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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.

Jim looked sharply at his young friend but said nothing. Ronnie explained that Maizie had joined the carnival troupe several weeks before in order to escape the attentions of an unwelcome suitor. The man had followed her. She was terribly afraid of him, and planned to slip out of town that night and return home provided she could raise her fare. Ronnie had promised to get it for her.

“A hundred turnips!” Jim frowned. “Where does she live? In Turkey?”

“She has some debts to pay. Doctor’s bills and things like that.”

“How come she told you her troubles?”

The boy, it seemed, had met Maizie at the lunch counter. They had talked. She was bright and pretty and entertaining. As they became better acquainted, she had confided in him. For the last several nights, he had escorted her home just for protection.

“Did the big bully make any trouble?” Jim raised his brows.

Ronnie appeared to bristle inwardly. “I guess he decided that I could take care of myself.”

“Um-m! Ever do any fighting?”

“Not much. I had one battle with a policeman.”

“Why choose a cop?”

Ronnie smiled faintly. “It seemed a good way to start.”

“And when you saw Maizie home, did she—take you up to her room?”

The boy flushed; he shook his head.

“Not just to show you her bruises or something? Any man who’d follow a gal against her wishes would beat her up.”

“That’s what she’s afraid of. That’s why she wants to get away tonight. I let her have what money I could but it wasn’t enough.”

“Well, it looks as if we have to save the lady from a fate worse than death. You introduce me to her and I’ll try to fix things up.”

At the Fair Grounds, exhibits were being dismantled but the amusement area was still running full blast. The merry-go-round was whirling to the sound of its steam piano; tired barkers were shouting from their platforms in an effort to coax a few more dimes from the milling crowds. It was a place of noise and confusion.

Maizie presided over a booth where cheap jewelry and toys were sold. Ronnie pointed her out but did not introduce his companion, for nearby, as if standing guard, was a burly man with elbows hooked over a knotty cane which he carried across the small of his back. He must be Maizie’s persecutor, the home-town monster, the fiend in human shape.

“You stay here,” the Lark directed. “I’ll take over.” Leaving his young friend at the entrance to a passageway between two booths, Jim strolled on and engaged the girl in conversation. From his place of concealment, Ronnie looked on. Evidently Jim was making known his identity, for the girl listened attentively; then to Ronnie’s surprise she suddenly appeared to be swept by anger. That was strange. Ronnie was even more startled when he heard her call to the monster with the cane, crying,

“Gus! Come here!”

Her admirer approached the booth. Maizie cried shrilly, “This dough-belly insulted me! Slam him down.”

What followed thereafter occurred so swiftly that it was over before Ronnie could intervene to protect his friend. Gus, evidently a man of action, shifted the cane to his left hand; with his right he aimed a looping swing at the Lark. With surprising nimbleness the latter side-stepped and Gus went off balance. Thereupon Jim lifted one of his broad, square-toed shoes and kicked him in the stomach. Gus folded his arms over his middle and salaamed deeply, whereupon Jim raised a limber leg and loosely kicked him again, this time under the chin. These maneuvers were so expertly accomplished as to indicate long practice. They were the more astonishing when executed by a man of Jim’s build. Oddly enough, he didn’t move like a fat man; on the contrary, he became possessed of a ballet dancer’s agility and poise.

Maizie screamed. Gus sat down, then languidly rolled over to his hands and knees and crawled through the flimsy red cloth curtain which hung from Maizie’s counter. It was almost as if he had crept under her skirts for shelter. As he disappeared, he presented an inviting and undefended target. But the Lark already was on the move. He came loping toward Ronnie, seized him by the arm, and said sharply, “They’re married! Let’s go!”

Dragging his companion with him, he dived into the dark passageway; in a moment the two had reached the Fair Grounds fence; along this they scurried to the nearest exit. As they were walking back toward the center of town, Ronnie said, “You must think I’m an awful fool.”

“Well, you don’t know everything yet. But that’s what I like about you. I figured that girl couldn’t be right. Sure enough, when I told her to kick back with your coin or I’d turn her up and shake her corsets off, she yelped for her husband. That’s all I wanted to know. So I put the French dressing on him.”

“But—you kicked him, Jim.”

“Sure! Think I’d risk busting my hands on a hickory head? I always use my feet. It’s a kind of boxing they do in France. La savate, they call it. A Frog friend of mine taught me and it’s nice to know. You see, you can’t shuffle and deal with busted knuckles and all a stiff finger is good for is to point with. Of course, you have to be limber in the legs but I can kick a wet towel up a spiral staircase and over a transom. Whenever some yokel heaves a haymaker at me, I merely set the dogs on him. This one,” Jim lifted his right foot, “is Rover. I call the other one Butch. He puts the bite on ’em. He’s the killer.”