A March day, sunny and cloudless, with fresh, winds. Green pushed up from the soil; an something was to the of the tree branches; an something was in hearts. A the of travel from his and publicly in a park basin.
Here and there under the ten thousand of the great city were with inkpots, trying to say an old thing in a new way. Woe to the that did not this day, for it was spring. Expansion! Nature—perhaps she was a little, she saw that was the scale, withering, and a of would to check the and a little optimism.
Cutty's study. The sunlight, westward, and and towers into bijoux. The a white light into the room, out the and old-rose of the Ispahan rug.
Cutty the chrysoprase, for him. A dozen problems, and it was hard to decide which to first. Principally there was Kitty. He had not her in four days, it for her not to call for the present. The Bolshevik agent who had him from the banker's might decide, without the of some episode, that he had his time.
It did not that Kitty herself was no longer and from her home to the office, from the office home. Was Karlov or had he some new up his sleeve? It was not possible that he had up Hawksley. He was an attack from some angle. To be sure that Karlov would not to him with Kitty, Cutty had the and gone at night in his dungarees.
Problem Two was as formidable. The agent who had passed as a for the of had disappeared. That had significance. Karlov did not to sell the drums; wanted the man who had for them. If the secret-service man under torture, Cutty that his own usefulness would be at an end. He would have to step and let the great on without him. In that event these fifty-two years would upon his head, full measure; for the only thing that him was action, interest. Without some great he would up and away—like some mummy.
Problem Three. How the was he going to Kitty if he couldn't see her? But there was a of here. If he couldn't see her, what had Hawksley? The whole and of this problem was to keep Kitty and Hawksley apart. How this was was of no importance. Problem Three, then, fire for the present. Funny, how this idea in his head, that Hawksley was a to Kitty. One of those ideas, probably, but trying out.
Problem Four. That night, all on his own, he would make an attempt to enter that old house the two warehouses. Through pressure of authority he had keys to warehouses. There would be a on the of that house. Doubtless it would be with tin; if below. But he out. From the third-floor of either the was not more than six feet. If in town old Stefani Gregor would be in one of those rooms. But to the house frontally, without being sure, would be folly. Gregor would be killed. The house was in an asylum, by super-insane men. Warned, they were of the house to come, themselves with it.
Problem Five was a point. He if he would see those emeralds. What an pity!
He a and back, a of up from the bowl of his pipe.
“I say, you know, but that's a game to play!” a voice over his shoulder.
Cutty his head, to Hawksley, shaven, pale, and handsome, in a and slightly.
“What the are you doing out of your room?” Cutty, but with the of a dog.
Hawksley into a chair weakly. “End of my rope. Got to talk to someone. Go dotty, else. Questions. Skull with 'em. Want to know this is a of the life I have a right to live—or the of death. Be a good sport, and let's have it out.”
“What is it you wish to know?” asked Cutty, gently. The beggar!
“Where I am. Who you are. What to me. What is going to to me,” breathlessly. “Don't want any more suspense. Don't want to look over my any more. Straight ahead. All the cards on the table, please.”
Cutty rose and pushed the invalid's chair to a window and another up it.
“My word, the top of the world! Bally odd roost.”
“You will it here than you would on the of Kaspuskoi More,” Cutty, gravely. “The Caspian wouldn't be a healthy place for you now.”
With wide Hawksley across the shining, roofs. A pause. “What do you know?” he asked, faintly.
“Everything. But wait!” Cutty one of the and it upon the man's knees. “Know who this is—Two-Hawks?”
A strained, as Hawksley the photograph; then his slowly to his chest. A moment later Cutty was to see something on its way the quilt. Tears!
“I'm sorry!” Cutty, and embarrassed. “I'm sorry! I should have had the to wait a day or two.”
“On the contrary, thank you!” Hawksley up his head. “Nothing in all God's world be more timely—the of my mother! I am not of these tears. I am not to die. I am not to live. But all the I loved—the familiar earth, the beings, my dog—gone. I am alone.”
“I'm sorry,” Cutty, a up. This was and it him deeply. He himself drawn.
