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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
In Rex Beach's intriguing novel, "Woman in Ambush," readers are drawn into a captivating narrative that artfully blends elements of adventure and romance against the backdrop of the Alaskan wilderness. With vivid imagery and a compelling prose style, Beach explores themes of survival, betrayal, and the complexities of human relationships. Set during the early 20th century, a period marked by the gold rush and the harsh realities of frontier life, the book reflects the tensions between civilization and the untamed natural world, encapsulating the essence of American literary realism while infusing it with pulpy excitement that defines Beach's work. Rex Beach was deeply influenced by his experiences as a young man in Alaska, where he first arrived to seek fortune during the gold rush. His background as a storyteller and a businessman provided him with a unique perspective on the trials faced by those who lived on the fringes of society seeking wealth and purpose. This personal connection to the Alaskan landscape imbues "Woman in Ambush" with authenticity and emotional depth, as Beach intricately weaves personal ambitions with the larger narrative of exploration and conquest. Readers who appreciate tales of adventure intertwined with the complexities of the human experience will find "Woman in Ambush" both engaging and compelling. Beach'Äôs insightful portrayal of characters navigating moral dilemmas against a backdrop of stark beauty makes this novel not only a thrilling read but also a poignant reflection on the nature of ambition and desire. Highly recommended for enthusiasts of early 20th-century American literature.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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Woman in Ambush
Table of Contents
CONTENT
Chapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32
Chapter 1
THE CELL was small, its walls were stained and grimy, its furnishings were scanty. There were two narrow, folding bunks, one above the other, a pitcher, washbowl, and slop bucket. A plank bench was so securely bolted to the wall that it was really a fixture. This being a county jail, its inmates were not in stripes and discipline was less rigid than in state penal institutions. Like most others of its kind, however, it was badly run, it needed modernizing, it had an unpleasant smell, and the food was terrible.
Supper was over, cell doors had been bolted, and the inmates were free to occupy themselves as best they could. Most of them spent this interval of leisure loudly cursing the cook.
Number 117 had two occupants. The older and the larger sat on the edge of the lower bunk, massaging his hands and flexing his fingers. They were soft, white, pliable hands, and he cared for them like a woman. He was a huge, shapeless person with drooping face, his clothes were baggy, his feet were large and flat, and his outturned toes pointed at ten minutes of two. They appeared to be boneless feet, for he walked as silently as a cat. In all his movements, ungainly but effortless, he reminded his youthful companion of an elephant. There was the same loose, rippling flow to his muscles; his body rocked and swayed.
African hunters have marveled at the alertness of an elephant and at his ability, when suspicious or alarmed, to steal away through the densest jungle without cracking a twig or making the faintest sound. Jim Larkin, too, was wary, suspicious, and alert. He didn’t advertise his comings or his goings.
Ronnie, his cellmate, told himself that in spite of these characteristics Jim’s presence here behind bars went to prove that even elephants can be taken off guard. In spite of their enforced companionship, the two had become friends. Neither, however, had told the other upon what charge he had been convicted or what chain of unfortunate events accounted for his presence here. They talked and joked with each other, but there had been no exchange of confidences. The very atmosphere of the place induced restraint.
Having limbered up his fingers, Jim took a deck of cards from under his thin and lumpy pillow and began to shuffle expertly. He looked up with a smile, saying, “Well, it won’t be long now.”
“Not long,” Ronnie agreed. “I guess neither of us will sleep much tonight.”
“Right you are, kid. The last night in a jug is like the first night; it never ends. Where will you be heading?”
“Nowhere in particular. And you?”
“Back to Dixie. Back to civilization, where two pairs isn’t a misdemeanor and it isn’t a felony to fill a straight.”
“That means you will be heading back to the River, I presume.”
“And no place else! It isn’t what it used to be; the railroads are spoiling it, but it’s still a—well, a country of its own. There’s nothing like it. Even the people are different; they have their way of living and it suits me fine.”
“Have you got enough money to get there?”
“Listen, kid, I’ve got all the money in the world.” The speaker deftly riffled his cards in mid-air, and they flew together as if by some magic. “I mean just that, Ronnie. The world’s full of money, and a smart guy can help himself to what he needs. That is, as long as he doesn’t take more than he’s entitled to. It’s like living in a bank. Yes, sir, when you learn that fact, you’ll be as contented as I am.”
“Are you contented?”
“Why not? I’ve been everywhere and seen everything, from a ringside seat. I don’t need much and I can turn my hand to anything. I love to live, just live. Something is always happening. Never the same thing twice.”
For a moment Ronnie watched the speaker manipulate his cards, then he said, “You’re lucky. It isn’t everybody who can make a living out of those things.”
“I know. Cards love some people just the way some people love cards. To me, they are the same as animals, and I can make ’em do tricks.”
Deftly Jim executed a one-handed cut, dealt alternately from the top and from the bottom, performed a neat false shuffle by pulling one half of the deck through the other.
