The Rose in the Ring

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

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"Well, they're through discussing me," muttered Tom Braddock, thinking
aloud. Shivering, as if from a mighty chill, although the night was
warm, he stalked down from his perch and went swiftly up the street, a
gaunt, broad-shouldered figure whose step seemed to suggest purpose
more than stealth.

As he slunk past the approach to a basement hard-by, a stealthy figure
slipped out from the recess and kept pace with him, not twenty feet
behind. A block farther up the street this second watcher quickened
his pace. He came alongside the man ahead.

"Hello, Brad," fell upon the ears of the stalked. He betrayed no
surprise, no sign of alarm. He did not check his pace, nor look
around.

"Confound you, Dick," he said, as if pronouncing sentence, "if you
don't quit dogging me like this I'll kill you, so help me God."

"You might have known I'd be somewhere around," said the other
quietly. They were now side by side, gaunt, slouching figures, both of
them.

"I thought I'd given you the slip."

"Umph," was the expressive comment.

"What did you follow me over here to-night for?" demanded Braddock
fiercely, after thirty steps.

"You know why, Brad. Don't ask."

"This is my affair," went on the big man. "I was doing no harm,
sitting across there. Can't a man sneak off for a single look at his
own child--in the dark, at that--without being hounded by--Say, you
must stop dogging me, d' you hear? I'm not a rat. I'm a human being.
I've got feelings. I wanted to have a look at her. She's my girl and--
"

"Not so loud, Brad. Remember who you are with. You are in bad company,
old man. Don't draw attention to the fact. Take a word of advice from
me. Keep away from that house. Don't--"

"I don't want to hear anything more out of you," grated Braddock. "I
know what I'm doing. I'm living up to my promise, ain't I? Didn't I
say I'd see Mary before I--Say," he broke off incontinently, his
thoughts leaping backward, "that was my girl that said good night to
the swells back there--mine! Did you see how prettily she was dressed?
Did you hear how sweet her voice was? I--I--" Something came up in the
man's throat to cut off the words; and a long silence fell between
them.

Not until they were turning into Fourth Avenue did Dick Cronk speak
again. Somehow he felt the emotion that struggled in the breast of the
man beside him. For the first time in his life he was sorry for him.

"Where are you going now, Tom?" he asked, knowing full well what the
spiritless answer would be.

"To that hell-hole of a place you call home," said Braddock. Dick
slipped his hand through the other's arm; they turned oft into one of
the cross streets, wending their way through the sodden community, one
with his head erect, the other with his chin on his breast, his hands
in his coat pockets.

Half an hour later a cab stopped at a corner not far from a Pell
Street intersection. Two men got down and picked their way through the
vile street, searching out the house numbers as they progressed. They
passed the all-night dives and brothels, whence came the sounds of
unrestrained and unrefined revelry, and came at last to a spot beneath
a huge wooden boot that hung suspended above the door of the most
unholy structure in the narrow street. A man in his shirt sleeves sat
back in the shadow of the tumbledown stoop, smoking a pipe. At his
left a narrow, black passage led down between two squalid buildings,
one of which was dark, the other lighted so that the vicious revelers
within might see and be seen.

The uncertain, timorous actions of the strangers in Thieves' Alley
brought a fantastic smile to the lips of the smoker. He watched them
as they looked up at the boot and compared notes in rather subdued
tones.

"This must be the place," said one of the men. There was no mistaking
the note of disgust in his voice.

"Looking for some one, gents?" demanded the smoker, without rising
from the stool on which he sat leaning against the wall.

"Is this No. 24--Hello! It's Dick!"

"Ain't you afraid to be seen down here, Joey?" asked the man on the
stool, chuckling.

"It's worth an honest man's life to be seen 'ere," said Joey Noakes,
in hushed tones. "God 'elp 'im as can't 'elp 'isself if he ever
strolls in 'ere unawares."

"It's rather late in the night for any one to be about," said Dick
Cronk. "Still, I've been expecting you, gents. That's why I'm sitting
out here, takin' things easy--and makin' things easy for you. If you
don't mind I'll keep my seat, David. It ain't wise to be seen
hobnobbin' with swell gents at this time o' night--in Hell's Kitchen
particularly. I know what you're here for. _He's_ back there asleep.
Don't worry. I've got him safely sidetracked."

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the narrow passage.
The others looked down that filthy corridor and shuddered.

"What a place!" muttered David Jenison.

"Wot 'as Brad been up to to-night?" demanded Joey.

Without changing his position, Dick Cronk, in as few words as
possible, told them of Braddock's vigil.

