Produced by John Hamm
MORAN OF THE LADY LETTY
by Frank Norris
DEDICATED TO Captain Joseph Hodgson UNITED STATES LIFE SAVING SERVICE
I. SHANGHAIED
This is to be a story of a battle, at least one murder, and severalsudden deaths. For that reason it begins with a pink tea and among themingled odors of many delicate perfumes and the hale, frank smell ofCaroline Testout roses.
There had been a great number of debutantes "coming out" that season inSan Francisco by means of afternoon teas, pink, lavender, and otherwise.This particular tea was intended to celebrate the fact that JosieHerrick had arrived at that time of her life when she was to wear herhair high and her gowns long, and to have a "day" of her own quitedistinct from that of her mother.
Ross Wilbur presented himself at the Herrick house on Pacific Avenuemuch too early upon the afternoon of Miss Herrick's tea. As he made,his way up the canvased stairs he was aware of a terrifying array ofmillinery and a disquieting staccato chatter of feminine voices in theparlors and reception-rooms on either side of the hallway. A single highhat in the room that had been set apart for the men's use confirmed himin his suspicions.
"Might have known it would be a hen party till six, anyhow," hemuttered, swinging out of his overcoat. "Bet I don't know one girl intwenty down there now--all mamma's friends at this hour, andpapa's maiden sisters, and Jo's school-teachers and governesses andmusic-teachers, and I don't know what all."
When he went down he found it precisely as he expected. He went up toMiss Herrick, where she stood receiving with her mother and two of theother girls, and allowed them to chaff him on his forlornness.
"Maybe I seem at my ease," said Ross Wilbur to them, "but really I amvery much frightened. I'm going to run away as soon as it is decentlypossible, even before, unless you feed me."
"I believe you had luncheon not two hours ago," said Miss Herrick. "Comealong, though, and I'll give you some chocolate, and perhaps, if you'regood, a stuffed olive. I got them just because I knew you liked them. Iought to stay here and receive, so I can't look after you for long."
The two fought their way through the crowded rooms to theluncheon-table, and Miss Herrick got Wilbur his chocolate and hisstuffed olives. They sat down and talked in a window recess for amoment, Wilbur toeing-in in absurd fashion as he tried to make a lap forhis plate.
"I thought," said Miss Herrick, "that you were going on the Ridgeways'yachting party this afternoon. Mrs. Ridgeway said she was counting onyou. They are going out with the 'Petrel.'"
"She didn't count above a hundred, though," answered Wilbur. "I gotyour bid first, so I regretted the yachting party; and I guess I'd haveregretted it anyhow," and he grinned at her over his cup.
"Nice man," she said--adding on the instant, "I must go now, Ross."
"Wait till I eat the sugar out of my cup," complained Wilbur. "Tellme," he added, scraping vigorously at the bottom of the cup with theinadequate spoon; "tell me, you're going to the hoe-down to-night?"
"If you mean the Assembly, yes, I am."
"Will you give me the first and last?"
"I'll give you the first, and you can ask for the last then."
"Let's put it down; I know you'll forget it." Wilbur drew a couple ofcards from his case.
"Programmes are not good form any more," said Miss Herrick.
"Forgetting a dance is worse."
He made out the cards, writing on the one he kept for himself, "Firstwaltz--Jo."
"I must go back now," said Miss Herrick, getting up.
"In that case I shall run--I'm afraid of girls."
"It's a pity about you."
"I am; one girl, I don't say, but girl in the aggregate like this," andhe pointed his chin toward the thronged parlors. "It un-mans me."
"Good-by, then."
"Good-by, until to-night, about--?"
"About nine."
"About nine, then."
Ross Wilbur made his adieu to Mrs. Herrick and the girls who werereceiving, and took himself away. As he came out of the house and stoodfor a moment on the steps, settling his hat gingerly upon his hair so asnot to disturb the parting, he was not by any means an ill-looking chap.His good height was helped out by his long coat and his high silk hat,and there was plenty of jaw in the lower part of his face. Nor was histailor altogether answerable for his shoulders. Three years before thistime Ross Wilbur had pulled at No. 5 in his varsity boat in an Easterncollege that was not accustomed to athletic discomfiture.