“I could show you a lot if I had a work bench, but a real card player doesn’t need this stuff. It’s nice to know when your luck needs a little boosting. You’d make a card player, Ronnie.”
“Think so?”
“I’ve watched you. I can tell.” Jim shook his oversized head regretfully. “It’s a shame.”
“What is?”
“To find a promising lad like you scratching his behind in a squirrel cage. You’re tossing your chances away.”
There was an obvious retort, but Ronnie made none.
“I’ve never asked you what you did—don’t tell me. I like a guy who keeps his lip closed. What’s more, you haven’t told me how smart you are and how dumb the cops are. That’s a sign of intelligence. Maybe you have realized that they must have something on us or we wouldn’t be here. As Solomon said, the fear of the Law is the beginning of Knowledge.”
“I know they are smarter than I am. So what?”
The Lark again shuffled and cut before resuming, with some reluctance. “The trouble is, once a young fellow finds his way into a place like this, nine times out of ten he finds his way back. I’m not a soul saver, I don’t preach, but you’re headed the wrong way, kid. Why not change your direction and make a man of yourself? I could show you how. Did you ever have a pal, a real buddy?”
“No, Jim, not even a real friend.”
“It’s pretty swell to have a guy you can talk to when you feel like it or say nothing all day and know that he understands. A guy you like to be with. I had one, but he got greedy and helped himself to more than he needed. He liked the River, too. Those floating palaces all gilt and crystal, puffing and snorting and kicking up a storm. Planters in their fine clothes out having a good time and looking for a game. Their women, too, like pictures out of a book. And New Orleans—it’s the wealthiest port anywhere, kid, and the gayest. River packets and oceangoers along the levee front four deep. Their spars and smokestacks are like a forest. Mountains of freight. Darkies singing and romping. Every night in New Orleans is a carnival. Stage shows, operas, grand balls, and once a year the Mardi Gras. There’s something doing every hour. Why, Rome in all its glory was never like that.”
“Have you been to Rome?”
“Sure! I’ve been everywhere and back but there’s only one New Orleans.”
Now that Jim was on his favorite topic, the Mississippi and its way of life, there was no stopping him. His companion listened fascinated until the cell light suddenly went out.
As Ronnie climbed into his bunk, Jim said, “Yes, it’s great to have a pal. It’s fine to go places and see things and have fun—as long as you can share it with the right guy. Why not straighten up and deal yourself a new hand?”
After an instant, Ronnie said in a queer voice, “Maybe I will. I’d like a change.”
“Think it over. You can always find me at McPhee’s Palace. If I’m not in the city, they’ll tell you where I am. The Palace is a good place to gamble, but the eats aren’t much. Just ask for Jimmy the Lark. Good night, kid.”
“Good night, Jim.”
Neither speaker dreamed that he had on that last night in the county jail made a lifelong pact.
* * * * * * * * *
The Banning home, or mansion as some people called it, was located on the finest residential street of the city. It was larger, handsomer, and better kept than its neighbors, but even aside from its size, its ample grounds and ornamental plantings, it carried itself with an air of distinction.
If houses could speak—and who doubts that inanimate things possess some faculty of self-expression—this one would have answered the queries of inquisitive strangers by saying, loftily, “Banning is the name, Dr. Chilton Banning.”
If this carried no obvious meaning, the house would doubtless have arched its fanlights and shrugged its porte-cochere, then murmured, “Indeed! Not to know Dr. Chilton Banning is to argue one’s self unknown.”
It was precisely the kind of house to look down its nose when offended.
On the other hand, if the passer-by recognized Dr. Banning as one of the country’s leading M.D.’s, an author of distinction, and chief of staff of the city’s largest hospital, then the residence would have said, warmly, “Yes, indeed! A brilliant and successful man. And such a practice. By appointment only. Three weeks in advance. Mrs. Banning was a lovely woman. She died ten years ago. It was she who drew my plans and made me what I am. In her time, we entertained a good deal. Now the poor Doctor is so busy that I see very little of him. In fact, I don’t see much of Dick, either. Have you heard about Dick? Then let me tell you.”
The Banning mansion had ample reason to brag about the Doctor’s only son, for Dick, too, was a celebrity in his way. He had inherited his father’s rich talents and something more, as proved by the award of a college degree at sixteen. Moreover, he had graduated with honors. Dick had been an infant prodigy and an object of wonder to his earliest teachers. As he grew up, the speed, the effortless ease with which he had raced through grade and prep school had led the city’s newspapers to give him considerable publicity.
Friends of the family who thought any kid must be abnormal if he could extract a cube root before he could pull his own milk teeth urged Dr. Banning to hold the boy back. Top-heavy juveniles were unhealthy freaks, they warned. But Dick could not be held back. Nor did the Doctor try. Proud of his son’s precocity, he actually pushed him forward by encouraging him in his work and providing tutors during the summer vacations. It was the Doctor’s belief that our educational system was archaic and that any normal child, if properly taught, could acquire a college education at a saving of anywhere from four to six years. Using his own son as an example, he had written a paper on the subject.
