about four miles,' I says,'out past the Catholic burying ground, then make an excuse that yourhack has broke down, and as soon as they set foot to the ground havethem skates of yours run away. Pay no attention whatever to theirpleadings or their profane threats, only yelling to 'em that you'll beback as soon as possible. But don't go back. They'll wait an hour or so,then walk. And they need to walk.'

  "'You said something there,' says Eddie, glancing back at 'em. BenSutton was trying to cheer Alonzo up by reminding him of the Christmasnight they went to sleep in the steam room of the Turkish bath at Nome,and the man forgot 'em and shut off the steam and they froze to thebenches and had to be chiselled off. And Eddie trotted off with hisload. You'd ought to seen the way the hack sagged down on Ben's side.And I felt that I had done a good work, so I hurried home to get a biteto eat and dress and make the party, which I still felt would be a goodparty even if the husband of our hostess was among the killed ormissing.

  "I reached the clubhouse at eight o'clock of that beautiful Juneevening, to find the party already well assembled on the piazza and thefront steps or strolling about the lawn, about eight or ten of ourprominent society matrons and near as many husbands. And mebbe thosedames hadn't lingered before their mirrors for final touches! Mrs.Martingale had on all her rings and the jade bracelet and the art-craftnecklace with amethysts, and Mrs. Judge Ballard had done her hair a newway, and Beryl Mae Macomber, there with her aunt, not only had a newscarf with silver stars over her frail young shoulders and a band ofcherry coloured velvet across her forehead, but she was wearing thefirst ankle watch ever seen in Red Gap. I couldn't begin to tell you thefussy improvements them ladies had made in themselves--and all, mindyou, for the passing child of Nature who had never paid a bill for 'emin his life.

  "Oh, it was a gay, careless throng with the mad light of pleasure in itseyes, and all of 'em milling round Wilfred Lennox, who was eating it up.Some bantered him roguishly and some spoke in chest tones of what wasthe real inner meaning of life after all. Henrietta Templeton Pricehovered near with the glad light of capture in her eyes. Silent butproud Henrietta was, careless but superior, reminding me of the hunterthat has his picture taken over in Africa with one negligent foot onthe head of a two-horned rhinoceros he's just killed.

  "But again the husbands was kind of lurking in the background, bunchedup together. They seemed abashed by this strange frenzy of theirwomenfolks. How'd they know, the poor dubs, that a poet wasn't somethinga business man had ought to be polite and grovelling to? They affectedan easy manner, but it was poor work. Even Judge Ballard, who seems ninefeet tall in his Prince Albert, and usually looks quite dignified andhostile with his long dark face and his moustache and goatee--even thegood old judge was rattled after a brief and unhappy effort to hold abit of converse with the guest of honour. Him and Jeff Tuttle went tothe grillroom twice in ten minutes. The judge always takes his with adash of pepper sauce in it, but now it only seemed to make him moregloomy.

  "Well, I was listen
ing along, feeling elated that I'd put Alonzo and BenSutton out of the way and wondering when the show would begin--Beryl Maein her high, innocent voice had just said to the poet: 'But seriouslynow, are you sincere?' and I was getting some plenty of that, when upthe road in the dusk I seen Bush Jones driving a dray-load of furniture.I wondered where in time any family could be moving out that way. Ididn't know any houses beyond the club and I was pondering about this,idly as you might say, when Bush Jones pulls his team up right in frontof the clubhouse, and there on the load is the two I had tried to lose.In a big armchair beside a varnished centre table sits Ben Suttonreading something that I recognized as the yellow card with Wilfred'sverses on it. And across the dray from him on a red-plush sofa is AlonzoPrice singing 'My Wild Irish Rose' in a very noisy tenor.

  "Well, sir, I could have basted that fool Bush Jones with one of his owndray stakes. That man's got an intellect just powerful enough to takefurniture from one house to another if the new address ain't too hardfor him to commit to memory. That's Bush Jones all right! He has themachinery for thinking, but it all glitters as new as the day it was putin. So he'd come a mile out of his way with these two riots--and peopleoff somewhere wondering where that last load of things was!

  "The ladies all affected to ignore this disgraceful spectacle, withHenrietta sinking her nails into her bloodless palms, but the men brokeout and cheered a little in a half-scared manner and some of 'em wentdown to help the newcomers climb out. Then Ben had words with Bush Jonesbecause he wanted him to wait there and take 'em back to town when theparty was over and Bush refused to wait. After suffering about twentyseconds in the throes of mental effort I reckon he discovered that hehad business to attend to or was hungry or something. Anyway, Ben paidhim some money finally and he drove off after calling out 'Good-night,all!' just as if nothing had happened.

