The Wages of Virtue Part 30

"I allow the right stunt fer eny pal o' Carmelita's is ter fill our Loojey up with lead as you perposed ter do.... Look at here, John.

_I'll_ do it. I could hit all Loojey's b.u.t.tons with my little gun, one after the other, at thirty yards--and I'd done it long ago, but I know'd it meant the frozen mit fer mine from Carmelita, and I wasn't man enuff ter kill him fer Carmelita's good and make my name mud to her fer keeps."

"Same thing now, Buck," was the answer. "Challenge Luigi, and you can never set foot in the Cafe de la Legion again. If you killed him--it would be Carmelita's duty in life to find you and stab you."

"Sure thing, John--an' what about yew? Ef our Looj was to be 'Rivoli the Coward' ef he wouldn't fight, who's to be 'coward' now? ... Yew've bitten off more'n yew can chew."

"Anyhow, Buck, if you're any friend of mine--you'll let Rivoli alone.

_Qui facit per alium facit per se_, and that's Dutch for 'I might as well kill Rivoli with my own hand as kill him through yours.'"

The Bucking Bronco broke into song--

"But serpose an' serpose, Yure Hightaliand lad shouldn't die?

Nor the bagpipes shouldn't play o'er him Ef I punched him in the eye!"

chanted he, as he placed his beloved "gun"--an automatic pistol--under his pillow. "I'll beat him up, Johnnie. Fer Carmelita's sake I ain't shot him up, an' fer her sake and yourn I won't shoot him up now, but the very first time as he flaps his mouth about this yer dool, I'll beat him up--and there'll be _some_ fight," and the Bucking Bronco dived into his "flea-bag."

The next day the news spread throughout the _caserne_ of the First Battalion of the Legion that the promised treat was off, the duel between the famous Luigi Rivoli and the Englishman, John Bull, would not take place, the latter, in spite of the publicity and virulence of his challenge, having apologised.

The news was ill received. In the first place the promise of a brilliant break in the monotony of Depot life was broken. In the second place, the undisputed reign of a despotic and brutal tyrant would continue and grow yet heavier and more insupportable; while, in the third place, it was not in accordance with the traditions of the Legion that a man should fiercely challenge another in public, and afterwards apologise and withdraw. Italian shares boomed and shot sky-high, while John Bulls became a drug in the market.

That evening the Bucking Bronco, for the first time in his life, received a message from Carmelita, a message which raised him to the seventh heaven of expectation and hope, while the sanguine blood coursed merrily through his veins.

Carmelita wanted him. At five o'clock without fail, Carmelita would expect him at the Cafe. She needed his help and relied upon him for it.... _Gee_-whillikins! She should have it.

At half-past five that evening, the Bucking Bronco entered le Cafe de la Legion and stared in amazement at seeing a strange Legionary behind Carmelita's bar. He was a small, slight man in correct walking-out dress--a blue tunic, red breeches and white spats. His kepi was pulled well down over a small, intelligent face, the most marked features of which were very broad black eyebrows, and a biggish dark moustache. The broad chin-strap of the kepi was down, and pressed the man's chin up under the large moustache beneath which the strap pa.s.sed. The soldier had a squint and the Bucking Bronco had always experienced a dislike and distrust of people so afflicted.

"An' what'n h.e.l.l are _yew_ a-doin' thar, yew swivel-eyed tough?" he enquired, and repeated his enquiry in Legion French.

The Legionary laughed--a ringing peal which was distinctly familiar.

"Don't yew git fresh with me, Bo, or I'll come roun' thar an' improve yure squint till you can see in each ear-'ole," said the American, trying to "place" the man.

Again the incongruous tinkling peal rang out and the Bucking Bronco received the shock of his life as Carmelita's voice issued through the big moustache. Words failed him as he devoured the girl with his eyes.

"Dear Monsieur Bouckaing Bronceau," said she. "Will you walk out to-night with the youngest recruit in the Legion?"

The Bronco still stared agape.

"I am in trouble," continued Carmelita, "and I turn to you for help."

The light of hope shone in the American's eyes.

"Holy Poker!" said he. "G.o.d bless yure sweet eyes, fer sayin' so, Carmelita. But why _me_? Have yew found yure Loojey out, at last? Why me?"

"I turn to you for help, Monsieur Bronco," said the girl, "because you have told me a hundred times that you love me. Love gives. It is not always asking, asking, asking. Now give me your help. I want to get at the truth. I want to clear a good and honest man from a web of lies.

Take me to the Canteen with you to-night. They say my Luigi goes there to see Madame la Cantiniere. They say he flirts and drinks with her, that he helps her there, and serves behind her bar. They even dare to say that he asks her to marry him...."

"It's true," interrupted the Bucking Bronco.

