The Scarlet Car
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Richard Harding Davis >> The Scarlet Car
"Yah! you can't!" shrieked Mr. Schwab. "You can't do it!"
The madness of the flying engines had got upon his nerves.
Their poison was surging in his veins. He knew he had only to
touch his elbow against the elbow of Winthrop, and he could
throw the three of them into eternity. He was travelling on
air, uplifted, defiant, carried beyond himself.
"I can't do what?" asked Winthrop.
The words reached Schwab from an immeasurable distance, as
from another planet, a calm, humdrum planet on which events
moved in commonplace, orderly array. Without a jar, with no
transition stage, instead of hurtling through space, Mr.
Schwab found himself luxuriously seated in a cushioned chair,
motionless, at the side of a steep bank. For a mile before
him stretched an empty road. And, beside him in the car, with
arms folded calmly on the wheel there glared at him a grim,
alert young man.
"I can't do what?" growled the young man.
A feeling of great loneliness fell upon "Izzy" Schwab. Where
were now those officers, who in the police courts were at his
beck and call? Where the numbered houses, the passing surface
cars, the sweating multitudes of Eighth Avenue? In all the
world he was alone, alone on an empty country road, with a
grim, alert young man.
"When I asked you how you knew my name," said the young man, "I
thought you knew me as having won some races in Florida last
winter. This is the car that won. I thought maybe you might
have heard of me when I was captain of a football team at--a
university. If you have any idea that you can jump from this
car and not be killed, or, that I cannot pound you into a
pulp, let me prove to you you're wrong--now. We're quite
alone. Do you wish to get down?"
"No," shrieked Schwab, "I won't!" He turned appealingly to the
young lady. "You're a witness," he cried. "If he assaults
me, he's liable. I haven't done nothing."
"We're near Yonkers," said the young man, "and if you try to
take advantage of my having to go slow through the town, you
know now what will happen to you."
Mr. Schwab having instantly planned on reaching Yonkers, to
leap from the car into the arms of the village constable, with
suspicious alacrity, assented. The young man regarded him
doubtfully.
"I'm afraid I'll have to show you," said the young man. He
laid two fingers on Mr. Schwab's wrist; looking at him, as he
did so, steadily and thoughtfully, like a physician feeling a
pulse. Mr. Schwab screamed. When he had seen policemen twist
steel nippers on the wrists of prisoners, he had thought, when
the prisoners shrieked and writhed, they were acting.
He now knew they were not.
"Now, will you promise?" demanded the grim young man.
"Yes," gasped Mr. Schwab. "I'll sit still. I won't do
nothing."
"Good," muttered Winthrop.
A troubled voice that carried to the heart of Schwab a promise
of protection, said: "Mr. Schwab, would you be more
comfortable back here with me?"
Mr. Schwab turned two terrified eyes in the direction of the
voice. He saw the beautiful young lady regarding him kindly,
compassionately; with just a suspicion of a smile. Mr. Schwab
instantly scrambled to safety over the front seat into the
body of the car. Miss Forbes made way for the prisoner beside
her and he sank back with a nervous, apologetic sigh. The
alert young man was quick to follow the lead of the lady.
"You'll find caps and goggles in the boot, Schwab," he said
hospitably. "You had better put them on. We are going rather
fast now." He extended a magnificent case of pigskin, that
bloomed with fat black cigars. "Try one of these," said the
hospitable young man. The emotions that swept Mr. Schwab he
found difficult to pursue, but he raised his hat to the lady.
"May I, Miss?" he said.
"Certainly," said the lady.
There was a moment of delay while with fingers that slightly
trembled, Mr. Schwab selected an amazing green cap and lit his
cigar; and then the car swept forward, singing and humming
happily, and scattering the autumn leaves. The young lady
leaned toward him with a book in a leather cover. She placed
her finger on a twisting red line that trickled through a page
of type.
"We're just here," said the young lady, "and we ought to reach
home, which is just about there, in an hour."
"I see," said Schwab. But all he saw was a finger in a white
glove, and long eyelashes tangled in a gray veil.
For many minutes, or for all Schwab knew, for many miles, the
young lady pointed out to him the places along the Hudson, of
which he had read in the public school history, and quaint old
manor houses set in glorious lawns; and told him who lived in
them. Schwab knew the names as belonging to down-town
streets, and up-town clubs. He became nervously humble,
intensely polite, he felt he was being carried as an honored
guest into the very heart of the Four Hundred, and when the
car jogged slowly down the main street of Yonkers, although a
policeman stood idly within a yard of him, instead of
shrieking to him for help, "Izzy" Schwab looked at him
scornfully across the social gulf that separated them, with
all the intolerance he believed becoming in the upper classes.