Obviously a parent as busy as Dr. Banning could not see much of a son as preoccupied as Dick was. In truth, neither had ever cared to see a great deal of the other, for always there had been something between them which grated uncomfortably. It was like some invisible abrasive, too finely ground to be detected except under the stress of wear and tear.
Actually they had seen nothing whatever of each other during the past four weeks. Dick had been away from home visiting a friend whose parents owned a summer camp in the North woods.
Dr. Banning rose early, for it was in the morning hours that he performed his surgery. It was his custom to come downstairs while the hall clock was striking seven and Mrs. Gibbs, his housekeeper, knew better than to delay his breakfast.
This morning, as he seated himself opposite her, he announced,
“Dick should be home today and—”
“Oh! Then you’ve heard from him.” Mrs. Gibbs was a wholesome, competent woman who had been a sort of second mother to the boy and who felt privileged to interrupt even the head of the household.
“Please tell him I wish to see him. Ask him to stay here until I come in.”
“Why, of course. But I’m sure he’ll be as eager to see you as you are to see him—”
“I’m not so sure,” the father said shortly. “I’m not sure of anything about him lately. He’s been acting queerly and it worries me.”
“You don’t mean he’s sick?” Mrs. Gibbs inquired anxiously. “Goodness, people are always telling me that boys like him, who are too smart for their age, never grow up into healthy, normal persons.”
“He’s not sick. As a matter of fact, he’s an unusually healthy and vigorous young animal.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“The idea that bright children become-dull or their brains cease to develop is all bosh. It’s as ridiculous as the assumption that only the stupid survive. Frankly, it’s a pity that so many of them do, but nature’s ideal is a sound mind in a sound body.”
“That’s Dick, all over! And I take some credit to myself.” Mrs. Gibbs nodded with satisfaction.
“I never considered him a prodigy, a child wonder. He’s merely what other boys of his age should be and could be if—”
Mrs. Gibbs again interrupted, “Now, Doctor, you know as well as I do that no boy in this city ever went through school the way he did. Or college either. He’s a genius and everybody knows it except you. Why, I was telling our new minister how he graduated cum—something or other and—”
“Cum laude.”
“—and he would have gone to Oxford, England, last year only they said he was too smart already so he had to start in here on a new course studying a lot of foolish things just to mark time.”
With a smile, Dr. Banning explained. “What happened was this. They wrote me that a sixteen-year-old American boy would probably find it difficult to get along happily with English boys so much older than he and it was their suggestion that a year’s delay would make it easier for him to adjust himself. Accordingly, he took an extra year’s work in languages, literature, the drama, etc. Dick is too young to choose a profession or to decide much of anything for himself, so I must decide for him. A few years of postgraduate work abroad will cure that and send him off to a flying start. That’s one matter I want to discuss with him.”
The Doctor was opening his eggs, something he insisted upon doing himself inasmuch as a fragment of shell between his teeth was enough to spoil an entire day. He executed the task with delicacy and precision. Everything he did was like that, as if there were a fee attached. Carving a turkey, for instance. It was a major operation, and he performed it standing up. Dick, who abhorred surgery, could almost see his father in mask and gown and rubber gloves and he looked on with horrified fascination while the carving knife, sterilized no doubt, unerringly severed tendons and opened joints. Dick sometimes pondered on the thought that the bird, not fully anesthetized, might twitch and moan. When the waitress pushed the wheeled serving table out into the butler’s pantry, he fancied it was for the purpose of counting sponges.
“Another thing I want to discover,” the Doctor stated, “is where he spends his evenings. He used to study, now he dresses up and saunters out as if he owned the town.”
“But, Doctor, he can’t work all the time! He’s a big boy. He has friends—”
“What kind of friends? Who are they? Young people of his own age or—women? Bad women?”
“Doctor!” The kindly housekeeper was aghast. “Dick isn’t that kind of a boy, and I guess I should know even better than you. Why, that’s—wicked.”
“Perhaps it is. Nevertheless it’s time that young gentleman and I had a talk. Tell him, if you please, that I will be home late but shall expect to see him.”
The speaker dropped his napkin and rose, for his carriage had driven into the porte-cochere.
Chapter 2
DICK BANNING returned home that afternoon by way of the alley. He came in through the back door of the stable and was greeted by low whinnies from his father’s team of bays and from his own saddle horse. He spoke to the animals, stroked and caressed them, and laid his cheek against their silken muzzles. The coachman, he knew, was asleep upstairs.
Dick was a tall, pleasant-faced lad who looked several years older than his age. He had a disarming smile, there was a stubborn wave to his hair, his gray eyes were wide-set and intelligent, but there was nothing about him to challenge attention or to suggest the unusual.