"Don't hang around here a minute longer than you have to," he said in
conclusion. "There are a hundred eyes on you right now. You don't see
'em, but they're looking, just the same. I thought you'd be blame'
fools enough to come, so I waited up. Something told me you would go
to Joey's when you left her, kid, and you'd make him come along to
hunt me out. Brad's safe, and he's not going to do anything just yet.
So go home and go to bed. I'll see you to-morrow and we'll arrange for
a time when she can talk with him. She'll see him, won't she?"

"Of course. She is eager to see him. I am to bring him to her as soon
as--"

"We've got to handle him carefully or--" began Dick.

Joey interrupted him. "The devil's to pay in another direction, Dick,"
he said. "Bob Grand 'as 'eard that Brad's out and that he's been
'anging around his 'otel, nasty-like. Who should come to my 'ouse in a
cab at nine o'clock to-night but Bob Grand 'isself. He finds me alone,
Ruby being off with 'er young man. When I sees who is coming up my
steps, I almost keels over. The first words he says took my breath
away. I was getting ready to kick 'im into the gutter when he puts a
check on my leg, curious-like, by remarking that he's looking for Tom
Braddock. He came to arsk me where he could be found. I told 'im I
didn't know, and, if I did, I'd be hanged if I'd tell 'im. We 'ad some
pretty sharp words, you may believe. But he took all the impudence out
of me by announcing most plainly that he understood Brad wanted to
kill 'im and that I'd best 'ave a care how I acted, because my 'ouse
was being watched by secret service men. There was a lot more, but I
'aven't time to tell you. The upshot of it is, he's going to 'ave Brad
nabbed and put where he can't do any 'arm. And, see 'ere, Dick, I
don't want to be mixed up in this business. You've got to get Brad out
of town to-night. He's done for now and--"

Dick Cronk interrupted his old friend with a snarl of impatience. "Get
him away yourself! I'm doing the best I know how. He won't leave of
his own free will. He's here to do that man and he won't be put off.
And what's more, Bob Grand ought to get it good and hard. Somebody
ought to spike him, and who's got a better right than Tom Braddock?
I'm ashamed of you, Joey! If you'd been half a man you'd 'a' beat his
head off to-night when he put his foot on your doorstep, after what he
put up to Ruby. I--I wish I'd been there!"

The bowl of the clay pipe dropped to the bricks. He literally had
ground the stem in two with his teeth.

"Go home now--both of you," he said, a moment later, following his own
awkward laugh. "You can't afford to be seen here. I'll look out for
Brad. The Colonel won't come here a-lookin' for him, you can bet your
life on that. You'll hear from me to-morrow. Maybe you think I ain't
sick of this business? If it wasn't for you, Davy, I'd cut it in a
minute and dig for the wooly West, where Mr. Barnum and Mr. Forepaugh
are dying for my society. Move along now! Don't block the sidewalk!
Can't you see the ladies want to pass?"

Two maudlin women of the underworld lurched by, with coarse, ribald
comments on the "swells." David felt himself grow hot with shame and
disgust. After their laughter had died away he turned to the grinning
Dick.

"But we must do something to-night--" he began imploringly.

Dick lifted his hand. "Correct," he said. "We must do some sleeping."
He strode to the mouth of the forbidding passage. A light from a
saloon window shone out upon a long flight of rickety steps at the
farther end, leading up to the darkness above. "See that stairway?
Well, I wouldn't advise you to follow me up there. It ain't a Romeo
and Juliet balcony, gents. Good night!"

He turned into the passage with a wave of the hand. They saw him pass
up through the shaft of light from the window and disappear in the
shadows. Then they hurried away from the foul place, almost running to
the cab at the corner.

David did not sleep that night. He tossed on his bed, beset by the
direst anxiety and dread, his eyes wide open and staring. He dozed off
at six, but was wide awake before seven, when he arose and partook of
a hurried, half-eaten breakfast. It was not likely that he would hear
from Dick Cronk before the middle of the forenoon. Until then he was
to be harassed by doubts and fears that would not be easy to suppress
in his present unquiet frame of mind. While he was obliged to stand
idle and impotent, the very foundation of all the future happiness of
the girl he loved might be irreparably shattered. Silent, deadly,
purposeful forces were working toward that end. Her mother would, no
doubt, prepare her in a way for the crash, but there always would be
the memory of the cruel blow that might have been prevented.

