CHAPTER XXV. THE GATE OF THE MOON
A curious friendship had sprung up between old Adelbert andBobby Thorpe. In off hours, after school, the boy hung about theticket-taker's booth, swept now to a wonderful cleanliness and adornedwithin with pictures cut from the illustrated papers. The small charcoalfire was Bobby's particular care. He fed and watched it, and havingheard of the baleful effects of charcoal fumes, insisted on more freshair than old Adelbert had ever breathed before.
"You see," Bobby would say earnestly, as he brushed away at the floorbeneath the burner, "you don't know that you are being asphyxiated. Youjust feel drowsy, and then, poof!--you're dead."
Adelbert, dozing between tickets, was liable to be roused by a vigorousshaking, to a pair of anxious eyes gazing at him, and to a draft ofchill spring air from the open door.
"I but dozed," he would explain, without anger. "All my life have Ibreathed the fumes and nothing untoward has happened."
Outwardly he was peaceful. The daughter now received his pension infull, and wrote comforting letters. But his resentment and bitterness atthe loss of his position at the Opera continued, even grew.
For while he had now even a greater wage, and could eat three meals,besides second breakfast and afternoon coffee, down deep in his heartold Adelbert felt that he had lost caste. The Opera--that was a setting!Great staircases of marble, velvet hangings, the hush before theoverture, and over all the magic and dignity of music. And before hisstall had passed and repassed the world--royalties, the aristocracy,the army. Hoi polloi had used another entrance by which to climb to theupper galleries. He had been, then, of the elect. Aristocrats who hadforgotten their own opera-glasses had requested him to give them of hisbest, had through long years learned to know him there, and had noddedto him as they swept by. The flash of jewels on beautiful necks, theglittering of decorations on uniformed chests, had been his life.
And now, to what had he fallen! To selling tickets for an Americancatch-penny scheme, patronized by butchers, by housemaids, by the commonpeople a noisy, uproarious crowd, that nevertheless counted their changewith suspicious eyes, and brought lunches in paper boxes, which theyscattered about.
"Riff-raff!" he said to himself scornfully.
There was, however, a consolation. He had ordered a new uniform. Not fortwenty years had he ventured the extravagance, and even now his cautioussoul quailed at the price. For the last half-dozen years he had stumpedthrough the streets, painfully aware of shabbiness, of a shiny back, ofpatches, when, on the anniversary of the great battle to which he hadsacrificed a leg, the veterans marched between lines of cheering people.
Now, on this approaching anniversary, he could go peacefully, nay, evenproudly. The uniform was of the best cloth, and on its second fittingshowed already its marvel of tailoring. The news of it had gone aroundthe neighborhood. The tailor reported visits from those who would feelof the cloth, and figure its expensiveness. In the evening--for heworked only until seven--he had his other preparations: polishing hissword, cleaning his accouterments.
On an evening a week before the parade would occur, he got out hisboots. He bought always large boots with straight soles, the right notmuch different from the left in shape. Thus he managed thriftily towear, on his one leg, first one of the pair, then the other. But theywere both worn now, and because of the cost of the new uniform, he couldnot buy others.
Armed with the better of the two he visited the cobbler's shop, andthere met with bitter news.
"A patch here, and a new heel, comrade," he said. "With that and apolishing, it will do well enough for marching."
The usual group was in the shop, mostly young men, a scattering of grayheads. The advocates of strange doctrines, most of them. Old Adelbertdisapproved of them, regarded them with a sort of contempt.
Now he felt that they smiled behind his back. It was his clothing, hefelt. He shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. He no longer felt ashamedbefore them. Already, although the tailor still pressed its seamsand marked upon it with chalk, he was clad in the dignity of the newuniform.
He turned and nodded to them. "A fine evening," he said. "If thisweather holds, we will have--a good day for the marching." He squinted afaded eye at the sky outside.
"What marching?"
Old Adelbert turned on the speaker sharply. "Probably you haveforgotten," he said scornfully, "but in a week comes an anniversarythere are many who will remember. The day of a great battle. Perhaps,"he added, "if you do not know of what I speak, there are some here whowill tell you."
