The Day of the Beast by Zane Grey

Z >> Zane Grey >> The Day of the Beast

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

"Yes, that sounds like Dorothy," replied Lane.

"She's about the only one I know who doesn't paint her face and I
never saw her at--well, never mind where. But the fact I mean makes
her stand out in this Middleville crowd like a light in the dark....
Lane, have you got on yet to the speed of the young people of this old
burg?"

"I'm getting on, to my sorrow," said Lane.

"Ahuh! You mean you're getting wise to your kid sister?"

"Yes, I'm sorry to say. What do you know, Pepper?"

"Now, son, wait. I'm coming to that, maybe. But I want to know some
things first. Is it true--what I hear about your health, bad shape,
you know--all cut up in the war? Worse than young Maynard?"

Pepper's hand was close on Lane's. He had forgotten his cigar. His
eyes were earnest.

"True?" laughed Lane, grimly. "Yes, it's true.... I won't last long,
Pepper, according to Doctor Bronson. That's why I want to make hay
while the sun shines."

"Ahuh!" Pepper cleared his throat. "Forgive this, boy.... Is it also
true you were engaged to marry that Helen Wrapp--and she threw you
down, while you were over there?"

"Yes, that's perfectly true," replied Lane, soberly.

"God, I guess maybe the soldier wasn't up against it!" ejaculated
Pepper, with a gesture of mingled awe and wonder and scorn.

"What was the soldier up against, Pepper?" queried Lane. "Frankly, I
don't know."

"Lane, the government jollied and forced the boys into the army,"
replied Pepper. "The country went wild with patriotism. The soldiers
were heroes. The women threw themselves away on anything inside a
uniform. Make the world safe for democracy--down the Hun--save France
and England--ideals, freedom, God's country, and all that! Well, the
first few soldiers to return from France got a grand reception, were
made heroes of. They were lucky to get back while the sentiment was
hot. But that didn't last.... Now, a year and more after the war,
where does the soldier get off? Lane, there're over six hundred
thousand of you disabled veterans, and for all I can read and find out
the government has done next to nothing. New York is full of begging
soldiers--on the streets. Think of it! And the poor devils are dying
everywhere. My God! think of what's in the mind of one crippled
soldier, let alone over half a million. I just have a dim idea of what
I'd felt. You must know, or you will know, Lane, for you seem a
thoughtful, lofty sort of chap. Just the kind to make a good soldier,
because you had ideals and nerve!... Well, a selfish and weak
administration could hardly be expected to keep extravagant promises
to patriots. But that the American public, as a body, should now be
sick of the sight of a crippled soldier--and that his sweetheart
should turn him down!--this is the hideous blot, the ineradicable
shame, the stinking truth, the damned mystery!"

When Pepper ended his speech, which grew more vehement toward the
close, Lane could only stare at him in amaze.

"See here, Lane," added the other hastily, "pardon me for blowing up.
I just couldn't help it. I took a shine to you--and to see you like
this--brings back the resentment I've had all along. I'm blunt, but
it's just as well for you to be put wise quick. You'll find friends,
like me, who will stand by you, if you let them. But you'll also find
that most of this rotten world has gone back on you...."

Then Pepper made a sharp, passionate gesture that broke his cigar
against the arm of his chair, and he cursed low and deep. Presently he
addressed Lane again. "Whatever comes of any disclosures I
make--whatever you _do_--you'll not give me away?"

"Certainly not. You can trust me, Pepper," returned Lane.

"Son, I'm a wise old guy. There's not much that goes on in Middleville
I don't get on to. And I'll make your hair curl. But I'll confine
myself to what comes closest home to you. I _get_ you, Lane. You're
game. You're through. You have come back from war to find a hell of a
mess. Your own sister--your sweetheart--your friend's brother and
your soldier pard's sister--on the primrose path! And you with your
last breath trying to turn them back! I'll say it's a damn fine stunt.
I'm an old gambler, Lane. I've lived in many towns and mixed in tough
crowds of crooked men and rotten women. But I'm here to confess that
this after-the-war stuff of Middleville's better class has knocked out
about all the faith I had left in human nature.... Then you came along
to teach me a lesson."

"Well, Pepper, that's strong talk," returned Lane. "But cut it, and
hurry to--to what comes home to me. What's the matter with these
Middleville girls?"

"Lane, any intelligent man, who _knows_ things, and who can think for
himself, will tell you this--that to judge from the dress, dance,
talk, conduct of these young girls--most of them have _apparently_
gone wrong."

"You include our nice girls--from what we used to call Middleville's
best families?"

