CHAPTER VII
Gerhardt was in despair; he did not know any one to whom he couldappeal between the hours of two and nine o'clock in the morning. Hewent back to talk with his wife, and then to his post of duty. Whatwas to be done? He could think of only one friend who was able, orpossibly willing to do anything. This was the glass manufacturer,Hammond; but he was not in the city. Gerhardt did not know this,however.
When nine o'clock came, he went alone to the court, for it wasthought advisable that the others should stay away. Mrs. Gerhardt wasto hear immediately what happened. He would come right back.
When Sebastian was lined up inside the dock he had to wait a longtime, for there were several prisoners ahead of him. Finally his namewas called, and the boy was pushed forward to the bar. "Stealing coal,Your Honor, and resisting arrest," explained the officer who hadarrested him.
The magistrate looked at Sebastian closely; he was unfavorablyimpressed by the lad's scratched and wounded face.
"Well, young man," he said, "what have you to say for yourself? Howdid you get your black eye?"
Sebastian looked at the judge, but did not answer.
"I arrested him," said the detective. "He was on one of thecompany's cars. He tried to break away from me, and when I held him heassaulted me. This man here was a witness," he added, turning to therailroad hand who had helped him.
"Is that where he struck you?" asked the Court, observing thedetective's swollen jaw.
"Yes, sir," he returned, glad of an opportunity to be furtherrevenged.
"If you please," put in Gerhardt, leaning forward, "he is my boy.He was sent to get the coal. He--"
"We don't mind what they pick up around the yard," interrupted thedetective, "but he was throwing it off the cars to half a dozenothers."
"Can't you earn enough to keep from taking coal off the coal cars?"asked the Court; but before either father or son had time to answer headded, "What is your business?"
"Car builder," said Sebastian.
"And what do you do?" he questioned, addressing Gerhardt.
"I am watchman at Miller's furniture factory."
"Um," said the court, feeling that Sebastian's attitude remainedsullen and contentious. "Well, this young man might be let off on thecoal-stealing charge, but he seems to be somewhat too free with hisfists. Columbus is altogether too rich in that sort of thing. Tendollars."
"If you please," began Gerhardt, but the court officer was alreadypushing him away.
"I don't want to hear any more about it," said the judge. "He'sstubborn, anyhow. What's the next case?"
Gerhardt made his way over to his boy, abashed and yet very glad itwas no worse. Somehow, he thought, he could raise the money. Sebastianlooked at him solicitously as he came forward.
"It's all right," said Bass soothingly. "He didn't give me half achance to say anything."
"I'm only glad it wasn't more," said Gerhardt nervously. "We willtry and get the money."
Going home to his wife, Gerhardt informed the troubled household ofthe result. Mrs. Gerhardt stood white and yet relieved, for tendollars seemed something that might be had. Jennie heard the wholestory with open mouth and wide eyes. It was a terrible blow to her.Poor Bass! He was always so lively and good-natured. It seemed awfulthat he should be in jail.
Gerhardt went hurriedly to Hammond's fine residence, but he was notin the city. He thought then of a lawyer by the name of Jenkins, whomhe knew in a casual way, but Jenkins was not at his office. There wereseveral grocers and coal merchants whom he knew well enough, but heowed them money. Pastor Wundt might let him have it, but the agonysuch a disclosure to that worthy would entail held him back. He didcall on one or two acquaintances, but these, surprised at the unusualand peculiar request, excused themselves. At four o'clock he returnedhome, weary and exhausted.
"I don't know what to do," he said despairingly. "If I could onlythink."
Jennie thought of Brander, but the situation had not accentuatedher desperation to the point where she could brave her father'sopposition and his terrible insult to the Senator, so keenlyremembered, to go and ask. Her watch had been pawned a second time,and she had no other means of obtaining money.
