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diff --git a/42914-0.txt b/42914-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..069867c --- /dev/null +++ b/42914-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9035 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42914 *** + + GLADIATOR + + Philip Wylie + + [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence + that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + + + +I + + +Once upon a time in Colorado lived a man named Abednego Danner and his +wife, Matilda. Abednego Danner was a professor of biology in a small +college in the town of Indian Creek. He was a spindling wisp of a man, +with a nature drawn well into itself by the assaults of the world and +particularly of the grim Mrs. Danner, who understood nothing and +undertook all. Nevertheless these two lived modestly in a frame house on +the hem of Indian Creek and they appeared to be a settled and peaceful +couple. + +The chief obstacle to Mrs. Danner's placid dominion of her hearth was +Professor Danner's laboratory, which occupied a room on the first floor +of the house. It was the one impregnable redoubt in her domestic +stronghold. Neither threat nor entreaty would drive him and what she +termed his "stinking, unchristian, unhealthy dinguses" from that room. +After he had lectured vaguely to his classes on the structure of the +_Paramecium caudatum_ and the law discovered by Mendel, he would shut +the door behind himself, and all the fury of the stalwart, black-haired +woman could not drive him out until his own obscure ends were served. + +It never occurred to Professor Danner that he was a great man or a +genius. His alarm at such a notion would have been pathetic. He was so +fascinated by the trend of his thoughts and experiments, in fact, that +he scarcely realized by what degrees he had outstripped a world that +wore picture hats, hobble skirts, and straps beneath its trouser legs. +However, as the century turned and the fashions changed, he was carried +further from them, which was just as well. + +On a certain Sunday he sat beside his wife in church, singing snatches +of the hymns in a doleful and untrue voice and meditating, during the +long sermon, on the structure of chromosomes. She, bolt upright and +overshadowing him, like a coffin in the pew, rigid lest her black silk +rustle, thrilled in some corner of her mind at the picture of hell and +salvation. + +Mr. Danner's thoughts turned to Professor Mudge, whose barren pate +showed above the congregation a few rows ahead of him. There, he said to +himself, sat a stubborn and unenlightened man. And so, when the weekly +tyranny of church was ended, he asked Mudge to dinner. That he +accomplished by an argument with his wife, audible the length of the +aisle. + +They walked to the Danner residence. Mrs. Danner changed her clothes +hurriedly, basted the roast, made milk sauce for the string beans, and +set three places. They went into the dining-room. Danner carved, the +home-made mint jelly was passed, the bread, the butter, the gravy; and +Mrs. Danner dropped out of the conversation, after guying her husband on +his lack of skill at his task of carving. + +Mudge opened with the usual comment. "Well, Abednego, how are the +blood-stream radicals progressing?" + +His host chuckled. "Excellently, thanks. Some day I'll be ready to jolt +you hidebound biologists into your senses." + +Mudge's left eyebrow lifted. "So? Still the same thing, I take it? Still +believe that chemistry controls human destiny?" + +"Almost ready to demonstrate it," Danner replied. + +"Along what lines?" + +"Muscular strength and the nervous discharge of energy." + +Mudge slapped his thigh. "Ho ho! Nervous discharge of energy. You assume +the human body to be a voltaic pile, eh? That's good. I'll have to tell +Gropper. He'll enjoy it." + +Danner, in some embarrassment, gulped a huge mouthful of meat. "Why +not?" he said. "Look at the insects--the ants. Strength a hundred times +our own. An ant can carry a large spider--yet an ant is tissue and +fiber, like a man. If a man could be given the same sinews--he could +walk off with his own house." + +"Ha ha! There's a good one. Maybe you'll do it, Abednego." + +"Possibly, possibly." + +"And you would make a splendid piano-mover." + +"Pianos! Pooh! Consider the grasshoppers. Make a man as strong as a +grasshopper--and he'll be able to leap over a church. I tell you, there +is something that determines the quality of every muscle and nerve. Find +it--transplant it--and you have the solution." + +Mirth overtook Professor Mudge in a series of paroxysms from which he +emerged rubicund and witty. "Probably your grasshopper man will look +like a grasshopper--more insect than man. At least, Danner, you have +imagination." + +"Few people have," Danner said, and considered that he had acquitted +himself. + +His wife interrupted at that point. "I think this nonsense has gone far +enough. It is wicked to tamper with God's creatures. It is wicked to +discuss such matters--especially on the Sabbath. Abednego, I wish you +would give up your work in the laboratory." + +Danner's cranium was overlarge and his neck small; but he stiffened it +to hold himself in a posture of dignity. "Never." + +His wife gazed from the defiant pose to the locked door visible through +the parlour. She stirred angrily in her clothes and speared a morsel of +food. "You'll be punished for it." + +Later in the day Mudge and Gropper laughed heartily at the expense of +the former's erstwhile host. Danner read restively. He was forbidden to +work on the Sabbath. It was his only compromise. Matilda Danner turned +the leaves of the Bible and meditated in a partial vacuum of day-dreams. + +On Monday Danner hastened home from his classes. During the night he had +had a new idea. And a new idea was a rare thing after fourteen years of +groping investigation. "Alkaline radicals," he murmured as he crossed +his lawn. He considered a group of ultra-microscopic bodies. He had no +name for them. They were the "determinants" of which he had talked. He +locked the laboratory door behind himself and bent over the microscope +he had designed. "Huh!" he said. An hour later, while he stirred a +solution in a beaker, he said: "Huh!" again. He repeated it when his +wife called him to dinner. The room was a maze of test tubes, bottles, +burners, retorts, instruments. During the meal he did not speak. +Afterwards he resumed work. At twelve he prepared six tadpole eggs and +put them to hatch. It would be his three hundred and sixty-first +separate tadpole hatching. + +Then, one day in June, Danner crossed the campus with unusual haste. +Birds were singing, a gentle wind eddied over the town from the slopes +of the Rocky Mountains, flowers bloomed. The professor did not heed the +reburgeoning of nature. A strange thing had happened to him that +morning. He had peeped into his workroom before leaving for the college +and had come suddenly upon a phenomenon. + +One of the tadpoles had hatched in its aquarium. He observed it eagerly, +first because it embodied his new idea, and second because it swam with +a rare activity. As he looked, the tadpole rushed at the side of its +domicile. There was a tinkle and a splash. It had swum through the plate +glass! For an instant it lay on the floor. Then, with a flick of its +tail, it flew into the air and hit the ceiling of the room. + +"Good Lord!" Danner said. Old years of work were at an end. New years of +excitement lay ahead. He snatched the creature and it wriggled from his +grasp. He caught it again. His fist was not sufficiently strong to hold +it. He left it, flopping in eight-foot leaps, and went to class with +considerable suppressed agitation and some reluctance. The determinant +was known. He had made a living creature abnormally strong. + +When he reached his house and unlocked the door of the laboratory, he +found that four tadpoles, in all, had hatched. Before they expired in +the unfamiliar element of air, they had demolished a quantity of +apparatus. + +Mrs. Danner knocked on the door. "What's been going on in there?" + +"Nothing," her husband answered. + +"Nothing! It sounded like nothing! What have you got there? A cat?" + +"No--yes." + +"Well--I won't have such goings on, and that's all there is to it." + +Danner collected the débris. He buried the tadpoles. One was dissected +first. Then he wrote for a long time in his notebook. After that he went +out and, with some difficulty, secured a pregnant cat. A week later he +chloroformed the tabby and inoculated her. Then he waited. He had been +patient for a long time. It was difficult to be patient now. + +When the kittens were born into this dark and dreary world, Mr. Danner +assisted as sole obstetrician. In their first hours nothing marked them +as unique. The professor selected one and drowned the remainder. He +remembered the tadpoles and made a simple calculation. + +When the kitten was two weeks old and its eyes opened, it was dieting on +all its mother's milk and more besides. The professor considered that +fact significant. Then one day it committed matricide. + +Probably the playful blow of its front paw was intended in the best +spirit. Certainly the old tabby, receiving it, was not prepared for such +violence from its offspring. Danner gasped. The kitten had unseamed its +mother in a swift and horrid manner. He put the cat out of its misery +and tended the kitten with trepidation. It grew. It ate--beefsteaks and +chops, bone and all. + +When it reached three weeks, it began to jump alarmingly. The laboratory +was not large enough. The professor brought it its food with the +expression of a man offering a wax sausage to a hungry panther. + +On a peaceful Friday evening Danner built a fire to stave off the +rigours of a cold snap. He and Mrs. Danner sat beside the friendly +blaze. Her sewing was in her lap, and in his was a book to which he paid +scant attention. The kitten, behind its locked door, thumped and mewed. + +"It's hungry," Mrs. Danner said. "If you must keep a cat, why don't you +feed it?" + +"I do," he answered. He refrained, for politic reasons, from mentioning +what and how much he fed it. The kitten mewed again. + +"Well," she repeated, "it sounds hungry." + +Danner fidgeted. The laboratory was unheated and consequently chilly. +From its gloomy interior the kitten peered beneath the door and saw the +fire. It sensed warmth. The feline affinity for hearths drew it. One paw +scratched tentatively on the door. + +"It's cold," Mrs. Danner said. "Why don't you bring it here? No, I don't +want it here. Take it a cover." + +"It--it has a cover." Danner did not wish to go into that dark room. + +The kitten scratched again and then it became earnest. There was a +splitting, rending sound. The bottom panel of the door was torn away and +it emerged nonchalantly, crossing the room and curling up by the fire. + +For five minutes Mrs. Danner sat motionless. Her eyes at length moved +from the kitten to her husband's quivering face and then to the broken +door. On his part, he made no move. The kitten was a scant six inches +from his foot. Mrs. Danner rose. She went to the door and studied the +orifice, prying at it with her fingers as if to measure the kitten's +strength by her own. Then she turned the key and peered into the gloom. +That required either consummate nerve or great curiosity. After her +inspection she sat down again. + +Ten minutes passed. Danner cleared his throat. Then she spoke. "So. +You've done it?" + +"Done what?" he asked innocently. + +"You've made all this rubbish you've been talking about strength--happen +to that kitten." + +"It wasn't rubbish." + +"Evidently." + +At that crisis Mr. Danner's toe trembled and the kitten, believing it a +new toy, curled its paws over