The Rose in the Ring

G >> George Barr McCutcheon >> The Rose in the Ring

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"Next day I walked up, bold as you please, to the front door and asked
for Mr. Jenison. I had found out in the village that he was drunk
three-fourths of the time and raisin' he--Cain with everybody on the
place. Gawd, how they hate him down there! Up I walks, as I said
before. He was having a mint julep in the gallery, the nigger said. So
I walked right around where he was and introduced myself as Robert
Green, of New York. He said he didn't know me and didn't want to. What
a mean thing drink is! He ain't a bad lookin' feller, as fellers go.
The only thing against him, I'd say, is that he looks about half
crazy--sorter dippy, off his nut, batty.

"To make the story short, seeing's it's so late, I up and told him I
wasn't there to be monkeyed with. I wanted five thousand dollars out
o' him mighty quick or I'd tell all I knowed about the murder of his
father. Well, you's orter seen him set up! I thought he was going to
die on the spot. He upset his glass. Say, is there anything that
smells nicer than a mint julep? There's the most appealin' odor to it.
If I was a drinkin' man I'd surely go daft over--but, excuse me. I
notice you are yawning, Jack, and Ruby's half asleep."

"Go on," said she, her bright eyes glistening.

"Then he said he'd have me kicked off'n the place. But I just
mentioned having seen that nigger lawyer on the night of the murder,
right out in front of the house. What's more, said I, I heard the shot
that was fired. Being at that time unfortunately engaged in walkin'
from Richmond to Washington, I was makin' for the nearest town when
night came on. So I had to sleep in that barn down the road. I had all
the dates right in my mind, and the hour, and the whole business
pictured out puffect, as Joey'd say. I didn't give him a chance to do
much talkin'. I sees I had him guessin', so I just sailed in and told
him just how it happened, claimin' that the nigger told it to me after
I had jumped out and grabbed him as he run past me in the road,
thinkin', says I, there had been some skullduggery goin' on or he
wouldn't be chasin' his legs off. Well, sir, that uncle o' your'n, for
all his bluff, was sweatin' like a horse. Somehow, he forgot to have
me kicked out.

"My story was, that after I'd grabbed the nigger he told me he hadn't
done the shootin', and begged me to let him go. He said the shootin'
had been done by the old man's son, and a lot more stuff like that. To
clinch the business, I said the nigger, scared half to death, told me
about getting a deed signed that night and about a will that had been
substituted, and so on and so forth. I was just repeatin' what you
said, David. Well, by gum, he was knocked silly. He saw that I did
know all about everything. I could tell that by the way he swallowed
without having anything to swallow.

"He kind o' got control of himself after a while, though, and began to
question me sarcastic-like. First, he wanted to know where the nigger
was now, and what woodpile he was in. I told him I didn't know
anything about the rascal, except that he'd promised to give me five
hundred dollars if I'd let him off and on condition I was never to
tell his employer of what had passed between us. 'Well,' says your
uncle, 'did he give you the five hundred?' 'No,' says I, 'he said he
couldn't do it until you had got control of the old boy's money.' Then
your uncle laughed. He said I was a fool. 'But,' says I, 'he gave me
some valuable trinkets he'd stolen from a cabinet in the house when
you were not looking. He said they were heirlooms and would easily
bring a thousand.' 'You infernal liar,' said your uncle, but he got a
little paler. 'Would you like to take a peek at what's in this little
bag?' says I, pulling a leather pouch from my inside pocket. He sort
of nodded, so I took out a wonderful gold snuff-box with the picture
of a gorgeous French lady and a big letter 'N' engraved on it and held
it up. His eyes almost popped out, but he managed to sit still. Then I
showed him a magnificent gold watch, a couple of rings set with rubies
and diamonds and--"

"How did you get them?" cried David, his eyes wide with amazement. "I
remember them. They once belonged to my father. My grandfather gave
them to me a few weeks before he was killed. But--but I did not have
time to get them that night. They were left--"

"Right where you put 'em," said Dick coolly." In the secret drawer of
that old wardrobe in your room. Kid, you've got an awful memory. Don't
you recollect tellin' me they were there and that you'd give anything
in the world to have your father's watch, your mother's rings and your
great grandfather's snuff-box that had belonged to Napoleon Bonaparte?
Well, I just went in and got 'em for you, that's all."

"A regular magician, by cricky!" gasped Joey.

