The Madness of May Part 11

"Mine, dearest Tuck! Mine, and the taxes paid. I use it as a rest-house for weary and jaded crooks, if that will ease your mind!"

Ca.s.sowary struck matches and lighted candles, disclosing a half-furnished room in great disorder. Old clothing, paper bags that had contained food, a violin, and books in good bindings littered a table in the middle of the floor, and articles of clothing were heaped in confusion on a time-battered settle. The odor of stale pipe smoke hung upon the air.

Under an empty bottle on the mantel Hood found a sc.r.a.p of paper which he scanned for a moment and then tore into pieces.

"Just a scratch from good old Fogarty; he's been taking the rest-cure here between jobs. Skipped yesterday; same chap that left his mark for me on that barn. One of the royal good fellows, Fogarty; does his work neatly--never carries a gun or pots a cop; knows he can climb out of any jail that ever was made, and that, son, gives any man a joyful sense of ease and security. The Tombs might hold him, but he avoids large cities; knows his limitations like a true man of genius. Rare bird; thrifty doesn't describe him; he's just plain stingy; sells stolen postage-stamps at par; the only living yegg that can put that over! By George, I wouldn't be surprised if he couldn't sell 'em at a premium!"

As he talked he rummaged among the old clothes, chose a mud-splashed pair of trousers, and bade Deering put them on, adding an even more disreputable coat and hat. Ca.s.sowary helped himself to a change of raiment, and Hood selected what seemed to be the worst of the lot.

"Three suspicious characters will be noted by the constabulary of West Dempster within two hours!" cried Hood, hopping out of his dress trousers. "Into the calaboose we shall go, my dear Tuck! Never say that I haven't a thought for your peace and happiness. It will give me joy unfeigned to bring you face to face with your delightful parent.

Ca.s.sowary, my son, I'm going to hide those bills of yours in the lining of my coat for safety. If they found ten thousand plunks on me, they'd never let us go!"

"Hood!" cried Deering in a voice moist with tears, "for G.o.d's sake what fool thing are you up to now?"

"I tell you we're going to jail!" Hood answered jubilantly. "You've dined in good company with the most charming of girls at your side; you've had a taste of the prosperous life; and now it's fitting that we should touch the other extreme. The moment we step out of this shack we're criminals, crooks, gallows meat;" he rolled this last term under his tongue unctuously. "This will top all our other adventures. Here's hoping Fogarty may have preceded us. The old boy likes to get pinched occasionally just for the fun of it."

He was already blowing out the candles, and, seizing his stick, led the way back to the highway, with Deering and Ca.s.sowary at his heels. The car had been run into an old barn, which had evidently served Hood before.

Within twenty-four hours they would be touring again, he announced. The change from his dress clothes to ill-fitting rags had evidently wrought a change of mood. Between whiffs at his pipe he sought consolation in Wagner, chanting bars of "In _fernem_ Land."

Ca.s.sowary, who had adjusted himself to this new situation without question, whispered in Deering's ear: "Don't kick; he's got something up his sleeve. And he'll get you out of it; remember that! I've been in jail with him before."

Deering drew away impatiently. He was in no humor to welcome confidences from Torrence, _alias_ Ca.s.sowary, whom his sister met clandestinely and _kissed_--the kiss rankled! And yet it was nothing against Ca.s.sowary that he had been following Hood about like an infatuated fool. Deering knew himself to be equally culpable on that score, and he was even now trudging after the hypnotic vagabond with a country calaboose as their common goal. The chauffeur's interview with Constance had evidently cheered him mightily, and he joined his voice to Hood's in a very fair rendering of "Ben Bolt." Deering swore under his breath, angry at Hood, and furious that he had so little control of a destiny that seemed urging him on to destruction.

IX

At one o'clock West Dempster lay dark and silent before them. As they crossed a bridge into the town Hood began to move cautiously.

"Remember that we give up without a struggle: there's too much at stake to risk a bullet now, and these country lumpkins shoot first, and hand you their cards afterward."

He dived into an alley, and emerged midway of a block where a number of barrels under a shed awning advertised a grocery.

"Admirable!" whispered Hood, throwing his arms about his comrades. "We will now arouse the watch."

With this he kicked a barrel into the gutter, and jumped back like a mischievous boy into the shelter of the alley. Footsteps were heard in a moment, far down the street.

"These country cops are sometimes shrewd, but often the silly children of convention like the rest of us. West Dempster has an evil reputation in the underworld. The pinching of joy-riders is purely incidental; they run in anybody they catch after the curfew sounds from the coffin factory."

A window overhead opened with a bang, and a blast from a police whistle pierced the air shrilly. Deering started to run, but Hood upset him with a thrust of his foot. Two men were already creeping up behind them in the alley; the owner of the grocery stole out of the front door in a long nightgown and began howling dismally for help.

"Throw up your hands, boys; it's no use!" cried Hood in mock despair.

Then the man in the nightgown, after menacing Hood with a pistol, stuck the barrel of it into Deering's mouth, opened inopportunely to protest his innocence. The policemen threw themselves upon Hood and Ca.s.sowary, toppled them over, and flashed electric lamps in their faces.