He crossed into Madison Square, taking a seat where he could watch the
entrance to his hotel, though the hour was so early that it seemed
sheer folly to expect Dick Cronk. A dozen times in the first half-hour
he looked at his watch. Would the hands never reach nine o'clock? He
knew that Dick would make his approach slyly. Perhaps if he returned
to his room he would find him there. It would not be an unusual
circumstance, he recalled.

Had Colonel Grand's detectives swooped down upon Tom Braddock? Was
Christine's father already in jail? Was Grand in a position to hold a
new club over the heads of the two women? Were the newspapers
preparing to revel in the great story--

He was in the midst of these direful questions when some one tapped
him lightly on the shoulder from behind. He turned and glanced upward,
his nerves a-tingle.

"Dick!" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

"Sit down!" commanded the pickpocket warily.

David dropped to the bench, his eyes fastened on the white, drawn face
of the pickpocket. A thick, white bandage was wrapped around his
forehead, partially hidden by the slouch hat he wore. The man seemed
faint and unsteady on his feet.

"I say, Dick," cried David," what has happened? You are hurt. Who--"

With a rigid grin Dick put his hand to his head.

"Braddock," he said succinctly.

"You don't mean--Tell me what has happened? Wait! Do you require the
attention of a surgeon?"

"Sit still, kid. I'm all right. You might pass me a quarter or
something, just to make people think I'm boning you for a breakfast.
Thanks! Well, Brad's gone."

"Gone?"

"He cracked me good and hard, that's what he did. I told you he
wouldn't be held down long. He's in no mood to be kind to them that
are trying to be kind to him. He's past all that. He means business,
Brad does. This morning about six he got up. I was watchin' him. He
said he was going over to see his wife. He said he wanted to see her
before Christine was awake, or out of bed. I told him they wouldn't
let him in at that time of day. He said he'd get in or know the reason
why. Then he opened up on me about all of us trying to manage his
affairs for him. I tried to quiet him. But the devil of it was he was
quiet enough. He was _too_ quiet. It looked bad. When he started
for the door I took hold of him. He--well, he shoved me off. When I
jumped in front of the door he picked up a chair and let me have it
over the head. I didn't know anything for a long time. When I came to
he was gone. Jimmie Parsons, who was in the room with us all the time,
also tried to stop him after he biffed me. Jimmie's got two wonderful
black eyes as a result."

"The man must be insane!" cried David, aghast. Dick shook his head.
"Not a bit of it. He's the sanest man I know."

"Where has he gone? You said he started for Mrs. Braddock's? Great
heavens, Dick, he may do her bodily harm! He may have shot her down in
cold--"

"Easy, easy! He ain't likely to do anything like that until after he's
got Bob Grand."

"Then he will shoot Bob Grand this morning, mark my words. He--"

"He won't shoot anybody. He hasn't any gun. He says he don't need one.
If he gets Grand, it won't be with a weapon of any kind. That's what
he says, and he means it. If Bob Grand dies from a bullet, you can bet
your life it won't come from Tom Braddock. But all this can wait. I
stopped off at Joey's. He sent Ruby down to Mr. Portman's at once, and
he's gone over to keep watch around the hotel where Grand stops. The
thing for you to do is to make tracks for Portman's. I'm going to--"

But David did not wait to hear what Dick intended to do. He was
rushing off to hail a passing hansom.

Dick followed him to the curb. "If you see Brad tell him there's no
hard feelings, Davy. It was a dirty smash, but I deserve it for not
ducking. And say, be careful how you tackle him. Remember that thing
about wisdom being better than--what's the word? Nerve?"

The hansom turned and sped down Fifth Avenue with its nervous
passenger. Dick shook his head wearily. Then he smiled. From his coat
pocket he slyly extracted a shining revolver. Three minutes before it
had been in David Jenison's pocket. "He's better off without a thing
like this," mused the clever philosopher.

Thomas Braddock rang the door-bell at the Portman home shortly after
eight o'clock. He was perfectly calm and in full possession of
himself. A brisk manservant opened the door and faced the strange
caller.

"I want to see Mrs. Braddock," said the man in the vestibule.

"Call again," said the servant curtly.

"Just a minute, please," said Braddock. He did not offer to resist the
closing of the door in his face. There was something in his tone,
however, that caused the footman to hesitate. He took a second,
surprised look at the gray, set face of the caller.

"Mrs. Braddock is occupied," he announced.

"You mean she isn't up yet. I'll wait," remarked Braddock, still very
quietly. The man stared hard at him, suddenly struck by the pallor of
his face. His eyes swept the grim figure in the ill-fitting suit of
jeans.