  "Alonzo and Ben Sutton joined the party without further formality. Theydidn't look so bad, either, so I saw my crooked work had done some good.Lon quit singing almost at once and walked good and his eyes didn'twabble, and he looked kind of desperate and respectable, and Ben wasfirst-class, except he was slightly oratorical and his collar had meltedthe way fat men's do. And it was funny to see how every husband therebucked up when Ben came forward, as if all they had wanted was some oneto make medicine for 'em before they begun the war dance. They moochedright up round Ben when he trampled a way into the flushed group aboutWilfred.

  "'At last the well-known stranger!' says Ben cordially, seizing one ofWilfred's pale, beautiful hands. 'I've been hearing so much of you,wayward child of the open road that you are, and I've just been readingyour wonderful verses as I sat in my library. The woods and the hillsfor your spirit untamed and the fire of youth to warm yournights--that's the talk.' He paused and waved Wilfred's verses in a fat,freckled hand. Then he looked at him hard and peculiar and says: 'Whenyou going to pull some of it for us?'

  "Wilfred had looked slightly rattled from the beginning. Now he smiled,but only with his lips--he made it seem like a mere Swedish exercise orsomething, and the next second his face looked as if it had been sewedup for the winter.

  "'Little starry-eyed gypsy, I say, when are you going to pull some ofthat open-road stuff?' says Ben again, all cordial and sinister.

  "Wilfred gulped and tried to be jaunty. 'Oh, as to that, I'm here to-dayand there to-morrow,' he murmurs, and nervously fixes his necktie.

  "'Oh, my, and isn't that nice!' says Ben heartily--'the urge of the wildto her wayward child'--I know you're a slave to it. And now you're goingto tell us all about the open road, and then you and I are going to havean intimate chat and I'll tell you about it--about some of the dearestlittle open roads you ever saw, right round in these parts. I've justcounted nine, all leading out of town to the cunningest mountains andglens that would make you write poetry hours at a time, with Nature'sglad fruits and nuts and a mug of spring water and some bottled beer anda ham and some rump steak--'

  "The stillness of that group had become darned painful, I want to tellyou. There was a horrid fear that Ben Sutton might go too far, even fora country club. Every woman was shuddering and smiling in a painfulmanner, and the men regarding Ben with glistening eyes. And Ben felt ithimself all at once. So he says: 'But I fear I am detaining you,' andlet go of the end of Wilfred's tie that he had been toying with in asomewhat firm manner. 'Let us be on with your part of the evening'sentertainment,' he says, 'but don't forget, gypsy wilding that you are,that you and I must have a chat about open roads the moment you havefinished. I know we are cramping you. By that time you will be feelingthe old, restless urge and you might take a road that wasn't open if Ididn't direct you.'

  "He patted Wilfred loudly on the back a couple of times and Wilfredducked the third pat and got out of the group, and the ladies all beganto flurry their voices about the lovely June evening but wouldn't it bepleasanter inside, and Henrietta tragically called from the doorway tocome at once, for God's sake, so they all went at once, with the menonly half trailing, and inside we could hear 'em fixing chairs round andputting out a table for the poet to stand by, and so forth.

  "Alonzo, however, had not trailed. He was over on the steps holdingBeryl Mae Macomber by her new scarf and telling her how flowerlike herbeauty was. And old Judge Ballard was holding about half the men,including Ben Sutton, while he made a speech. I hung back to listen.'Sir,' he was saying to Ben, 'Secretary Seward some years sincepurchased your territory from Russia for seven million dollars despitethe protests of a clamorous and purblind opposition. How niggardly seemsthat purchase price at this moment! For Alaska has perfected you, sir,if it did not produce you. Gentlemen, I feel that we dealt unfairly byRussia. But that is in the dead past. It is not too late, however, totiptoe to the grillroom and offer a toast to our young sister of thesnows.'

  "There was subdued cheers and they tiptoed. Ben Sutton was telling thejudge that he felt highly complimented, but it was a mistake to ring inthat snow stuff on Alaska. She'd suffered from it too long. He was goingon to paint Alaska as something like Alabama--cooler nights, of course,but bracing. Alonzo still had Beryl Mae by the scarf, telling her howflowerlike her beauty was.