"Don't interrupt, Joey," commanded Dick, vastly pleased with himself.
His audience was fairly hanging on his words. "Well, sir, you'd orter
seen him then. I thought he'd bust. He said something about his
brother and his brother's watch. I didn't wait for him to get
collected. I then proceeded, with a great deal of caution, to take out
of another pocket a long, frayed, yellow envelope. 'This,' said I,
'was given to me by the nigger that night. It had once contained a
large sum of money, he said, but you had taken most of it, leaving him
just fifty dollars. Do you recognize the envelope?'

"I held it out, but beyond his reach. He sat there for three minutes
gazin' at the handwritin' on the thing, his lips moving as if he
didn't know they were doing it. 'My God,' he says, 'it is Arthur's
handwriting. I'd know it among a million.' Then he jumped up and began
to curse. 'Three thousand dollars!' he yelled, forgettin' himself.
'Did that black scoundrel say I had taken it? He lied. He took it
himself. I've never seen this before. I didn't know it existed!'
Suddenly he sees that he was giving himself away, so he flops down and
pants like a horse with the heaves.

"I put the things back in my pocket, and calmly says, 'I reckon you'll
pony up the five thousand, won't you?' Well, sir, what do you think he
does? He pulls himself together and politely asks me to have a julep.
I never did see such nerve. He says he'll go and ask the servant to
make it. He has an old darky named Monroe on the place, says he, who
makes the best julep in Virginia. 'No,' says I, putting my hand on my
hip pocket in a suspicious manner, 'I guess not. You fork over the
five first.' Well, he gets to thinking hard. Finally he says he'll be
hanged if he'll be blackmailed. 'All right,' says I, 'you'll find me
at the tavern in the town over there if you want to change your mind.
Think it over. I'll give you two days to get the coin together.'

"With that I got up and walked away, just as calm as you please. I
knowed he was done for. He killed your grandpa sure, David, and he
knowed he was found out. I walked right pertly, though, so's he
couldn't have a chance to go in and get a gun before I was safely down
the road to where my saddle horse was tied. I went back to the tavern,
paid my bill, and took a train out of town. But I got off at the first
station and doubled back, sleeping that night in a barn. The next day,
up he comes to town. He was a sight, he was so pale and shaky. I could
see he'd been drinkin' all night most. They told him at the tavern I'd
gone away, up to Washington to consult the President about something,
but that I'd be back in two days. I never saw a man look so white as
he did when he rode past the place where I was hiding, on his way back
home. I hung around the post-office all day, knowing just as sure as
shootin' that he'd write to the nigger, wherever he was. Sure enough,
about two o'clock up comes the darky that had admitted me the day
before, bringing a couple of letters.

"He stuck 'em in his pocket while he hitched his horse to the rack. I
bumped into him accidental-like. 'Nough said. A minute later he was
lookin' everywhere on the ground for his letters, and he was scairt,
too, I'll tell you that. I went back and asked him if he was lookin'
for his letters. He said he was. I said 'you dropped 'em in the
wagon.' I reached in and made believe to pick 'em up. I'd had 'em long
enough to see that one was addressed to I. Perry, 212 Clark Street,
Chicago."

"Chicago," cried David excitedly. "You must give me that address,
Dick."

"The other was to John Brainard, Richmond," went on Dick
imperturbably. "Know him?"

"He runs a gambling house there."

"I'm not fool enough to monkey with Uncle Sam, so I didn't attempt to
open the letters. It's a bad game, fooling with the government. They
always get you. Anyway, I had found out all I wanted, so I let him
drop 'em in the office. I took the first train to Richmond and hung
around Brainard's place for a day and a half, playing a little but
watchin' the boss most of the time. The second day, your uncle came
in, loaded for keeps. Him and Brainard went into a side room. When
they came out later on, I was standin' close by. Your uncle says this
to him: 'Let me know the minute he gets here, that's all. He's sure to
come, sooner or later, curse him.' Then he went away. My job was over.
I'd laid the fuse. Nothing more for me to do but to take a train for
the 'great and only' Van Slye's. Here I am, and, Joey, here's that
envelope you took from David and hid so carefully in the lining of
your satchel. Also, David, permit me to restore to you your father's
watch and your mother's--Hey, don't blubber like that!"

The tears were streaming down David's cheeks. He had snatched up and
was kissing the precious bits of metal the narrator had dropped upon
the table.

Ruby looked up into the face of the audacious Richard. Their eyes met
and his fell, after a long encounter.

"You are perfectly wonderful, Dick," she said. "Shake hands!"

"It wasn't anything much," he muttered, as he clasped her hand.
"Humph!" was an added bit of contempt for his prowess.

"But, Dick you blooming idiot, don't you see wot you've done?" cried
Joey in perplexity. "You've put the villain on 'is guard--you've
queered everything for David. He'll--"

"Sure," put in Casey, kicking the leg of the table viciously. "He'll
get hold of that nigger and find out you've lied like a sailor, that's
what he'll do. Then he can tell you to go to the devil. Dick, I didn't
think you was so foolish."