"What do you want? Can't you leave a message?"

"Want? I want to see her." The footman glanced back over his shoulder
as if searching for some one on whom he could shift an amazing
responsibility. Recalling his dignity, he essayed to close the door in
Braddock's face.

"I am her husband," announced the caller, his hands still in his
pockets. The servant's hand was stayed.

"Won't you call again?" he temporized. "I don't quite understand. It
don't go down very easy, I'll say that. At any rate, you can't see her
now, no matter who you are. She was up all night with Miss Braddock,
who took sick suddenly. Mrs. Braddock has just laid down for a--"

"Christine sick?" demanded Braddock. The new note in his voice
commanded attention. "It--it can't be serious. She was all right when
she came in last night. What's the matter with her? Speak up! What
does the doctor say?"

"They didn't call a doctor."

He was surprised to see the ominous glare fade from Braddock's eyes.
They wavered and then fell. An uneasy, mirthless laugh cracked in his
throat; then his lip quivered ever so slightly--Brooks could have
sworn to it. His hand shook as it went up to fumble the square chin in
evident perplexity. For a moment Thomas Braddock stood there,
reflecting, swayed by an emotion so unexpected that he was a long time
in accounting for it. Indecision succeeded the arrogant assurance that
had marked his advances. He looked up quickly, suspecting the lie that
might have been offered as an excuse to get rid of him.

"Are you lying to me?" he demanded.

"Sir!"

Braddock's mind, long acute, worked swiftly. He went back of the
servant's statement with an intelligence that grasped the true
conditions quite as plainly as if they had been laid bare before him.
Christine was ill. No physician had been called. He knew what the
servant could not, by any chance, have known. He knew why Mary
Braddock sat up with her daughter. A doctor? As if a doctor could
prescribe for the affliction that beset her! Too well he now
understood what had transpired in that upstairs room. A thing of
horror had come to rack the soul of that happy, beautiful girl--had
come suddenly because the time was ripe. She was suffering because
_he_ was near! _He_ understood.

A tense, bitter oath struggled through his lips.

"Well, it's time she knew," he muttered in self-justification.
Impelled by a strange anxiety--perhaps it was apprehension--he
strained his eyes in the effort to penetrate the depths of the
unfriendly hall at the servant's back. His ear seemed bent to catch
the sounds of sobs or moans that he knew must reach him if he listened
closely.

He again questioned the servant with his eyes, a long, intense
scrutiny that confused the man.

Then he turned away.

"All right," he said sullenly, putting his hands into his pockets once
more and drawing up his shoulders as if he were cold. "I'll come
again. Tell Mrs. Braddock I was here and that I'll be back in a couple
of hours." Another glance through the half-open door, over the
footman's shoulder, and he stalked off, his jaw set, his hands
clenched in the pockets of his coat. At the foot of the steps he shot
a quick, involuntary glance upward, taking in the second story
windows. The wondering servant looked after him until he turned the
corner below.

Brooks had seen men with the prison pallor in their faces before.

He was not long in apprising Mrs. Braddock of the stranger's visit.
She was with Christine when he made the unhappy announcement. If he
expected a demonstration of concern or surprise, he was disappointed.

"I will see Mr. Braddock when he returns," said his mistress quietly.
Brooks blinked two or three times, his only tribute to the stupendous
shock he had experienced.

Thomas Braddock walked to the Battery. There he sat down on one of the
benches and glowered out upon the blue waters of the bay for an hour
or more. No muscle moved in his face. He waited with a patience that
was three years old.

When David drove up to the Portman place, Mrs. Braddock herself arose
from one of the chairs in the narrow stone porch at the top of the
steps. She, too, had been waiting, but not for the young man who
dashed up the steps.

"He has been here," she said, as she gave him her hand. The tenseness
of the clasp revealed the strain that was upon her. He noted the
pallor in her cheek, the dread in her eyes. The hot glare of the June
sun seemed to bring out gray hairs he had never seen before. He had
not thought of her as growing old until now.

"Yes?" he cried anxiously. "Where is he? I tried to get here in time.
Did he--"

"Sit down, David--here, please, behind the balustrade. I am waiting
out here for him. He went off in that direction. I've been watching
for nearly an hour. He is coming back."

She resumed her chair, facing the direction which Braddock had taken.

"You--you sent him away?"

"I did not see him. You must not think, David, that I am afraid to see
him. I am nervous, upset, but it really isn't fear. Christine--
Christine knows everything. I told her last night. She is--well, you
can imagine, she is very unhappy. Everything looks black to her. I did
not hide anything. She is crushed."