“I want to live. Because I am young? No. I want to prove to the of those who loved me that I am fit to go on. So my identity is to you?”—dejectedly.
“Yes. You wish me to what I know?”
“Will you?”—eagerly. “Will you that I am anything but a naked, being?”
“Yes. But your know.”
“I they will keep the truth to themselves. Let them my identity, and a hundred would be offered. Your Government would protect me.”
“It is doing so now, indirectly. But why do you not want it known?”
“Freedom! Would I have it if known? Could I trust anybody? Would it not be the old life in a new land? I want a new life in a new land. I want to be again. I want to be what you are, an American. That is why I life a hundred times in all these miles, why I in this chair you, with the room they in my head. I do not offer a wreck, an mind, in for citizenship. I a manhood. Try me! Always I have you people. Always we Russians have. But there is no Russia now that I can return to!” Hawksley's again and his closed.
Cutty confusion, indecision; all his were in the of this appeal. Russian, of an Italian mother and speaking Oxford English as if it were his birthright; and wanting citizenship! Wasn't of his tears; wasn't to die or to live! Cutty for a new to his antagonism, but he only straws. He was to that he had this upon a want, a desire; there was no for it. Downright likeable. A who had gone through so much, who was in such a condition, would not have the to character, his soul.
“Hang it!” he said, briskly. “You shall have your chance. Talk like that will a man in this country. You shall here until you are again. Then some night I'll put you on your train for Montana. You want to ask questions. I'll save you the trouble by telling you what I know.”
But his no mention of the emeralds. Why? A conscience-stricken because, if he could, he was going to his guest on the that is keepings? Cutty wasn't to the omission. Perhaps he wanted Hawksley himself to about the stones; test him out. If he asked that would that he had the in honestly, paid his to the Customs. Otherwise, smuggling; and in that event wouldn't matter; the a game take a hand in—anybody who the United States Customs an upon rights.
What a of a call those had for him! Did they anything to Hawksley from their value? But for the idea, originally, that the were mixed up in this adventure, Cutty that he would have sent Hawksley to a hospital, left him to his fate, and who he was.
All through the Hawksley motionless, with his closed, possibly to keep the of the from with his of this series of fact.
“Found you on the floor,” Cutty, “hoisted you to my shoulders, took you to the street—and here you are!”
Hawksley opened his eyes. “I say, you know, what a of an old Sherlock you must be! And you me on your across that fire escape? Ripping! When I into that room I a sound. I knew! But I didn't have the least chance.... You and that girl!”
Cutty under his breath. He had taken particular pains to avoid Kitty; and here, off, the was in the fire. He now that he had told Hawksley that Kitty had saved his life. Fortunately, the wasn't with that banged-up of his to apply to the omission.
“Saved my life. Suppose she doesn't want me to know.”
Cutty jumped at this. “Doesn't to be mixed up with the Bolshevik end of it. Besides, she doesn't know who you are.”
“The that know the better. But I'll always her and that pistol with the in it. But you? Why did you to me up here?”
“Couldn't you where Karlov to you again.”
“Is Stefani Gregor dead?”
“Don't know; not. But we are for him.” Cutty had not his in Gregor. Those again. They were him. Loot.
“You spoke of Karlov. Who is he?”
“Why, the man who you across the world.”
“There were many. What is he like?”
“A gorilla.”
“Ah!” Hawksley and his fists. “God let me live long to put my hands on him! I had the the other day—to out his with my boots! But I couldn't do it! I couldn't do it!” He in the chair. “No, no! Just a groggy. All right in a moment.”
“By the Lord Harry, I'll see you through. Now up. Hear that?” Cutty, up a window.
“Music.”
“Look through that there. See the of bayonets? American soldiers, up Fifth Avenue, thousands of them, who the Hindenburg Line. God 'em! Americans, every mother's son of 'em; who away laughing, who returned laughing, who will go to their jobs laughing. The ability to laugh, that's America. Do you know how to laugh?”
“I used to. I'm weak just now. But I'll if you want me to.” And Hawksley grinned.
“That's the way. A in this country will take you as far. All right. In five years you'll be voting. I'll see to that. Now to with you, and no more it until the nurse says so. What you need is rest.”