"I must go to Isaac Perry in Chicago before it is too late," said
David.

"Now, just hold your horses, all of you. I know more about this
particular line of business than you do. In the first place, Frank
Jenison is scairt stiff. I bet he's been lookin' for me to drop in on
him every day, to claim the swag, or fetch an officer from Washington.
He don't know just where he stands. If I'd ha' stayed around there,
he'd have a chance to get me. He could even go so far as to give me
the money. Or he'd probably put a bullet in me. But don't you see my
idea? I'm lettin' him worry. Worry is the greatest thing the guilty
man has to fight against, lemme tell you that. It nearly always breaks
'em down. He finds I'm gone. He waits for me to come back. I don't
come. He goes nearly crazy with anxiety and dread. See? Well, in time,
his nerves go kerflop. He'll see ghosts and he'll see scaffolds.
'Cause why: _he knows there's a feller wandering around somewhere
that's on to him_. See?"

"By cricky, you're right," cried Joey, leaping to his feet. "I can
just see 'im now."

"But when he sees Perry and finds out," protested Ruby, twisting her
fingers.

"I'll leave it to David, who knows Isaac Perry in and out, and ask if
he thinks his uncle Frank will believe a word the nigger tells him,
after all I've laid up before him. Isaac Perry can tell the truth from
now to doomsday and Jenison won't believe him. I've fixed Isaac
proper. What Jenison wants now is to get hold of Ikey and beat his
brains out. And, lemme tell you this, on the word of an experienced
gentleman, that is just about what is going to happen. You let two
skunks like that get wise to each other and something desperate is
bound to come off. Yes, sirree, I've fixed Isaac. It's in the air. If
he escapes alive he'll be lucky."

"But I need him to establish my innocence," cried David.

"You just trust to your uncle Frank to do that, sooner or later. I'll
bet my neck, he's actin' so queer these days, and sayin' so many
foolish things that everybody in the township is wonderin' what ails
him. Here's a little piece of rogue's philosophy for you all to
remember: A guilty man is never so guilty as when he realizes that
somebody is dead sure and certain he _is_ guilty. That's why they
confess."

"Dang me, I believe you," said Joey, puffing at his empty pipe.

"Now put it this way," went on the philosopher, turning to David:
"supposin' you actually had killed your grandfather. Would your eyes
be bright and your lips moist? Would you be sleepin' well? Would you
be thinkin' about a gal? Now, just put yourself in that position. No,
sirree, David: you'd be a wreck--a mental, physical wreck, because
you'd know that your uncle knowed that you killed his father. I tell
you it makes a terrible difference when you know that some one else
knows. Your uncle Frank understands now that two men know--me and
Perry. He knows I'm hangin' around somewhere in this world, ready to
spring on him. Yep; there's no more peace for him, no more sleep.
He'll blow his brains out, perhaps. But he'll also do this first:
he'll write a confession. They never fail to do that, these guys that
have remorse."

David Jenison placed his hands on the other's shoulders as he arose
from the chair. The Virginian's eyes were glowing with a light that
dazzled the pickpocket. "Dick Cronk," said he, hoarse with the emotion
which moved him, "I would do anything in the world for you. You are
the best fellow I know. I don't care what you are, I want to be your
friend as long as we live. I mean that. Some day I may be able to do
something half as great for you. I'll do it, no matter what it costs."

Dick was abashed. He was not used to this. His eyes wavered.

"Oh, thunder," he said in a futile attempt to sneer. "Let's say no
more about it. It was just fun for me. Besides, David," he continued,
meeting the other's gaze fairly, "you stood by Ernie that day. Don't
forget that, kid. You didn't have to, you know."

"You chaps can settle all this some other time," said Joey sharply.
"Wot we want to get at now is this: Wot's to be done next? Is David to
set down and wait or is he to go back there and wait?"

"Go back there?" gasped Dick. "Why, Joey Noakes, ain't you got a mite
o' sense? You old noodle! Of course, he ain't to go back there. You
mark my words, purty soon his neighbors will be advertisin' for him to
come home and forgive 'em. No, sir! Wait here until something drops.
Read the _Cincinnati Enquirer_ every day, kid. You'll find something to
interest you every little while about the Jenison murder case. You see,
my buck, they're still lookin' for you."