the shoe. There was a sound of tearing +leather, and the shoe came apart. Fortunately the foot inside it was not +hurt severely. Danner did not dare to budge. He heard his wife's +startled inhalation. + +Mrs. Danner did not resume her sewing. She breathed heavily and slow +fire crept into her cheeks. The enormity of the crime overcame her. And +she perceived that the hateful laboratory had invaded her portion of +the house. Moreover, her sturdy religion had been desecrated. Danner +read her thoughts. + +"Don't be angry," he said. Beads of perspiration gathered on his brow. + +"Angry!" The kitten stirred at the sound of her voice. "Angry! And why +not? Here you defied God and man--and made that creature of the devil. +You've overrun my house. You're a wicked, wicked man. And as for that +cat, I won't have it. I won't stand for it." + +"What are you going to do?" + +Her voice rose to a scream. "Do! Do! Plenty--and right here and now." +She ran to the kitchen and came back with a broom. She flung the front +door wide. Her blazing eyes rested for a moment on the kitten. To her it +had become merely an obnoxious little animal. "Scat! You little demon!" +The broom came down on the cat's back with a jarring thud. + +After that, chaos. A ball of fur lashed through the air. What-not, bird +cage, bookcase, morris chair flew asunder. Then the light went out. In +the darkness a comet, a hurricane, ricochetted through the room. Then +there was a crash mightier than the others, followed by silence. + +When Danner was able, he picked himself up and lighted the lamp. His +wife lay on the floor in a dead faint. He revived her. She sat up and +wept silently over the wreck of her parlour. Danner paled. A round +hole--a hole that could have been made by nothing but a solid cannon +shot--showed where the kitten had left the room through the wall. + +Mrs. Danner's eyes were red-rimmed. Her breath came jerkily. With +incredulous little gestures she picked herself up and gazed at the hole. +A draught blew through it. Mr. Danner stuffed it with a rug. + +"What are we going to do?" she said. + +"If it comes back--we'll call it Samson." + +And--as soon as Samson felt the gnawing of appetite, he returned to his +rightful premises. Mrs. Danner fed him. Her face was pale and her hands +trembled. Horror and fascination fought with each other in her soul as +she offered the food. Her husband was in his classroom, nervously trying +to fix his wits on the subject of the day. + +"Kitty, kitty, poor little kitty," she said. + +Samson purred and drank a quart of milk. She concealed her astonishment +from herself. Mrs. Danner's universe was undergoing a transformation. + +At three in the afternoon the kitten scratched away the screen door on +the back porch and entered the house. Mrs. Danner fed it the supper +meat. + +Danner saw it when he returned. It was chasing flies in the yard. He +stood in awe. The cat could spring twenty or thirty feet with ease. Then +the sharp spur of dread entered him. Suppose someone saw and asked +questions. He might be arrested, taken to prison. Something would +happen. He tried to analyze and solve the problem. Night came. The cat +was allowed to go out unmolested. In the morning the town of Indian +Creek rose to find that six large dogs had been slain during the dark +hours. A panther had come down from the mountains, they said. And Danner +lectured with a dry tongue and errant mind. + +It was Will Hoag, farmer of the fifth generation, resident of the +environs of Indian Creek, church-goer, and hard-cider addict, who bent +himself most mercilessly on the capture of the alleged panther. His +chicken-house suffered thrice and then his sheep-fold. After four such +depredations he cleaned his rifle and undertook a vigil from a spot +behind the barn. An old moon rose late and illuminated his pastures with +a blue glow. He drank occasionally from a jug to ward off the evil +effects of the night air. + +Some time after twelve his attention was distracted from the jug by +stealthy sounds. He moved toward them. A hundred yards away his cows +were huddled together--a heap of dun shadows. He saw a form which he +mistook for a weasel creeping toward the cows. As he watched, he +perceived that the small animal behaved singularly unlike a weasel. It +slid across the earth on taut limbs, as if it was going to attack the +cows. Will Hoag repressed a guffaw. + +Then the farmer's short hair bristled. The cat sprang and landed on the +neck of the nearest cow and clung there. Its paw descended. There was a +horrid sound of ripping flesh, a moan, the thrashing of hoofs, a blot +of dribbling blood, and the cat began to gorge on its prey. + +Hoag believed that he was intoxicated, that delirium tremens had +overtaken him. He stood rooted to the spot. The marauder ignored him. +Slowly, unbelievingly, he raised his rifle and fired. The bullet knocked +the cat from its perch. Mr. Hoag went forward and picked it up. + +"God Almighty," he whispered. The bullet had not penetrated the cat's +skin. And, suddenly, it wriggled in his hand. He dropped it. A flash of +fur in the moonlight, and he was alone with the corpse of his Holstein. + +He contemplated profanity, he considered kneeling in prayer. His joints +turned to water. He called faintly for his family. He fell unconscious. + +When Danner heard of that exploit--it was relayed by jeering tongues who +said the farmer was drunk and a panther had killed the cow--his lips set +in a line of resolve. Samson was taking too great liberties. It might +attack a person, in which case he, Danner, would be guilty of murder. +That day he did not attend his classes. Instead, he prepared a +relentless poison in his laboratory and fed it to the kitten in a brace +of meaty chops. The dying agonies of Samson, aged seven weeks, were +Homeric. + +After that, Danner did nothing for some days. He wondered if his formulæ +and processes should be given to the world. But, being primarily a man +of vast imagination, he foresaw hundreds of rash experiments. Suppose, +he thought, that his discovery was tried on a lion, or an elephant! Such +a creature would be invincible. The tadpoles were dead. The kitten had +been buried. He sighed wearily and turned his life into its usual +courses. + + + + +II + + +Before the summer was ended, however, a new twist of his life and +affairs started the mechanism of the professor's imagination again. It +was announced to him when he returned from summer school on a hot +afternoon. He dropped his portfolio on the parlour desk, one corner of +which still showed the claw-marks of the miscreant Samson, and sat down +with a comfortable sigh. + +"Abednego." His wife seldom addressed him by his first name. + +"Yes?" + +"I--I--I want to tell you something." + +"Yes?" + +"Haven't you noticed any difference in me lately?" + +He had never noticed a difference in his wife. When they reached old +age, he would still be unable to discern it. He shook his head and +looked at her with some apprehension. She was troubled. "What's the +matter?" + +"I suppose you wouldn't--yet," she said. "But--well--I'm with child." + +The professor folded his upper lip between his thumb and forefinger. +"With child? Pregnant? You mean--" + +"I'm going to have a baby." + +Soon after their marriage the timid notion of parenthood had escaped +them. They had, in fact, avoided its mechanics except on those rare +evenings when tranquillity and the reproductive urge conspired to imbue +him with courage and her with sinfulness. Nothing came of that +infrequent union. They never expected anything. + +And now they were faced with it. He murmured: "A baby." + +Faint annoyance moved her. "Yes. That's what one has. What are we going +to do?" + +"I don't know, Matilda. But I'm glad." + +She softened. "So am I, Abednego." + +Then a hissing, spattering sound issued from the kitchen. "The beans!" +Mrs. Danner said. The second idyl of their lives was finished. + +Alone in his bed, tossing on the humid muslin sheets, Danner struggled +within himself. The hour that was at hand would be short. The logical +step after the tadpoles and the kitten was to vaccinate the human mammal +with his serum. To produce a super-child, an invulnerable man. As a +scientist he was passionately intrigued by the idea. As a husband he +was dubious. As a member of society he was terrified. + +That his wife would submit to the plan or to the step it necessitated +was beyond belief. She would never allow a sticky tube of foreign animal +matter to be poured into her veins. She would not permit the will of God +to be altered or her offspring to be the subject of experiment. Another +man would have laughed at the notion of persuading her. Mr. Danner never +laughed at matters that involved his wife. + +There was another danger. If the child was female and became a woman +like his wife, then the effect of such strength would be awful indeed. +He envisioned a militant reformer, an iron-bound Calvinist, remodelling +the world single-handed. A Scotch Lilith, a matronly Gabriel, a +she-Hercules. He shuddered. + +A hundred times he denied his science. A hundred and one times it begged +him to be served. Each decision to drop the idea was followed by an +effort to discover means to inoculate her without her knowledge. To his +wakeful ears came the reverberation of her snores. He rose and paced the +floor. A scheme came to him. After that he was lost. + +Mrs. Danner was surprised when her husband brought a bottle of +blackberry cordial to her. It was his first gift to her in more than a +year. She was fond of cordial. He was not. She took a glass after supper +and then a second, which she drank "for him." He smiled nervously and +urged her to drink it. His hands clenched and unclenched. When she +finished the second glass, he watched her constantly. + +"I feel sleepy," she said. + +"You're tired." He tried to dissemble the eagerness in his voice. "Why +don't you lie down?" + +"Strange," she said a moment later. "I'm not usually so--so--misty." + +He nodded. The opiate in the cordial was working. She lay on the couch. +She slept. The professor hastened to his laboratory. An hour later he +emerged with a hypodermic syringe in his hand. His wife lay limply, one +hand touching the floor. Her stern, dark face was relaxed. He sat beside +her. His conscience raged. He hated the duplicity his task required. His +eyes lingered on the swollen abdomen. It was cryptic, enigmatic, filled +with portent. He jabbed the needle. She did not stir. After that he +substituted a partly empty bottle of cordial for the drugged liquor. It +was, perhaps, the most practical thing he had ever done in his life. + +Mrs. Danner could not explain herself on the following morning. She +belaboured him. "Why didn't you wake me and make me go to bed? Sleeping +in my clothes! I never did such a thing in my life." + +"I couldn't wake you. I tried." + +"Rubbish." + +"You were sleeping so hard--you refused to move." + +"Sometimes, old as you are, I'd like to thrash you." + +Danner went to the college. There was nothing more to do, nothing more +to require his concentration. He could wait--as he had waited before. He +trembled occasionally with the hope that his child would be a boy--a +sane, healthy boy. Then, in the end, his work might bear fruit. "The +_Euglena viridis_," he said in flat tones, "will be the subject of +to-morrow's study. I want you gentlemen to diagram the structure of the +_Euglena viridis_ and write five hundred words on its vital principles +and processes. It is particularly interesting because it shares +properties that are animal with properties that are vegetable." + +September, October, November. Chilly winds from the high mountains. The +day-by-day freezing over of ponds and brooks. Smoke at the tops of +chimneys. Snow. Thanksgiving. And