The Winds of Chance Part 43

"Once upon a time there was a beautiful Princess and her name was Rouletta."

All the familiar characters figured in these narratives, the Wicked Witch, the Cruel King, the Handsome Prince; there were other characters, too, such as the Wise Guy, the Farmer's Son, the b.o.o.b Detective, the Tough Mary Ann and the Stony-hearted Jailer.

The s...o...b..rd possessed a fertile fancy but it ran in crooked channels; although he launched his stories according to Grimm, he sailed them through seas of crime, of violence, and of bloodshed too realistic to be the product of pure imagination. The adventures of the beautiful Princess Rouletta were blood-curdling in the extreme, and the doings of her criminal a.s.sociates were unmistakably autobiographic. Naturally Rouletta never felt free to repeat these stories, but it was not long before she began to look forward with avid interest to her nightly entertainment.

Inasmuch as Pierce Phillips went off shift at the same time as did Rouletta, they met frequently, and more than once he acted as her escort. He offered such a marked contrast to the other employees of the Rialto, his treatment of her was at such total variance with theirs, that he interested her in an altogether different way. His was an engaging personality, but just why she grew so fond of him she could not tell; he was neither especially witty and accomplished nor did he lay himself out to be unusually agreeable. He was quiet and reserved; nevertheless, he had the knack of making friends quickly. Rouletta had known men like Broad and Bridges and the Mocha Kid all her life, but Pierce was of a type quite new and diverting. She speculated considerably regarding him.

Their acquaintance, while interesting, had not progressed much beyond that point when Rouletta experienced a disagreeable shock.

She had strolled into the theater one evening and was watching the performance when Laure accosted her. As Rouletta had not come into close contact with any of the dance-hall crowd, she was surprised at the tone this girl a.s.sumed.

"h.e.l.lo! Looking for new conquests?" Laure began.

Miss Kirby shook her head in vague denial, but the speaker eyed her with open hostility and there was an unmistakable sneer behind her next words:

"What's the matter? Have you trimmed all the leading citizens?"

"I've finished my work, if that's what you mean."

"Now you're going to try your hand at box-rustling, eh?"

Rouletta's expression altered; she regarded her inquisitor more intently. "You know I'm not," said she. "What are you driving at?"

"Well, why don't you? Are you too good?"

"Yes." The visitor spoke coldly. She turned away, but Laure stepped close and cried, in a low, angry voice:

"Oh no, you're not! You've fooled the men, but you can't fool us girls. I've got your number. I know your game."

"My game? Then why don't you take a shift in the gambling-room?

Why work in here?"

"You understand me," the other persisted. "Too good for the dance- hall, eh? Too good to a.s.sociate with us girls; too good to live like us! YOU stop at the Courteau House, the RESPECTABLE hotel!

Bah! Miller fell for you, but--you'd better let well enough alone."

"That's precisely what I do. If there were a better hotel than the Courteau House I'd stop there. But there isn't. Now, then, suppose you tell me what really ails you."

Laure's dusky eyes were blazing, her voice was hoa.r.s.e when she answered:

"All right. I'll tell you. I want you to mind your own business.

Yes, and I'm going to see that you do. You can't go home alone, can you? Afraid of the dark, I suppose, or afraid some man will speak to you. My goodness! The airs you put on--YOU! Sam Kirby's girl, the daughter of a gambler, a--"

"Leave my father out of this!" There was something of Sam Kirby's force in this sharp command, something of his cold, forbidding anger in his daughter's face. "He's my religion, so you'd better lay off of him. Speak out. Where did I tread on your toes?"

"Well, you tread on them every time you stop at the gold-scales, if you want to know. I have a religion, too, and it's locked up in the cashier's cage."

There was a pause; the girls appraised each other with mutual dislike.

"You mean Mr. Phillips?" "I do. See that you call him 'Mister,'

and learn to walk home alone."

"Don't order me. I can't take orders."

Laure was beside herself at this defiance. She grew blind with rage, so much so that she did not notice Phillips himself; he had approached within hearing distance. "You've got the boss; he's crazy about you, but Pierce is mine--"

"What's that?" It was Phillips who spoke. "What are you saying about me?" Both girls started. Laure turned upon him furiously.

"I'm serving notice on this faro-dealer, that's all. But it goes for you, too--"

Phillips' eyes opened, his face whitened with an emotion neither girl had before seen. To Rouletta he said, quietly:

"The other boys are busy, so I came to take you home."

Laure cried, wildly, hysterically: "Don't do it! I warn you!"

"Are you ready to go?"

"All ready," Rouletta agreed. Together they left the theater.

Nothing was said as the two trod the snow-banked streets; not until they halted at the door of the Courteau House did Rouletta speak; then she said:

"I wouldn't have let you do this, only--I have! a temper."

"So have I," Pierce said, shortly. "It's humiliating to own up."

"I was wrong. I have no right to hurt that girl's feelings."

"Right?" He laughed angrily. "She had no right to make a scene."

"Why not? She's fighting for her own, isn't she? She's honest about it, at least." Noting Pierce's expression of surprise, Rouletta went on: "You expect me to be shocked, but I'm not, for I've known the truth in a general way. You think I'm going to preach. Well, I'm not going to do that, either. I've lived a queer life; I've seen women like Laure--in fact, I was raised among them--and nothing they do surprises me very much. But I've learned a good many lessons around saloons and gambling-places. One is this: never cheat. Father taught me that. He gave everybody a square deal, including himself. It's a good thing to think about-- a square deal all around, even to yourself."

"That sounds like an allopathic sermon of some sort," said Pierce, "but I can't see just how it applies to me. However, I'll think it over. You're a brick, Miss Kirby, and I'm sorry if you had an unpleasant moment." He took Rouletta's hand and held it while he stared at her with a frank, contemplative gaze. "You're an unusual person, and you're about the nicest girl I've met. I want you to like me."

As he walked back down-town Pierce pondered Rouletta's words, "a square deal all around, even to yourself." They were a trifle puzzling. Whom had he cheated? Surely not Laure. From the very first he had protested his lack of serious interest in her, and their subsequent relations were entirely the result of her unceasing efforts to appropriate him to herself. He had resisted, she had persisted. Nor could he see that he had cheated--in other words, injured--himself. This was a liberal country; its code was free and it took little account of a man's private conduct. n.o.body seriously blamed him for his affair with Laure; he had lost no standing by reason of it. It was only a part of the big adventure, a pa.s.sing phase of his development, an experience such as came to every man. Since it had left no mark upon him, and had not seriously affected Laure, the score was even. He dismissed Rouletta's words as of little consequence. In order, however, to prevent any further unpleasant scenes he determined to put Laure in her place, once for all.

Rouletta went to her room, vaguely disturbed at her own emotions.

She could still feel the touch of Phillips' hand, she could still feel his gaze fixed earnestly, meditatively, upon hers, and she was amazed to discover the importance he had a.s.sumed in her thoughts. Importance, that was the word. He was a very real, a very interesting, person, and there was some inexplicable attraction about him that offset his faults and his failings, however grave. For one thing, he was not an automaton, like the other men; he was a living, breathing problem, and he absorbed Rouletta's attention.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall, when the Countess Courteau knocked at her door and entered. The women had become good friends; frequently the elder one stopped to gossip. The Countess flung herself into a chair, rolled and lit a cigarette, then said:

"Well, I see you and Agnes saved the bankroll again."

Rouletta nodded. "Agnes is an awful bluff. I never load her. But of course n.o.body knows that."

"You're a queer youngster. I've never known a girl quite like you.

Everybody is talking about you."

"Indeed? Not the nice people?"