"I don't only include them. I throw the emphasis on them. The girls
you know best."

Lane straightened up, to look at his companion. Pepper certainly was
not drunk.

"Do you know--anything about Lorna?"

"Nothing specifically to prove anything. She's in the thick of this
thing in Middleville. Only a few nights ago I saw her at a roadhouse,
out on the State Road, with a crowd of youngsters. They were having a
high old time, I'll say. They danced jazz, and I saw Lorna drink
lemonade into which liquor had been poured from a hip-pocket flask."

Lane put his head on his hands, as if to rest it, or still the
throbbing there.

"Who took Lorna to this place?" he asked, presently, breathing
heavily.

"I don't know. But it was Dick Swann who poured the drink out of the
flask. Between you and me, Lane, that young millionaire is going a
pace hereabouts. Listen," he went on, lowering his voice, and glancing
round to see there was no one to overhear him, "there's a gambling
club in Middleville. I go there. My rooms are in the same building.
I've made a peep-hole through the attic floor next to my room. Do I
see more things than cards and bottles? Do I! If the fathers of
Middleville could see what I've seen they'd go out to the asylum....
I'm not supposed to know it's more than a place to gamble. And nobody
knows I know. Dick Swann and Hardy Mackay are at the head of this
club. Swann is the genius and the support of it. He's rich, and a high
roller if I ever saw one.... Among themselves these young gentlemen
call it the Strong Arm Club. Study over that, Lane. Do you _get_ it? I
know you do, and that saves me talking until I see red."

"Pepper, have you seen my sister--there?" queried Lane, tensely.

"Yes."

"With whom?"

"I'll not say, Lane. There's no need for that. I'll give you a key to
my rooms, and you can go there--in the afternoons--and paste yourself
to my peep-hole, and watch.... Honest to God, I believe it means
bloodshed. But I can't help that. Something must be done. I'm not
much good, but I can see that."

Colonel Pepper wiped his moist face. He was now quite pale and his
hands shook.

"I never had a wife, or a sweetheart," he went on. "But once I had a
little sister. Thank Heaven she didn't live her girlhood in times like
these."

Lane again bowed his head on his hands, and wrestled with the might of
reality.

"I'm going to take you to these club-rooms to-night," went on Pepper.
"It'll cause a hell of a row. But once you get in, there'll be no help
for them. Swann and his chums will have to stand for it."

"Did you ever take an outsider in?" asked Lane.

"Several times. Traveling men I met here. Good fellows that liked a
game of cards. Swann made no kick at that. He's keen to gamble. And
when he's drinking the sky's the limit."

"Wouldn't it be wiser just to show me these rooms, and let me watch
from your place--until I find my sister there?" queried Lane.

"I don't know," replied Pepper, thoughtfully. "I think if I were you
I'd butt in to-night with me. You can drag young Dalrymple home before
he gets drunk."

"Pepper, I'll break up this--this club," declared Lane.

"I'll say you will. And I'm for you strong. If it was only the booze
and cards I'd not have squealed. That's my living. But by God, I can't
stand for the--the other stuff any longer!... Come on now. And I'll
put you on to a slick stunt that'll take your breath away."

He led the way out of the hotel, in his excitement walking rather
fast.

"Go slow, Pepper," said Lane. "We're not going over the top."

Pepper gave him a quick, comprehending look.

"Good Lord, Lane, you're not as--as bad as all that!"

Lane nodded. Then at slower pace they went out and down the bright
Main Street for two blocks, and then to the right on West Street,
which was quite comparable to the other thoroughfare as a business
district. At the end of the street the buildings were the oldest in
Middleville, and entirely familiar to Lane.

"Give White's the once over," said Pepper, indicating a brightly
lighted store across the street. "That place is new to you, isn't it?"

"Yes, I don't remember White, or that there was a confectionery den
along here."

"Den is right. It's some den, believe me.... White's a newcomer--a
young sport, thick with Swann. For all I know Swann is backing him.
Anyway he has a swell joint and a good trade. People kick about his
high prices. Ice cream, candy, soda, soft drinks, and all that rot.
But if he knows who you are you can get a shot. It'll strike you funny
later to see he waits on the customers himself. But when you get wise
it'll not be so funny. He's got a tea parlor upstairs--and they say
it's some swell place, with a rest room or ladies' dressing room back.
Now from this back room the girls can get into the club-rooms of the
boys, and go out on the other side of the block. In one way and out
the other--at night. Not necessary in the afternoon.... Come on now,
well go round the block."