always Mrs. Danner growing with the +burden of her offspring. Mr. Danner sitting silent, watching, wondering, +waiting. It would soon be time. + +On Christmas morning there entered into Mrs. Danner's vitals a pain that +was indefinable and at the same time certain. It thrust all thought from +her mind. Then it diminished and she summoned her husband. "Get the +doctor. It's coming." + +Danner tottered into the street and executed his errand. The doctor +smiled cheerfully. "Just beginning? I'll be over this afternoon." + +"But--good Lord--you can't leave her like--" + +"Nonsense." + +He came home and found his wife dusting. He shook his head. "Get Mrs. +Nolan," she said. Then she threw herself on the bed again. + +Mrs. Nolan, the nearest neighbour, wife of Professor Nolan and mother of +four children, was delighted. This particular Christmas was going to be +a day of some excitement. She prepared hot water and bustled with +unessential occupation. Danner sat prostrate in the parlour. He had done +it. He had done more--and that would be known later. Perhaps it would +fail. He hoped it would fail. He wrung his hands. The concept of another +person in his house had not yet occurred to him. Birth was his wife's +sickness--until it was over. + +The doctor arrived after Danner had made his third trip. Mrs. Nolan +prepared lunch. "I love to cook in other people's kitchens," she said. +He wanted to strike her. Curious, he thought. At three-thirty the +industry of the doctor and Mrs. Nolan increased and the silence of the +two, paradoxically, increased with it. + +Then the early twilight fell. Mrs. Danner lay with her lank black +hair plastered to her brow. She did not moan. Pain twisted and +convulsed her. Downstairs Danner sat and sweated. A cry--his wife's. +Another--unfamiliar. Scurrying feet on the bare parts of the floor. He +looked up. Mrs. Nolan leaned over the stair well. + +"It's a boy, Mr. Danner. A beautiful boy. And husky. You never saw such +a husky baby." + +"It ought to be," he said. They found him later in the back yard, +prancing on the snow with weird, ungainly steps. A vacant smile lighted +his features. They didn't blame him. + + + + +III + + +Calm and quiet held their negative sway over the Danner ménage for an +hour, and then there was a disturbed fretting that developed into a +lusty bawl. The professor passed a fatigued hand over his brow. He was +unaccustomed to the dissonances of his offspring. Young Hugo--they had +named him after a maternal uncle--had attained the age of one week +without giving any indication of unnaturalness. + +That is not quite true. He was as fleshy as most healthy infants, but +the flesh was more than normally firm. He was inordinately active. His +eyes had been gray but, already, they gave promise of the inkiness they +afterwards exhibited. He was born with a quantity of black hair--hair so +dark as to be nearly blue. Abednego Danner, on seeing it, exercised the +liberty which all husbands take, and investigated rumours of his wife's +forbears with his most secret thoughts. The principal rumour was that +one of her lusty Covenanter grandsires had been intrigued by a squaw to +the point of forgetting his Psalms and recalling only the Song of +Solomon. + +However that may have been, Hugo was an attractive and virile baby. +Danner spent hours at the side of his crib speculating and watching for +any sign of biological variation. But it was not until a week had passed +that he was given evidence. By that time he was ready to concede the +failure of his greatest experiment. + +The baby bawled and presently stopped. And Mrs. Danner, who had put it +to breast, suddenly called her husband. "Abednego! Come here! Hurry!" + +The professor's heart skipped its regular timing and he scrambled to the +floor above. "What's the matter?" + +Mrs. Danner was sitting in a rocking-chair. Her face was as white as +paper. Only in her eyes was there a spark of life. He thought she was +going to faint. "What's the matter?" he said again. + +He looked at Hugo and saw nothing terrifying in the ravishing hunger +which the infant showed. + +"Matter! Matter! You know the matter!" + +Then he knew and he realized that his wife had discovered. "I don't. You +look frightened. Shall I bring some water?" + +Mrs. Danner spoke again. Her voice was icy, distant, terrible. "I came +in to feed him just a minute ago. He was lying in his crib. I tried +to--to hug him and he put his arms out. As God lives, I could not pull +that baby to me! He was too strong, Abednego! Too strong. Too strong. I +couldn't unbend his little arms when he stiffened them. I couldn't +straighten them when he bent them. And he pushed me--harder than you +could push. Harder than I could push myself. I know what it means. You +have done your horrible thing to my baby. He's just a baby, Abednego. +And you've done your thing to him. How could you? Oh, how could you!" + +Mrs. Danner rose and laid the baby gently on the chair. She stood before +her husband, towering over him, raised her hand, and struck with all her +force. Mr. Danner fell to one knee, and a red welt lifted on his face. +She struck him again and he fell against the chair. Little Hugo was +dislodged. One hand caught a rung of the chair back and he hung +suspended above the floor. + +"Look!" Mrs. Danner screamed. + +As they looked, the baby flexed its arm and lifted itself back into the +chair. It was a feat that a gymnast would have accomplished with +difficulty. Danner stared, ignoring the blows, the crimson on his cheek. +For once in his lifetime, he suddenly defied his wife. He pointed to the +child. + +"Yes, look!" His voice rang clearly. "I did it. I vaccinated you the +night the cordial put you to sleep. And there's my son. He's strong. +Stronger than a lion's cub. And he'll increase in strength as he grows +until Samson and Hercules would be pygmies beside him. He'll be the +first of a new and glorious race. A race that doesn't have to +fear--because it cannot know harm. No man can hurt him, no man can +vanquish him. He will be mightier than any circumstances. He, son of a +weak man, will be stronger than the beasts, even than the ancient +dinosaurs, stronger than the tides, stronger than fate--strong as God is +strong. And you--you, Matilda--mother of him, will be proud of him. He +will be great and famous. You can knock me down. You can knock me down a +thousand times. I have given you a son whose little finger you cannot +bend with a crow-bar. Oh, all these years I've listened to you and +obeyed you and--yes, I've feared you a little--and God must hate me for +it. Now take your son. And my son. You cannot change him. You cannot +bend him to your will. He is all I might have been. All that mankind +should be." Danner's voice broke and he sobbed. He relented. "I know +it's hard for you. It's against your religion--against your love, even. +But try to like him. He's no different from you and me--only stronger. +And strength is a glorious thing, a great thing. Then--afterwards--if +you can--forgive me." He collapsed. + +Blood pounded in her ears. She stared at the huddled body of her +husband. He had stood like a prophet and spoken words of fire. She was +shaken from her pettiness. For one moment she had loved Danner. In that +same instant she had glimpsed the superhuman energy that had driven him +through the long years of discouragement to triumph. She had seen his +soul. She fell at his feet, and when Danner opened his eyes, he found +her there, weeping. He took her in his arms, timidly, clumsily. "Don't +cry, Mattie. It'll be all right. You love him, don't you?" + +She stared at the babe. "Of course I love him. Wash your face, +Abednego." + +After that there was peace in the house, and with it the child grew. +During the next months they ignored his peculiarities. When they found +him hanging outside his crib, they put him back gently. When he smashed +the crib, they discussed a better place for him to repose. No hysteria, +no conflict. When, in the early spring, young Hugo began to recognize +them and to assert his feelings, they rejoiced as all parents rejoice. + +When he managed to vault the sill of the second-story window by some +antic contortion of his limbs, they dismissed the episode. Mrs. Danner +had been baking. She heard the child's voice and it seemed to come from +the yard. Startled, incredulous, she rushed upstairs. Hugo was not in +his room. His wail drifted through the window. She looked out. He was +lying in the yard, fifteen feet below. She rushed to his side. He had +not been hurt. + +Danner made a pen of the iron heads and feet of two old beds. He wired +them together. The baby was kept in the inclosure thus formed. The days +warmed and lengthened. No one except the Danners knew of the prodigy +harboured by their unostentatious house. But the secret was certain to +leak out eventually. + +Mrs. Nolan, the next-door neighbour, was first to learn it. She had +called on Mrs. Danner to borrow a cup of sugar. The call, naturally, +included a discussion of various domestic matters and a visit to the +baby. She voiced a question that had occupied her mind for some time. + +"Why do you keep the child in that iron thing? Aren't you afraid it will +hurt itself?" + +"Oh, no." + +Mrs. Nolan viewed young Hugo. He was lying on a large pillow. Presently +he rolled off its surface. "Active youngster, isn't he?" + +"Very," Mrs. Danner said, nervously. + +Hugo, as if he understood and desired to demonstrate, seized a corner of +the pillow and flung it from him. It traversed a long arc and landed on +the floor. Mrs. Nolan was startled. "Goodness! I never saw a child his +age that could do that!" + +"No. Let's go downstairs. I want to show you some tidies I'm making." + +Mrs. Nolan paid no attention. She put the pillow back in the pen and +watched while Hugo tossed it out. "There's something funny about that. +It isn't normal. Have you seen a doctor?" + +Mrs. Danner fidgeted. "Oh, yes. Little Hugo's healthy." + +Little Hugo grasped the iron wall of his miniature prison. He pulled +himself toward it. His skirt caught in the floor. He pulled harder. The +pen moved toward him. A high soprano came from Mrs. Nolan. "He's moved +it! I don't think I could move it myself! I tell you, I'm going to ask +the doctor to examine him. You shouldn't let a child be like that." + +Mrs. Danner, filled with consternation, sought refuge in prevarication. +"Nonsense," she said as calmly as she could. "All we Douglases are like +that. Strong children. I had a grandfather who could lift a cider keg +when he was five--two hundred pounds and more. Hugo just takes after +him, that's all." + +Mrs. Nolan was annoyed. Partly because she was jealous of Hugo's +prowess--her own children had been feeble and dull. Partly because she +was frightened--no matter how strong a person became, a baby had no +right to be so powerful. Partly because she sensed that Mrs. Danner was +not telling the whole truth. She suspected that the Danners had found a +new way to raise children. "Well," she said, "all I have to say is that +it'll damage him. It'll strain his little heart. It'll do him a lot of +harm. If I had a child like that, I'd tie it up most of the time for the +first few years." + +"Kate," Mrs. Danner said unpleasantly, "I believe you would." + +Mrs. Nolan shrugged. "Well--I'm glad none of my children are freaks, +anyhow." + +"I'll get your sugar." + +In the afternoon the minister called. He talked of the church and the +town until he felt his preamble adequate. "I was wondering why you +didn't bring your child to be baptized, Mrs. Danner. And why you +couldn't come to church, now that it is old enough?" + +"Well," she replied carefully, "the child is rather--irritable. And we +thought we'd prefer to have it baptized at home." + +"It's