"I wonder what I'm going to do with myself until supper time," hemuttered, as he came down the steps, feeling for the middle of hisstick. He found no immediate answer to his question. But the afternoonwas fine, and he set off to walk in the direction of the town, with ahalf-formed idea of looking in at his club.
At his club he found a letter in his box from his particular chum, whohad been spending the month shooting elk in Oregon.
"Dear Old Man," it said, "will be back on the afternoon you receive this. Will hit the town on the three o'clock boat. Get seats for the best show going--my treat--and arrange to assimilate nutriment at the Poodle Dog--also mine. I've got miles of talk in me that I've got to reel off before midnight. Yours. "JERRY."
"I've got a stand of horns for you, Ross, that are Glory Hallelujah."
"Well, I can't go," murmured Wilbur, as he remembered the Assembly thatwas to come off that night and his engaged dance with Jo Herrick. Hedecided that it would be best to meet Jerry as he came off the boat andtell him how matters stood. Then he resolved, since no one that heknew was in the club, and the instalment of the Paris weeklies had notarrived, that it would be amusing to go down to the water-front and loafamong the shipping until it was time for Jerry's boat.
Wilbur spent an hour along the wharves, watching the great grain shipsconsigned to "Cork for orders" slowly gorging themselves with wholeharvests of wheat from the San Joaquin Valley; lumber vessels for Durbanand South African ports settling lower and lower to the water's level asforests of pine and redwood stratified themselves along their decks andin their holds; coal barges discharging from Nanaimo; busy little tugscoughing and nuzzling at the flanks of the deep-sea tramps, while haybarges and Italian whitehalls came and went at every turn. A StocktonRiver boat went by, her stern wheel churning along behind, like ahuge net-reel; a tiny maelstrom of activity centred about an AlaskaCommercial Company's steamboat that would clear for Dawson in themorning.
No quarter of one of the most picturesque cities in the world had moreinterest for Wilbur than the water-front. In the mile or so of shippingthat stretched from the docks where the China steamships landed, downpast the ferry slips and on to Meiggs's Wharf, every maritime nationin the world was represented. More than once Wilbur had talked tothe loungers of the wharves, stevedores out of work, sailorsbetween voyages, caulkers and ship chandlers' men looking--not tooearnestly--for jobs; so that on this occasion, when a little, undersizedfellow in dirty brown sweater and clothes of Barbary coast cut askedhim for a match to light his pipe, Wilbur offered a cigar and passedthe time of day with him. Wilbur had not forgotten that he himself wasdressed for an afternoon function. But the incongruity of the businesswas precisely what most amused him.
After a time the fellow suggested drinks. Wilbur hesitated for a moment.It would be something to tell about, however, so, "All right, I'll drinkwith you," he said.
The brown sweater led the way to a sailors' boarding-house hard by. Therear of the place was built upon piles over the water. But in front, onthe ground floor, was a barroom.
"Rum an' gum," announced the brown sweater, as the two came in and tooktheir places at the bar.
"Rum an' gum, Tuck;
wattle you have, sir?"
"Oh--I don't know," hesitated Wilbur; "give me a mild Manhattan."
While the drinks were being mixed the brown sweater called Wilbur'sattention to a fighting head-dress from the Marquesas that was hung onthe wall over the free-lunch counter and opposite the bar. Wilbur turnedabout to look at it, and remained so, his back to the barkeeper, tillthe latter told them their drinks were ready.
"Well, mate, here's big blocks an' taut hawse-pipes," said the brownsweater cordially.
"Your very good health," returned Wilbur.
The brown sweater wiped a thin mustache in the hollow of his palm, andwiped that palm upon his trouser leg.
"Yessir," he continued, once more facing the Marquesas head-dress."Yessir, they're queer game down there."
"In the Marquesas Islands, you mean?" said Wilbur.
"Yessir, they're queer game. When they ain't tattoin' theirselves withScripture tex's they git from the missionaries, they're pullin' outthe hairs all over their bodies with two clam-shells. Hair by hair, y'understan'?"
"Pull'n out 'er hair?" said Wilbur, wondering what was the matter withhis tongue.
"They think it's clever--think the women folk like it."