"Where is she? I must see her. I can comfort her, Mrs. Braddock. Let
me see her before he comes back." He was standing over her, his face
working.

"She will not see you, David," she said in dull tones. He started.
"What do you mean? She _must_ see me." "Her father was in the
penitentiary." That was all; but it told all there was to tell.

It required a moment or two for comprehension. Then he cried out
reproachfully: "Does she think that will make any difference in my--"

She held up her hand. "She knows it won't. That's what distresses her.
I am afraid, David, after all, you have brought your honor to a
wretched market. We are what we are, we Braddocks. We can't look
beyond our environment. You cannot marry a convict's daughter. It was
bad enough before. I should have seen all this. But I was blind only
to her happiness. We can't--"

His jaws were set. "Mrs. Braddock," he said, his voice quivering with
decision, "I am not going to be put off like this. You may as well
understand that, first and last. I love her. I want her. She loves me,
thank God. It won't be so hard to make her understand how impossible
it is for anything to come between us. She is going to marry me, Mary
Braddock."

A great light leaped into her eyes, even as she shook her head. The
words of protest she would have uttered failed to pass her lips. She
reached out as if to clasp his hand, a movement as involuntary as it
was instinctive. He had turned and was facing the closed portals
behind which his heart's desire was beating all joy and hope out of
her poor tormented soul. The tears rushed to his eyes.

"I can't stand it," he cried. "She must hear the words _now_--
this is the time for me to go to her and say that I love her better
than all the world. Nothing else matters."

In his eagerness he was starting for the door when a sharp cry fell
from her lips. He hesitated, struck by the note of consternation in
the cry.

A carriage had drawn up at the curb in front of the house. A face
appeared at the open window of the vehicle, a never-to-be-forgotten
face that brought to mind the African gazelle in Van Slye's.

David turned. For a moment he could not believe his eyes. He stood
rigid in the paralysis of stupefaction. Then a cold perspiration
started from every pore of his body. He sprang to Mrs. Braddock's
side. She was even then peering down the street, a great fear in her
heart, every fiber quivering with alarm.

Colonel Grand was assisting his daughter to the sidewalk. Already he
had lifted his hat and sent a nauseous smile to the woman above.
David's gaze followed hers in quest of a more sinister actor who might
even then be coming upon the scene for the tragic climax.

The young man recognized the necessity for quick action. Colonel
Grand, whatever his motive for appearing so unexpectedly at the
Portman house, must be turned away without ceremony or consideration.
At any minute Thomas Braddock might return. A tragedy would be the
result; that was inevitable.

David started down the steps, passing the rigid, staring woman at the
top. He was vaguely aware of Roberta Grand's bow and of the look of
annoyance in the Colonel's face. Half-way down he called out:

"Colonel Grand, you must not stay here--not a second longer. I will
explain if you will let me ride with you for a couple of blocks."

Grand advanced.

"Young man," he said coldly, "I am here to see Mrs. Braddock on a
matter of importance. You will do well to subside."

David flushed angrily. "But Mrs. Braddock does not care to see you.
She--"

Grand came on up the steps, ignoring Jenison, addressing himself to
Mary Braddock.

"I have come to discuss Tom with you, Mary," he said. She started at
the use of her name, a hot wave of anger rushing over her.

"Go away!" she cried, in low, intense tones. "How dare you come here,
Colonel Grand? Go!"

He stopped, raised his hat, shrugged his shoulders in a deprecating
manner, and then quickly lifted his free hand to check the approach of
the young man who was ominously near at hand.

"I fancy it will be best for all concerned if we avoid tableaux.
Still, I will go away if you see fit to send me--"

"I do see fit! Go!"

Roberta Grand was staring at the speaker from the bottom of the steps.

"Don't haggle with her, father," she cried venomously. "Bring her to
time!"

"You have met my daughter, Mrs. Braddock?" said Grand in his most
suave manner. "What are you looking at, Jenison?" he demanded,
suddenly noting the young man's frozen stare, directed down the
street.

David passed his hand over his damp brow and turned to look helplessly
into Mary Braddock's face.

Tom Braddock was standing across the street at the corner below,
clutching a lamp-post for support. He was staring with wide open eyes
at the group on the steps.

CHAPTER VII

TOM BRADDOCK'S PROMISE

She had seen Braddock turn the corner. Her eyes were closed now, as if
to shut out the disaster that must rush down upon them in the next
instant; her thrumming ears waited for the sound of running footsteps
and the crack of a revolver. David started up the steps toward her.

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