The Wages of Virtue Part 36

"Of course you have," put in John Bull. "Stay here and you will never see her again. It won't be a choice between me and her then; it'll be between death and penal servitude."

The Bucking Bronco took Carmelita's face between his hands.

"Little gal," he said, "I didn't reckon there was no such thing as 'love,' outside books, ontil I saw yew. Life wasn't worth a red cent ontil yew came hyar. Then every time I gits inter my bunk, I thinks over agin every word I'd said ter yew thet night, an' every word yew'd said ter me. An' every mornin' when I gits up, I ses, 'I shall see Carmelita ter-night,' an' nuthin' didn't jar me so long as that was all right. An' when I knowed yew wasn't fer mine, because yew loved Loojey Rivoli, then I ses, '_h.e.l.l!_' An' I didn't shoot 'im up because I see how much yew loved him. An' I put up with him when he uster git fresh, because ef I'd beat 'im up yew'd hev druv me away from the Caffy, an'

life was jest h.e.l.l, 'cause I knowed 'e was a low-lifer reptile an' yew'd never believe it.... An' now yew've found 'im out, an' he's gorn, an'

yure mine--an' it's too late.... Will yew think I don't love yew, little gal? ... Don't tell me ter go or I might sneak off an' leave John in the lurch."

"You can't help me, Buck," put in John Bull. "I shall be all right.

Who'll you benefit by walking into gaol?"

The American looked appealingly at the girl, and his face was more haggard and anxious than when he was fighting for his life.

"This is my answer, Signor Bouckaing Bronceau," spake Carmelita. "Had you gone without Signor Jean Boule, I should not have followed you. Now I have heard you speak, I trust you for ever. Had you deserted your friend in trouble, you would have deserted me in trouble. If Signor Jean Boule will not go, then you must stay, for he struck Legros to save your life, as you struck him to avenge me. Would _I_ run away while you paid for that blow?..."

Carmelita then turned with feminine wiles upon John Bull.

"Since Signor Jean Boule will not go on pump," she continued, "you must stay and be shot, or sent to penal servitude, and I must be left to starve in the gutter."

Sir Montague Merline came to the conclusion that after all the problem of his immediate future was not settled.

"Very well," said he, "come on. We'll cut over to Mendoza's and go to earth. As soon as he has rigged us out, we'll get clear of Sidi."

(He could always give himself up when they had to separate and he could help them no more. Yes, that was it. He would pretend that he had changed his mind and when they had to separate he would pretend that he was going to continue his journey. He would return and give himself up.

Having told the exact truth with regard to his share in the matter, he would take his chance and face whatever followed.)

"_A rivederci_, Carmelita," said he and kissed her.

"_Mille grazie_, Signor," replied Carmelita. "_Buon viaggio_," and wept afresh.

"So-long, Miss," said 'Erb. "Are we dahn'arted? _Naow!_"

Carmelita smiled through her tears at the quaint English _ribaldo_, and brought confusion on Reginald Rupert by the warmth of her thanks for his actual and promised financial help....

"We'd better go separately to Mendoza's," said John Bull. "Buck had better come last. I'll go first and bargain with the old devil. We shan't be missed until the morning, but we needn't exactly obtrude ourselves on people."

He went out, followed a few minutes later by Rupert and 'Erb.

Left alone with Carmelita, the Bucking Bronco picked her up in his arms and held her like a baby, as with haggard face and hoa.r.s.e voice he tried to tell her of his love and of his misery in having to choose between losing her and leaving her. Having arranged with her that he should write to her in the name of Jules Lebrun from an address which would not be in France or any of her colonies, the Bucking Bronco allowed himself to be driven from the back door of the Cafe. Carmelita's last words were--

"Good-bye, _amato_. When you send for me I shall come, and you need not wait until you can send me money."

--3

The good Monsieur Mendoza, discovered in a dirty unsavoury room, at the top of a broken winding staircase of a modestly un.o.btrusive, windowless house, in a dirty unsavoury slum of the Ghetto, was exceedingly surprised to learn that le Legionnaire Jean Boule had come to _him_, of all people in the world, for a.s.sistance in deserting.

The surprise of le bon Monsieur Mendoza was in itself surprising, in view of the fact that the facilitation of desertion was his profession.

Still, there it was, manifest upon his expressive and filthy countenance, not to mention his expressive and filthy hands, which waggled, palms upward, beside his shrugged shoulders, as he gave vent to his pained astonishment, not to say indignation, at the Legionary's suggestion.... He was not that sort of man.... Besides, how did he know that Monsieur le Legionnaire had enough?...