"Those bicycle cops," he said confidentially to Miss Forbes,
"are too chesty."
The car turned in between stone pillars, and under an arch of
red and golden leaves, and swept up a long avenue to a house
of innumerable roofs. It was the grandest house Mr. Schwab
had ever entered, and when two young men in striped waistcoats
and many brass buttons ran down the stone steps and threw open
the door of the car, his heart fluttered between fear and
pleasure.
Lounging before an open fire in the hall were a number of
young men, who welcomed Winthrop delightedly and, to all of
whom Mr. Schwab was formally presented. As he was introduced
he held each by the hand and elbow and said impressively, and
much to the other's embarrassment, "WHAT name, please?"
Then one of the servants conducted him to a room opening on
the hall, from whence he heard stifled exclamations and
laughter, and some one saying "Hush." But "Izzy" Schwab did
not care. The slave in brass buttons was proffering him
ivory-backed hair-brushes, and obsequiously removing the dust
from his coat collar. Mr. Schwab explained to him that he was
not dressed for automobiling, as Mr. Winthrop had invited him
quite informally. The man was most charmingly sympathetic.
And when he returned to the hall every one received him with
the most genial, friendly interest. Would he play golf, or
tennis, or pool, or walk over the farm, or just look on? It
seemed the wish of each to be his escort. Never had he been
so popular.
He said he would "just look on." And so, during the last and
decisive day of the "whirlwind" campaign, while in Eighth
Avenue voters were being challenged, beaten, and bribed,
bonfires were burning, and "extras" were appearing every half
hour, "Izzy" Schwab, the Tammany henchman, with a secret worth
twenty thousand votes, sat a prisoner, in a wicker chair, with
a drink and a cigar, guarded by four young men in flannels,
who played tennis violently at five dollars a corner.
It was always a great day in the life of "Izzy" Schwab. After
a luncheon, which, as he later informed his friends, could not
have cost less than "two dollars a plate and drink all you
like," Sam Forbes took him on at pool. Mr. Schwab had learned
the game in the cellars of Eighth Avenue at two and a half
cents a cue, and now, even in Columbus Circle he was a star.
So, before the sun had set, Mr. Forbes, who at pool rather
fancied himself, was seventy-five dollars poorer, and Mr.
Schwab just that much to the good. Then there followed a
strange ceremony called tea, or, if you preferred it, whiskey
and soda; and the tall footman bent before him with huge
silver salvers laden down with flickering silver lamps, and
bubbling soda bottles, and cigars, and cigarettes.
"You could have filled your pockets with twenty-five cent
Havanas, and nobody would have said nothing!" declared Mr.
Schwab, and his friends who never had enjoyed his chance to
study at such close quarters the truly rich, nodded enviously.
At six o'clock Mr. Schwab led Winthrop into the big library
and asked for his ticket of leave.
"They'll be counting the votes soon," he begged. "I can't do
no harm now, and I don't mean to. I didn't see nothing, and I
won't say nothing. But it's election night, and--and I just
GOT to be on Broadway."
"Right," said Winthrop, "I'll have a car take you in, and if
you will accept this small check----"
"No!" roared "Izzy" Schwab. Afterward he wondered how he came
to do it. "You've give me a good time, Mr. Winthrop. You've
treated me fine, all the gentlemen have treated me nice. I'm
not a blackmailer, Mr. Winthrop." Mr. Schwab's voice shook
slightly.
"Nonsense, Schwab, you didn't let me finish," said Winthrop,
"I'm likely to need a lawyer any time; this is a retaining
fee. Suppose I exceed the speed limit--I'm liable to do
that----"
"You bet you are!" exclaimed Mr. Schwab violently.
"Well, then, I'll send for YOU, and there isn't a police
magistrate, nor any of the traffic squad, you can't handle, is
there?"
Mr. Schwab flushed with pleasure.
"You can count on me," he vowed, "and your friends too, and
the ladies," he added gallantly. "If ever the ladies want to
get bail, tell 'em to telephone for `Izzy' Schwab. Of
course," he said reluctantly, "if it's a retaining fee----"
But when he read the face of the check he exclaimed in
protest. "But, Mr. Winthrop, this is more than the Journal
would have give me!"
They put him in a car belonging to one of the other men, and
all came out on the steps to wave him "good-by," and he drove
magnificently into his own district, where there were over a
dozen men who swore he tipped the French chauffeur a five
dollar bill "just like it was a cigarette."