irregular." + +"We'd prefer it." + +"Very well. I'm afraid--" he smiled--"that you're a +little--ah--unfamiliar with the upbringing of children. Natural--in the +case of the first-born. Quite natural. But--ah--I met Mrs. Nolan to-day. +Quite by accident. And she said that you kept the child--ah--in an iron +pen. It seemed unnecessarily cruel to me--" + +"Did it?" Mrs. Danner's jaw set squarely. + +But the minister was not to be turned aside lightly. "I'm afraid, if +it's true, that we--the church--will have to do something about it. You +can't let the little fellow grow up surrounded by iron walls. It will +surely point him toward the prison. Little minds are tender +and--ah--impressionable." + +"We've had a crib and two pens of wood," Mrs. Danner answered tartly. +"He smashed them all." + +"Ah? So?" Lifted eyebrows. "Temper, eh? He should be punished. +Punishment is the only mould for unruly children." + +"You'd punish a six-months-old baby?" + +"Why--certainly. I've reared seven by the rod." + +"Well--" a blazing maternal instinct made her feel vicious. "Well--you +won't raise mine by a rod. Or touch it--by a mile. Here's your hat, +parson." Mrs. Danner spent the next hour in prayer. + +The village is known for the speed of its gossip and the sloth of its +intelligence. Those two factors explain the conditions which preluded +and surrounded the dawn of consciousness in young Hugo. Mrs. Danner's +extemporaneous fabrication of a sturdy ancestral line kept the more +supernatural elements of the baby's prowess from the public eye. It +became rapidly and generally understood that the Danner infant was +abnormal and that the treatment to which it was submitted was not usual. +At the same time neither the gossips of Indian Creek nor the slightly +more sage professors of the college exercised the wit necessary to +realize that, however strong young Hugo might become, it was neither +right nor just that his cradle days be augurs of that eventual estate. +On the face of it the argument seemed logical. If Mrs. Danner's forbears +had been men of peculiar might, her child might well be able to chin +itself at three weeks and it might easily be necessary to confine it in +a metal pen, however inhumane the process appeared. + +Hugo was sheltered, and his early antics, peculiar and startling as they +were to his parents, escaped public attention. The little current of +talk about him was kept alive only because there was so small an array +of topics for the local burghers. But it was not extraordinarily +malicious. Months piled up. A year passed and then another. + +Hugo was a good-natured, usually sober, and very sensitive child. +Abednego Danner's fear that his process might have created muscular +strength at the expense of reason diminished and vanished as Hugo +learned to walk and to talk, and as he grasped the rudiments of human +behaviour. His high little voice was heard in the house and about its +lawns. + +They began to condition him. Throughout his later life there lingered in +his mind a memory of the barriers erected by his family. He was told not +to throw his pillow, when words meant nothing to him. Soon after that, +he was told not to throw anything. When he could walk, he was forbidden +to jump. His jumps were shocking to see, even at the age of two and a +half. He was carefully instructed on his behaviour out of doors. No move +of his was to indicate his difference from the ordinary child. + +He was taught kindness and respect for people and property. His every +destructive impulse was carefully curbed. That training was possible +only because he was sensitive and naturally susceptible to advice. +Punishment had no physical terror for him, because he could not feel it. +But disfavour, anger, vexation, or disappointment in another person +reflected itself in him at once. + +When he was four and a half, his mother sent him to Sunday school. He +was enrolled in a class that sat near her own, so she was able to keep a +careful eye on him. But Hugo did not misbehave. It was his first contact +with a group of children, his first view of the larger cosmos. He sat +quietly with his hands folded, as he had been told to sit. He listened +to the teacher's stories of Jesus with excited interest. + +On his third Sunday he heard one of the children whisper: "Here comes +the strong boy." + +He turned quickly, his cheeks red. "I'm not. I'm not." + +"Yes, you are. Mother said so." + +Hugo struggled with the two hymn books on the table. "I can't even lift +these books," he lied. + +The other child was impressed and tried to explain the situation later, +taking the cause of Hugo's weakness against the charge of strength. But +the accusation rankled in Hugo's young mind. He hated to be +different--and he was beginning to realize that he was different. + +From his earliest day that longing occupied him. He sought to hide his +strength. He hated to think that other people were talking about him. +The distinction he enjoyed was odious to him because it aroused +unpleasant emotions in other people. He could not realize that those +emotions sprang from personal and group jealousy, from the hatred of +superiority. + +His mother, ever zealous to direct her son in the path of righteousness, +talked to him often about his strength and how great it would become and +what great and good deeds he could do with it. Those lectures on +virtuous crusades had two uses: they helped check any impulses in her +son which she felt would be harmful to her and they helped her to +become used to the abnormality in little Hugo. In her mind, it was like +telling a hunchback that his hump was a blessing disguised. Hugo was +always aware of the fact that her words connoted some latent evil in his +nature. + +The motif grew in Mrs. Danner's thoughts until she sought a definite +outlet for it. One day she led her child to a keg filled with sand. "All +of us," she said to her son, "have to carry a burden through life. One +of your burdens will be your strength. But that might can make right. +See that little keg?" + +"Mmmmm." + +"That keg is temptation. Can you say it?" + +"Temshun." + +"Every day in your life you must bear temptation and throw it from you. +Can you bear it?" + +"Huh?" + +"Can you pick up that keg, Hugo?" + +He lifted it in his chubby arms. "Now take it to the barn and back," his +mother directed. Manfully he walked with the keg to the barn and back. +He felt a little silly and resentful. "Now--throw temptation as far away +from you as you can." + +Mrs. Danner gasped. The distance he threw the keg was frightening. + +"You musn't throw it so far, Hugo," she said, forgetting her allegory +for an instant. + +"You said as far as I can. I can throw it farther, too, if I wanna." + +"No. Just throw it a little way. When you throw it far, it doesn't look +right. Now--fill it up with sand, and we'll do it over." + +Hugo was perplexed. A vague wish to weep occupied him as he filled the +keg. The lesson was repeated. Mrs. Danner had excellent Sunday-school +instincts, even if she had no real comprehension of ethics. Some days +later the burden of temptation was exhibited, in all its dramatic +passages, to Mrs. Nolan and another lady. Again Hugo was resentful and +again he felt absurd. When he threw the keg, it broke. + +"My!" Mrs. Nolan said in a startled tone. + +"How awful!" the other woman murmured. "And he's just a child." + +That made Hugo suddenly angry and he jumped. The woman screamed. Mrs. +Nolan ran to tell whomever she could find. Mrs. Danner whipped her son +and he cried softly. + +Abednego Danner left the discipline of his son to his wife. He watched +the child almost furtively. When Hugo was five, Mr. Danner taught him to +read. It was a laborious process and required an entire winter. But Hugo +emerged with a new world open to him--a world which he attacked with +interest. No one bothered him when he read. He could be found often on +sunny days, when other children were playing, prone on the floor, +puzzling out sentences in the books of the family library and trying to +catch their significance. During his fifth year he was not allowed to +play with other children. The neighbourhood insisted on that. + +With the busybodyness and contrariness of their kind the same neighbours +insisted that Hugo be sent to school in the following fall. When, on the +opening day, he did not appear, the truant officer called for him. Hugo +heard the conversation between the officer and his mother. He was +frightened. He vowed to himself that his abnormality should be hidden +deeply. + +After that he was dropped into that microcosm of human life to which so +little attention is paid by adults. School frightened and excited Hugo. +For one thing, there were girls in school--and Hugo knew nothing about +them except that they were different from himself. There were +teachers--and they made one work, whether one wished to work or not. +They represented power, as a jailer represents power. The children +feared teachers. Hugo feared them. + +But the lesson of Hugo's first six years was fairly well planted. He +blushingly ignored the direct questions of those children whom his fame +had reached. He gave no reason to anyone for suspecting him of +abnormality. He became so familiar to his comrades that their curiosity +gradually vanished. He would not play games with them--his mother had +forbidden that. But he talked to them and was as friendly as they +allowed him to be. His sensitiveness and fear of ridicule made him a +voracious student. He liked books. He liked to know things and to learn +them. + +Thus, bound by the conditionings of his babyhood, he reached the spring +of his first year in school without accident. Such tranquillity could +not long endure. The day which his mother had dreaded ultimately +arrived. A lanky farmer's son, older than the other children in the +first grade, chose a particularly quiet and balmy recess period to +plague little Hugo. The farmer's boy was, because of his size, the bully +and the leader of all the other boys. He had not troubled himself to +resent Hugo's exclusiveness or Hugo's reputation until that morning when +he found himself without occupation. Hugo was sitting in the sun, his +dark eyes staring a little sadly over the laughing, rioting children. + +The boy approached him. "Hello, strong man." He was shrewd enough to +make his voice so loud as to be generally audible. Hugo looked both +harmless and slightly pathetic. + +"I'm not a strong man." + +"Course you're not. But everybody thinks you are--except me. I'm not +afraid of you." + +"I don't want you to be afraid of me. I'm not afraid of you, either." + +"Oh, you aren't, huh? Look." He touched Hugo's chest with his finger, +and when Hugo looked down, the boy lifted his finger into Hugo's face. + +"Go away and let me alone." + +The tormentor laughed. "Ever see a fish this long?" + +His hands indicated a small fish. Involuntarily Hugo looked at them. +The hands flew apart and slapped him smartly. Several of the children +had stopped their play to watch. The first insult made them giggle. The +second brought a titter from Anna Blake, and Hugo noticed that. Anna +Blake was a little girl with curly golden hair and blue eyes. Secretly +Hugo admired her and was drawn to her. When she laughed, he felt a +dismal loneliness, a sudden desertion. The farmer's boy pressed the +occasion his meanness had made. + +"I'll bet you ain't even strong enough to fight little Charlie Todd. +Commere, Charlie." + +"I am," Hugo replied with slow dignity. + +"You're a sissy. You're a-scared to play with us." + +The ring around Hugo had grown. He felt a tangible ridicule in it. He +knew what it was to hate. Still, his inhibitions, his control, held him +in check. "Go away," he said, "or I'll hurt you." + +The farmer's boy picked up a stick and