John Bull explained patiently to le bon Monsieur Mendoza, of whose little ways he knew a good deal, that he had come to him because he was subterraneously famous in the Legion as the fairy G.o.d-papa who could, with a wave of his wand, convert a uniformed Legionnaire into a most convincing civilian. Further, that he was known to be wholly reliable and incorruptibly honest in his dealings with those who could afford to be his G.o.d-sons.

All of which was perfectly true.

(Monsieur Mendoza did not display a gilt-lettered board upon the wall of his house, bearing any such inscription as "_Haroun Mendoza, Desertion Agent. Costumier to Poumpistes and All who make the Promenade.

Desertions arranged with prompt.i.tude and despatch. Perfect Disguises a Speciality. Foreign Money Changed. Healthy Itineraries mapped out.

Second-hand Uniforms disposed of. H.M.'s Agents and Interpreters meet All Trains at Oran; and Best Berths secured on all Steamers. Convincing Labelled Luggage Supplied. Special Terms for Parties_...." nor advertise in the _Echo d'Oran_, for it would have been as unnecessary as unwise....)

All very well and all very interesting, parried Monsieur Mendoza, but while compliments garlic no _caldo_, shekels undoubtedly make the mule to go. Had le bon Legionnaire shekels?

No, he had not, but they would very shortly arrive.

"And how many shekels will arrive?" enquired the good Monsieur Mendoza.

"Sufficient unto the purpose," was the answer, and then the bargaining began. For the sum of fifty francs the Jew would provide one Legionary with a satisfactory suit of clothes. The hat, boots, linen and tie consistent with each particular suit would cost from thirty to forty francs extra.... Say, roughly, a hundred francs for food and complete outfit, per individual. The attention of the worthy Israelite was here directed to the incontrovertible fact that he was dealing, not with the Rothschild brothers, but with four Legionaries of modest ambition and slender purse. To which, M. Mendoza replied that he who supped with the Devil required not only a long, but a golden spoon. In the end, it was agreed that, for the sum of three hundred francs, four complete outfits should be provided.

The next thing was the production and exhibition of the promised disguises. Would M. Mendoza display them forthwith, that they might be selected by the time that the other clients arrived?

"_Si, si_," said M. Mendoza. "_Ciertamente. Con placer_." It was no desire of M. Mendoza that any client should be expected _comprar a ciegas_--to buy a pig in a poke. No, _de ningun modo_....

Shuffling into an inner room, the old gentleman returned, a few minutes later, laden with a huge bundle of second-hand clothing.

"Will you travel as a party--say two tourists and their servants? Or as a party of bourgeoisie interested in the wine trade? Or--say worthy artisans or working men returning to Ma.r.s.eilles? ... What do you say to some walnut-juice and haiks--wild men from the _Tanezrafet_? One of you a Negro, perhaps (pebbles in the nostrils), carrying an _angareb_ and a bundle. I could let you have some _has.h.i.+sh_.... I could also arrange for camels--it's eighty miles to Oran, you know.... Say, three francs a day, per camel, and _baks.h.i.+sh_ for the men.... Not _meharis_ of course, but you'll be relying more on disguise than speed, for your escape...."

"No," interrupted John Bull. "It only means more trouble turning into Europeans again at Oran. We want to be four obvious civilians, of the sort who could, without exciting suspicion, take the train at a wayside station."

"What nationalities are you?" enquired the Jew.

"English," was the reply.

"Then take my advice and don't pretend to be French," said the other, and added, "Are any of the others gentlemen?"

Sir Montague Merline smiled.

"One," he said.

"Then you and that other had better go as what you are--English gentlemen. If you are questioned, do not speak too good French, but get red in the face and say, 'G.o.ddam' ... Yes, I think one of you might have a green veil round his hat.... the others might be horsey or seamen....

Swiss waiters.... Music-hall artistes.... Or German touts, bagmen or spies.... Father Abraham! That's an idea! To get deported as a German spy! Ha, ha!" There was a knock at the door....

"_Escuche!_" he whispered with an air of mystery, and added, "_Quien esta ahi?_"

"It's the Lord Mayor o' Lunnon, Ole c.o.c.k," announced 'Erb as he entered.

"Come fer a new set of robes an' a pearly 'at."

"That one can go either as a dismissed groom, making his way back to England, or an out-of-work Swiss waiter," declared Mendoza, as his artist eye and ear took in the details of 'Erb's personality.

A great actor and actor manager had been lost in le bon M. Mendoza, and he enjoyed the work of adapting disguises according to the possibilities of his clients, almost as much as he enjoyed wrangling and bargaining, for their last sous. A greedy and grasping old scoundrel, no doubt, but once you entrusted yourself to M. Mendoza you could rely upon his performing his part of the bargain with zeal, honesty, and secrecy.

The two Legionaries divested themselves of their uniforms and put on the clothes handed to them.