A short walk round the block brought them into a shaded, wide street
with one of Middleville's parks on the left. A row of luxuriant elm
trees helped the effect of gloom. The nearest electric light was
across on the far corner, with trees obscuring it to some extent. At
the corner where Pepper halted there was an outside stairway running
up the old-fashioned building. The ground floor shops bore the signs
of a florist and a milliner; above was a photograph gallery; and the
two upper stories were apparently unoccupied. To the left of the two
stores another stairway led up into the center of the building. Pepper
led Lane up this stairway, a long, dark climb of three stories that
taxed Lane's endurance.

"Sure is a junk heap, this old block," observed Pepper, as he fumbled
in the dim light with his keys. At length he opened a door, turned on
a light and led Lane into his apartment. "I have three rooms here, and
the back one opens into a kind of areaway from which I get into an
abandoned storeroom, or I guess it's an attic. To-morrow afternoon
about three you meet me here and I'll take you in there and let you
have a look through the peep-hole I made. It's no use to-night,
because there'll be only boys at the club, and I'm going to take you
right in."

He switched off the light, drew Lane out and locked the door. "I'm the
only person who lives on this floor. There're three holes to this
burrow and one of them is at the end of this hall. The exit where the
girls slip out is on the floor below, through a hallway to that
outside stairs. Oh, I'll say it's a Coney Island maze, this building!
But just what these young rakes want.... Come on, and be careful.
It'll be dark and the stairs are steep."

At the end of the short hall Pepper opened a door, and led Lane down
steep steps in thick darkness, to another hall, dimly lighted by a
window opening upon the street.

"You'll have to make a bluff at playing poker, unless my butting in
with you causes a row," said Pepper, as he walked along. Presently he
came to a door upon which he knocked several times. But before it was
opened footsteps and voices sounded down the hall in the opposite
direction from which Pepper had escorted Lane.

"Guess they're just coming. Hard luck," said Pepper. "'Fraid you'll
not get in now."

Lane counted five dark forms against the background of dim light. He
saw the red glow of a cigarette. Then the door upon which Pepper had
knocked opened to let out a flare. Pepper gave Lane a shove across the
threshold and followed him. Lane did not recognize the young man who
had opened the door. The room was large, with old walls and high
ceiling, a round table with chairs and a sideboard. It had no windows.
The door on the other side was closed.

"Pepper, who's this you're ringin' in on me?" demanded the young
fellow.

"A pard of mine. Now don't be peeved, Sammy," replied Pepper. "If
there's any kick I'll take the blame. What's got into you that you
can gamble and drink' with _slackers_?"

Dalrymple jammed his hat on and stepped toward the door. "Dare, you
said a lot. I'll beat it with you--and I'll never come back."

"You bet your sweet life you won't," shouted Swann.

"Hold on there, Dalrymple," interposed Mackay, stepping out. "Come
across with that eighty-six bucks you owe me."

"I--I haven't got it, Mackay," rejoined the boy, flushing deeply.

Lane ripped open his coat and jerked out his pocket-book and tore
bills out of it. "There, Hardy Mackay," he said, with deliberate
scorn, throwing the money on the table. "There are your eighty-six
dollars--_earned_ in France.... I should think it'd burn your
fingers."

He drew Holt out into the hall, where Pepper waited. Some one slammed
the door and began to curse.

"That ends that," said Colonel Pepper, as the three moved down the dim
hall.

"It ends us, Pepper, but you couldn't stop those guys with a crowbar,"
retorted Dalrymple.

Lane linked arms with the boy and changed the conversation while they
walked back to the inn. Here Colonel Pepper left them, and Lane talked
to Holt for an hour. The more he questioned Holt the better he liked
him, and yet the more surprised was he at the sordid fact of the boy's
inclination toward loose living. There was something perhaps that Holt
would not confess. His health had been impaired in the rich coloring,
but his face wore a shade of sullen depression. The other two young
men Lane had seen in Middleville, but they were unknown to him.

"Pepper, you beat it with your new pard," snarled Swann. "And you'll
not get in here again, take that from me."

The mandate nettled Pepper, who evidently felt more deeply over this
situation than had appeared on the surface.

"Sure, I'll beat it," returned he, resentfully. "But see here, Swann.
Be careful how you shoot off your dirty mouth. It's not beyond me to
hand a little tip to my friend Chief of Police Bell."

"You damned squealer!" shouted Swann. "Go ahead--do your worst. You'll
find I pull a stroke.... Now get out of here."

With a violent action he shoved the little man out into the hall. Then
turning to Lane he pointed with shaking hand to the door.

"Lane, you couldn't be a guest of mine."

"Swann, I certainly wouldn't be," retorted Lane, in tones that rang.
"Pepper didn't tell me you were the proprietor of this--this joint."