"More o' them yeggs," announced one of the officers with satisfaction as he snapped a pair of handcuffs on Ca.s.sowary's wrists. "Don't you fellows try any monkey-shines or we'll plug you full o' lead. Trot along now."

The gentleman in the night-robe wished to detain the party for a recital of his own prowess in giving warning of the attempted burglary. The police were disposed to make light of his a.s.sistance, while Hood hung back to support the grocer's cause, a generosity on his part that was received ill-temperedly by the officers of the law. They bade the grocer report to the magistrate Monday morning, and they parted, but only after Hood had shaken the crestfallen grocer warmly by the hand, warning him with the greatest solicitude against further exposure to the night air.

Two other policemen appeared; the whole force was doing them honor, Hood declared proudly. He lifted his voice in song, but the lyrical impulse was hushed by a prod from a revolver. He continued to talk, however, a.s.suring his captors of his heartiest admiration for their efficiency. He meant to recommend them for positions in the secret service--men of their genius were wasted upon a country town.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Throw up your hands, boys; it's no use!" cried Hood in mock despair.]

When they reached the town hall a melancholy jailer roused himself and conducted them to the lockup in the rear of the building. Careful search revealed nothing but a ma.s.s of crumpled clippings and a pipe and tobacco in Hood's pockets.

"Guess they dropped their tools somewhere," muttered one of the officers.

"My dear boy," explained Hood, "the gentleman in the nightie, whom I take to be a citizen and merchant of standing in your metropolis, may be able to a.s.sist you in finding them. We left our safe-blowing apparatus in a chicken-coop in his back yard."

They were entered on the blotter as R. Hood, F. Tuck, and Ca.s.s O'Weary--the last Hood spelled with the utmost care for the scowling turnkey--and charged with attempt to commit burglary and arson.

Hood grumbled; he had hoped it would be murder or piracy on the high seas; burglary and arson were so commonplace, he remarked with a sigh.

The door closed upon them with an echoing clang, and they found themselves in a large coop, bare save for several benches ranged along the walls. Two of these were occupied by prisoners, one of whom, a short, thick-set man, snored vociferously. Hood noted his presence with interest.

"Fogarty!" he whispered with a triumphant wave of his hand.

A tall man who had chosen a cot as remote as possible from his fellow prisoner sat up and, seeing the newcomers, stalked majestically to the door and yelled dismally for the keeper, who lounged indifferently to the cage, puffing a cigar.

"This is an outrage!" roared the prisoner. "Locking me up with these felons--these common convicts! I demand counsel; I'm going to have a writ of habeas corpus! When I get out of here I'm going to go to the governor of your d.a.m.ned State and complain of this. All Connecticut shall know of it! All America shall hear of it! To be locked up with one safe-blower is enough, and now you've stuck three murderers into this rotten hole. I tell you I can give bail. I tell you----"

The jailer snarled and bade him be quiet. In the tone of a man who is careful of his words he threatened the direst punishment for any further expression of the gentleman's opinions. Whereupon the gentleman seized the bars and shook them violently, and then, as though satisfied that they were steel of the best quality, dropped his arms to his sides with a gesture of impotent despair.

"Father!"

In spite of Constance's a.s.sertion, confirmed by Ca.s.sowary, Deering had not believed that his father was in jail; but the outraged gentleman who had demanded the writ of habeas corpus was, beyond question, Samuel J.

Deering, head of the banking-house of Deering, g.a.y.l.o.r.d & Co. Mr. Deering was striding toward his bench with the sulky droop of a premium batter who has struck out with the bases full.

Scorning to glance at the creature in rags who had flung himself in his path, Samuel J. Deering lunged at him fiercely with his right arm. Billy, ducking opportunely, saved his indignant parent from tumbling upon the floor by catching him in his arms. Feeling that he had been attacked by a ruffian, Mr. Deering yelled that he was being murdered.

"I'm Billy! For G.o.d's sake, be quiet!"

The senior Deering tottered to the wall.

"Billy! What are _you_ in for?" he demanded finally.

"Burglary, arson, and little things like that," Billy answered with a jauntiness that surprised him as much as it pained his father, who continued to stare uncomprehendingly.

"You've been reading that d.a.m.ned book, too, have you?" he whispered hoa.r.s.ely in his son's ear. "You've gone crazy like everybody else, have you?"

"I've been kidnapped, if that's what you mean," Billy answered with a meaningful glance over his shoulder, and then with a fine attempt at bravado: "I'm Friar Tuck, and that chap smoking a pipe is Robin Hood."

Ordinarily his father's sense of humor could be trusted to respond to an intelligent appeal. A slow grin had overspread Mr. Deering's face as Friar Tuck was mentioned, but when Billy added Robin Hood his father's countenance underwent changes indicative of hope, fear, and chagrin.

Clinging to Billy's shoulder, he peered through the gloom of the cage toward Hood, who lay on a bench, his coat rolled up for a pillow, tranquilly smoking, with his eyes fixed upon the steel roof.

"Hood!" Mr. Deering walked slowly toward Hood's bench.

Hood sat up, took his pipe from his mouth, and nodded.