put it on his shoulder. "Knock +that off, then, strong man." + +Hugo knew the dare and its significance. With a gentle gesture he +brushed the stick away. Then the other struck. At the same time he +kicked Hugo's shins. There was no sense of pain with the kick. Hugo saw +it as if it had happened to another person. The school-yard tensed with +expectation. But the accounts of what followed were garbled. The +farmer's boy fell on his face as if by an invisible agency. Then his +body was lifted in the air. The children had an awful picture of Hugo +standing for a second with the writhing form of his attacker above his +head. Then he flung it aside, over the circle that surrounded him, and +the body fell with a thud. It lay without moving. Hugo began to whimper +pitifully. + +That was Hugo's first fight. He had defended himself, and it made him +ashamed. He thought he had killed the other boy. Sickening dread filled +him. He hurried to his side and shook him, calling his name. The other +boy came to. His arm was broken and his sides were purpling where Hugo +had seized him. There was terror in his eyes when he saw Hugo's face +above him, and he screamed shrilly for help. The teacher came. She sent +Hugo to the blacksmith to be whipped. + +That, in itself, was a stroke of genius. The blacksmith whipped grown +boys in the high school for their misdeeds. To send a six-year-old child +was crushing. But Hugo had risen above the standards set by his society. +He had been superior to it for a moment, and society hated him for it. +His teacher hated him because she feared him. Mothers of children, +learning about the episode, collected to discuss it in high-pitched, +hateful voices. Hugo was enveloped in hate. And, as the lash of the +smith fell on his small frame, he felt the depths of misery. He was a +strong man. There was damnation in his veins. + +The minister came and prayed over him. The doctor was sent for and +examined him. Frantic busybodies suggested that things be done to weaken +him--what things, they did not say. And Hugo, suffering bitterly, saw +that if he had beaten the farmer's boy in fair combat, he would have +been a hero. It was the scale of his triumph that made it dreadful. He +did not realize then that if he had been so minded, he could have turned +on the blacksmith and whipped him, he could have broken the neck of the +doctor, he could have run raging through the town and escaped unscathed. +His might was a secret from himself. He knew it only as a curse, like a +disease or a blemish. + +During the ensuing four or five years Hugo's peculiar trait asserted +itself but once. It was a year after his fight with the bully. He had +been isolated socially. Even Anna Blake did not dare to tease him any +longer. Shunned and wretched, he built a world of young dreams and +confections and lived in it with whatever comfort it afforded. + +One warm afternoon in a smoky Indian summer he walked home from school, +spinning a top as he walked, stopping every few yards to pick it up and +to let its eccentric momentum die on the palm of his hand. His pace +thereby was made very slow and he calculated it to bring him to his home +in time for supper and no sooner, because, despite his vigour, chores +were as odious to him as to any other boy. A wagon drawn by two horses +rolled toward him. It was a heavy wagon, piled high with grain-sacks, +and a man sat on its rear end, his legs dangling. + +As the wagon reached Hugo, it jolted over a rut. There was a grinding +rip and a crash. Hugo pocketed his top and looked. The man sitting on +the back had been pinned beneath the rear axle, and the load held him +there. As Hugo saw his predicament, the man screamed in agony. Hugo's +blood chilled. He stood transfixed. A man jumped out of a buggy. A Negro +ran from a yard. Two women hurried from the spot. In an instant there +were six or seven men around the broken wagon. A sound of pain issued +from the mouth of the impaled man. The knot of figures bent at the sides +of the cart and tried to lift. "Have to get a jack," Hugo heard them +say. + +Hugo wound up his string and put it beside his top. He walked +mechanically into the road. He looked at the legs of the man on the +ground. They were oozing blood where the backboard rested on them. The +men gathered there were lifting again, without result. Hugo caught the +side and bent his small shoulders. With all his might he pulled up. The +wagon was jerked into the air. They pulled out the injured man. Hugo +lowered the wagon slowly. + +For a moment no attention was paid to him. He waited pridefully for the +recognition he had earned. He dug in the dirt with the side of his shoe. +A man with a mole on his nose observed him. "Funny how that kid's +strength was just enough to turn the balance." + +Hugo smiled. "I'm pretty strong," he admitted. + +Another man saw him. "Get out of here," he said sharply. "This is no +place for a kid." + +"But I was the one--" + +"I said beat it. And I meant beat it. Go home to your ma." + +Slowly the light went from Hugo's eyes. They did not know--they could +not know. He had lifted more than two tons. And the men stood now, +waiting for the doctor, telling each other how strong they were when the +instant of need came. + +"Go on, kid. Run along. I'll smack you." + +Hugo went. He forgot to spin his top. He stumbled a little as he +walked. + + + + +IV + + +Days, months, years. They had forgotten that Hugo was different. Almost, +for a while, he had forgotten it himself. He was popular in school. He +fostered the unexpressed theory that his strength had been a phenomenon +of his childhood--one that diminished as he grew older. Then, at ten, it +called to him for exercise. + +Each day he rose with a feeling of insufficiency. Each night he retired +unrequited. He read. Poe, the Bible, Scott, Thackeray, Swift, Defoe--all +the books he could find. He thrilled with every syllable of adventure. +His imagination swelled. But that was not sufficient. He yearned as a +New England boy yearns before he runs away to sea. + +At ten he was a stalwart and handsome lad. His brow was high and +surmounted by his peculiarly black hair. His eyes were wide apart, inky, +unfathomable. He carried himself with the grace of an athlete. He +studied hard and he worked hard for his parents, taking care of a cow +and chickens, of a stable and a large lawn, of flowers and a vegetable +garden. + +Then one day he went by himself to walk in the mountains. He had not +been allowed to go into the mountains alone. A _Wanderlust_ that came +half from himself and half from his books led his feet along a narrow, +leafy trail into the forest depths. Hugo lay down and listened to the +birds in the bushes, to the music of a brook, and to the sound of the +wind. He wanted to be free and brave and great. By and by he stood up +and walked again. + +An easy exhilaration filled his veins. His pace increased. "I wonder," +he thought, "how fast I can run, how far I can jump." He quickened his +stride. In a moment he found that the turns in the trail were too +frequent for him to see his course. He ran ahead, realizing that he was +moving at an abnormal pace. Then he turned, gathered himself, and jumped +carefully. He was astonished when he vaulted above the green covering of +the trail. He came down heavily. He stood in his tracks, tingling. + +"Nobody can do that, not even an acrobat," he whispered. Again he tried, +jumping straight up. He rose fully forty feet in the air. + +"Good Jesus!" he exulted. In those lonely, incredible moments Hugo found +himself. There in the forest, beyond the eye of man, he learned that he +was superhuman. It was a rapturous discovery. He knew at that hour that +his strength was not a curse. He had inklings of his invulnerability. + +He ran. He shot up the steep trail like an express train, at a rate that +would have been measured in miles to the hour rather than yards to the +minute. Tireless blood poured through his veins. Green streaked at his +sides. In a short time he came to the end of the trail. He plunged on, +careless of obstacles that would have stopped an ordinary mortal. From +trunk to trunk he leaped a burned stretch. He flung himself from a high +rock. He sped like a shadow across a pine-carpeted knoll. He gained the +bare rocks of the first mountain, and in the open, where the horror of +no eye would tether his strength, he moved in flying bounds to its +summit. + +Hugo stood there, panting. Below him was the world. A little world. He +laughed. His dreams had been broken open. His depression was relieved. +But he would never let them know--he, Hugo, the giant. Except, perhaps, +his father. He lifted his arms--to thank God, to jeer at the world. Hugo +was happy. + +He went home wondering. He was very hungry--hungrier than he had ever +been--and his parents watched him eat with hidden glances. Samson had +eaten thus, as if his stomach were bottomless and his food digested +instantly to make room for more. And, as he ate, Hugo tried to open a +conversation that would lead to a confession to his father. But it +seemed impossible. + +Hugo liked his father. He saw how his mother dominated the little +professor, how she seemed to have crushed and bewildered him until his +mind was unfocused from its present. He could not love his mother +because of that. He did not reason that her religion had made her blind +and selfish, but he felt her blindness and the many cloaks that +protected her and her interests. He held her in respect and he obeyed +her. But often and wistfully he had tried to talk to his father, to make +friends with him, to make himself felt as a person. + +Abednego Danner's mind was buried in the work he had done. His son was a +foreign person for whom he felt a perplexed sympathy. It is significant +that he had never talked to Hugo about Hugo's prowess. The ten-year-old +boy had not wished to discuss it. Now, however, realizing its extent, he +felt he must go to his father. After dinner he said: "Dad, let's you and +me take a walk." + +Mrs. Danner's protective impulses functioned automatically. "Not +to-night. I won't have it." + +"But, mother--" + +Danner guessed the reason for that walk. He said to his wife with rare +firmness: "If the boy wants to walk with me, we're going." + +After supper they went out. Mrs. Danner felt that she had been shut out +of her own son's world. And she realized that he was growing up. + +Danner and his son strolled along the leafy street. They talked about +his work in school. His father seemed to Hugo more human than he had +ever been. He even ventured the first step toward other conversation. +"Well, son, what is it?" + +Hugo caught his breath. "Well--I kind of thought I ought to tell you. +You see--this afternoon--well--you know I've always been a sort of +strong kid--" + +Danner trembled. "I know--" + +"And you haven't said much about it to me. Except to be gentle--" + +"That's so. You must remember it." + +"Well--I don't have to be gentle with myself, do I? When I'm alone--like +in the woods, that is?" + +The older one pondered. "You mean--you like to--ah--let yourself +out--when you're alone?" + +"That's what I mean." The usual constraint between them had receded. +Hugo was grateful for his father's help. "You see, dad, I--well--I went +walkin' to-day--and I--I kind of tried myself out." + +Danner answered in breathless eagerness: "And?" + +"Well--I'm not just a strong kid, dad. I don't know what's the matter +with me. It seems I'm not like other kids at all. I guess it's been +gettin' worse all these years since I was a baby." + +"Worse?" + +"I mean--I been gettin' stronger. An' now it seems like I'm +about--well--I don't like to boast--but it seems like I'm about the +strongest man in the world. When I try it, it seems like there isn't any +stopping me. I