Quintus Oakes Part 1

Quintus Oakes.

by Charles Ross Jackson.

CHAPTER I

The Rescue

It was a warm summer evening; the air was stifling and still. I, Rodney Stone, attorney-at-law, left my apartment to stroll along Broadway, seeking a roof garden wherein to spend a few hours of change from the atmosphere of the pavements, and to kill the ennui that comes to all of us whom business compels to accept such circ.u.mstances.

As I walked down a side street, I noticed ahead of me a colored man rush out from an apartment house, shouting something that I did not understand. His actions seemed peculiar for a moment, but a curl of smoke from one of the third-story windows made known the cause. It was fire. I found myself among the first to reach the spot. From Broadway a crowd was coming, such as collects readily under these circ.u.mstances. I was soon mingling with it, watching the police in their endeavors to rouse the tenants and to spread the alarm on all the floors. The numerous dwellers were soon rushing out, and I saw several deeds deserving of mention. As the crowd looked up at the apartment in which the flames were showing and from which smoke was pouring, a window was raised--evidently in a separate room--and a young girl appeared standing at the sill. The effort of raising the sash had been a severe one for her, for she was not over ten. Looking back into the room, she saw the smoke filling it, and quickly scrambled out on the window frame. The engines had not yet arrived, but I could hear them shrieking in the distance, and we all knew that help was coming.

"Don't jump! Don't jump!" was the cry from us all. I advanced instinctively, as did many, to be nearer, for we saw that fear had taken possession of the child and that she seemed about to slide outward and drop--to almost certain disaster.

A tall, handsome, well-built man in the crowd behind us spoke in a voice of confidence and a.s.surance.

"Hold tight, little girl. You're all right!"

I noticed that he was breathing hard; he had just arrived in haste.

Even as he spoke, the little one's head moved from one side to the other, and she seemed in distress. Then something like an avalanche came from back of me, tearing the crowd asunder. A hand fell upon my shoulder, and I reeled to one side as the tall stranger sprang forward, saying: "She is going to faint." Quick wit and quick eye had detected what none other realized, that nature was being overcome and that the fall was inevitable.

The limp little body slid a second, then pitched forward. A groan went up at what seemed sure death. But the stranger's rush was timed to the instant, and as the child's body curved head downward in its flight, his strong figure reached the spot and his arms caught the child. The man braced as they swung downward to his side, depositing the unconscious girl in my hands and those of a policeman. She did not touch the sidewalk, but the young giant came to his knees by the force of the impact. It was a marvellous piece of work and the crowd cheered and closed in upon the rescuer and our burden. The child was taken away by those who had escaped. Then all hands looked at the man, and somebody started to speak to him, and to ask him his name.

He turned to me. "Sorry to have smashed into you that way, sir," he said. I answered, saying something about I was glad he did--and upon looking up, I saw he was gone. We watched him, and saw him turn into Broadway, bound on avoiding further notice.

"Who was he?" cried many.

A thick-set, tough-looking character spoke up: "Oh, he's de gazabo wot did the turn on de----" At this instant a policeman pushed toward us, and, shoving a club into the fellow's ribs, shouted: "Come, now, get out o' this, or I'll----"

The fellow was off, and with him our chance of identifying the stranger vanished. The police had been too busy with other matters to secure his name. Another good act to be credited to an unknown!

The fire was soon under control and I renewed my walk, emerging on Broadway as the shadows of night were coming on, and the street was awakening to its characteristic summer life.

Suddenly I saw him--the identical man--walking across the thoroughfare.

I quickened my pace, although going rapidly at the time. It was my intention to get closer to him and notice him better, as I was interested. He turned up-town, and I saw that, although he was walking easily, his pace was quicker than mine. What impressed me more than anything else was his graceful carriage and the fine cut of his clothes.