"Very well--then take me there now. My Luigi has sworn to me a hundred times that he never sets foot in Madame's Canteen, that he would not touch her filthy Algerian wine--my Luigi who drinks only the best Chianti from Home. Take me there and prove your lies. Take me now, and either you and your friends, or else Luigi Rivoli, shall never cross my threshold again." Carmelita's voice was rising, tears were starting to her eyes, and her bosom rose and fell as no man's ever did.

"Easy, honey," said the big American. "Ef yure gwine ter carry on right here, what'll you do in the Canteen when yew see yure Loojey right thar doin' bar-tender fer the woman he's a-doin' his d.a.m.nedest to marry?"

"_Do?_" answered Carmelita in a low tense voice. "Do? I would be cold as ice. I would be still and hard as one of the statues in my own Naples. All h.e.l.l would be in my breast, but a h.e.l.l of frozen fire do you understand, and I would creep away. Like a silent spirit I would creep away--but I would be a spirit of vengeance. To Monsieur Jean Boule would I go and I would say, 'Kill him! Kill him! For the love of G.o.d and the Holy Virgin and the Blessed Bambino, _kill_ him--and let me come and stamp upon his face.' That is what I would say, Monsieur Bronco."

The American covered the girl's small brown hand with his huge paw.

"Carmelita, honey," he whispered. "Don't go, little gel--don't go. May I be struck blind and balmy right hyar, right naow, ef I tell you a word of a lie. Every night of his life he's thar, afore he comes down hyar with lies on his lips to yew. Don't go. Take my word fer it, an' John Bull's word, and young Rupert's word. They're White Men, honey, they wouldn't lie ter yew. Believe what we tell yew, and give ole John Bull back his promise, an' let him shoot-up this low-lifer rattlesnake...."

"I will see with my own eyes," said Carmelita--adding with sound feminine logic, "and if he's not there to-night, I'll know that you have all lied to me, and that he never was there--and never, never, never again shall one of you enter my house, or my Legionaries shall nail you by the ears to the wall with their bayonets.... Shame on me, to doubt my Luigi for a moment."

The American gave way.

"Come on then, little gel," he said. "P'raps it's fer the best."

--2

Entering the Canteen that evening for his modest litre, 'Erb caught sight of his good friend, the Bucking Bronco, seated beside a Legionary whom 'Erb did not know. The American beckoned and 'Erb emitted a joyous sound to be heard more often in the Ratcliffe Highway than in the wilds of Algeria. Apparently his pal's companion was, or had been, in funds, for his head reposed upon his folded arms.

"Wotto, Bucko!" exclaimed the genial 'Erb. "We a-goin' to ketch this pore bloke's complaint? Luvvus! Wish I got enuff to git as ill as wot 'e is."

"Sit down t'other side of him, 'Erb," responded the American. "We may hev' to help the gay-cat to bed. He's got a jag. Tight as a tick--an'

lef me in the lurch with two-francs' worth to drink up."

"Bless 'is 'eart," exclaimed 'Erb. "I dunno wevver 'e's a-drinkin' to drahn sorrer or wevver he's a-drinkin' to keep up 'is 'igh sperrits--but he shan't say as 'ow 'Erb 'Iggins didn't stand by 'im to the larst--the larst boll' I mean," and 'Erb filled the large gla.s.s which the American reached from the bar.

"'Ere's 'ow, c.o.c.ky," he shouted in the ear of the apparently drunken man, giving him a sharp nudge in the ribs with his elbow.

The drunken man gasped at the blow, gave a realistic hiccough and murmured: "A votre sante, Monsieur."

"Carn't the pore feller swaller a little more, Buck?" enquired 'Erb with great concern. "Fency two francs--an' he's 'ad ter giv' up! ... Never mind, Ole c.o.c.k," he roared again in the ear of the drunkard, "p'raps you'll be able ter go ahtside in a minnit an' git it orf yer chest. Then yer kin start afresh. See? ... 'Ope hon, 'ope hever.... 'Sides," he added, as a cheering afterthought, "It'll tiste as good a-comin' up as wot it did a-goin' dahn." He then blew vinously into his mouth-organ and settled down for a really happy evening.

A knot of Legionaries, friends of Rivoli, stood at the bar talking with Madame.

"Here he comes," said one of them, leaning with his back against the bar. "Ask him."

Luigi Rivoli strode up, casting to right and left the proud glances of the consciously Great.

"Bonsoir, ma belle," quoth he to Madame. "And how is the Soul of the Soul of Luigi Rivoli?"

The drunken man, sitting between the Bucking Bronco and le Legionnaire 'Erbiggin, moved his head. He lay with the right side of it upon his folded arms and his flushed face toward the bar. His eyes were apparently closed in sottish slumber.

Madame la Cantiniere fixed Rivoli with a cold and beady eye. (She "wagged her beard" too much, did she? Oho!)

"And since when have I been the Soul of the Soul of Luigi Rivoli?" she enquired.

"Can you ask it, My Own?" was the reply. "Did not the virgin fortress of my heart capitulate to the trumpet of your voice when first its musical call rang o'er its unsealed walls?"