can go on--far as I like. Runnin'. Jumpin'." His +confession had commenced in detail. Hugo warmed to it. "I can do things, +dad. It kind of scares me. I can jump higher'n a house. I can run +faster'n a train. I can pull up big trees an' push 'em over." + +"I see." Danner's spine tingled. He worshipped his son then. "Suppose +you show me." + +Hugo looked up and down the street. There was no one in sight. The +evening was still duskily lighted by afterglow. "Look out then. I'm +gonna jump." + +Mr. Danner saw his son crouch. But he jumped so quickly that he +vanished. Four seconds elapsed. He landed where he had stood. "See, +dad?" + +"Do it again." + +On the second trial the professor's eyes followed the soaring form. And +he realized the magnitude of the thing he had wrought. + +"Did you see me?" + +Danner nodded. "I saw you, son." + +"Kind of funny, isn't it?" + +"Let's talk some more." There was a pause. "Do you realize, son, that no +one else on earth can do what you just did?" + +"Yeah. I guess not." + +Danner hesitated. "It's a glorious thing. And dangerous." + +"Yeah." + +The professor tried to simplify the biology of his discovery. He +perceived that it was going to involve him in the mysteries of sex. He +knew that to unfold them to a child was considered immoral. But Danner +was far, far beyond his epoch. He put his hand on Hugo's shoulder. And +Hugo set off the process. + +"Dad, how come I'm--like this?" + +"I'll tell you. It's a long story and a lot for a boy your age to know. +First, what do you know about--well--about how you were born?" + +Hugo reddened. "I--I guess I know quite a bit. The kids in school are +always talkin' about it. And I've read some. We're born like--well--like +the kittens were born last year." + +"That's right." Banner knitted his brow. He began to explain the details +of conception as it occurs in man--the biology of ova and spermatazoa, +the differences between the anatomy of the sexes, and the reasons for +those differences. He drew, first, a botanical analogy. Hugo listened +intently. "I knew most of that. I've seen--girls." + +"What?" + +"Some of them--after school--let you." + +Danner was surprised, and at the same time he was amused. He had +forgotten the details of his young investigation. They are blotted out +of the minds of most adults--to the great advantage of dignity. He did +not show his amusement or his surprise. + +"Girls like that," he answered, "aren't very nice. They haven't much +modesty. It's rather indecent, because sex is a personal thing and +something you ought to keep for the one you're very fond of. You'll +understand that better when you're older. But what I was going to tell +you is this. When you were little more than a mass of plasm inside your +mother, I put a medicine in her blood that I had discovered. I did it +with a hypodermic needle. That medicine changed you. It altered the +structure of your bones and muscles and nerves and your blood. It made +you into a different tissue from the weak fibre of ordinary people. +Then--when you were born--you were strong. Did you ever watch an ant +carry many times its weight? Or see a grasshopper jump fifty times its +length? The insects have better muscles and nerves than we have. And I +improved your body till it was relatively that strong. Can you +understand that?" + +"Sure. I'm like a man made out of iron instead of meat." + +"That's it, Hugo. And, as you grow up, you've got to remember that. +You're not an ordinary human being. When people find that out, +they'll--they'll--" + +"They'll hate me?" + +"Because they fear you. So you see, you've got to be good and kind and +considerate--to justify all that strength. Some day you'll find a use +for it--a big, noble use--and then you can make it work and be proud of +it. Until that day, you have to be humble like all the rest of us. You +mustn't show off or do cheap tricks. Then you'd just be a clown. Wait +your time, son, and you'll be glad of it. And--another thing--train your +temper. You must never lose it. You can see what would happen if you +did? Understand?" + +"I guess I do. It's hard work--doin' all that." + +"The stronger, the greater, you are, the harder life is for you. And +you're the strongest of them all, Hugo." + +The heart of the ten-year-old boy burned and vibrated. "And what about +God?" he asked. + +Danner looked into the darkened sky. "I don't know much about Him," he +sighed. + +Such was the soundest counsel that Hugo was given during his youth. +Because it came to him accompanied by unadulterated truths that he was +able to recognize, it exerted a profound effect on him. It is surprising +that his father was the one to give it. Nevertheless, Professor Danner +was the only person in all of Indian Creek who had sufficient +imagination to perceive his son's problems and to reckon with them in +any practical sense. + +Hugo was eighteen before he gave any other indication of his strength +save in that fantastic and Gargantuan play which he permitted himself. +Even his play was intruded upon by the small-minded and curious world +before he had found the completeness of its pleasure. Then Hugo fell +into his coma. + +Hugo went back to the deep forest to think things over and to become +acquainted with his powers. At first, under full pressure of his sinews, +he was clumsy and inaccurate. He learned deftness by trial and error. +One day he found a huge pit in the tangled wilderness. It had been an +open mine long years before. Sitting on its brink, staring into its pool +of verdure, dreaming, he conceived a manner of entertainment suitable +for his powers. + +He jumped over its craggy edge and walked to its centre. There he +selected a high place, and with his hands he cleared away the growth +that covered it. Next he laid the foundations of a fort, over which he +was to watch the fastnesses for imaginary enemies. The foundations were +made of boulders. Some he carried and some he rolled from the floor of +the man-made canyon. By the end of the afternoon he had laid out a +square wall of rock some three feet in height. On the next day he added +to it until the four walls reached as high as he could stretch. He left +space for one door and he made a single window. He roofed the walls with +the trunks of trees and he erected a turret over the door. + +For days the creation was his delight. After school he sped to it. Until +dark he strained and struggled with bare rocks. When it was finished, it +was an edifice that would have withstood artillery fire creditably. Then +Hugo experimented with catapults, but he found no engine that could hurl +the rocks he used for ammunition as far as his arms. He cached his +treasures in his fortress--an old axe, the scabbard of a sword, tops and +marbles, two cans of beans for emergency rations--and he made a flag of +blue and white cloth for himself. + +Then he played in it. He pretended that Indians were stalking him. An +imaginary head would appear at the rim of the pit. Hugo would see it +through a chink. Swish! Crash! A puff of dust would show where rock met +rock--with the attacker's head between. At times he would be stormed on +all sides. To get the effect he would leap the canyon and hurl boulders +on his own fort. Then he would return and defend it. + +It was after such a strenuous sally and while he was waiting in high +excitement for the enemy to reappear that Professors Whitaker and Smith +from the college stumbled on his stronghold. They were walking together +through the forest, bent on scaling the mountain to make certain +observations of an ancient cirque that was formed by the seventh great +glacier. As they walked, they debated matters of strata curvature. +Suddenly Whitaker gripped Smith's arm. "Look!" + +They stared through the trees and over the lip of Hugo's mine. Their +eyes bulged as they observed the size and weight of the fortress. + +"Moonshiners," Smith whispered. + +"Rubbish. Moonshiners don't build like that. It's a second Stonehenge. +An Indian relic." + +"But there's a sign of fresh work around it." + +Whitaker observed the newly turned earth and the freshly bared rock. +"Perhaps--perhaps, professor, we've fallen upon something big. A lost +race of Indian engineers. A branch of the Incas--or--" + +"Maybe they'll be hostile." + +The men edged forward. And at the moment they reached the edge of the +pit, Hugo emerged from his fort. He saw the men with sudden fear. He +tried to hide. + +"Hey!" they said. He did not move, but he heard them scrambling slowly +toward the spot where he lay. + +"Dressed in civilized clothes," the first professor said in a loud voice +as his eye located Hugo in the underbrush. "Hey!" + +Hugo showed himself. "What?" + +"Who are you?" + +"Hugo Danner." + +"Oh--old Danner's boy, eh?" + +Hugo did not like the tone in which they referred to his father. He made +no reply. + +"Can you tell us anything about these ruins?" + +"What ruins?" + +They pointed to his fort. Hugo was hurt. "Those aren't ruins. I built +that fort. It's to fight Indians in." + +The pair ignored his answer and started toward the fort. Hugo did not +protest. They surveyed its weighty walls and its relatively new roof. + +"Looks recent," Smith said. + +"This child has evidently renovated it. But it must have stood here for +thousands of years." + +"It didn't. I made it--mostly last week." + +They noticed him again. Whitaker simpered. "Don't lie, young man." + +Hugo was sad. "I'm not lying. I made it. You see--I'm strong." It was as +if he had pronounced his own damnation. + +"Tut, tut." Smith interrupted his survey. "Did you find it?" + +"I built it." + +"I said"--the professor spoke with increasing annoyance--"I said not to +tell me stories any longer. It's important, young man, that we know just +how you found this dolmen and in what condition." + +"It isn't a dolly--whatever you said--it's a fort and I built it and I'm +not lying." + +The professor, in the interests of science, made a grave mistake. He +seized Hugo by the arms and shook him. "Now, see here, young man, I'll +have no more of your impertinent lip. Tell me just what you've done to +harm this noble monument to another race, or, I swear, I'll slap you +properly." The professor had no children. He tried, at the same time, +another tack, which insulted Hugo further. "If you do, I'll give you a +penny--to keep." + +Hugo wrenched himself free with an ease that startled Smith. His face +was dark, almost black. He spoke slowly, as if he was trying to piece +words into sense. "You--both of you--you go away from here and leave me +or I'll break your two rotten old necks." + +Whitaker moved toward him, and Smith interceded. "We better leave +him--and come back later." He was still frightened by the strength in +Hugo's arms. "The child is mad. He may have hydrophobia. He might bite." +The men moved away hastily. Hugo watched them climb the wall. When they +reached the top, he called gently. They wheeled. + +And Hugo, sobbing, tears streaming from his face, leaped into his fort. +Rocks vomited themselves from it--huge rocks that no man could budge. +Walls toppled and crashed. The men began to move. Hugo looked up. He +chose a stone that weighed more than a hundred pounds. + +"Hey!" he said. "I'm not a liar!" The rock arched through the air and +Professors Whitaker and Smith escaped death by a scant margin. Hugo lay +in the wreck of the first thing his hands had built, and wept. + +After a little while he sprang to his feet and chased the retreating +professors. When he suddenly appeared in front of them, they were +stricken dumb. "Don't tell any one about that or about me," he said. "If +you do--I'll break down your house just like I broke mine. Don't even +tell my family. They know it, anyhow." + +He leaped. Toward them--over them. The forest hid him. Whitaker wiped +clammy