Читать книгу Speedy - Frederick Schiller Faust - Страница 8

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“Bring him in!” said the district attorney, scowling as if with hatred, at the boy. And the lad shrank from the grim eyes.

“And you walked down here in bare feet?” he asked.

“Mostly I run, sir,” said the boy. “Till I kind of give out in the feet.”

“You tore off your shirt and wrapped it around your feet, and you kept on running!” said the district attorney, through his teeth.

“I reckon you seen me!” said the boy, his great eyes opening in the simplest wonder.

Chalmers smiled bitterly at Chase.

“A poor, simple, honest lad!” he said to Chase. “I’ll see justice done to him even if he doesn’t live in my county. I’ll see justice done to him if it’s the last act of my life!”

Just then, the cheerful voice of Pierson said at the door: “Is this right, Chalmers? Shall I come in here? Sorry to disturb your dinner, but—”

Both Chase and Chalmers were upon their feet. They turned on the intruder with thundering brows.

Chalmers, in place of answering, pointed a long, heavy arm at the boy.

“Pierson,” he said, in a terrible voice, “this is your work!”

It was a little difficult for Pierson to recognize Speedy in the tousled hair, the shrunken, bowed body, the haunted eyes of this youngster.

But now he chuckled, easily.

“By the Lord, Speedy,” said he, “you’re making a mighty good play for your money!”

And he laughed, more loudly.

“It’s a hundred dollars he wants, isn’t it?” he asked.

Chalmers was taken somewhat aback; but Chase exclaimed: “Yeah, a hundred dollars—of blood money! Blood that you’re takin’, Pierson.”

To the surprise of the district attorney and his first guest, the lawyer laughed cheerfully again.

“This is a great dodge,” said he. “The little rascal says that I’m extracting blood money from him, does he? Is that the dodge?”

“Yes,” said Chalmers, fiercely. “I’m not to be laughed down, Pierson. I tell you, this thing is going to be sifted to the bottom!”

“Oh, rot,” answered Pierson, with a sweeping gesture. “This youngster is making a fool of you—two fools. He’s a professional swindler and loafer. I bet him three hundred to one hundred that he couldn’t wheedle a hundred dollars out of you. Another hundred at evens that I’d have him in jail before morning.”

The first doubt struck Chalmers a hammer blow.

He turned on the boy.

“What’s this about?” he demanded.

The boy merely gaped. His eyes were greater than ever.

“You’ve scared the youngster to death,” said Chase. “Leave him to me. Son,” he added, gently, “you understand what Mr. Pierson says?”

“No, sir, I dunno that I quite do,” stammered Speedy.

Then he started up and clutched the arm of Chase.

“Oh, my God,” he said, “doncha go and let him put me in jail, or Pa’ll starve. He’ll lie waitin’ for me, and starve to death! If you’re gunna jail me, go and send some flour and bacon to Pa. You’re a kind man; you got a kind face. Doncha—”

“Oh, what rot,” said Pierson. “Are you two going to be taken in with this play acting? I tell you—”

“Wait a minute,” said Chase. “How long before this money is due to be paid?”

“Pa said it was due by midnight,” answered the boy.

“There you are,” said Chase. “And Pierson, I’ll wager, would stand here and argue till the time was up. But by heaven, I’m convinced right on the spot. Look here. So, here’s a hundred dollars and—”

He put the money before Speedy. The latter drew back from it. Bewilderment spread on all faces.

Only Pierson cried out: “You see? I told you that the agreement was that he should get the money out of you, Chalmers!”

“Pa didn’t say nothin’ about askin’ help from anybody but Mr. Chalmers,” said the boy. “I couldn’t be takin’ money from nobody else.”

Suddenly he rose and stood stiff and proudly before them. But his voice was quiet as he added: “The Waleys ain’t beggars, I reckon. I didn’t come here to ask for no money. Pa, he sent me down to ask Mr. Chalmers for justice. I ain’t gunna take no money from nobody! The Waleys, they ain’t beggars. They never been beggars!”

The speech had its effect.

Mr. Chase gathered up his sheaf of money and sat down, heavily.

“Now, then,” he said, “I wanta see you two smart fellers, you two lawyers, figger out this thing together!”

And he waited, scowling up at them, alternately, under his brows. The boy began to tremble violently.

“I’ll be goin’ on,” said he, and turned towards the door.

Chalmers caught him and forced him back into the chair.