All of election day since her arrival in Winthrop's car, Miss
Forbes had kept to herself. In the morning, when the other
young people were out of doors, she remained in her room, and
after luncheon when they gathered round the billiard table,
she sent for her cart and drove off alone. The others thought
she was concerned over the possible result of the election,
and did not want to disturb them by her anxiety. Winthrop,
thinking the presence of Schwab embarrassed her, recalling as
it did Peabody's unfortunate conduct of the morning, blamed
himself for bringing Schwab to the house. But he need not
have distressed himself. Miss Forbes was thinking neither of
Schwab nor Peabody, nor was she worried or embarrassed. On
the contrary, she was completely happy.
When that morning she had seen Peabody running up the steps of
the Elevated, all the doubts, the troubles, questions, and
misgivings that night and day for the last three months had
upset her, fell from her shoulders like the pilgrim's heavy
pack. For months she had been telling herself that the unrest
she felt when with Peabody was due to her not being able to
appreciate the importance of those big affairs in which he was
so interested; in which he was so admirable a figure. She
had, as she supposed, loved him, because he was earnest,
masterful, intent of purpose. His had seemed a fine
character. When she had compared him with the amusing boys of
her own age, the easy-going joking youths to whom the
betterment of New York was of no concern, she had been proud
in her choice. She was glad Peabody was ambitious. She was
ambitious for him. She was glad to have him consult her on
those questions of local government, to listen to his fierce,
contemptuous abuse of Tammany. And yet early in their
engagement she had missed something, something she had never
known, but which she felt sure should exist. Whether she had
seen it in the lives of others, or read of it in romances, or
whether it was there because it was nature to desire to be
loved, she did not know. But long before Winthrop returned
from his trip round the world, in her meetings with the man
she was to marry, she had begun to find that there was
something lacking. And Winthrop had shown her that this
something lacking was the one thing needful. When Winthrop
had gone abroad he was only one of her brother's several
charming friends. One of the amusing merry youths who came
and went in the house as freely as Sam himself. Now, after
two years' absence, he refused to be placed in that category.
He rebelled on the first night of his return. As she came
down to the dinner of welcome her brother was giving Winthrop,
he stared at her as though she were a ghost, and said, so
solemnly that every one in the room, even Peabody, smiled:
"Now I know why I came home." That he refused to recognize
her engagement to Peabody, that on every occasion he told her,
or by some act showed her, he loved her; that he swore she
should never marry any one but himself, and that he would
never marry any one but her, did not at first, except to
annoy, in any way impress her.
But he showed her what in her intercourse with Peabody was
lacking. At first she wished Peabody could find time to be as
fond of her, as foolishly fond of her, as was Winthrop. But
she realized that this was unreasonable. Winthrop was just a
hot-headed impressionable boy, Peabody was a man doing a man's
work. And then she found that week after week she became more
difficult to please. Other things in which she wished Peabody
might be more like Winthrop, obtruded themselves. Little
things which she was ashamed to notice, but which rankled; and
big things, such as consideration for others, and a sense of
humor, and not talking of himself. Since this campaign began,
at times she had felt that if Peabody said "I" once again, she
must scream. She assured herself she was as yet unworthy of
him, that her intelligence was weak, that as she grew older
and so better able to understand serious affairs, such as the
importance of having an honest man at Albany as
Lieutenant-Governor, they would become more in sympathy. And
now, at a stroke, the whole fabric of self-deception fell from
her. It was not that she saw Peabody so differently, but that
she saw herself and her own heart, and where it lay. And she
knew that "Billy" Winthrop, gentle, joking, selfish only in
his love for her, held it in his two strong hands.
For the moment, when as she sat in the car deserted by Peabody
this truth flashed upon her, she forgot the man lying injured
in the street, the unscrubbed mob crowding about her. She was
conscious only that a great weight had been lifted. That her
blood was flowing again, leaping, beating, dancing through her
body. It seemed as though she could not too quickly tell
Winthrop. For both of them she had lost out of their lives
many days. She had risked losing him for always. Her only
thought was to make up to him and to herself the wasted time.
But throughout the day the one-time welcome, but now
intruding, friends and the innumerable conventions of
hospitality required her to smile and show an interest, when
her heart and mind were crying out the one great fact.
It was after dinner, and the members of the house party were
scattered between the billiard-room and the piano. Sam Forbes
returned from the telephone.
"Tammany," he announced, "concedes the election of Jerome by
forty thousand votes, and that he carries his ticket with him.
Ernest Peabody is elected his Lieutenant-Governor by a
thousand votes. Ernest," he added, "seems to have had a close
call." There was a tremendous chorus of congratulations in
the cause of Reform. They drank the health of Peabody.