A grape arbor, heavy with foliage, led from the stable and carriage house to the brick terrace at the rear of the residence. Dick passed through it. On one side of this arbor was a garden of old-fashioned flowers; on the other, a grass tennis court, croquet ground, and archery range. These spacious but secluded premises had been his playground and his mother’s favorite loitering place. In his mind’s eye he could see her now among her roses and columbines, her snapdragons and hollyhocks—a gentle, gracious, fragile creature, as miraculous in her way as the loveliest blooms in this smiling garden. Thank Heaven, Dick thought, it had been kept exactly as she left it.
Entering the house, the boy went quickly to his room, turned on the water in the bathtub, and shed his clothes. Not long after, Mrs. Gibbs knocked on the bathroom door and inquired,
“Can I come in?”
“Why, certainly not,” he said with a laugh. “Aren’t you ever going to grow up, Mother Gibbs? Or let me do so?”
“This growing up!” The housekeeper spoke scornfully. “To me you’re still a little boy and little boys never scrub between their shoulders.”
“I promise! How did you know I was here?”
“I heard the water running. I can always tell when you’re home. Did you have a good time?”
“Marvelous.”
“Hunh! The idea of going off to camp for a whole month without a word of warning.”
“Didn’t you get my note?”
“Yes. But you were gone by that time. You didn’t leave a word for your father. Was that nice? Was that considerate? No, I’m ashamed of you, Dick.”
“Hurrah!” Dick exclaimed. “I’ve always been such a model of infantile propriety, such an object lesson in perfect decorum that it’s nice to be scolded. Maturity is sneaking up on me.”
“Well, the Doctor didn’t like it. He wants to talk to you when he comes in and don’t blame him if he’s severe. You’re a bad boy to worry us so.”
“Gibbsy! A guest’s first obligation is to his host. Mine requested the pleasure of my company, then and there. To make quick decisions and act upon them is a sign of character.”
“That’s all very well, but you could have dropped me or him a line later on.”
“Written on what? A piece of birch bark? With a porcupine quill dipped in my own blood? Woman, have you ever been out in the wilderness armed only with your two bare hands? Out in the Great Silence where the only sound by day is the mournful sighing of the wind in the lofty treetops and the dreadful stillness of night is broken only by the howling of hungry wolves? Out where stealthy danger lurks and death lies in ambush? That’s real suburban life.”
The bathroom door opened and Dick emerged in robe and slippers. He was grinning and gave Mrs. Gibbs a bear hug, a hearty kiss, and then shook her playfully.
“Gibbsy-Wibbsy! It’s nice to be home again and mothered by you even if I have to fight for the privilege of scrubbing my own sacred person. Now scoot! I’m not even going to let you select my tie. See you at dinner.”
That evening, Dick dined alone as he often did. He was reading in the library when his father came home. The boy arose and the two greeted each other with restraint. Dr. Banning always showed more reserve with his son than with his patients and Dick had never been demonstrative.
“Have a busy time at camp?” the father asked.
“Very.”
“You left rather hurriedly, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir, the invitation was unexpected. You were away at that medical convention. I didn’t think you’d mind.” The Doctor seated himself at his flat-topped desk before saying, “I’m getting accustomed to surprises from you. This was only one of many.”
“I’m sorry if I caused you any uneasiness but you’re so busy—”
“Uneasiness isn’t the word,” said the older man. “Amazement would be better. I can’t forget how young you are.”
With a faint smile, the boy said, “You’ve often told people I was born at the age of sixteen. That would make me thirty-three. . . . Gibbsy says you want to see me?”
“Yes. I knew you’d be out today.”
“Out?”
“You must have realized that I’d learn where you were.” There was a pause, and the Doctor went on, “A son of mine in jail! A boy of your standing, a boy with your advantages! It floored me.”
With a suggestion of resentment in his voice, Dick said, “If you felt it so keenly, may I ask why you allowed me to remain there?”
Sharply his father answered, “Because I hoped it would be a lesson to you.”
“When I came home from college last spring, I told you I was sick of lessons.”
“And I suggested that you ease up, play, enjoy yourself for a while. I never dreamed you would turn into a rowdy—a hoodlum—and start smashing greenhouse roofs. That was an act of pure vandalism and—”
“Pardon me, sir, I considered it an act of retribution. I was tempted to take the law into my own hands and I couldn’t resist doing so. You have no idea what a satisfaction it was to meet temptation and yield. It was a brand new experience and it went to my head. It was my first brainstorm and I enjoyed it.”
“May I ask what brought on this—this emotional typhoon?” the Doctor asked curiously.
“I bought some roses for a young woman and—”
“What young woman?”
“What’s the difference? Anyhow the florist overcharged me. I thought the box felt light and I opened it. I should have known that he’s a notorious old bandit. He was very insulting but unfortunately he was too old to lay hands upon.”
“A boy of your age has no business buying roses for young widows.”