The family council lasted until half-past ten, but still there wasnothing decided. Mrs. Gerhardt persistently and monotonously turnedone hand over in the other and stared at the floor. Gerhardt ran hishand through his reddish brown hair distractedly. "It's no use," hesaid at last. "I can't think of anything."
"Go to bed, Jennie," said her mother solicitously; "get the othersto go. There's no use their sitting up I may think of something. Yougo to bed."
Jennie went to her room, but the very thought of repose wasinsupportable. She had read in the paper, shortly after her father'squarrel with the Senator, that the latter had departed for Washington.There had been no notice of his return. Still he might be in the city.She stood before a short, narrow mirror that surmounted a shabbybureau, thinking. Her sister Veronica, with whom she slept, wasalready composing herself to dreams. Finally a grim resolution fixeditself in her consciousness. She would go and see Senator Brander. Ifhe were in town he would help Bass. Why shouldn't she--heloved her. He had asked over and over to marry her. Why should she notgo and ask him for help?
She hesitated a little while, then hearing Veronica breathingregularly, she put on her hat and jacket, and noiselessly opened thedoor into the sitting-room to see if any one were stirring.
There was no sound save that of Gerhardt rocking nervously to andfro in the kitchen. There was no light save that of her own smallroom-lamp and a gleam from under the kitchen door. She turned and blewthe former out--then slipped quietly to the front door, opened itand stepped out into the night.
A waning moon was shining, and a hushed sense of growing lifefilled the air, for it was nearing spring again. As Jennie hurriedalong the shadowy streets--the arc light had not yet beeninvented--she had a sinking sense of fear; what was this rashthing she was about to do? How would the Senator receive her? Whatwould he think? She stood stock-still, wavering and doubtful; then therecollection of Bass in his night cell came over her again, and shehurried on.
The character of the Capitol Hotel was such that it was notdifficult for a woman to find ingress through the ladies' entrance tothe various floors of the hotel at any hour of the night. The hotel,not unlike many others of the time, was in no sense loosely conducted,but its method of supervision in places was lax. Any person couldenter, and, by applying at a rear entrance to the lobby, gain theattention of the clerk. Otherwise not much notice was taken of thosewho came and went.
When she came to the door it was dark save for a low light burningin the entry-way. The distance to the Senator's room was only a shortway along the hall of the second floor. She hurried up the steps,nervous and pale, but giving no other outward sign of the storm thatwas surging within her. When she came to his familiar door she paused;she feared that she might not find him in his room; she trembled againto think that he might be there. A light shone through the transom,and, summoning all her courage, she knocked. A man coughed andbestirred himself.
His surprise as he opened the door knew no bounds. "Why, Jennie!"he exclaimed. "How delightful! I was thinking of you. Comein--come in."
He welcomed her with an eager embrace.
"I was coming out to see you, believe me, I was. I was thinking allalong how I could straighten this matter out. And now you come. Butwhat's the trouble?"
He held her at arm's length and studied her distressed face. Thefresh beauty of her seemed to him like cut lilies wet with dew.
He felt a great surge of tenderness.
"I have something to ask you," she at last brought herself to say."My brother is in jail. We need ten dollars to get him out, and Ididn't know where else to go."
"My poor child!" he said, chafing her hands. "Where else should yougo? Haven't I told you always to come to me? Don't you know, Jennie, Iwould do anything in the world for you?"
"Yes," she gasped.
"Well, then, don't worry about that any more. But won't fate evercease striking at you, poor child? How did your brother come to get injail?"
"They caught him throwing coal down from the cars," shereplied.
"Ah!" he replied, his sympathies touched and awakened. Here wasthis boy arrested and fined for what fate was practically driving himto do. Here was this girl pleading with him at night, in his room, forwhat to her was a great necessity--ten dollars; to him, a merenothing. "I will arrange about your brother," he said quickly. "Don'tworry. I can get him out in half an hour. You sit here now and becomfortable until I return."
He waved her to his easy-chair beside a large lamp, and hurried outof the room.