"I hope it all turns out as you think, Dick," cried David fervently.
He was weak with excitement. "Oh, how I long to be cleared of this
awful thing! How I long for the sight of Jenison Hall! And, say, Dick!
If I should go back there as master, I want you and Ernie to come
there and stay--all the rest of your lives. I--"

But Dick raised his hand; his eyes had narrowed. "I couldn't do that,
David," he said, a harsh note in his usually pleasant voice. "Thank
you, just the same. Ernie and me are not cut out for places like
Jenison Hall. We--we'd have all the silver inside of a week--and maybe
the furniture." His face flushed as he made this banal excuse for
jest.

Ruby cried out in protest. "Don't say that, Dick Cronk! You
_could_ be different. Oh, why don't you try it, Dick?"

He looked down. His lips worked in the effort to force a grin of
derision. His hand was trembling. No one spoke; somehow they felt the
struggle that was going on within him. At last he lifted his eyes to
hers.

"Can't do it, Ruby," he said quietly. "I don't think I'm naturally a
thief, but it's got hold of me. If I thought there was a chance, maybe
I'd--oh, but what's the use! Let's change the subject. Jacky, before
we part for the night, I want to say something more to you. It hurts
like the devil to say it, but I got to. You said you'd like me and
Ernie to--to come down there. Well, I may as well tell you right here
in front of these friends of our'n that Ernie--my brother, don't like
you. Now, don't say anything! You can't understand. He's terrible
bitter against you. You'll excuse me if I say there's a--a girl at the
bottom of it."

"A girl?" fell from David's lips. "You--Great heaven, Dick, you don't
mean--Christine!"

Dick nodded, a rueful smile flickering about his lips. "Poor boy," he
said apologetically, "he can't help it. But it's so, just the same.
And I want to ask you to be on the lookout for him always, kid. He's
liable to get you some time if he can. It's dirt mean of me to say
this about my brother, but I don't want him to do anything like that.
He--he might get desperate, don't you see; and--well, just keep your
eye skinned, that's all. You--you got to remember, David, that his dad
swung for killin' a man. Mebby it's in Ernie's system, too. He's had
such a horrible, unhappy life, I--I somehow can't blame him for having
it in for us fellers that are strong and straight."

David had sunk into a chair, appalled by his words.

"But he must know that Christine doesn't care for him," he said
mechanically, his eyes on Dick's face.

"Sure he does. That's the hard part of it. He's bitter jealous of you.
Course she wouldn't think of a cripple like him. But he's got it into
his nut that she wouldn't look at you either if you was disfigured or
your back was smashed or something like that. I keep arguing with him
and he's sensible when he takes time to think. But, just the same, I
wish you'd keep your eye peeled."

"I am very sorry he feels as he does about--"

"Oh, I'm not asking you to give her up, kid--not for a minute. Cop her
out if you can. She's a little Jim-dandy. And, say," he said, turning
to the others, who had listened to him with grave uneasiness,
"speaking of her reminds me that you may expect the new partner to-
morrow."

"Bob Grand?" growled Joey.

"Yep." Dick had cast off his repressed air and was grinning once more,
with all the delight of a teasing boy. "Old skeezicks was on the train
with me this evening, but he's gone on to the next stand. He looks
more than ever like a fat, satisfied slug."

"Well," said Joey reflectively, "we don't need him, but we do need 'is
money. I 'ope, Dicky, you didn't deprive 'im of it."

"Joey," said Dick reproachfully, "do you think I'd take the bread
right out of your throat?"

David lay awake until nearly dawn, his mind whirling with the
disclosures of the night. That sweet encounter in love still lingered
uppermost in his thoughts, its fires fed afresh by the brand of hope
that Dick had tossed upon them, but disagreeably chilled by the
prospect of new trouble in the shape of Ernie Cronk. He fell asleep,
thinking of those blissful moments under the awning when he held her
slim, unresisting body close to his own and they were all alone in the
blackest of nights with a tempest about them. In the background of his
thoughts lurked Ernie Cronk and still farther back was the ominous
figure of Colonel Bob Grand.

For the first time in many weeks he did not think of the detectives--
and the bloodhounds!

CHAPTER XII

IN WHICH MANY THINGS HAPPEN

With all the irony of luck, Colonel Grand brought fair weather. It was
as if he had ordered the sun to shine and it obeyed him.

When the mud-covered wagons rumbled into town after their tortuous
twenty-mile journey, the sun was high and the skies were clear and all
the world seemed to be singing with the birds.

David had prepared Mrs. Braddock and Christine; they looked for the
Colonel on the station platform as the train rolled in. He was there,
waiting, as if directed by Providence, at the foot of the steps which
Mrs. Braddock was to descend. He had eyes for no one until she
appeared in the car door. Then his ugly smile projected itself; his
silk hat came off and he bowed low. One knowing the innermost workings
of Colonel Grand's mind would have understood the profoundness of that
bow. He was giving her time to collect herself; he was, on his own
part, deliberately evading the look of repugnance he knew so well
would leap into her eyes at the first glimpse of him.