“Indeed? Anyway, that man had no business calling me names and threatening to have me arrested. For that matter I don’t see that you have any business asking who I give flowers to. Well, I was pretty mad. That was nice, too, and convinced me that I’m not altogether abnormal and that I have split the seams of my velvet Fauntleroy suit. In the street I saw several bricks. I collected them into a pile. It made me madder when a stranger asked if I wasn’t rather old to play with blocks. He was in plainclothes and I didn’t dream he was an officer. When I began to heave those bricks, he tackled me and we had quite a tussle. I got hold of myself on the way to the station house and tried to explain that I was merely a thin-blooded intellectual who had been seized for the first time by a robust impulse but the fellow’s nose hurt him and he told me to shut up or else. And the magistrate later on was incapable of understanding the psychology of a juvenile delinquent.”
“Don’t strain yourself to be facetious,” the father said sourly.
“I didn’t feel facetious, at the time. I was pretty much ashamed of myself so, out of regard for you, I gave my name as Ronald Le Grand. Under that alias I did thirty days in the workhouse.”
“And a hard time I had keeping it out of the papers. I’m astonished at your consideration.” Dr. Banning spoke with some sarcasm.
“No more astonished than I am at your allowing me to blister these white hands,” the youth retorted. “That jail smelled pretty bad.”
“What a story!” the father exclaimed. “It would have preceded you to Oxford, ruined your career. Do you wonder that I did my utmost to smother it?”
“I’m not going to Oxford,” Dick said.
Dr. Banning was startled. “What’s this? I don’t know what’s the matter with you lately.”
“It’s something pills won’t cure.”
“Certainly it isn’t overwork. No normal, healthy boy can really overwork. However, he can overindulge himself. Now that I know the rough gang you are running around with, I’m not going to stand by and see your morals corrupted.” The boy looked a bit bewildered at this. “I don’t know just what you mean, sir, but I feel competent to select my own friends.”
“Indeed!”
“You see, I’m not interested in boys of my own age or in giggling girls, either. If I prefer older companions, it’s because we have something in common.”
“Exactly! Don’t let’s go into that. I can’t permit you to run wild. Aside from your own good, I have myself to think of.”
To this Dick nodded. “I understand perfectly. You wish to point with pride and you can’t bear to view with alarm. You have always made me feel like one of your specimens—a sort of two-headed boy that you keep in a jar. Well, I’m sick of being different from other people. I’m sick of all the things I have been doing. And Oxford—I just can’t bear the thought of it.”
“Why?”
“Maybe my mental mechanism has gone out of order like a watch with a weak spring or a broken jewel. I’ve lost my enthusiasm for study; in fact, the idea nauseates me and if I were to go to Oxford I’d be no credit to you or to myself. The whole thing has lost its glitter; I’m afraid the bookworm has turned.”
“And I don’t like the direction you have taken. You must want to do something. Precisely what is it that you have in mind?”
Faced with this query, the boy floundered for the very good reason that he himself didn’t know exactly what desires had taken possession of him. All he felt sure about was that he had rebelled against academic bondage and craved freedom to explore a new and exciting world. He very definitely desired the freedom to explore it in his own way. Unfamiliar yearnings plagued him, but in spite of his facility for self-expression he couldn’t put them into words. Actually they had not yet taken full shape. It was like the peculiar urge that drives an explorer to push into unknown country, making the desire to go, to look, to see into more than mere curiosity—a compulsion.
Dr. Banning listened for a while before saying finally, “All right. If you think you must see the world immediately, so be it. I think it’s unwise, foolish, but I will not stand in your way. I’ll attempt to find a suitable traveling companion, some older man who can look after you and serve as a tutor. There must be young professors who—”
“I wouldn’t care for that, sir.” Dick spoke with decision. “I wish to go alone and select my own traveling companions, if any. What’s more, I don’t want or need any further tutoring.”
“I cannot permit you to go globe-trotting alone,” the father said firmly. “The very idea is—well, shocking. No! Impossible!”
“Then I’m afraid the well-known irresistible force has met the immovable body. The truth is, sir, I feel that I must do what I want to do instead of what I’m told to do.”
In this attitude of mind the father recognized not the vague yearnings, the acute dissatisfactions of youth, but dangerous and unruly juvenile sex impulses which were the more abhorrent to him because of his professional training and experience. Sex was a subject he had never discussed with Dick and now he could not bring himself to broach it.
With increasing heat the two continued to argue. Abruptly Dr. Banning, white with anger, jerked open a drawer of his desk, removed his checkbook and swiftly wrote in it.
“For some reason beyond my comprehension,” he said, “you have seen fit to ignore my wishes, scorn my advice, and change all the careful plans that have been made for you. Without any reason whatever, you have committed an act of vandalism and got yourself into trouble which could have done both of us irreparable injury. Now—”
Dick broke in to say, “We’ve never understood each other; we’ve never been able to talk things out without a clash. Perhaps I did make a fool of myself but the whole thing strikes me as rather trivial. It isn’t worth a real quarrel. I’ve always hoped we’d never come to that.”
His father was silent a moment before he answered. “Most boys at one time or another play at running away from home. I thought you had more common sense. I cannot believe that you are still so immature as to yield to so foolish an impulse. No, it seems you have suddenly rebelled against authority and I can see nothing back of it except a desire to indulge those animal appetites which any person of good breeding must have the strength of character to control.”