Brander knew the sheriff who had personal supervision of the countyjail. He knew the judge who had administered the fine. It was but afive minutes' task to write a note to the judge asking him to revokethe fine, for the sake of the boy's character, and send it by amessenger to his home. Another ten minutes' task to go personally tothe jail and ask his friend, the sheriff, to release the boy then andthere.
"Here is the money," he said. "If the fine is revoked you canreturn it to me. Let him go now."
The sheriff was only too glad to comply. He hastened below topersonally supervise the task, and Bass, a very much astonished boy,was set free. No explanations were vouchsafed him.
"That's all right now," said the turnkey. "You're at liberty. Runalong home and don't let them catch you at anything like thatagain."
Bass went his way wondering, and the ex-Senator returned to hishotel trying to decide just how this delicate situation should behandled. Obviously Jennie had not told her father of her mission. Shehad come as a last resource. She was now waiting for him in hisroom.
There are crises in all men's lives when they waver between thestrict fulfilment of justice and duty and the great possibilities forpersonal happiness which another line of conduct seems to assure. Andthe dividing line is not always marked and clear. He knew that theissue of taking her, even as his wife, was made difficult by thesenseless opposition of her father. The opinion of the world broughtup still another complication. Supposing he should take her openly,what would the world say? She was a significant type emotionally, thathe knew. There was something there--artistically,temperamentally, which was far and beyond the keenest suspicion of theherd. He did not know himself quite what it was, but he felt alargeness of feeling not altogether squared with intellect, or perhapsbetter yet, experience, which was worthy of any man's desire. "Thisremarkable girl," he thought, seeing her clearly in his mind'seye.
Meditating as to what he should do, he returned to his hotel, andthe room. As he entered he was struck anew with her beauty, and withthe irresistible appeal of her personality. In the glow of the shadedlamp she seemed a figure of marvelous potentiality.
"Well," he said, endeavoring to appear calm, "I have looked afteryour brother. He is out."
She rose.
"Oh," she exclaimed, clasping her hands and stretching her arms outtoward him. There were tears of gratefulness in her eyes.
He saw them and stepped close to her. "Jennie, for heaven's sakedon't cry," he entreated. "You angel! You sister of mercy! To thinkyou should have to add tears to your other sacrifices."
He drew her to him, and then all the caution of years deserted him.There was a sense both of need and of fulfilment in his mood. At last,in spite of other losses, fate had brought him what he mostdesired--love, a woman whom he could love. He took her in hisarms, and kissed her again and again.
The English Jefferies has told us that it requires a hundred andfifty years to make a perfect maiden. "From all enchanted things ofearth and air, this preciousness has been drawn. From the south windthat breathed a century and a half over the green wheat; from theperfume of the growing grasses waving over heavy-laden clover andlaughing veronica, hiding the green finches, baffling the bee; fromrose-lined hedge, woodbine, and cornflower, azure blue, whereyellowing wheat stalks crowd up under the shadow of green firs. Allthe devious brooklets' sweetness where the iris stays the sunlight;all the wild woods hold of beauty; all the broad hills of thyme andfreedom thrice a hundred years repeated.
"A hundred years of cowslips, bluebells, violets; purple spring andgolden autumn; sunshine, shower, and dewy mornings; the nightimmortal; all the rhythm of time unrolling. A chronicle unwritten andpast all power of writing; who shall preserve a record of the petalsthat fell from the roses a century ago? The swallows to the house-topsthree hundred--times think of that! Thence she sprang, and theworld yearns toward her beauty as to flowers that are past. Theloveliness of seventeen is centuries old. That is why passion isalmost sad."
If you have understood and appreciated the beauty of harebellsthree hundred times repeated; if the quality of the roses, of themusic, of the ruddy mornings and evenings of the world has evertouched your heart; if all beauty were passing, and you were giventhese things to hold in your arms before the world slipped away, wouldyou give them up?