Unexpectedly the crowd laughed.
Old Adelbert flushed a dusky red and drew himself up. "Since when," hedemanded, "does such a speech bring laughter? It was no laughing matterthen."
"It is the way of the old to live in the past," a student said. Then,imitating old Adelbert's majestic tone: "We, we live in the future.Eh, comrades?" He turned to the old soldier: "You have not seen thebulletins?"
"Bulletins?"
"There will be no marching, my friend. The uniform now--that is a pity.Perhaps the tailor--" His eyes mocked.
"No marching?"
"An order of the Council. It seems that the city is bored by theseancient-reminders. It is for peace, and would forget wars. Andprocessions are costly. We grow thrifty. Bands and fireworks cost money,and money, my hero, is scarce--very scarce."
Again the group laughed.
After a time he grasped the truth. There was such an order. The causewas given as the King's illness.
"Since when," demanded old Adelbert angrily, "has the sound of hissoldiers' marching disturbed the King?"
"The sound of wooden legs annoys him," observed the mocking student,lighting a cigarette. "He would hear only pleasant sounds, such asthe noise of tax-money pouring into his vaults. Me--I can think of apleasanter: the tolling of the cathedral bell, at a certain time, willbe music to my ears!"
Old Adelbert stood, staring blindly ahead. At last he went out into thestreet, muttering. "They shame us before the people," he said thickly.
The order of the Council had indeed been issued, a painful business overwhich Mettlich and the Council had pondered long. For, in the state ofthings, it was deemed unwise to permit any gathering of the populace enmasse. Mobs lead to riots, and riots again to mobs. Five thousand armedmen, veterans, but many of them in their prime, were in themselves adanger. And on these days of anniversary it had been the custom of theUniversity to march also, a guard of honor. Sedition was rife among thestudents.
The order was finally issued...
Old Adelbert was not keen, but he did not lack understanding. And onething he knew, and knew well. The concierge, downstairs was no patriot.Time had been when, over coffee and bread, he had tried to instill inthe old soldier his own discontent, his new theories of a land whereall were equal and no man king. He had hinted of many who believed ashe did. Only hints, because old Adelbert had raised a trembling hand andproclaimed treason.
But now?
Late in the evening he made his resolve, and visited the bureau of theconcierge. He was away, however, and his niece spoke through the barredwindow.
"Two days, or perhaps three," she said. "He is inspecting a farm in thecountry, with a view to purchase."
The old soldier had walked by the Palace that night, and had againshaken his fist at its looming shadow. "You will see," he said, "therebe other sounds more painful than the thump of a wooden leg."
He was ill that night. He tossed about in a fever. His body ached,even the leg which so long ago had mouldered in its shallow grave on abattle-field. For these things happen. By morning he was better, buthe was a different man. His eyes glowed. His body twitched. He wasstronger, too, for now he broke his sword across his knee, and flung thepieces out of the window. And with them went the last fragment of hisold loyalty to his King.
Old Adelbert was now, potentially, a traitor.
The spring came early that year. The last of February saw the parksgreen. Snowdrops appeared in the borders of paths. The sw
ans left theirwooden houses and drifted about in water much colder than the air. Bobbyabandoned the aeroplane for a kite and threw it aloft from Pike's Peak.At night, when he undressed, marbles spilled out of his pockets androlled under the most difficult furniture. Although it was still coldat nights and in the early mornings, he abandoned the white sweater andtook to looking for birds and nests in the trees of the park. It was,of course, much too early for nests, but nevertheless he searched,convinced that even if grown-ups talked wisely of more cold weather, heand the birds knew it was spring. And, of course, the snow-drops.
On the morning after old Adelbert had turned his back on his King, BobbyThorpe rose early, so early, indeed, that even Pepy still slept in hernarrow bed, and the milk-sellers had not started on their rounds. Theearly rising was a mistake, owing to a watch which had strangely gainedan hour.
Somewhat disconsolately, he wandered about. Heavy quiet reigned. From awindow he watched the meat-seller hang out a freshly killed deer, justbrought from the mountains He went downstairs and out on the street,past the niece of the concierge, who was scrubbing the stairs.