perspiration from his brow. "What was it, Smith?" + +"A demon. We can't mention it," he repeated, thinking of the warning. +"We can't speak of it anyway. They'll never believe us." + + + + +V + + +Extremely dark of hair, of eyes and skin, moderately tall, and shaped +with that compact, breath-taking symmetry that the male figure sometimes +assumes, a brilliantly devised, aggressive head topping his broad +shoulders, graceful, a man vehemently alive, a man with the promise of a +young God. Hugo at eighteen. His emotions ran through his eyes like hot +steel in a dark mould. People avoided those eyes; they contained a +statement from which ordinary souls shrank. + +His skin glowed and sweated into a shiny red-brown. His voice was deep +and alluring. During twelve long and fierce years he had fought to know +and control himself. Indian Creek had forgotten the terrible child. + +Hugo's life at that time revolved less about himself than it had during +his first years. That was both natural and fortunate. If his classmates +in school and the older people of the town had not discounted his early +physical precocity, even his splendid vitality might not have been +sufficient to prevent him from becoming moody and melancholy. + +But when with the passage of time he tossed no more bullies, carried no +more barrels of temptation, built no more fortresses, and grew so +handsome that the matrons of Indian Creek as well as the adolescent +girls in high school followed him with wayward glances, when the men +found him a gay and comprehending companion for any sport or adventure, +when his teachers observed that his intelligence was often +embarrassingly acute, when he played on three teams and was elected an +officer in his classes each year, then that half of Hugo which was +purely mundane and human dominated him and made him happy. + +His adolescence, his emotions, were no different from those of any young +man of his age and character. If his ultimate ambitions followed another +trajectory, he postponed the evidence of it. Hugo was in love with Anna +Blake, the girl who had attracted him when he was six. The residents of +Indian Creek knew it. Her family received his calls with the winking +tolerance which the middle class grants to young passion. And she was +warm and tender and flirtatious and shy according to the policies that +she had learned from custom. + +The active part of Hugo did not doubt that he would marry her after he +had graduated from the college in Indian Creek, that they would settle +somewhere near by, and that they would raise a number of children. His +subconscious thoughts made reservations that he, in moments when he was +intimate with himself, would admit frankly. It made him a little ashamed +of himself to see that on one night he would sit with Anna and kiss her +ardently until his body ached, and on another he would deliberately plan +to desert her. His idealism at that time was very great and untried and +it did not occur to him that all men are so deliberately calculating in +the love they disguise as absolute. + +Anna had grown into a very attractive woman. Her figure was rounded and +tall. Her hair was darker than the waxy curls of her childhood, and a +vital gleam had come into it. Her eyes were still as blue and her voice, +shorn of its faltering youngness, was sweet and clear. She was +undoubtedly the prettiest girl in high school and the logical +sweet-heart for Hugo Danner. A flower ready to be plucked, at eighteen. + +When Hugo reached his senior year, that readiness became almost an +impatience. Girls married at an early age in Indian Creek. She looked +down the corridor of time during which he would be in college, she felt +the pressure of his still slumbering passion, and she sensed his +superiority over most of the town boys. Only a very narrow critic would +call her resultant tactics dishonourable. They were too intensely human +and too clearly born of social and biological necessity. + +She had let him kiss her when they were sixteen. And afterwards, before +she went to sleep, she sighed rapturously at the memory of his warm, +firm lips, his strong, rough arms. Hugo had gone home through the +dizzily spinning dusk, through the wind-strummed trees and the fragrant +fields, his breath deep in his chest, his eyes hot and somewhat +understanding. + +Gradually Anna increased that license. She knew and she did not know +what she was doing. She played a long game in which she said: "If our +love is consummated too soon, the social loss will be balanced by a +speedier marriage, because Hugo is honourable; but that will never +happen." Two years after that first kiss, when they were floating on the +narrow river in a canoe, Hugo unfastened her blouse and exposed the +creamy beauty of her bosom to the soft moonlight and she did not +protest. That night he nearly possessed her, and after that night he +learned through her unspoken, voluptuous suggestion all the technique of +love-making this side of consummation. + +When, finally, he called one night at her house and found that she was +alone and that her parents and her brother would not return until the +next day, they looked at each other with a shining agreement. He turned +the lights out and they sat on the couch in the darkness, listening to +the passing of people on the sidewalk outside. He undressed her. He +whispered halting, passionate phrases. He asked her if she was afraid +and let himself be laughed away from his own conscience. Then he took +her and loved her. + +Afterwards, going home again in the gloom of late night, he looked up at +the stars and they stood still. He realized that a certain path of life +had been followed to its conclusion. He felt initiated into the adult +world. And it had been so simple, so natural, so sweet.... He threw a +great stone into the river and laughed and walked on, after a while. + +Through the summer that followed, Hugo and Anna ran the course of their +affair. They loved each other violently and incessantly and with no +other evil consequence than to invite the open "humphs" of village +gossips and to involve him in several serious talks with her father. +Their courtship was given the benefit of conventional doubt, however, +and their innocence was hotly if covertly protested by the Blakes. Mrs. +Danner coldly ignored every fragment of insinuation. She hoped that Hugo +and Anna would announce their engagement and she hinted that hope. Hugo +himself was excited and absorbed. Occasionally he thought he was +sterile, with an inclination to be pleased rather than concerned if it +was true. + +He added tenderness to his characteristics. And he loved Anna too much. +Toward the end of that summer she lost weight and became irritable. They +quarrelled once and then again. The criteria for his physical conduct +being vague in his mind, Hugo could not gauge it correctly. And he did +not realize that the very ardour of his relation with her was abnormal. +Her family decided to send her away, believing the opposite of the truth +responsible for her nervousness and weakness. A week before she left, +Hugo himself tired of his excesses. + +One evening, dressing for a last passionate rendezvous, he looked in his +mirror as he tied his scarf and saw that he was frowning. Studying the +frown, he perceived with a shock what made it. He did not want to see +Anna, to take her out, to kiss and rumple and clasp her, to return +thinking of her, feeling her, sweet and smelling like her. It annoyed +him. It bored him. He went through it uneasily and quarrelled again. Two +days later she departed. + +He acted his loss well and she did not show her relief until she sat on +the train, tired, shattered, and uninterested in Hugo and in life. Then +she cried. But Hugo was through. They exchanged insincere letters. He +looked forward to college in the fall. Then he received a letter from +Anna saying that she was going to marry a man she had met and known for +three weeks. It was a broken, gasping, apologetic letter. Every one was +outraged at Anna and astounded that Hugo bore the shock so courageously. + +The upshot of that summer was to fill his mind with fetid memories, +which abated slowly, to make him disgusted with himself and tired of +Indian Creek. He decided to go to a different college, one far away from +the scene of his painful youth and his disillusioned maturity. He chose +Webster University because of the greatness of its name. If Abednego +Danner was hurt at his son's defection from his own college, he said +nothing. And Mrs. Danner, grown more silent and reserved, yielded to her +son's unexpected decision. + +Hugo packed his bags one September afternoon, with a feeling of +dreaminess. He bade farewell to his family. He boarded the train. His +mind was opaque. The spark burning in it was one of dawning adventure +buried in a mass of detail. He had never been far from his native soil. +Now he was going to see cities and people who were almost foreign, in +the sophisticated East. But all he could dwell on was a swift cinema of +a defeated little boy, a strong man who could never be strong, a +surfeited love, a truant and dimly comprehensible blonde girl, a muddy +street and a red station, a clapboard house, a sonorous church with +hushed puppets in the pews, fudge parties, boats on the little river, +cold winter, and ice over the mountains, and a fortress where once upon +a time he had felt mightier than the universe. + + + + +VI + + +The short branch line to which Hugo changed brought him to the fringe of +the campus. The cars were full of boys, so many of them that he was +embarrassed. They all appeared to know each other, and no one spoke to +him. His dreams on the train were culminated. He had decided to become a +great athlete. With his mind's eye, he played the football he would +play--and the baseball. Ninety-yard runs, homers hit over the fence into +oblivion. Seeing the boys and feeling their lack of notice of him +redoubled the force of that decision. Then he stepped on to the station +platform and stood facing the campus. He could not escape a rush of +reverence and of awe; it was so wide, so green and beautiful. Far away +towered the giant arches of the stadium. Near by were the sharp Gothic +points of the chapel and the graduate college. Between them a score or +more of buildings rambled in and out through the trees. + +"Hey!" + +Hugo turned a little self-consciously. A youth in a white shirt and +white trousers was beckoning to him. "Freshman, aren't you?" + +"Yes. My name's Danner. Hugo Danner." + +"I'm Lefty Foresman. Chuck!" A second student separated himself from the +bustle of baggage and young men. "Here's a freshman." + +Hugo waited with some embarrassment. He wondered why they wanted a +freshman. Lefty introduced Chuck and then said: "Are you strong, +freshman?" + +For an instant he was stunned. Had they heard, guessed? Then he realized +it was impossible. They wanted him to work. They were going to haze him. +"Sure," he said. + +"Then get this trunk and I'll show you where to take it." + +Hugo was handed a baggage check. He found the official and located the +trunk. Tentatively he tested its weight, as if he were a normally husky +youth about to undertake its transportation. He felt pleased that his +strength was going to be tried so accidentally and in such short order. +Lefty and Chuck heaved the trunk on his back. "Can you carry it?" they +asked. + +"Sure." + +"Don't be too sure. It's a long way." + +Peering from beneath the trunk under which he bent with a fair +assumption of human weakness, Hugo had his first close glimpse of +Webster. They passed under a huge arch and down a street lined with +elms. Students were everywhere, carrying books and furniture, moving in +wheelbarrows and moving by means of the backs of other