  "I went into the big room, picking a chair over by the door so I couldkeep tabs on that grillroom. Only three or four of the meekest husbandshad come with us. And Wilfred started. I'll do him the justice to say hewas game. The ladies thought anything bordering on roughness was allover, but Wilfred didn't. When he'd try to get a far-away look in hiseyes while he was reciting his poetry he couldn't get it any fartheraway than the grillroom door. He was nervous but determined, for therehad been notice given of a silver offering for him. He recited theverses on the card and the ladies all thrilled up at once, includingBeryl Mae, who'd come in without her scarf. They just clenched theirhands and hung on Wilfred's wild, free words.

  "And after the poetry he kind of lectured about how man had ought tobreak away from the vile cities and seek the solace of great MotherNature, where his bruised spirit could be healed and the veneer ofcivilization cast aside and the soul come into its own, and things likethat. And he went on to say that out in the open the perspective of lifeis broadened and one is a laughing philosopher as long as the blue skyis overhead and the green grass underfoot. 'To lie,' says he, 'withrelaxed muscles on the carpet of pine needles and look up through thegently swaying branches of majestic trees at the fleecy white clouds,dreaming away the hours far from the sordid activities of the marketplace, is one of the best nerve tonics in all the world.' It was anunfortunate phrase for Wilfred, because some of the husbands had tiptoedout of the grillroom to listen, and there was a hearty cheer at this,led by Jeff Tuttle. 'Sure! Some nerve tonic!' they called out, andlaughed coarsely. Then they rushed back to the grillroom withouttiptoeing.

  "The disgraceful interruption was tactfully covered by Wilfred and hisaudience. He took a sip from the glass of water and went on to talkabout the world's debt to poetry. Then I sneaked out to the grillroommyself. By this time the Chinaman had got tangled up with t
he orders andwas putting out drinks every which way. And they was being takenwillingly. Judge Ballard and Ben Sutton was now planting cotton inAlaska and getting good crops every year, and Ben was also promising tosend the judge a lovely spotted fawnskin vest that an Indian had madefor him, but made too small--not having more than six or eight fawns, Ijudged. And Alonzo had got a second start. Still he wasn't so bad yet,with Beryl Mae's scarf over his arm, and talking of the unparalleledbeauties of Price's Addition to Red Gap, which he said he wouldn't tradeeven for the whole of Alaska if it was offered to him to-morrow--notthat Ben Sutton wasn't the whitest soul God ever made and he'd like tohear some one say different--and so on.

  "I mixed in with 'em and took a friendly drink myself, with the aim ofsmoothing things down, but I saw it would be delicate work. About all Icould do was keep 'em reminded there was ladies present and it wasn't abarroom where anything could be rightly started. Doc Martingale'sfeelings was running high, too, account, I suppose, of certainfull-hearted things his wife had blurted out to him about the hypnoticeyes of this here Nature lover. He was quiet enough, but vicious, actinglike he'd love to do some dental work on the poet that might or mightnot be painless for all he cared a hoot. He was taking his own drinksall alone, like clockwork--moody but systematic.

  "Then we hear chairs pushed round in the other room and the chink ofsilver to be offered to the poet, and Henrietta come out to give wordfor the refreshments to be served. She found Alonzo in the hallwaytelling Beryl Mae how flowerlike her beauty was and giving her the elk'stooth charm off his watch chain. Beryl Mae was giggling heartily untilshe caught Henrietta's eye--like a cobra's.

  "The refreshments was handed round peaceful enough, with the ladiespressing sardine sandwiches and chocolate cake and cups of coffee on toWilfred and asking him interesting questions about his adventurous lifein the open. And the plans was all made for his class in poetry to beheld at Henrietta's house, where the lady subscribers for a few weekscould come into contact with the higher realities of life, at eightdollars for the course, and Wilfred was beginning to cheer up again,though still subject to dismay when one of the husbands would glare inat him from the hall, and especially when Ben Sutton would look in withhis bulging and expressive eyes and kind of bark at him.

  "Then Ben Sutton come and stood in the doorway till he caught Wilfred'seye and beckoned to him. Wilfred pretended not to notice the first time,but Ben beckoned a little harder, so Wilfred excused himself to the sixor eight ladies and went out. It seemed to me he first looked quickround him to make sure there wasn't any other way out. I was standing inthe hall when Ben led him tenderly into the grillroom with two fingers.