Wilbur had fancied that the little man had worn a brown sweater whenthey first met. But now, strangely enough, he was not in the leastsurprised to see it iridescent like a pigeon's breast.
"Y' ever been down that way?" inquired the little man next.
Wilbur heard the words distinctly enough, but somehow they refused tofit into the right places in his brain. He pulled himself together,frowning heavily.
"What--did--you--say?" he asked with great deliberation, biting off hiswords. Then he noticed that he and his companion were no longer inthe barroom, but in a little room back of it. His personality divideditself. There was one Ross Wilbur--who could not make his hands go wherehe wanted them, who said one word when he thought another, and whoselegs below the knee were made of solid lead. Then there was another RossWilbur--Ross Wilbur, the alert, who was perfectly clear-headed, and whostood off to one side and watched his twin brother making a monkey ofhimself, without power and without even the desire of helping him.
This latter Wilbur heard the iridescent sweater say:
"Bust me, if y' a'n't squiffy, old man. Stand by a bit an' we'll have aball."
"Can't have got--return--exceptionally--and the round table--pull outhairs wi' tu clamsh'ls," gabbled Wilbur's stupefied double; and Wilburthe alert said to himself: "You're not drunk, Ross Wilbur, that'scertain; what could they have put in your cocktail?"
The iridescent sweater stamped twice upon the floor and a trap-door fellaway beneath Wilbur's feet like the drop of a gallows. With the eyes ofhis undrugged self Wilbur had a glimpse of water below. His elbow struckthe floor as he went down, and he fell feet first into a Whitehall boat.He had time to observe two men at the oars and to look between the pilesthat supported the house above him and catch a glimpse of the bay anda glint of the Contra Costa shore. He was not in the least surprised atwhat had happened, and made up his mind that it would be a good idea tolie down in the boat and go to sleep.
Suddenly--but how long after his advent into the boat he could nottell--his wits began to return and settle themselves, like wild birdsflocking again after a scare. Swiftly he took in the scene. The bluewaters of the bay around him, the deck of a schooner on which he stood,the Whitehall boat alongside, and an enormous man with a face likea setting moon wrangling with his friend in the sweater--no longeriridescent.
"What do you call it?" shouted the red man. "I want able seamen--I don'tfigger on working this boat with dancing masters, do I? We ain't exactlydoing quadrilles on my quarterdeck. If we don't look out we'll step onthis thing and break it. It ain't ought to be let around loose withoutits ma."
"Rot that," vociferated the brown sweater. "I tell you he's one of thebest sailor men on the front. If he ain't we'll forfeit the money. Comeon, Captain Kitchell, we made show enough gettin' away as it was, andthis daytime business ain't our line. D'you sign or not? Here's theadvance note. I got to duck my nut or I'll have the patrol boat afterme."
"I'll sign this once," growled the other, scrawling his name on thenote; "but if this swab ain't up to sample, he'll come back by freight,an' I'll drop in on mee dear friend Jim when we come back and give him areel nice time, an' you can lay to that, Billy Trim." The brown sweaterpocketed the note, went over the side, and rowed off.
Wilbur stood in the waist of a schooner anchored in the stream well offFisherman's wharf. In the forward part of the schooner a Chinaman inbrown duck was mixing paint. Wilbur was conscious that he still wore hishigh hat and long coat, but his stick was gone and one gray glove wasslit to the button. In front of him towered the enormous red-faced man.A pungent reek of some kind of rancid fat or oil assailed his nostrils.Over by Alcatraz a ferry-boat whistled for its slip as it elbowed itsway through the water.
Wilbur had himself fairly in hand by now. His wits were all about him;but the situation was beyond him as yet.
"Git for'd," commanded the big man.
Wilbur drew himself up, angry in an instant. "Look here," he began,"what's the meaning of this business? I know I've been drugged andmishandled. I demand to be put ashore. Do you understand that?"