Dick opened his mouth to protest but his father motioned him to be silent. “I dare say I could find a way to restrain you from making a fool of yourself but it would only complicate matters and lead to more misunderstandings. I’d be set down as a harsh and unfeeling father, which I’m not. Evidently your mind is so firmly fixed that I can’t change it. Well, I’m slow to take offense and slower still to forgive. Before you decide to have your fling, I want you to weigh what it is that you’re flinging aside: a good home, my help in achieving a brilliant career, success, security, comfort, ease of mind. Those things are all yours if you want them, but you must take them now or not at all.”
“You have done a great deal for me and I thank you,” Dick said seriously. “I can’t make my feelings clearer than I have already, but I can’t accept your further help under false pretenses.”
“So. There’s no moving you. . . . You insist on being a tramp. . . . Well, I don’t want you to be forced into the company of other tramps before you have had time to find yourself. No doubt you will descend to their level sooner or later but meanwhile this will permit you to preserve your self-respect. At least you won’t have to turn to crime.” He extended a check he had torn from his book. Dick eyed it with surprise.
“Five thousand dollars! This is very generous of you,” he said. “I have never seen so much money. Nor have many other boys of my age. Do you think I can spend it wisely?”
“No,” said Dr. Banning, “but I don’t want you writing home for money. You’ll notice the check is dated one week hence. You have seven days to come to your senses. If you cash it, don’t look forward to further help. If you change your mind and decide to stay here, which I hope you will do, call it a reward for your good sense.”
Dick handed the check back and arose from his chair. “Thanks for your generosity and for your blessing,” he said quietly. “My grandfather was a poor farmer. You made your own way, I think I can do the same. I wouldn’t like to be handicapped by the possession of such a sum. Furthermore, if I took your money, I’d feel obligated to spend it wisely. I don’t want to be tied down in that manner or in any other. I want to be foolish and impulsive and unwise, but only at my own expense. I want to be free!”
“You can’t leave home like this,” his father exclaimed. “You can’t leave at such an hour. Where will you go?”
“I have a friend who is leaving town in the morning. He’ll probably leave early.”
“A friend? Who is he? What is he?”
“He’s known professionally as Jimmy the Lark. He was my cellmate in jail. He’s clever with cards.”
“My God!” the Doctor groaned.
“I like him. He says he’ll make a man of me. Don’t worry, sir. I’ll bring no discredit to the family name and I won’t come back until I can write you a check to match the size of this one.” Dick smiled cheerfully and let his eyes rove over the impressive and handsomely furnished library. “No, when I do come home, I want to be able to look around and say, ‘Hello, father! Well, I see you are still living in the same old place. Really, it isn’t good enough for you. Better let me set you up in suitable style!” Still smiling the boy left the room.
After what seemed a long time. Dr. Banning heard his son come downstairs; he was on the point of calling his name or of going out to intercept him, but he was too deeply hurt and too angry to do so. The front door opened and closed.
For a long while, the Doctor sat with his face in his hands.
Chapter 3
JIMMY THE LARK had a theory that a man should feel as loose in his clothes as an egg in its shell. It naturally followed that he wore suits several sizes too large for him. He was ready for bed now and was clad in a Canton flannel nightgown the size of an Indian tepee. In his supple hands he held a violin which he caressed lovingly. He longed to play it but he knew only too well that in boardinghouses fiddling at midnight is taboo.
He started nervously when a knock came at his door; out of habit he cast an apprehensive glance around the room to assure himself that no gambling paraphernalia was in sight. Was it the cops again? No doubt with a final warning to leave town in the morning. In offended dignity he rose, unlocked the door, then exclaimed, “Ronnie! I took you for the Law.” He drew the boy inside, then, noting the latter’s suitcase, he asked, “Where are you heading?”
“That depends. Do you still want a buddy?”
“Sure! But—what happened?”
“Not much,” the lad said. “I went home, cleaned up, and had a talk with my father. He’s a hard man: he told me to take his five thousand or never to darken his doors again.” Larkin raised his brows, uttered a sympathetic sound. “It seems that he doesn’t approve of the company I keep.”
“Why don’t you choose better company?”
With a grin, the boy said, “That’s what I’m doing; that’s why I’m here.”
There was a brief silence. “What do you intend to do?”
“I don’t know, Jim. See the world, I guess; get acquainted with myself and with people. I’ve studied a lot but I don’t know anything to speak of. I feel curious and restless, and I’d like to go along with you, if you’ll take me.”
“I’m particular about the company I keep, too.” The Lark spoke seriously. “Let’s deal the first hand, face up. I don’t travel with crooks. I can’t share my blankets with a thief.”
“I’ve never stolen anything.”
“Hm-ml You’re the smartest kid I ever met. You must be too smart for your own good or we wouldn’t have met in the Bridewell. Maybe you’re so proud of your penmanship that you like to sign other people’s names, but don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Whatever you did, it’s out from now on. If you travel with me, I don’t want to know anything about your past. Between us two everything starts from tonight.”