"I'm going for a walk," he told her. "If they send Pepy down you mighttell her I'll be back for breakfast."
He stood for a time surveying the deer. Then he decided to gohunting himself. The meat-seller obligingly gave him the handle of afloor-brush, and with this improvised gun Bobby went deer-stalking. Heturned into the Park, going stealthily, and searching the landscape withkeen hunter's eyes. Once or twice he leveled his weapon, killed a deer,cut off the head, and went on. His dog trotted, at his heels. When aparticularly good shot presented itself, Bobby said, "Down, Tucker," andTucker, who played extremely well, would lie down, ears cocked, untilthe quarry was secured.
Around the old city gate, still standing although the wall of which ithad been a part was gone, there was excellent hunting. Here they killedand skinned a bear, took fine ivory tusks from a dead elephant, andsearched for the trail of a tiger.
The gate was an excellent place for a tiger. Around it was plantedan almost impenetrable screen of evergreens, so thick that the groundbeneath was quite bare of grass. Here the two hunters crawled onstomachs that began to feel a trifle empty, and here they happened onthe trail.
Tucker found it first. His stumpy tail grew rigid. Nose to the ground,he crawled and wriggled through the undergrowth, Bobby at his heels.And now Bobby saw the trail, footprints. It is true that they resembledthose of heavy boots with nails. But on the other hand, no one could saysurely that the nail-marks were not those of claws.
Tucker circled about. The trail grew more exciting. Bobby had to crawlon hands and feet under and through thickets. Branches had been brokenas by the passage of some large body. The sportsman clutched his weaponand went on.
An hour later the two hunters returned for breakfast. Washing didsomething to restore the leader to a normal appearance, but a wonderingfamily discovered him covered with wounds and strangely silent.
"Why, Bob, where have you been?" his mother demanded. "Why, I never sawso many scratches!"
"I've been hunting," he replied briefly. "They don't hurt anyhow."
Then he relapsed into absorbed silence. His mother, putting cream on hiscereal, placed an experienced hand on his forehead. "Are you sure youfeel well, dear?" she asked. "I think your head is a little hot."
"I'm all right, mother."
She was wisely silent, but she ran over in her mind the spring treatmentfor children at home. The blood, she felt, should be thinned after awinter of sausages and rich cocoa. She mentally searched her medicinecase.
A strange thing happened that day. A broken plate disappeared from theupper shelf of a closet, where Pepy had hidden it; also a cup with anick in it, similarly concealed; also the heel of a loaf of bread.Nor was that the end. For three days a sort of magic reigned in Pepy'skitchen. Ten potatoes, laid out to peel, became eight. Matches and twoends of candle walked out, as it were, on their own feet. A tin pan witha hole in it left the kitchen-table and was discovered hiding in Bobby'sbureau, when the Fraulein put away the washing.
On the third day Mrs. Thorpe took her husband into their room and closedthe door.
"Bob," she said, "I don't want to alarm you. But there is somethingwrong with Bobby."
"Sick, you mean?"
"I don't know." Her voice was worried. "He's not a bit like himself. Heis always away, for one thing. And he hardly eats at all."
"He looks well enough nourished!"
"And he comes home covered with mud. I have never seen his clothes insuch condition. And last night, when he was bathing, I went into thebathroom. He is covered with scratches."
"Now see here, mother," the hunter's father protested, "you're theparent of a son, a perfectly hardy, healthy, and normal youngster, withan imagination. Probably he's hunting Indians. I saw him in the Parkyesterday with his air-rifle. Any how, just stop worrying and let himalone. A scratch or two won't hurt him. And as to his not eating,--well,if he's not eating at home he's getting food somewhere, I'll bet you ahat."
So Bobby was undisturbed, save that the governess protested that heheard nothing she told him, and was absent-minded at his lessons. Butas she was always protesting about something, no one paid any attention.Bobby drew ahead on his pocket allowance without question, and as hisbirthday was not far off, asked for "the dollar to grow on" in advance.He always received a dollar for each year, which went into the bank, anda dollar to grow on, which was his own to spend.