She did not see the hand he extended, but with a cool nod of her head,
stepped unaided to the platform. Another man would have felt the
rebuke. Colonel Grand, with the utmost deference in his manner,
quietly relieved her of the traveling bag, his hat still in his hand.
He sent a smile of greeting up to David and the angry-eyed Christine.

"Bring Christine's bag, Jack," he called out. "I have a hack waiting
on the other side of the depot. It is too muddy for walking."

Mary Braddock drew herself up, her eyes flashed and her lips parted to
resent this easy proprietorship. But she saw that a group of
performers were staring at them in plain curiosity. She closed her
lips in bitter determination, and walked off at his side. Close behind
came her daughter and the young Virginian.

Joey Grinaldi addressed himself to the little knot of strollers.

"I never did see such a look as she gave 'im," said he. "My eye! It
was a stinger. Take my word for it, she's going to take the bit in 'er
mouth afore you know it, and show that hyena wot she's made of."

"Hyena, dad?" scoffed his daughter. "He's not even that. He's a rep-
_tile_."

"Well, he brought the sunshine," said one of the women half-heartedly.

"But it's still muddy," retorted Joey with dogged pessimism. They
trooped off after him, each one lighter hearted in spite of a dull
reluctance, simply because Colonel Grand had brought not only the
sunshine but a life-saving opulence.

Thomas Braddock, muddy, unkempt and sour, had managed to sleep off
some of the effects of the liquor he had poured into himself the night
before. True to his word, he had traveled by wagon. The treasurer of
the circus had seen to it that he was tossed like a bundle of rags
into the ticket wagon, there to roll and jostle from wall to wall over
twenty miles of oblivion.

He was waiting at the show grounds for the return of the street parade
when he saw his wife and Christine approaching, followed at some
distance by Colonel Grand and the faithful David.

"Well," said he harshly, as the women came up to him, "you were too
good to travel as I did, eh? Had to borrow money to ride in palace
cars, eh? Fine thing for you to do, you two,--setting an example like
that. I suppose Bob Grand put up for you. I notice you didn't mention
his name to me, you--"

Christine and her mother had talked long and earnestly together on the
train coming down. The girl's cheeks had burnt during that serious
conference, to which no outsider was admitted. Her mother had listened
to an eager, piteous appeal from the lips of the girl; it was the cry
of a maiden who suddenly realizes that she is conscious of a modesty
heretofore dormant. Together they were now taking up a very portentous
question with Thomas Braddock, with small hope of having him see the
matter from their point of view.

Mary Braddock had no retort ready for his ruffianly insinuation. "Are
you too busy, Tom, to come over to the cook-tent with us for a few
moments? I want to speak very seriously about something that has been
on my mind for some time."

Colonel Grand and David were sauntering off in the direction of the
animal tent.

"Why ain't that loafer in the parade where he belongs?" demanded
Braddock, glaring red-eyed at the retreating David.

"How should I know? Ask Colonel Grand. He appears to be giving
directions nowadays," said his wife bitterly.

"Well, what do you want of me? Let's have it, please. I'm busy."

"Not out here, Tom. Come over to the cook-tent."

Braddock glanced at her sharply. It occurred to him that she was
unusually calm and serious. He turned after a moment and led the way
to the cook-tent, which was always unoccupied at this time.

There, in sullen amazement, he listened to the plea of his wife and
daughter. He raged back at them as they pleaded; he met Mary's calm,
patient arguments with sneers and brutal laughter; he put a stop to
Christine's supplications with an oath that shocked and distressed her
more than anything that ever had happened to her in all her life.

"What do you take me for?" he roared, time and again, for want of
better weapons to meet his wife's determined assault. In the end, he
struck the table a mighty blow with his clenched fist, but he was very
careful to have the table between them. More than once he had followed
the impulsive movement of her hand in a sort of craven alarm, born of
the conviction that he might have driven her at last to the point
where a pistol would put an end to his wretched dominion. "Now, this
ends it," he shouted. "I won't hear anything more about it. She's got
to wear tights as long as I say so. What the devil's got into you two
all of a sudden? Lookee here, Christine, don't ever let me hear you
make such a fuss as this again. By thunder, I'll--I'll lick you,
that's what I'll do. I've never laid a rough hand on you yet. I've
allus treated you as a kind father should. But don't drive me to
forget myself. You got to wear tights and do this act as long as we
run this show. We--"

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