“Fine!” Ronnie agreed. “Let’s say we’re a couple of reformed evil-doers and think only about the future.”
Again there was a pause before the Lark said slowly, “There won’t be any future for you, if you follow my lead too closely. But you won’t have to follow it; you won’t, if you’re the kind of a boy I think you are. You’ll have sense enough to profit by it. You say you want to see the world. Well, I can show you the one I live in and it won’t hurt you to have a look at it. Crowds. Excitement. Uncertainty. Change. I love cities but I love country roads even better. I can sleep as well in a haystack as in a fine hotel. I’m crazy about country fairs and race meets, with their livestock shows. You see, I love animals and they’ll do anything for me. Yes, cards and animals—I’ll teach you to play cards—I mean really play. It’s an easy living for a lazy man and a kid with your brains could become a wizard at it.”
“Gee! That would be fun.”
“If you had a decent home and were welcome to stay in it, I’d turn you down. But since your old man has given you the heave-o, I guess my company is better than you have been keeping. If I can tame horses, maybe I can tame you. The wildest stallion can be led by a straw halter if he likes the man on the other end of it. Sure! I’ll take you on, if you want to go.”
“Thanks, Jim.” The speaker was really grateful. “May I stay here tonight?” There was one single bed in the room so Ronnie added hastily, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
The Lark shook his head; he reached for his deck of cards. “From now on, it’s fifty-fifty. We’ll cut for it.” He won, then said, “If you had turned the high card, I suppose you would have taken the floor anyhow?”
“Naturally,” Ronnie said with a grin.
‘“You’ve got to get over that stuff. Never throw back your first fish and never turn back your luck. If you do, it will turn on you. When you leave something to the cards, don’t appeal their verdict or your luck will leave you. Now then, let’s make some plans.”
* * * * * * * * *
So it was that Jimmy the Lark and Ronnie Le Grand took to the open road. Actually there were three in the party; viz., the man, the boy, and the violin. Jim and his fiddle were inseparable companions and he relied upon that instrument as a means of livelihood in times of necessity. There was no immediate need to make use of it, however, for Ronnie had enough left from his allowance, though he had refused his father’s check, to enable the pair to travel in comfort.
Thus began an alliance which increased in warmth and intimacy as the two became better acquainted. It grew into an enduring friendship, for each found in the other a source of unfailing interest, new ground to explore; each felt the unbidden urge to give rather than to take.
This companionship was an exciting thing for Ronnie; it was something altogether new. He had launched himself upon a great adventure and, oddly enough, he had not the slightest regret, for something inside of him said he was acting wisely.
Having skipped the age of adolescence Dick was, for the time being at least, a young man in search of his boyhood. The quest filled him with joyous anticipation. He took it for granted that he was acting unwisely, as measured by ordinary standards, and that he might live to regret his folly; nevertheless he was living for the first time and who could hesitate to choose between breathing and suffocation? He had spent so much time inside of book covers; he had gorged himself so completely on their contents that he was deathly sick of second-hand wisdom. Those books had opened up a vast new world and its exploration had fascinated him. Now that eagerness was dead. Ambition? For the moment, he had none. It was a blessed relief to quit thinking about his future, about this goal or that.
The boy felt sure of himself but having assured his father that he would bring no discredit to the family name he decided to retain the alias he had assumed. It was wise, anyway, to play safe until he had made good that promise. Ronald Le Grand! It had a ring. What a name for the captain of a Mississippi River packet—or for a gambling man.
It was the Lark who chose their first stopping place, a small city where a race meet was in progress. The pair put up at a hotel and went immediately to the track. It was Ronnie’s first experience of the kind and he learned much from the Lark, who was thoroughly at home. Jim proved that his judgment of horses was sound by running a two-dollar bet up to forty-five dollars during the afternoon, a feat which impressed his companion as miraculous. That night, in the hotel barroom, Ronnie looked on while his bulky friend won eight dollars in a ten-cent-limit poker game.
“It’s like I told you,” the Lark reminded him when they went to bed. “It’s like living in a bank. There it is, ready to be had, if you’re not too greedy.”
The next day Jim decided that he didn’t feel lucky so he and Ronnie went for a walk in the country. They spent several lazy hours sprawled out in the sun, their backs against a fragrant stack of new-mown hay. This gave the Lark a chance to let his feet breathe—a feat accomplished simply by kicking off his shoes. After a while, he slipped them on, rose, and told Ronnie,
“Yonder is a sick calf. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He returned shortly with the calf and a scrawny cow at his heels. “Come on,” he said, “we gotta do something for this little man.”
The farmer, who had been busy in the barnyard, came to see what the strangers were doing to his livestock, and Jim told him, “You’re going to lose this calf if something isn’t done.”
“I know. I tried to get him a while back but Minnie run me off. She dang near hooked me. Funny she let you take him.”