With the dollar he made a number of purchases candles and candlestick, atoy pistol and caps, one of the masks for the Carnival, now displayed inall the windows, a kitchen-knife, wooden plates, and a piece of bacon.
Now and then he appeared at the Scenic Railway, abstracted and viewingwith a calculating eye the furnishings of the engine-room and workshop.From there disappeared a broken chair, a piece of old carpet, discardedfrom a car, and a large padlock, but the latter he asked for andobtained.
His occasional visits to the Railway, however, found him in oldAdelbert's shack. He filled his pockets with charcoal from the pailbeside the stove, and made cautious inquiries as to methods of cookingpotatoes. But the pall of old Adelbert's gloom penetrated at last eventhrough the boy's abstraction.
"I hope your daughter is not worse," he said politely, during one of hisvisits to the ticket-booth.
"She is well. She recovers strength rapidly."
"And the new uniform--does it fit, you?"
"I do not know," said old Adelbert grimly. "I have not seen itrecently."
"On the day of the procession we are all going to watch for you. I'lltell you where we twill be, so you can look for us."
"There will be no procession."
Then to the boy old Adelbert poured out the bitterness of his soul. Heshowed where he had torn down the King's picture, and replaced it withone of a dying stag. He reviewed his days in the hospital, and thehardships through which he had passed, to come to this. The King hadforgotten his brave men.
Bobby listened. "Pretty soon there won't be any kings," he observed. "Myfather says so. They're out of date."
"Aye," said old Adelbert.
"It would be kind of nice if you had a president. Then, if he acted up,you could put him out."
"Aye," said old Adelbert again.
During the rest of the day Bobby considered. No less a matter than thesharing of a certain secret occupied his mind. Now; half the pleasureof a secret is sharing it, naturally, but it should be with the rightperson. And his old playfellow was changed. Bobby, reflecting, wonderedwhether old Adelbert would really care to join his pirate crew,consisting of Tucker and himself. On the next day, however, he put thematter to the test, having resolved that old Adelbert needed distractionand cheering.
"You know," he said, talking through the window of the booth, "I thinkwhen I grow up I'll be a pirate."
"There be worse trades," said old Adelbert, whose hand was now againstevery man.
"And hide treasure," Bobby went on. "In
a--in a cave, you know. Did youever read 'Treasure Island'?"
"I may have forgotten it. I have read many things."
"You'd hardly forget it. You know--
'Fifteen men on a dead man's chest Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum.'"
Old Adelbert rather doubted the possibility of fifteen men on one deadman's chest, but he nodded gravely. "A spirited song," he observed.
Bobby edged closer to the window. "I've got the cave already."
"So!"
"Here, in the Park. It is a great secret. I'd like to show it to you.Only it's rather hard to get to. I don't know whether you'd care tocrawl through the bushes to it."
"A cave--here in the Park?"
"I'll take you, if you'd like to see it."
Old Adelbert was puzzled. The Park offered, so far as he knew, no placefor a cave. It was a plain, the site of the old wall; and now planted ingrass and flowers. He himself had seen it graded and sown. A cave!
"Where?"
"That's a secret. But I'll show it to you, if you won't tell."
Old Adelbert agreed to silence. In fact, he repeated after the boy, inEnglish he did not understand, a most blood-curdling oath of secrecy,and made the pirate sign--which, as every one knows, is a skull andcrossbones--in the air with his forefinger.
"This cave," he said, half smiling, "must be a most momentous matter!"
Until midday, when the Railway opened for business, the old soldier wasfree. So the next morning, due precautions having been taken, the twoconspirators set off. Three, rather, for Tucker, too, was now of theband of the black flag, having been taken in with due formality a day ortwo before, and behaving well and bravely during the rather trying ritesof initiation.
Outside the thicket Bobby hesitated. "I ought to blindfold you," hesaid. "But I guess you'll need your eyes. It's a hard place to get to."
Perhaps, had he known the difficulties ahead, old Adelbert would nothave gone on. And; had he turned back then, the history of a certainkingdom of Europe would have been changed. Maps, too, and schoolbooks,and the life-story of a small Prince. But he went on. Stronger than hisyoung guide, he did not crawl, but bent aside the stiff and ungainlybranches of the firs. He battled with the thicket, and came outvictorious.. He was not so old, then, or so feeble. His arm would havebeen strong for the King, had not-- "There it is!" cried Bobby.