Cutty sent a call to the nurse, who was in the doorway; and together they put the to bed. Then Cutty the photograph and set it on top of the dresser, where Hawksley see it.
“Now, no more about.”
“I promise, old top. This is a little of all right. I say!”
“What?”
“How long am I to be here?”
“If you're good, two weeks,” the nurse.
“Two weeks? I say, would you mind doing me a favour? I'd like a to myself with.”
“A fiddle? I don't know a thing about 'em that they good.” Cutty at his chin.
“Whatever it I'll you the day I'm up.”
“All right. I'll you a of them, and you can do your own selecting.”
Out in the the nurse said: “I couldn't him. But he'll be now that he's got the questions off his mind. He will have to be a lot. That's one of the of wounds.”
“What do you think of him?”
“He to be and patient; and I he's hard to when he wants anything. Winning, you'd call it. I I mustn't ask who he is?”
“No. Poor devil. The that know, the better. I'll be home three.”
Once in the street, Cutty was with the to with the over in the Avenue, to the bands, the shouts, to the of which he would this day. Of he would view it all from the of the historian, and store away against needs.
And what a it was! He was and pushed, and on, into the surges, to the eddies; and always the of steel-shod on the asphalt, the the in sharp, clear flashes. The keen, of those boys. God, to be like that! To have come through that on earth with the ability still to smile! Cutty the his cheeks. Instinctively he that this was to be his last of this order. He was fifty-two.
“Quit your there!” a voice under his chin.
“Sorry, but it's those me,” said Cutty, looking into a with a and a pair of that were blinking.
“I'm so I can't see anything!”
“Neither can I.”
“You if you your eyes.”
“You're yourself,” Cutty.
“Blinking jackass! Got out there?”
“All of 'em.”
“I you, old son of a gun! No and blood, but they're ours all the same. Couple of old fools; huh?”
“Sure pop! What right have two old got here, anyhow? What you out?”
“What you?”
“Same thing.”
“Damn it! If I only see something!”
Cutty put his hands upon the of this and him toward the curb. There were of protest, curses, catcalls, but Cutty on ahead until he got his man where he see the hats, the bayonets, and the colours; and thus they for a full hour. Each time the flag by the little man off his and to see that Cutty did the same.
“Say,” he said as they back, “I'd offer to a drink, only it flat.”
“And it would taste after a like this,” Cutty. “Maybe you've of the of the gods. Well, you've just it, my friend.”
“I sure have. Those out there, after all that hell; and you and me on the sidewalk, over 'em! What's the answer? We're Americans!”
“You said it. Good-bye.”
Cutty pressed on to the and along with it, in the than he had been in many a day. These two who Fifth Avenue, who cheered, laughed, wept, silent, again, what did their presence here signify? That America's day had come; that as a people they were at last; that that which laws had failed to had been by an ideal.
Bolshevism, socialism—call it what you will—would itself into against this Rock of Democracy, which to the centre of the world and touched the stars. Reincarnation; the of the restored. And with this knowledge in his thoughts—and there was a of in his heart—Cutty on, without destination, jutting, shining. He was an American!
He might have on had he not a window with instruments.
Hawksley's fiddle! He had all but forgotten. All right. If the wanted to a fiddle, it he should. The least he, Cutty, do would be to to any and every Hawksley expressed. Wasn't he to the of the drums, they up? But how the to out a which would have a in it? Of all the the was the worst. Beside a of the rank the rich old with the was a well met.
Of Gregor had the chap. That meant he would know instantly; just as his would the green and green beryl.
Cutty into the shop, amused. Fiddles! What next? Having a over Kitty, he was now playing to Hawksley. As if he hadn't parts to play! Wouldn't he be his life to-night trying to where Stefani Gregor was? Fiddles! Fiddles and emeralds! What a choice old he was!
Fate has a way of telling you all about it—afterward; conceivably, that might continue to its species. Otherwise would to itself forthwith. Thus, Cutty was totally upon entering the shop that he was about to tear off its the door he was so and and Kitty Conover and this who wanted to his way through convalescence.
Where there is there is dancing. If it be not the feet, then it will be the soul.
