Читать книгу A Cool Million: The Dismantling of Lemuel Pitkin - Nathanael West - Страница 4

Table of Contents

Our hero’s way home led through a path that ran along the Rat River. As he passed a wooded stretch he cut a stout stick with a thick gnarled top. He was twirling this club, as a bandmaster does his baton, when he was startled by a young girl’s shriek. Turning his head, he saw a terrified figure pursued by a fierce dog. A moment’s glance showed him that it was Betty Prail, a girl with whom he was in love in a boyish way.

Betty recognized him at the same moment.

“Oh, save me, Mr. Pitkin!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands.

“I will,” said Lem resolutely.

Armed with the stick he had most fortunately cut, he rushed between the girl and her pursuer and brought the knob down with full force on the dog’s back. The attention of the furious animal—a large bulldog—was diverted to his assailant, and with a fierce howl he rushed upon Lem. But our hero was wary and expected the attack. He jumped to one side and brought the stick down with great force on the dog’s head. The animal fell, partly stunned, his quivering tongue protruding from his mouth.

“It won’t do to leave him so,” thought Lem; “when he revives he’ll be as dangerous as ever.”

He dealt the prostrate brute two more blows which settled its fate. The furious animal would do no more harm.

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Pitkin!” exclaimed Betty, a trace of color returning to her cheeks. “I was terribly frightened.”

“I don’t wonder,” said Lem. “The brute was certainly ugly.”

“How brave you are!” the young lady said in admiration.

“It doesn’t take much courage to hit a dog on the head with a stick,” said Lem modestly.

“Many boys would have run,” she said.

“What, and left you unprotected?” Lem was indignant. “None but a coward would have done that.”

“Tom Baxter was walking with me, and he ran away.”

“Did he see the dog chasing you?”

“Yes.”

“And what did he do?”

“He jumped over a stone wall.”

“All I can say is that that isn’t my style,” said Lem. “Do you see how the dog froths at the mouth? I believe he’s mad.”

“How fearful!” exclaimed Betty with a shudder. “Did you suspect that before?”

“Yes, when I first saw him.”

“And yet you dared to meet him?”

“It was safer than to run,” said Lem, making little of the incident. “I wonder whose dog it was?”

“I’ll tell you,” said a brutal voice.

Turning his head, Lem beheld a stout fellow about three years older than himself, with a face in which the animal seemed to predominate. It was none other than Tom Baxter, the town bully.

“What have you been doing to my dog?” demanded Baxter with a snarl.

Addressed in this tone, Lem thought it unnecessary to throw away politeness on such a brutal customer.

“Killing him,” he answered shortly.

“What business have you killing my dog?” demanded the bully with much anger.

“It was your business to keep the brute locked up, where he wouldn’t do any harm,” said Lem. “Besides, you saw him attack Miss Prail. Why didn’t you interfere?”

“I’ll flog you within an inch of your life,” said Baxter with an oath.

“You’d better not try it,” said Lem coolly. “I suppose you think I ought to have let the dog bite Miss Prail.”

“He wouldn’t have bitten her.”

“He would too. He was chasing her with that intention.”

“It was only in sport.”

“I suppose he was frothing at the mouth only in sport,” said Lem. “The dog was mad. You ought to thank me for killing him because he might have bitten you.”

“That don’t go down,” said Baxter coarsely. “It’s much too thin.”

“It’s true,” said Betty Prail, speaking for the first time.

“Of course you’ll stand up for him,” said the butcher boy (for that was Baxter’s business), “but that’s neither here nor there. I paid five dollars for that dog, and if he don’t pay me what I gave, I’ll mash him.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort,” said Lem quietly. “A dog like that ought to be killed, and no one has any right to let him run loose, risking the lives of innocent people. The next time you get five dollars you ought to invest it better.”

“Then you won’t pay me the money?” cried the bully in a passion. “I’ll break your head.”

“Come on,” said Lem, “I’ve got something to say about that,” and he squared off scientifically.

“Oh, don’t fight him, Mr. Pitkin,” said Betty, very much distressed. “He is much stronger than you.”

“He’ll find that out soon enough, I’m thinking,” growled Lem’s opponent.

That Tom Baxter was not only larger but stronger than our hero was no doubt true. On the other hand he did not know how to use his strength. It was merely undisciplined brute force. If he could have got Lem around the waist the latter would have been at his mercy, but our hero knew that well enough and didn’t choose to allow it. He was a pretty fair boxer, and stood on his defense, calm and wary.

When Baxter rushed in, thinking to seize his smaller opponent, he was greeted by two rapid blows in the face, one of which struck him on the nose, the other in the eye, the effect of both being to make his head spin.

“I’ll mash you for that,” he yelled in a frenzy of rage, but as he rushed in again he never thought to guard his face. The result was a couple of more blows, the other eye and his mouth being assailed this time.

Baxter was astonished. He had expected to “chaw up” Lem at the first onset. Instead of that, there stood Lem cool and unhurt, while he could feel that his nose and mouth were bleeding and both his eyes were rapidly closing.

He stopped short and regarded Lem as well as he could through his injured optics, then surprised our hero by smiling. “Well,” he said, shaking his head sheepishly, “you’re the better man. I’m a rough customer, I expect, but I know when I’m bested. There’s my hand to show that I don’t bear malice.”

Lem gave his hand in return without fear that there might be craft in the bully’s offer of friendship. The former was a fair-dealing lad himself and he thought that everyone was the same. However, no sooner did Baxter have a hold of his hand than he jerked the poor boy into his embrace and squeezed him insensible.

Betty screamed and fainted, so great was her anxiety for Lem. Hearing her scream, Baxter dropped his victim to the ground and walked to where the young lady lay in a dead faint. He stood over her for a few minutes admiring her beauty. His little pig-like eyes shone with bestiality.