“Justice is what you’re going to have, my poor boy,” said he. He lifted his voice until it had the electioneering ring in it. “I thank God that Samuel P. Chalmers can work for naked justice rather than for golden fees!”

He was proud of that speech.

But Mr. Chase said, rather shortly: “Well, let’s do something about it, then!”

“Wait a moment,” said Pierson, who was gradually turning a bright red.

“I’ve waited long enough,” thundered Chalmers. “Your disgraceful piracy and—”

“Oh, shut up, man,” said Pierson. “You explain to me, if the boy’s cock and bull story is the truth, how I could know that he was here at this minute, bulldozing you, Chalmers?”

Chalmers gasped. He turned again to the boy.

“You heard that question?” he asked.

“I dunno how he would know it,” said the boy. “I dunno how he would know that I was comin’ here. When I seen him tonight, I just begged him to let Pa have a mite more time, account of his leg being blowed off, and I said that the only other hope I had was to try to get Mr. Chalmers to help us—”

“There you are, Pierson,” said Chalmers. “Now tell us what rat hole you’ll next try to dodge into to mask your infernal greed, your brutal, grasping knavery. There is a law somewhere that can be called down on your trickery. At least, there is honest public opinion that shall be called on. The people shall know of this, Mr. John Pierson!”

Pierson was a violent crimson. Sweat streamed down his face. He stared at the boy as though he wanted to throttle him. And then he broke into a choked, wild laughter.

At last, turning sharply around, he exclaimed: “Look here, you two madmen!”

“He calls us madmen, now,” said Chase, sourly, bitterly.

“Look here,” said the other. “If the boy’s story is true, his feet are worn almost to the bone—to judge by the rags on them. But I’ll tell you. If you look close, you’ll see that the red is red paint, or red ink, and his feet are as sound and whole as the feet of any of us.”

“Very well,” said Chase, with the sneer of one who submits to a last test, but whose mind is already made up. “We’ll look at the poor youngster’s feet. Boy, take off those rags!”

“Yes, sir,” said Speedy, with amazing willingness.

And he slowly unwound the rags, making a little face as he got the first one off his foot, with a tug at the end as though it were stuck to the raw flesh.

And they saw—and Pierson with the rest, his face agape with bewilderment—a foot covered with clotted blood. The toes were choked with mingled blood and mud. Yes, fresh blood, freshly oozing, for it newly stained the hand of the boy.

The snort of Chase was like the challenge of a wild stallion. Yet his voice was carefully controlled.

“I reckon that’s about enough proof,” he said.

“This damns you forever, Pierson,” said Chalmers. “This will drive you straight out of this town!”

“It will,” said Pierson, savagely, “unless I can prove that there never was a man named Waley, that he never had such a mine, and that this boy is what I called him before—a professional humbug.”

“Pierson,” said the district attorney, dramatically pulling out his wallet, like a revolver, from his breast pocket, “from this time forward, I hope that your form will never darken my doors again! I must say that I’ve always suspected you of sharp practices, but now I know what you are!”

He counted out a hundred dollars and placed it in the hand of the unwilling lad, who drew back from it, protesting.

“No, my boy, no, my young friend,” said Chalmers, “this is not charity, neither have you been a beggar. This is only justice—the beginning of a wave of justice which, I hope and pray, will wash you onto a happy shore of—”

He was about to pause, for he hardly knew what word should follow “of,” but here Pierson cried: “Well, you’ve let yourselves in, you two. Now I’ll tell you what’s going to happen—I’m going to have you laughed out of the town, Chalmers. I took you for a man of sense. And now you’ve been cheated out of your eyeteeth by a clever young rascal. By the Lord, I still can’t believe it—though I see the money in his hand, I can’t believe it! You pass for men of sense. And yet there he stands with the money in his hand. All right, my lad, you’ve won. You’ve got the bet won. But now, Mr. Wiseman, Mr. District Attorney, I call on you to arrest this boy for swindling.”

Mr. Chalmers stood spellbound. He was partly white and partly purple, for of all things in this world, he most dreaded ridicule. And there was a certain ring of savage triumph in the voice of his political rival.

But now the boy said: “All right, Mr. Pierson. You admit that I’ve won the bet. I won’t have to jump through the window. I have the hundred. Now I return it to you, Mr. Chalmers. I thank you. I apologize for taking up so much of your time. But I hope that the entertainment has been worth while.”

And he bowed, and smiled, and glided towards the door.