  "'Here is our well-known poet and _bon vivant_,' says Ben to Alonzo, whohad followed 'em in. So Alonzo bristles up to Wilfred and glares at himand says: 'All joking aside, is that one of my new shirts you're wearingor is it not?'

  "Wilfred gasped a couple times and says: 'Why, as to that, you see, themadam insisted--'

  "Alonzo shut him off. 'How dare you drag a lady's name into a barroombrawl?' says he.

  "'Don't shoot in here,' says Ben. 'You'd scare the ladies.'

  "Wilfred went pasty, indeed, thinking his host was going to gun him.

  "'Oh, very well, I won't then,' says Alonzo. 'I guess I can be agentleman when necessary. But all joking aside, I want to ask him this:Does he consider poetry to be an accomplishment or a vice?'

  "'I was going to put something like that to him myself, only I couldn'tthink of it,' says Doc Martingale, edging up and looking quiterestrained and nervous in the arms. I was afraid of the doc. I wasafraid he was going to blemish Wilfred a couple of times right there.

  "'An accomplishment or a vice? Answer yes or no!' orders the judge in ahard voice.

  "The poet looks round at 'em and attempts to laugh merrily, but he onlydoes it from the teeth out.

  "'Laugh on, my proud beauty!' says Ben Sutton. Then he turns to thebunch. 'What we really ought to do,' he says, 'we ought to make abeliever of him right here and now.'

  "Even then, mind you, the husbands would have lost their nerve if Benhadn't took the lead. Ben didn't have to live with their wives so whatcared he? Wilfred Lennox sort of shuffled his feet and smiled a smile ofpure anxiety. He knew some way that this was nothing to cheer about.

  "'I got it,' says Jeff Tuttle with the air of a thinker. 'We're crampingthe poor cuss here. What he wants is the open road.'

  "'What he really wants,' says Alonzo, 'is about six bottles of my pure,sparkling beer, but maybe he'll take the open road if we show him a goodone.'

  "'He wants the open road--show him a good one!' yells the other husbandsin chorus. It was kind of like a song.

  "'I had meant to be on my way,' says Wilfred very cold and lofty.

  "'You're here to-day and there to-morrow,' says Ben; 'but how can you bethere to-morrow if you don't start from here now?--for the way is longand lonely.'

  "'I was about to start,' says Wilfred, getting in a couple of stepstoward the door.

  "''Tis better so,' says Ben. 'This is no place for a county recorder'sson, and there's a bully road out here open at both ends.'

  "They made way for the poet, and a sickening silence reigned. Even thewomen gathered about the door of the other room was silent. They knewthe thing had got out of their hands. The men closed in after Wilfred ashe reached the steps. He there took his soft hat out from under his coatwhere he'd cached it. He went cautiously down the steps. Beryl Mae brokethe silence.

  "'Oh, Mr. Price,' says she, catching Alonzo by the sleeve, 'do you thinkhe's really sincere?'

  "'He is at this moment,' says Alonzo. 'He's behaving as sincerely asever I saw a man behave.' And just then at the foot of the steps Wilfredmade a tactical error. He started to run. The husbands and Ben Suttongave the long yell and went in pursuit. Wilfred would have left them allif he hadn't run into the tennis net. He come down like a sack of meal.

  "'There!' says Ben Sutton. 'Now he's done it--broke his neck orsomething. That's the way with some men--they'll try anything to get alaugh.'

  "They went and picked the poet up. He was all right, only dazed.

  "'But that's one of the roads that ain't open,' says Ben. 'And besides,you was going right toward the nasty old railroad that runs into thecramped haunts of men. You must have got turned round. Here'--he pointedout over the golf links--'it's off that way that Mother Nature awaitsher wayward child. Miles and miles of her--all open. Doesn't your gypsysoul hear the call? This way for the hills and glens, thou star-eyedwoodling!' and he gently led Wilfred off over the links, the rest of themen trailing after and making some word racket, believe me. They was allgood conversationalists at the moment. Doc Martingale was wanting thepoet to run into the tennis net again, just for fun, and Jeff Tuttlesays make him climb a tree like the monkeys do in their native glades,but Ben says just keep him away from the railroad, that's all. GoodMother Nature will attend to the rest.