Not a cave, it appeared at first. A low doorway, barred with an irongrating, and padlocked. A doorway in the base of a side wall of thegate, and so heaped with leaves that its lower half was covered.
Bobby produced a key. "I broke the padlock that was on it," heexplained. "I smashed it with a stone. But I got another. I always lockit."
Prolonged search produced the key. Old Adelbert's face was set hard.On what dungeon had this boy stumbled? He himself had lived there manyyears, and of no such aperture had he heard mention. It was strange.
Bobby was removing the leaf-mould with his hands. "It was almost allcovered when I found it," he said, industriously scraping. "I generallyclose it up like this when I leave. It's a good place for pirates, don'tyou think?"
"Excellent!"
"I've brought some things already. The lock's rusty. There it goes.There are rats. I hope you don't mind rats."
The door swung in, silently, as though the hinges had been recentlyoiled; as indeed they had, but not by the boy.
"It's rather dirty," he explained. "You go down steps first. Be verycareful."
He extended an earthy hand and led the old man down. "It's dark here,but there's a room below; quite a good room. And I have candles."
Truly a room. Built of old brick, and damp, but with a free circulationof air. Old Adelbert stared about him. It was not entirely dark. A bitof light entered from the aperture at the head of the steps. By it, evenbefore Bobby had lighted his candle, he saw the broken chair, the pieceof old carpet, and the odds and ends the child had brought.
"I cook down here sometimes," said Bobby, struggling with matches thathad felt the damp. "But it is very smoky. I should like to have a stove.You don't know where I can get a secondhand stove, do you? with a longpipe?"
Old Adelbert felt curiously shaken. "None have visited this place sinceyou have been here?" he asked.
"I don't suppose any one knows about it. Do you?"
"Those who built it, perhaps. But it is old, very old. It is possible--"
He stopped, lost in speculation. There had been a story once of apassageway under the wall, but he recollected nothing clearly. Apassageway leading out beyond the wall, through which, in a great siege,a messenger had been sent for help. But that was of a passage; whilethis was a dungeon.
The candle was at last lighted. It burned fitfully, illuminating only atiny zone in the darkness.
"I need a lantern," Bobby observed. "There's a draft here. It comes fromthe other grating. Sometime, when you have time, I'd like to see what'sbeyond it. I was kind of nervous about going alone."
It was the old passage, then, of course. Old Adelbert stared as Bobbytook the candle and held it toward a second grated door, like the first,but taller.
"There are rats there," he said. "I can hear them; about a million, Iguess. They ate all the bread and bacon I left. Tucker can get through.He must have killed a lot of them."
"Lend me your candle."
A close examination revealed to old Adelbert two things: First, that abrick-lined passage, apparently in good repair, led beyond the grating.Second, that it had been recently put in order. A spade and wheelbarrow,both unmistakably of recent make, stood just beyond, the barrow full ofbricks, as though fallen ones had been gathered up. Further, the padlockhad been freshly oiled, and the hinges of the grating. No unused passagethis, but one kept in order and repair. For what?
Bobby had adjusted the mask and thrust the knife through the belt of hisNorfolk jacket. Now, folding his arms, he recited fiercely,
"'Fifteen men on a dead man's chest. Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!'"
"A spirited song," observed old Adelbert, as before. But his eyes wereon the grating.
That evening Adelbert called to see his friend, the locksmith in theUniversity Place. He possessed, he said, a padlock of which he had lostthe key, and which, being fastened to a chest, he was unable to bringwith him. A large and heavy padlock, perhaps the size of his palm.
When he left, he carried with him a bundle of keys, tied in a brownpaper.
But he did not go back to his chest. He went instead to the thicketaround the old gate, which was still termed the "Gate of the Moon," andthere, armed with a lantern, pursued his investigations during a portionof the night.
When he had finished, old Adelbert, veteran of many wars, one-timepatriot and newly turned traitor, held in his shaking hands the fate ofthe kingdom.