Peabody himself, on the telephone, informed Sam Forbes that a
conference of the leaders would prevent his being present with
them that evening. The enthusiasm for Reform perceptibly
increased.
An hour later Winthrop came over to Beatrice and held out his
hand. "I'm going to slip away," he said. "Good-night."
"Going away!" exclaimed Beatrice. Her voice showed such
apparently acute concern that Winthrop wondered how the best
of women could be so deceitful, even to be polite.
"I promised some men," he stammered, "to drive them down-town
to see the crowds."
Beatrice shook her head.
"It's far too late for that," she said. "Tell me the real
reason."
Winthrop turned away his eyes.
"Oh! the real reason," he said gravely, "is the same old
reason, the one I'm not allowed to talk about. It's cruelly
hard when I don't see you," he went on, slowly dragging out
the words, "but it's harder when I do; so I'm going to say
`good-night' and run into town."
He stood for a moment staring moodily at the floor, and then
dropped into a chair beside her.
"And, I believe, I've not told you," he went on, "that on
Wednesday I'm running away for good, that is, for a year or
two. I've made all the fight I can and I lose, and there is
no use in my staying on here to--well--to suffer, that is the
plain English of it. So," he continued briskly, "I won't be
here for the ceremony, and this is `good-by' as well as
`good-night.'"
"Where are you going for a year?" asked Miss Forbes.
Her voice now showed no concern. It even sounded as though
she did not take his news seriously, as though as to his
movements she was possessed of a knowledge superior to his
own. He tried to speak in matter-of-fact tones.
"To Uganda!" he said.
"To Uganda?" repeated Miss Forbes. "Where is Uganda?"
"It is in East Africa; I had bad luck there last trip, but now
I know the country better, and I ought to get some good
shooting."
Miss Forbes appeared indifferently incredulous. In her eyes
there was a look of radiant happiness. It rendered them
bewilderingly beautiful.
"On Wednesday," she said. "Won't you come and see us again
before you sail for Uganda?"
Winthrop hesitated.
"I'll stop in and say `good-by' to your mother if she's in
town, and to thank her. She's been awfully good to me. But
you--I really would rather not see you again. You understand,
or rather, you don't understand, and," he added vehemently,
"you never will understand." He stood looking down at her
miserably.
On the driveway outside there was a crunching on the gravel of
heavy wheels and an aurora-borealis of lights.
"There's your car," said Miss Forbes. "I'll go out and see
you off."
"You're very good," muttered Winthrop. He could not
understand. This parting from her was the great moment in his
life, and although she must know that, she seemed to be making
it unnecessarily hard for him. He had told her he was going
to a place very far away, to be gone a long time, and she
spoke of saying "good-by" to him as pleasantly as though it
was his intention to return from Uganda for breakfast.
Instead of walking through the hall where the others were
gathered, she led him out through one of the French windows
upon the terrace, and along it to the steps. When she saw the
chauffeur standing by the car, she stopped.
"I thought you were going alone," she said.
"I am," answered Winthrop. "It's not Fred; that's Sam's
chauffeur; he only brought the car around."
The man handed Winthrop his coat and cap, and left them, and
Winthrop seated himself at the wheel. She stood above him on
the top step. In the evening gown of lace and silver she
looked a part of the moonlight night. For each of them the
moment had arrived. Like a swimmer standing on the bank
gathering courage for the plunge, Miss Forbes gave a
trembling, shivering sigh.
"You're cold," said Winthrop, gently. "You must go in.
Good-by."
"It isn't that," said the girl. "Have you an extra coat?"
"It isn't cold enough for----"
"I meant for me," stammered the girl in a frightened voice.
"I thought perhaps you would take me a little way, and bring
me back."
At first the young man did not answer, but sat staring in
front of him, then, he said simply:
"It's awfully good of you, Beatrice. I won't forget it."
It was a wonderful autumn night, moonlight, cold, clear and
brilliant. She stepped in beside him and wrapped herself in
one of his great-coats. They started swiftly down the avenue
of trees.
"No, not fast," begged the girl, "I want to talk to you."
The car checked and rolled forward smoothly, sometimes in deep
shadow, sometimes in the soft silver glamour of the moon;
beneath them the fallen leaves crackled and rustled under the
slow moving wheels. At the highway Winthrop hesitated. It
lay before them arched with great and ancient elms; below, the
Hudson glittered and rippled in the moonlight.
"Which way do you want to go?" said Winthrop.
His voice was very grateful, very humble.
The girl did not answer.
There was a long, long pause.
Then he turned and looked at her and saw her smiling at him
with that light in her eyes that never was on land or sea.
"To Uganda," said the girl.