The Definite Object Part 19

"He sure was, bo!"

"It was your jabbing and footwork won you the fight, Spider, one of the best I've ever seen--very little clinching and clean breakaways."

"Larry sure was game all through, yes--right up to the knock-out. A good, clean fighter. 'N' say, bo, I was real sorry to see him counted out."

"It meant a big purse for you, I remember."

"Oh, sure, I had money to burn. I ain't got much left now, though," said the Spider ruefully.

"You came pretty near being a world's champion, Spider."

"Aw--jest near enough t' miss it, I guess. Talkin' o' champeens, the greatest of 'em, th' best fightin' man as ever swung a mitt, I reckon was Joe Madden, as retired years ago. n.o.body could ever lick Joe Madden."

"Did you know him?"

"Not me, bo, I wasn't in his cla.s.s. But I seen him fight years ago."

"Do you think Spike will ever make a champion?" enquired Ravenslee suddenly. "I mean if he were given every chance?"

"Well," answered the Spider slowly, "he sure has the grit; ther ain't nothin' on two legs he's afraid of except--himself, bo. He's too high-strung. Nerves is his trouble, I reckon. Why, Chee! When he's in d'

ring he can't be still a minute, can't let himself rest between rounds, see? He kinder beats himself, I guess."

"I know what you mean," nodded Ravenslee, "and I'm sure you're right.

By the way, have you ever seen M'Ginnis fight?"

"I seen him sc.r.a.p once or twice--he's sure ugly in a rough-house, but in th' ring--well, I dunno!"

"Has he a punch?"

"Bo, he's got a sleep-pill in each mitt if--if he can land his wallop right! Yes, siree, if Bud can hit a guy where it'll do most good, that guy's sure goin' to forget his cares an' troubles for a bit. But he's slow an' heavy, Bud is, though I ain't never seen him mix it in th'

ring, mind."

"H'm," said Ravenslee thoughtfully, "M'Ginnis seems to have it all his own way around here--why?"

"Well, because Bud's Bud, an' because Bud's old man is a Tammany boss--which gives Bud a big pull wid d' police. 'Nuff said, I guess."

"Quite!" nodded Ravenslee, and walked thereafter deeper in thought than ever. "Where are you taking me?" he enquired, as they turned a sudden corner.

"To d' river!"

"This is Eleventh Avenue, then?"

"Yep! Watch out you don't trip on d' railroad tracks." And now the Spider seemed to have become thoughtful also, and somewhat gloomy, judging by his face as seen by an occasional feeble light as they traversed the unlovely thoroughfare.

"Bo," said he suddenly, "I'm thinkin' there's some guys in this world as would be better out of it. I'm thinkin' of some guy as got a little girl into trouble--an' left her to it. Her kid died, an' her folks turned her out, an' she'd have died too, I guess, if it hadn't been for Miss Hermione an' old Mother Trapes--ye see, she was all alone, poor little kid! Now a man as would treat a girl that ways ain't got no right t'

live, I reckon. I should like t' know who that guy was! I should like t' meet that guy--once!"

After this the Spider became more gloomy than ever and spoke only in surly monosyllables. Suddenly he turned off along a narrow, ill-lighted alleyway that led them between divers small mean houses and tall, dark warehouses and brought them suddenly out upon the misty foresh.o.r.e beyond which the dim and mighty river flowed. On they went, the Spider's depression growing perceptibly, until at last their feet trod the rough planking of a narrow causeway which ended in a dark, raft-like structure moored out in the river. Here was a small and dismal shack from whose solitary window a feeble ray of light beamed.

Ravenslee s.h.i.+vered suddenly and stopped to stare about him while his listless hands changed to tight-clenched fists.

What was it?

What was there about this dismal, silent place that seemed to leap at him all at once from the dimness, he knew not whence? Was it the shack with its solitary light, or the broad river lapping with soft sighings and low weeping sounds among the piles below, or was it something in the altered aspect of the guiding figure that led him forward, slow and ever slower, as if with dragging feet, and yet with feet that trod so softly?

"Spider," said he at last, speaking in hushed and breathless manner, "Spider--where are we?" and speaking he s.h.i.+vered again, even while his clenched hand wiped the sweat from his brow. The Spider made no answer, for the feeble light was blotted out by a very solid something which, approaching softly, resolved itself into a burly, blue-clad form whose silver b.u.t.tons and s.h.i.+eld showed conspicuous.

"What's doin'!" demanded a voice. "Who is it?" The voice was hoa.r.s.e and authoritative, but the gruff tones were schooled, it seemed, to an almost unnatural softness.

"'S all right, Micky," answered the Spider in the same subdued tone, "it's only me come for d' Kid."

"Who you got wid you there, Spider?"

"A pal o' mine an' d' Kid's--he's all right, Mick!" Then to Ravenslee: "Come on, bo!" Slowly they approached the shack, but, reaching the door, the Spider hesitated a long moment ere, lifting the latch, he led the way in.

A fairly large room was lighted by a lamp that stood upon a rickety table before which sat a young-faced, white-haired man, very industriously writing in a small account book; upon the table before him were a number of articles very neatly arranged, among which Ravenslee noticed a cheap wrist-watch, a hair-comb, a brooch, and a small chain purse. He was yet gazing at these and at the white-haired man, who, having nodded once to the Spider, continued to write so busily, when he was startled to hear a long-drawn, shuddering sigh.

Turning suddenly sharp about, he stared toward a dark corner where, among a litter of oars, misshapen bundles, boxes, and odds and ends, was a small stove, and, crouched above it, his head between his hands, he beheld Spike.

With the same instinctive feeling that he must be silent, Ravenslee approached the boy and touched him on the shoulder. Spike started and glanced up, though without lifting his head.

"Your sister is anxious about you. Why are you here?"

"Don't you know, Geoff? Ain't no one told ye?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'll show ye!"

The boy took a hurricane lamp from the floor beside him, and, having lighted it, brought Ravenslee further into that littered corner where, among the boxes and bundles and other oddments, lay what seemed to be two or three oars covered with a worn tarpaulin.

"Look, Geoff--you remember--only this morning!" Very gently he raised a corner of the tarpaulin and as he looked down, Ravenslee's breath caught suddenly.

A woman's face, very young and very placid-seeming! The long, dark hair framing the waxen features still oozed drops of water like great, slow-falling tears; and beholding this pale, still face, Ravenslee knew why he had s.h.i.+vered and hushed voice and step, and instinctively he bowed his uncovered head.

"You remember Maggie Finlay, Geoff, this morning, on the stairs?

She--she kissed me good-by, said she was goin' away; this is what she meant--the river, Geoff! She's drowned herself, Geoff! Oh, my G.o.d!"

and letting fall the tarpaulin, Spike was shaken suddenly by fierce hysterical sobbing; whereat the man, looking up from his writing, spoke harsh-voiced.

"Aw, quit it, Kid, quit it! Here I've just wrote down three rings, and she's only got one, an' that a cheap fake. Shut up, Kid, you'll make me drop blots next! Cut it out, it ain't as if she was your sister--" Hereupon Spike started and lifted a twitching face.

"My sister!" he repeated, "my sister--whatcher mean? My G.o.d, Chip, Hermy could never--come to--that!" And s.h.i.+vering violently, Spike turned and stumbled out of the shack. Once outside, Ravenslee set his long arm about him and felt the lad still trembling violently.

"Why, Spike!" said he, "buck up, old fellow!"

"Oh, Geoff, Hermy could never--"

"No, no--of course not!" So very silently, together and side by side, they crossed the narrow causeway.