It is an unfortunate fact that, when a powder-magazine explodes, thedamage is not confined to the person who struck the match, but extendsto the innocent bystanders. In the present case it was Steve Dingle whosustained the worst injuries.
Of the others who might have been affected, Mrs. Lora Delane Porter wasbomb-proof. No explosion in her neighbourhood could shake her. Shereceived the news of Kirk's outbreak with composure. Privately, in hereugenic heart, she considered his presence superfluous now that WilliamBannister was safely launched upon his career.
In the drama of which she was the self-appointed stage-director, Kirkwas a mere super supporting the infant star. Her great mind, occupiedalmost entirely by the past and the future, took little account of thepresent. So long as Kirk did not interfere with her management of Bill,he was at liberty, so far as she was concerned, to come or go as hepleased.
Steve could not imitate her admirable detachment. He was a poorphilosopher, and all that his mind could grasp was that Kirk was introuble and that Ruth had apparently gone mad.
The affair did not come to his ears immediately. He visited the studioat frequent intervals and found Kirk there, working hard and showing nosigns of having passed through a crisis which had wrecked his life. Hewas quiet, it is true, but then he was apt to be quiet nowadays.
Probably, if it had not been for Keggs, he would have been kept inignorance of what had happened for a time.
Walking one evening up Broadway, he met Keggs taking the air andobserving the night-life of New York like himself.
Keggs greeted Steve with enthusiasm. He liked Steve, and it was justpossible that Steve might not have heard about the great upheaval. Hesuggested a drink at a neighbouring saloon.
"We have not seen you at our house lately, Mr. Dingle," he remarked,having pecked at his glass of beer like an old, wise bird.
He looked at Steve with a bright eye, somewhat puffy at the lids, butfull of life.
"No," said Steve. "That's right. Guess I must have been busy."Keggs uttered a senile chuckle and drank more beer.
"They're rum uns,"he went on. "I've been in some queer places, but this beats 'em all.""What do you mean?" inquired Steve, as a second chuckle escaped hiscompanion.
"Why, it's come to an 'ead, things has, Mr. Dingle. That's what I mean.
You won't have forgotten all about the pampering of that child what Itold you of quite recent. Well, it's been and come to an 'ead.""Yes? Continue, colonel. This listens good.""You ain't 'eard?""Not a word."Keggs smiled a happy smile and sipped his beer. It did the old mangood, finding an entirely new audience like this.
"Why, Mr. Winfield 'as packed up and left."Steve gasped.
"Left!" he cried. "Not _quit_? Not gone for good?""For his own good, I should say. Finds himself better off away from itall, if you ask me. But 'adn't you reelly heard, Mr. Dingle? God blessmy soul! I thought it was public property by now, that little bit ofnoos. Why, Mr. Winfield 'asn't been living with us for the matter of aweek or more.""For the love of Mike!""I'm telling you the honest truth, Mr. Dingle. Two weeks ago come nextSaturday Mr. Winfield meets me in the 'all looking wild and 'arassed--itwas the same day there was that big thunder-storm--and he looks at me,glassy like, and says to me: 'Keggs, 'ave my bag packed and my boxes,too; I'm going away for a time. I'll send a messenger for 'em.' Andout he goes into the rain, which begins to come down cats and dogs themoment he was in the street.
"I start to go out after him with his rain-coat, thinking he'd get wetbefore he could find a cab, they being so scarce in this city, not likeLondon, where you simply 'ave to raise your 'and to 'ave a dozenflocking round you, but he don't stop; he just goes walking off throughthe rain and all, and I gets back into the house, not wishing to bewetted myself on account of my rheumatism, which is always troublesomein the damp weather. And I says to myself: ''Ullo, 'ullo, 'ullo, what'sall this?'
"See what I mean? I could tell as plain as if I'd been in the room withthem that they had been having words. And since that day 'e ain't beennear the 'ouse, and where he is now is more than I can tell you, Mr.
Dingle.""Why, he's at the studio.""At the studio, is he? Well, I shouldn't wonder if he wasn't betteroff. 'E didn't strike me as a man what was used to the ways of society.
He's happier where he is, I expect."And, having summed matters up in this philosophical manner, Keggsdrained his glass and cocked an expectant eye at Steve.
Steve obeyed the signal and ordered a further supply of the beer forwhich Mr. Keggs had a plebian and unbutlerlike fondness. His companionturned the conversation to the prospects of one of that group ofinefficient middleweights whom Steve so heartily despised, between whomand another of the same degraded band a ten-round contest had beenarranged and would shortly take place.
Ordinarily this would have been a subject on which Steve would havefound plenty to say, but his mind was occupied with what he had justheard, and he sat silent while the silver-haired patron of sportopposite prattled on respecting current form.
Steve felt stunned. It was unthinkable that this thing had reallyoccurred.
Mr. Keggs, sipping beer, discussed the coming fight. He weighed thealleged left hook of one principal against the much-advertised rightswing of the other. He spoke with apprehension of a yellow streak whichcertain purists claimed to have discovered in the gladiator on whosechances he proposed to invest his cash.
Steve was not listening to him. A sudden thought had come to him,filling his mind to the exclusion of all else.
The recollection of his talk with Kirk at the studio had come back tohim. He had advised Kirk, as a solution of his difficulties, to kidnapthe child and take him to Connecticut. Well, Kirk was out of therunning now, but he, Steve, was still in it.
He would do it himself.
The idea thrilled him. It was so in keeping with his theory of thevirtue of the swift and immediate punch, administered with the minimumof preliminary sparring. There was a risk attached to the scheme whichappealed to him. Above all, he honestly believed that it would achieveits object, the straightening out of the tangle which Ruth and Kirk hadmade of their lives.
When once an idea had entered Steve's head he was tenacious of it. Hehad come to the decision that Ruth needed what he called a jolt tobring her to herself, much as a sleep-walker is aroused by the touch ofa hand, and he clung to it.
He interrupted Mr. Keggs in the middle of a speech touching on hisman's alleged yellow streak.
"Will you be at home to-night, colonel?" he asked.
"I certainly will, Mr. Dingle.""Mind if I look in?""I shall be delighted. I can offer you a cigar that I think you'llappreciate, and we can continue this little chat at our leisure. Mrs.
Winfield's dining out, and that there Porter, thank Gawd, 'as gone toBoston."
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