“She’s sick, too. Got any medicine?”
“Some.”
“Let’s have a look.” Jim propped the calf on its uncertain legs and followed the owner into the barn. Soon he reappeared with a rope and a bottle. “Put the little fellow to bed,” he told the owner, “and give him that powder I showed you. Another dose tonight. I’ll fix up a drench for the old lady.”
“That’s a hooker,” the farmer warned but Larkin approached Minnie, slipped the noose around her horns and tied her to the fence. She submitted patiently.
By the time the farmer had attended to the calf, Jim had prepared his medicine and, holding Minnie’s head in a sort of hammerlock, he pried her jaws apart, thrust the bottle neck into her mouth, and emptied its contents.
“Well, I’ll be danged,” the owner exclaimed. “First time she’s ever done anything without a battle. You a vet, mister?”
“Sure! There are a couple of other sick cows inside. Let’s fix them up while we’re at it.”
Later, as the farmer pumped water while Jim washed up, he asked, “What ails these critters, doc? Every year about this time I have trouble.”
“Fence ’em out of your wood lot. Something poisonous in there. Maybe it’s a vine or berry. Nobody knows.”
“Well, thanks for the tip. Now how much do I owe you?”
Larkin dried his hands on a gunny sack and eyed the nearby kitchen garden. “A dozen ears of sweet corn will square it. My young friend here is a city boy. He’s never tasted corn roasted over an open fire.”
“I can beat that,” the countryman declared. “You and him stay to supper. Yessir. Then, after the old woman has fed you up until you’re ready to bust, I’ll drive you to town.”
Jim consented with a wink at Ronnie.
* * * * * * * * * *
It was not long before the boy found that Jim’s fondness for animals amounted to a passion; invariably they responded to it. Barking dogs lost their suspicion and fawned on him. He could talk to a balky horse and it would follow him meekly. Birds fed out of his hands. This was interesting—but for that matter everything interested Ronnie these days and one new experience followed another with delightful rapidity. He realized how narrow a groove his life had run in. All through his boyhood he had been looking out at the world through a keyhole. Jimmy the Lark had opened a tall door for him.
Jim’s liking and respect for his newly found companion were equally marked. He learned that Ronnie was naive, immature, sensitive and yet he had an old mind and an extraordinary fund of knowledge. He was a contradiction and a challenge to the Lark. For instance, there were subjects about which the boy seemed to know everything and still others that he appeared to grasp intuitively without effort. Cards were a case in point. The boy had a natural aptitude for them, and his alert mind, his ever-increasing skill astonished his self-appointed tutor. Added to this natural ability Ronnie’s familiarity with the laws of probability and chance enabled him to gauge correctly the odds involved in drawing to any hand. He was observant, his memory was unerring, he could remember every hand played during an entire evening. Jim told himself over and over that he had never known such a natural card player.
The elder man had no desire to head south at this season of the year but preferred instead to follow state and county fairs where the horses were running, fat stock was on display, and crowds assembled. Accordingly he and Ronnie seldom stopped more than a week in one place. Most of Jim’s daylight hours were spent at the tracks or around the stables and show rings. Sometimes Ronnie picked up a few dollars by doing odd jobs. Fair officials and exhibitors, usually overworked, welcomed intelligent and willing assistance.
Nightly card games at the hotels yielded a modest revenue and money was so easily had that Ronnie began to share his companion’s belief that the ravens brought it.
The Lark made quite a killing at one of these state fairs and did it in a manner to prove that he was indeed a man of singular attainments. Impressed by the performance of a certain trotter, he looked up the owner and told him that he possessed a champion and didn’t know it.
The horseman, somewhat nettled, said, “I suppose you mean that I drive a poor race.”
“No, you drive well enough. The mare doesn’t know how fast she is any more than you do. Some horses have to be told.”
“Oh! And how do you tell a horse things like that?”
“You have to be part horse yourself,” said the Lark. “Let me work her a few mornings and—”
“Drive her? Who are you? What do you know about harness racing?”
“You wouldn’t know if I told you.” Then, with serene confidence, Jim added, “I know about everything there is to know about horses and what’s more, they know I know. I can do anything with a horse except eat him. Let me handle that Morning Star of yours for the balance of the week and you won’t have to drive her. She’ll trot her own race. Come on. Let’s go have a visit with her.”
Larkin must have succeeded in impressing the owner, for the next morning he was permitted to drive Morning Star and for several mornings thereafter he did the same. Meanwhile he thought and talked of little except his new equine friend. He and the owner were together most of the time.
On Saturday, the closing day, a special event was arranged. Paced by a stablemate handled by Jim, Morning Star’s owner drove her to a new state record. The grateful horseman presented Jim with five hundred dollars.
That night at supper, Ronnie confessed to his companion that he was in a predicament. He needed one hundred dollars in a hurry. It was for a friend, a girl he had met at the Fair Grounds. Her name was Maizie; she ran a concession in the amusement section and she was in trouble.