  "The wives by now was huddled round the side of the clubhouse, tooscared to talk much, just muttering incoherently and wringing theirhands, and Beryl Mae pipes up and says: 'Oh, perhaps I wronged himafter all; perhaps deep down in his heart he was sincere.'

  "The moon had come up now and we could see the mob with its victimstarting off toward the Canadian Rockies. Then all at once they began torun, and I knew Wilfred had made another dash for liberty. Pretty soonthey scattered out and seemed to be beating up the shrubbery down by thecreek. And after a bit some of 'em straggled back. They paid noattention to us ladies, but made for the grillroom.

  "'We lost him in that brush beyond the fifth hole,' says Alonzo. 'Noneof us is any match for him on level ground, but we got some goodtrackers and we're guarding the line to keep him headed off from therailroad and into his beloved hills.'

  "'We should hurry back with refreshment for the faithful watchers,' saysJudge Ballard. 'The fellow will surely try to double back to therailroad.'

  "'Got to keep him away from the cramped haunts of business men,' saysAlonzo brightly
.

  "'I wish Clay, my faithful old hound, were still alive,' says the judgewistfully.

  "'Say, I got a peach of a terrier down to the house right now,' saysJeff Tuttle, 'but he's only trained for bear--I never tried him onpoets.'

  "'He might tree him at that,' says Doc Martingale.

  "'Percy,' cries his wife, 'have you forgotten your manhood?'

  "'Yes,' says Percy.

  "'Darling,' calls Henrietta, 'will you listen to reason a moment?'

  "'No,' says Alonzo.

  "'It's that creature from Alaska leading them on,' says Mrs. JudgeBallard--'that overdressed drunken rowdy!'

  "Ben Sutton looked right hurt at this. He buttoned his coat over hischecked vest and says: 'I take that unkindly, madam--calling meoverdressed. I selected this suiting with great care. It ain't nice tocall me overdressed. I feel it deeply.'

  "But they was off again before one thing could lead to another, takingbottles of hard liquor they had uncorked. 'The open road! The openroad!' they yelled as they went.

  "Well, that's about all. Some of the wives begun to straggle off home,mostly in tears, and some hung round till later. I was one of these, notwishing to miss anything of an absorbing character. Edgar Tomlinson wentearly, too. Edgar writes 'The Lounger in the Lobby' column for the_Recorder_, and he'd come out to report the entertainment; but at oneo'clock he said it was a case for the sporting editor and he'd try toget him out before the kill.

  "At different times one or two of the hunters would straggle back formore drink. They said the quarry was making a long detour round theirleft flank, trying his darndest to get to the railroad, but they hadhopes. And they scattered out. Ever and anon you would hear the longhowl of some lone drunkard that had got lost from the pack.

  "About sunup they all found themselves at the railroad track about amile beyond the clubhouse, just at the head of Stender's grade. Therethey was voting to picket the track for a mile each way when along comethe four-thirty-two way freight. It had slowed up some making the grade,and while they watched it what should dart out from a bunch of scrub oakbut the active figure of Wilfred Lennox. He made one of them ironladders all right and was on top of a car when the train come by, butnone of 'em dast jump it because it had picked up speed again.

  "They said Wilfred stood up and shook both fists at 'em and called 'emevery name he could lay his tongue to--using language so coarse you'dnever think it could have come from a poet's lips. They could see hishandsome face working violently long after they couldn't hear him. Justmy luck! I'm always missing something.

  "So they come grouching back to the clubhouse and I took 'em home tobreakfast. When we got down to the table old Judge Ballard says: 'Whatmight have been an evening of rare enjoyment was converted into adetestable failure by that cur. I saw from the very beginning that hewas determined to spoil our fun.'

  "'The joke is sure on us,' says Ben Sutton, 'but I bear him no grudge.In fact, I did him an injustice. I knew he wasn't a poet, but I didn'tbelieve he was even a hobo till he jumped that freight.'

  "Alonzo was out in the hall telephoning Henrietta. We could hear hischeerful voice: 'No, Pettikins, no! It doesn't ache a bit. What's that?Of course I still do! You are the only woman that ever meant anything tome. What? What's that? Oh, I may have errant fancies now and again, likethe best of men--you know yourself how sensitive I am to a certain typeof flowerlike beauty--but it never touches my deeper nature. Yes,certainly, I shall be right up the very minute good old Benleaves--to-morrow or next day. What's that? Now, now! Don't do that!Just the minute he leaves--G'--by.'

  "And the little brute hung up on her!"