"Angel child," whimpered the big man. "Oh, you lilee of the vallee, youbright an' mornin' star. I'm reely pained y'know, that your vally can'tcome along, but we'll have your piano set up in the lazarette. It givesme genuine grief, it do, to see you bein' obliged to put your lileewhite feet on this here vulgar an' dirtee deck. We'll have the Wiltoncarpet down by to-morrer, so we will, my dear. Yah-h!" he suddenly brokeout, as his rage boiled over. "Git for'd, d'ye hear! I'm captain of thishere bathtub, an' that's all you need to know for a good while to come.I ain't generally got to tell that to a man but once; but I'll stretchthe point just for love of you, angel child. Now, then, move!"
Wilbur stood motionless--puzzled beyond expression. No experience he hadever been through helped in this situation.
"Look here," he began, "I--"
The captain knocked him down with a blow of one enormous fist upon themouth, and while he was yet stretched upon the deck kicked him savagelyin the stomach. Then he allowed him to rise, caught him by the neck andthe slack of his overcoat, and ran him forward to where a hatchway, nottwo feet across, opened in the deck. Without ado, he flung him down intothe darkness below; and while Wilbur, dizzied by the fall, sat on thefloor at the foot of the vertical companion-ladder, gazing about himwith distended eyes, there rained down upon his head, first an oilskincoat, then a sou'wester, a pair of oilskin breeches, woolen socks, anda plug of tobacco. Above him, down the contracted square of the hatch,came the bellowing of the Captain's voice:
"There's your fit-out, Mister Lilee of the Vallee, which the same ourdear friend Jim makes a present of and no charge, because he loves youso. You're allowed two minutes to change, an' it is to be hoped as howyou won't force me to come for to assist."
It would have been interesting to have followed, step by step, themental process that now took place in Ross Wilbur's brain. The Captainhad given him two minutes in which to change. The time was short enough,but even at that Wilbur changed more than his clothes during the twominutes he was left to himself in the reekind dark of the schooner'sfo'castle. It was more than a change--it was a revolution. What he madeup his mind to do--precisely what mental attitude he decided to adopt,just what new niche he elected wherein to set his feet, it is difficultto say. Only by results could the change be guessed at. He went downthe forward hatch at the toe of Kitchell's boot--silk-hatted,melton-overcoated, patent-booted, and gloved in suedes. Two minuteslater there emerged upon the deck a figure in oilskins and a sou'wester.There was blood upon the face of him and the grime of an unclean shipupon his bare hands. It was Wilbur, and yet not Wilbur. In two minuteshe had been, in a way, born again. The only traces of his former selfwere the patent-leather boots, still persistent in their gloss andshine, th
at showed grim incongruity below the vast compass of theoilskin breeches.
As Wilbur came on deck he saw the crew of the schooner hurrying forward,six of them, Chinamen every one, in brown jeans and black felt hats. Onthe quarterdeck stood the Captain, barking his orders.
"Consider the Lilee of the Vallee," bellowed the latter, as his eye fellupon Wilbur the Transformed. "Clap on to that starboard windlass brake,sonny."
Wilbur saw the Chinamen ranging themselves about what he guessed wasthe windlass in the schooner's bow. He followed and took his place amongthem, grasping one of the bars.
"Break down!" came the next order. Wilbur and the Chinamen obeyed,bearing up and down upon the bars till the slack of the anchor-chaincame home and stretched taut and dripping from the hawse-holes.
"'Vast heavin'!"
And then as Wilbur released the brake and turned about for the nextorder, he cast his glance out upon the bay, and there, not a hundredand fifty yards away, her spotless sails tense, her cordage humming, herimmaculate flanks slipping easily through the waves, the waterhissing and churning under her forefoot, clean, gleaming, dainty, andaristocratic, the Ridgeways' yacht "Petrel" passed like a thing of life.Wilbur saw Nat Ridgeway himself at the wheel. Girls in smart gownsand young fellows in white ducks and yachting caps--all friends ofhis--crowded the decks. A little orchestra of musicians were reeling offa quickstep.
The popping of a cork and a gale of talk and laughter came to hisears. Wilbur stared at the picture, his face devoid of expression. The"Petrel" came on--drew nearer--was not a hundred feet away from theschooner's stern. A strong swimmer, such as Wilbur, could cover thedistance in a few strides. Two minutes ago Wilbur might have--
"Set your mains'l," came the bellow of Captain Kitchell. "Clap on toyour throat and peak halyards."
The Chinamen hurried aft.
Wilbur followed.