Social problems -- Fiction; War stories; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
Every instinct in Jimmie Higgins was ready to answer, “Yes, sir.”
That was what he had always answered to such commands--he, and his
father, and his father's fathers before him. But something else
within him resisted this instinct--the new revolutionary psychology
which he had so painfully acquired, and which made continual war
upon his old-time docilities. It seemed that this was the moment, if
ever in his life, to show the stuff he was made of. He clenched his
hands, and everything in him turned to iron. “WHO IS THAT LADY?” he
demanded.
Lacey Granitch was so taken aback that he started visibly. “What do
you mean?”
“I mean--is she your wife? Or is she some other man's wife?”
“Why you damned--” And the young lord of Leesville stopped,
speechless. Jimmie fell back a couple of steps, as a matter of
precaution, but he did not weaken in his rigid resolve.
“I know you, Mr. Granitch,” he said; “and I know what you're doing.
You might as well know you ain't foolin' nobody.”
“What the hell is it to you?” cried the other; but then he stopped
again, and Jimmie heard him breathing hard. Evidently he made an
effort to keep his self-control; when he spoke again, his voice was
quieter. “Listen, my good fellow,” he said. “You have a chance to
make a good deal of money to-night--”
“I don't want your money!” broke in Jimmie. “I wouldn't touch your
filthy money, that you get by murdering men!”
“My God!” said Lacey Granitch; and then, weakly: “What have you got
against me?”
“What have I got? I was workin' in the Empire, an' I went on strike
for my rights, an' you cursed me like I was a dog, an' you sent the
police an' had me arrested, an' they smashed Wild Bill's nose, an'
sent me up for ten days when I hadn't done nothin'--”
“Oh! So that's it, is it?”
“Yes, that's it; but I wouldn't mind that so much--if it wasn't for
them shells you're makin' to kill men over in Europe. And you
spendin' the money drinkin' champagne with chorus-girls, an' runnin'
off with other men's wives!”
“You--” and Lacey uttered a foul oath, and leaped at Jimmie; but
Jimmie had expected that, he was looking out for himself. There was
no railing to the little porch on which he stood, and he leaped off
to the ground and away. Because he knew the lay of the land, he
could run faster in the darkness than his pursuer.
He sped down the path and out into the road--and there was the
headlight of an automobile, almost upon him. The vehicle came to an
instant stop, and a startled voice cried, “Hey, there!”
“Hey, there!” answered Jimmie, and stopped in the light; for he did
not believe that his enemy would dare pursue him there.
The voice from the car spoke again. “There's an automobile off the
road a ways back here. Do you know anything about who the people are
that were driving it?”
“Sure I do!” answered Jimmie promptly.
“Where are they?”
“They're up in that house--Lacey Granitch an' a lady named Helen--”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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