"Get out of here or I'll throw you out!" yelled Swann, now beside
himself with rage. And he made a threatening move toward Lane.

"Don't lay a hand on me," replied Lane. "I don't want my uniform
soiled."

With that Lane turned to Dalrymple, and said quietly: "Holt, I came
here to find you, not to play cards. That was a stall. Come away with
me. You were not cut out for a card sharp or a booze fighter. What's
got into you that you can gamble and drink' with _slackers_?"

Dalrymple jammed his hat on and stepped toward the door. "Dare, you
said a lot. I'll beat it with you--and I'll never come back."

"You bet your sweet life you won't," shouted Swann.

"Hold on there, Dalrymple," interposed Mackay, stepping out. "Come
across with that eighty-six bucks you owe me."

"I--I haven't got it, Mackay," rejoined the boy, flushing deeply.

Lane ripped open his coat and jerked out his pocket-book and tore
bills out of it. "There, Hardy Mackay," he said, with deliberate
scorn, throwing the money on the table. "There are your eighty-six
dollars--_earned_ in France.... I should think it'd burn your
fingers."

He drew Holt out into the hall, where Pepper waited. Some one slammed
the door and began to curse.

"That ends that," said Colonel Pepper, as the three moved down the dim
hall.

"It ends us, Pepper, but you couldn't stop those guys with a crowbar,"
retorted Dalrymple.

Lane linked arms with the boy and changed the conversation while they
walked back to the inn. Here Colonel Pepper left them, and Lane talked
to Holt for an hour. The more he questioned Holt the better he liked
him, and yet the more surprised was he at the sordid fact of the boy's
inclination toward loose living. There was something perhaps that Holt
would not confess. His health had been impaired in the service, but
not seriously. He was getting stronger all the time. His old job was
waiting for him. His mother and sister had enough to live on, but if
he had been working he could have helped them in a way to afford him
great satisfaction.

"Holt, listen," finally said Lane, with more earnestness. "We're
friends--all boys of the service are friends. We might even become
great pards, if we had time."

"What's time got to do with it?" queried the younger man. "I'm sure
I'd like it--and know it'd help me."

"I'm shot to pieces, Holt.... I won't last long...."

"Aw, Lane, don't say that!"

"It's true. And if I'm to help you at all it must be now.... You
haven't told me everything, boy--now have you?"

Holt dropped his head.

"I'll say--I haven't," he replied, haltingly. "Lane--the trouble
is--I'm clean gone on Margie Maynard. But her mother hates the sight
of me. She won't stand for me."

"Oho! So that's it?" ejaculated Lane, a light breaking in upon him.
"Well, I'll be darned. It _is_ serious, Holt.... Does Margie love
you?"

"Sure she does. We've always cared. Don't you remember how Margie and
I and Dal and you used to go to school together? And come home
together? And play on Saturdays?... Ever since then!... But lately
Margie and I are--we got--pretty badly mixed up."

"Yes, I remember those days," replied Lane, dreamily, and suddenly he
recalled Dal's dark eyes, somehow haunting. He had to make an effort
to get back to the issue at hand.

"If Margie loves you--why it's all right. Go back to work and marry
her."

"Lane, it can't be all right. Mrs. Maynard has handed me the mitt,"
replied Holt, bitterly. "And Margie hasn't the courage to run off with
me.... Her mother is throwing Margie at Swann--because he's rich."

"Oh Lord, no--Holt--you can't mean _it_!" exclaimed Lane, aghast.

"I'll say I do mean it. I _know_ it," returned Holt, moodily. "So I
let go--fell into the dumps--didn't care a d---- what became of me."

Lane was genuinely shocked. What a tangle he had fallen upon! Once
again there seemed to confront him a colossal Juggernaut, a moving,
crushing, intangible thing, beyond his power to cope with.

"Now, what can I do?" queried Holt, in sudden hope his friend might
see a way out.

Despairingly, Lane racked his brain for some word of advice or
assurance, if not of solution. But he found none. Then his spirit
mounted, and with it passion.