He was dressed in a dark suit without waistcoat, and one of those soft, white summer shirts which have become popular of late years. On his head was a plain but expensive Panama. As he pa.s.sed up the street ahead of me, gaining all the while with his easy stride, he saluted a few gentlemen, and the policemen seemed to know him. He evidently was a striking figure to other eyes than mine, for I noticed several men stop and half turn to look after him--a thing that one sees on Broadway but seldom. He turned into a side street, and again I lost him. I fancied he disappeared into one of the bachelor apartment houses of that section.

During the rest of the evening I regretted not having made stronger efforts to learn his name; then I laughed at myself for being so impressed by a stranger's appearance. The fact was, that the man's action and personality had affected me so strongly that for days I frequently found myself thinking of the fire and the rescue. I often looked along the street when walking, in a vague hope of seeing the handsome, clear-cut face of the man who had acted so promptly, but so unostentatiously.

Little did I then know how great a factor that man was to be in the moulding of my future--how circ.u.mstances were shaping, to link his active nature with my career, and to lead me into one of the most peculiar experiences that ever came to any one.

Over a month pa.s.sed, and the first signs of fall were upon us. The streets were a.s.suming the appearance of activity, and familiar faces reappeared in the public places, all invigorated and refreshed by the summer's outings.

Early in October I found myself with my friend, Dr. Moore, a well-known physician, standing in one of the popular theatres. We had dropped in for one act or so, and, like many others, were unable to secure seats owing to the hour and the popularity of the play. At first, engrossed with the performance, we paid no attention to the audience; but when the act closed and the lights were turned up, we glanced around as we prepared to leave for a stroll. My attention was called to some ladies in one of the lower boxes--two fair-haired and strikingly attractive young women, and an older one, evidently a relative, for there was a resemblance in features that was noticeable. The younger ones were certainly sisters; their similarity of complexion, face and figure rendered such an a.s.sumption a certainty.

My friend noticed them, and a change came over his face; he began to beam as one does who has seen a friend. We were far off, and in a position where we could admire, without impoliteness.

"Those are charming ladies," I said. "You seem to know them, Moore?"

"Yes, I have not seen them for quite a while; they are old patients of mine. Do you see any one with them? If I mistake not, he is somewhere in the box," continued Moore.

"He!" "Who?" As I spoke I noticed a gentleman--a tall, clear-cut fellow--lean forward and speak to one of the sisters. As he moved, his face came full in the light and I recognized him.

"It's he!" I cried. "I've found him at last!"

"Found whom?" exclaimed Moore.

"Him, that man!"

"Great Scott!" said Moore, "you must be sick. What ails you, anyway?

Have you been dining at the Club?"

I turned to my friend and said: "Doctor, I've found him at last--that man in the box."

"Well, did not I tell you he ought to be there?" said Moore. "Because you found him, do you think you have accomplished a wonderful piece of work? Of course he was there."

"What do you mean? Whom are you talking about, anyway?" I asked.

Doctor Moore looked at me as though wondering if I were in my right mind, then said: "Stone, I am talking about the gentleman in the box; I said he should be there; he usually is with those ladies."

"Yes," I replied, "it is he!"

"Stone, what's the matter? Come and take something, old man"--and seizing me by the arm, my companion led me away to the nearest cafe, where he watched me closely as he poured out a bracer.

I seized it and said: "Here's to the man in the box! I've found him."

"Of course you found him, old man. I don't see what you are making such a fuss over that fact for; it's not a question of priority."

"No," I said, "it's a question of ident.i.ty."

"Explain."

"Well, I want to know who _he_ is. He has worried my mind for a month."

"Oh, is that all?" and Moore heaved a sigh of relief; he had been genuinely anxious about me, that was plain.

"Have you run up against him anywhere?" he asked.

"No, he ran up against me," I answered.

"Here, sit down," said Moore. "What, in heaven's name, has got into you?"

"Nothing. Only I desire to know that man's name. I have had an experience with him."

"Indeed! You're not the first, then; have you been up to anything shady, Stone?" said Moore, laughingly.

"No, only smoky--a fire. This man saved a child's life in a magnificent manner. What's his name?"