"Holt, don't be a miserable coward," he began, in fierce scorn.
"You're a soldier, man, and you've got your life to _live_!... The sun
will rise--the days will be long and pleasant--you can work--_do_
something. You can fish the streams in summer and climb the hills in
autumn. You can enjoy. Bah! don't tell me one shallow girl means the
world. If Margie hasn't courage enough to run off and marry you--_let
her go!_ But you can never tell. Maybe Margie will stick to you. I'll
help you. Margie and I have always been friends and I'll try to
influence her. Then think of your mother and sister. Work for _them_.
Forget yourself--your little, miserable, selfish desires.... My God,
boy, but it's a strange life the war's left us to face. I _hate_ it.
So do you hate it. Swann and Mackay giving nothing and getting all!...
So it looks.... But it's false--false. God did not intend men to live
solely for their bodies. A balance _must_ be struck. They have _got_
to pay. Their time will come.... As for you, the harder this job is
the fiercer you should be. I've got to die, Holt. But if I could live
I'd show these slackers, these fickle wild girls, what they're
doing.... You can do it, Holt. It's the greatest part any man could be
called upon to play. It will prove the difference between you and
them...."

Holt Dalrymple crushed Lane's hand in both his own. On his face was a
glow--his dark eyes flashed: "Lane--that'll be about all," he burst
out with a kind of breathlessness. Then his head high, he stalked out.

The next day was bad. Lane suffered from both over-exertion and
intensity of emotion. He remained at home all day, in bed most of the
time. At supper time he went downstairs to find Lorna pirouetting in a
new dress, more abbreviated at top and bottom than any costume he had
seen her wear. The effect struck him at an inopportune time. He told
her flatly that she looked like a French grisette of the music halls,
and ought to be ashamed to be seen in such attire.

"Daren, I don't think you're a good judge of clothes these days," she
observed, complacently. "The boys will say I look spiffy in this."

So many times Lorna's trenchant remarks silenced Lane. She hit the
nail on the head. Practical, logical, inevitable were some of her
speeches. She knew what men wanted. That was the pith of her meaning.
What else mattered?

"But Lorna, suppose you don't look nice?" he questioned.

"I _do_ look nice," she retorted.

"You don't look anything of the kind."

"What's nice? It's only a word. It doesn't mean much in my young
life."

"Where are you going to-night?" he asked, sitting down to the table.

"To the armory--basketball game--and dance afterward."

"With whom?"

"With Harry. I suppose that pleases you, big brother?"

"Yes, it does. I like him. I wish he'd take you out oftener."

"_Take_ me! Hot dog! He'd kill himself to take me all the time. But
Harry's slow. He bores me. Then he hasn't got a car."

"Lorna, you may as well know now that I'm going to stop your car
rides," said Lane, losing his patience.

"You are _not_," she retorted, and in the glint of the eyes meeting
his, Lane saw his defeat. His patience was exhausted, his fear almost
verified. He did not mince words. With his mother standing
open-mouthed and shocked, Lane gave his sister to understand what he
thought of automobile rides, and that as far as she was concerned they
had to be stopped. If she would not stop them out of respect to her
mother and to him, then he would resort to other measures. Lorna
bounced up in a fury, and in the sharp quarrel that followed, Lane
realized he was dealing with flint full of fire. Lorna left without
finishing her supper.

"Daren, that's not the way," said his mother, shaking her head.

"What is the way, mother?" he asked, throwing up his hands.

"I don't know, unless it's to see her way," responded the mother.
"Sometimes I feel so--so old-fashioned and ignorant before Lorna.
Maybe she is right. How can we tell? What makes all the young girls
like that?"

What indeed, wondered Lane! The question had been hammering at his
mind for over a month. He went back to bed, weary and dejected,
suffering spasms of pain, like blades, through his lungs, and grateful
for the darkness. Almost he wished it was all over--this ordeal. How
puny his efforts! Relentlessly life marched on. At midnight he was
still fighting his pangs, still unconquered. In the night his dark
room was not empty. There were faces, shadows, moving images and
pictures, scenes of the war limned against the blackness. At last he
rested, grew as free from pain as he ever grew, and slept. In the
morning it was another day, and the past was as if it were not.

May the first dawned ideally springlike, warm, fresh, fragrant, with
birds singing, sky a clear blue, and trees budding green and white.

Lane yielded to an impulse that had grown stronger of late. His steps
drew him to the little drab house where Mel Iden lived with her aunt.
On the way, which led past a hedge, Lane gathered a bunch of violets.

"'In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of
love,'" he mused. "It's good, even for _me_, to be alive this
morning.... These violets, the birds, the fresh smells, the bursting
green! Oh, well, regrets are idle. But just to think--I had to go
through all I've known--right down to this moment--to realize how
stingingly sweet life is...."

Mel answered his knock, and sight of her face seemed to lift his heart
with an unwonted throb. Had he unconsciously needed that? The thought
made his greeting, and the tender of the violets, awkward for him.

"Violets! Oh, and spring! Daren, it was good of you to gather them for
me. I remember.... But I told you not to come again."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20