freshmen. The two +who led him were talking and he listened as he plodded. + +"Saw Marcia just before I left the lake--took her out one night--and got +all over the place with her--and then came down--she's coming to the +first prom with me--and Marj to the second--got to get some beer +in--we'll buzz out and see if old Snorenson has made any wine this +summer. Hello, Eddie--glad to see you back--I've elected the dean's +physics, though, God knows, I'll never get a first in them and I need it +for a key. That damn Frosh we picked up sure must have been a +porter--hey, freshmen! Want a rest?" + +"No, thanks." + +"Went down to the field this afternoon--looks all right to me. The team, +that is. Billings is going to quarter it now--and me after that--hope to +Christ I make it--they're going to have Scapper and Dwan back at Yale +and we've got a lot of work to do. Frosh! You don't need to drag that +all the way in one yank. Put it down, will you?" + +"I'm not tired. I don't need a rest." + +"Well, you know best--but you ought to be tired. I would. Where do you +come from?" + +"Colorado." + +"Huh! People go to Colorado. Never heard of any one coming from there +before. Whereabouts?" + +"Indian Creek." + +"Oh." There was a pause. "You aren't an Indian, are you?" It was asked +bluntly. + +"Scotch Presbyterian for twenty generations." + +"Well, when you get through here, you'll be full of Scotch and emptied +of the Presbyterianism. Put the trunk down." + +Their talk of women, of classes, of football, excited Hugo. He was not +quite as amazed to find that Lefty Foresman was one of the candidates +for the football team as he might have been later when he knew how many +students attended the university and how few, relatively, were athletes. +He decided at once that he liked Lefty. The sophistication of his talk +was unfamiliar to Hugo; much of it he could not understand and only +guessed. He wanted Lefty to notice him. When he was told to put the +trunk down, he did not obey. Instead, with precision and ease, he swung +it up on his shoulder, held it with one hand and said in an unflustered +tone: "I'm not tired, honestly. Where do we go from here?" + +"Great howling Jesus!" Lefty said, "what have we here? Hey! Put that +trunk down." There was excitement in his voice. "Say, guy, do that +again." + +Hugo did it. Lefty squeezed his biceps and grew pale. Those muscles in +action lost their feel of flesh and became like stone. Lefty said: "Say, +boy, can you play football?" + +"Sure," Hugo said. + +"Well, you leave that trunk with Chuck, here, and come with me." + +Hugo did as he had been ordered and they walked side by side to the +gymnasium. Hugo had once seen a small gymnasium, ill equipped and badly +lighted, and it had appealed mightily to him. Now he stood in a +prodigious vaulted room with a shimmering floor, a circular balcony, a +varied array of apparatus. His hands clenched. Lefty quit him for a +moment and came back with a man who wore knickers. "Mr. Woodman, this +is--what the hell's your name?" + +"Danner. Hugo Danner." + +"Mr. Woodman is football coach." + +Hugo took the man's hand. Lefty excused himself. Mr. Woodman said: +"Young Foresman said you played football." + +"Just on a high-school team in Colorado." + +"Said you were husky. Go in my office and ask Fitzsimmons to give you a +gym suit. Come out when you're ready." + +Hugo undressed and put on the suit. Fitzsimmons, the trainer, looked at +him with warm admiration. "You're sure built, son." + +"Yeah. That's luck, isn't it?" + +Then Hugo was taken to another office. Woodman asked him a number of +questions about his weight, his health, his past medical history. He +listened to Hugo's heart and then led him to a scale. Hugo had lied +about his weight. + +"I thought you said one hundred and sixty, Mr. Danner?" + +The scales showed two hundred and eleven, but it was impossible for a +man of his size and build to weigh that much. Hugo had lied +deliberately, hoping that he could avoid the embarrassment of being +weighed. "I did, Mr. Woodman. You see--my weight is a sort of freak. I +don't show it--no one would believe it--and yet there it is." He did not +go into the details of his construction from a plasm new to biology. + +"Huh!" Mr. Woodman said. Together they walked out on the floor of the +gymnasium. Woodman called to one of the figures on the track who was +making slow, plodding circuits. "Hey, Nellie! Take this bird up and pace +him for a lap. Make it fast." + +A little smile came at the corners of Hugo's mouth. Several of the men +in the gymnasium stopped work to watch the trial of what was evidently a +new candidate. "Ready?" Woodman said, and the runners crouched side by +side. "Set? Go!" + +Nelson, one of the best sprinters Webster had had for years, dashed +forward. He had covered thirty feet when he heard a voice almost in his +ear. "Faster, old man." + +Nelson increased. "Faster, boy, I'm passing you." The words were spoken +quietly, calmly. A rage filled Nelson. He let every ounce of his +strength into his limbs and skimmed the canvas. Half a lap. Hugo ran at +his side and Nelson could not lead him. The remaining half was not a +race. Hugo finished thirty feet in the lead. + +Woodman, standing on the floor, wiped his forehead and bawled: "That the +best you can do, Nellie?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"What in hell have you been doing to yourself?" + +Nelson drew a sobbing breath. "I--haven't--done--a thing. Time--that +man. He's--faster than the intercollegiate mark." + +Woodman, still dubious, made Hugo run against time. And Hugo, eager to +make an impression and unguided by a human runner, broke the world's +record for the distance around the track by a second and three-fifths. +The watch in Woodman's hands trembled. + +"Hey!" he said, uncertain of his voice, "come down here, will you?" + +Hugo descended the spiral iron staircase. He was breathing with ease. +Woodman stared at him. "Lessee you jump." + +Hugo was familiar with the distances for jumping made in track meets. He +was careful not to overdo his effort. His running jump was twenty-eight +feet, and his standing jump was eleven feet and some inches. Woodman's +face ran water. His eyes gleamed. "Danner," he said, "where did you get +that way?" + +"What way?" + +"I mean--what have you done all your life?" + +"Nothing. Gone to school." + +"Two hundred and eleven pounds," Woodman muttered, "run like an Olympic +champ--jump like a kangaroo--how's your kicking?" + +"All right, I guess." + +"Passing?" + +"All right, I guess." + +"Come on outside. Hey, Fitz! Bring a ball." + +An hour later Fitzsimmons found Woodman sitting in his office. Beside +him was a bottle of whisky which he kept to revive wounded gladiators. +"Fitz," said Woodman, looking at the trainer with dazed eyes, "did you +see what I saw?" + +"Yes, I did, Woodie." + +"Tell me about it." + +Fitzsimmons scratched his greying head. "Well, Woodie, I seen a young +man--" + +"Saw, Fitz." + +"I saw a young man come into the gym an' undress. He looked like an +oiled steam engine. I saw him go and knock hell out of three track +records without even losing his breath. Then I seen him go out on the +field an' kick a football from one end to the other an' pass it back. +That's what _I_ seen." + +Woodman nodded his head. "So did I. But I don't believe it, do you?" + +"I do. That's the man you--an' all the other coaches--have been wantin' +to see. The perfect athlete. Better in everything than the best man at +any one thing. Just a freak, Woodie--but, God Almighty, how New Haven +an' Colgate are goin' to feel it these next years!" + +"Mebbe he's dumb, Fitz." + +"Mebbe. Mebbe not." + +"Find out." + +Fitz wasted no time. He telephoned to the registrar's office. "Mr. H. +Danner," said the voice of a secretary, "passed his examinations with +the highest honours and was admitted among the first ten." + +"He passed his entrance exams among the first ten," Fitzsimmons +repeated. + +"God!" said Woodman, "it's the millennium!" And he took a drink. + + * * * * * + +Late in the afternoon of that day Hugo found his room in Thompson +Dormitory. He unpacked his carpet-bag and his straw suitcase. He checked +in his mind the things that he had done. It seemed a great deal for one +day--a complete alteration of his life. He had seen the dean and +arranged his classes: trigonometry, English, French, Latin, biology, +physics, economics, hygiene. With a pencil and a ruler he made a +schedule, which he pinned on the second-hand desk he had bought. + +Then he checked his furniture: a desk, two chairs, a bed, bed-clothes, a +rug, sheets and blankets, towels. He hung his clothes in the closet. For +a while he looked at them attentively. They were not like the clothes of +the other students. He could not quite perceive the difference, but he +felt it, and it made him uncomfortable. The room to which he had been +assigned was pleasant. It looked over the rolling campus on two sides, +and both windows were framed in the leaves of nodding ivy. + +It was growing dark. From a dormitory near by came the music of a banjo. +Presently the player sang and other voices joined with him. A warm and +golden sun touched the high clouds with lingering fire. Voices cried +out, young and vigorous. Hugo sighed. He was going to be happy at +Webster. His greatness was going to be born here. + +At that time Woodman called informally on Chuck and Lefty. They were in +a heated argument over the decorative arrangement of various liquor +bottles when he knocked. "Come in!" they shouted in unison. + +"Hello!" + +"Oh, Woodie. Come in. Sit down. Want a drink--you're not in training?" + +"No, thanks. Had one. And it would be a damn sight better if you birds +didn't keep the stuff around." + +"It's Chuck's." Lefty grinned. + +"All right. I came to see about that bird you brought to me--Danner." + +"Was he any good?" + +Woodman hesitated. "Fellows, if I told you how good he was, you wouldn't +believe me. He's so good--I'm scared of him." + +"Whaddaya mean?" + +"Just that. He gave Nellie thirty feet in a lap on the track." + +"Great God!" + +"He jumped twenty-eight and eleven feet--running and standing. He kicked +half a dozen punts for eighty and ninety yards and he passed the same +distance." + +Lefty sat down on the window seat. His voice was hoarse. "That--can't be +done, Woodie." + +"I know it. But he did it. But that isn't what makes me frightened. How +much do you think he weighs?" + +"One fifty-five--or thereabouts." + +Woodie shook his head. "No, Lefty, he weighs two hundred and eleven." + +"Two eleven! He can't, Woodie. There's something wrong with your +scales." + +"Not a thing." + +The two students stared at each other and then at the coach. They were +able to grasp the facts intellectually, but they could not penetrate the +reactions of their emotions. At last Lefty said: "But that +isn't--well--it isn't human, Woodie." + +"That's why I'm scared. Something has happened to this bird. He has a +disease of some kind--that has toughened him. Like Pott's disease, that +turns you to stone. But you wouldn't think it. There's not a trace of +anything on the surface. I'm having a blood test made soon. Wait till +to-morrow when you see him in action. It'll terrify you. Because you'll +have the same damned weird feeling I have--that he isn't doing one tenth +of what he can do--that he's really just playing with us all. By God, if +I was a bit superstitious, I'd throw up my job and get as much distance +between me and that bird as I could. I'm telling you simply to prepare +you. There's something mighty funny about him, and the sooner we find +out, the better." + +Mr. Woodman left the dormitory. Lefty and Chuck stared at each other for +the space of a minute, and then, with one accord, they went together to +the registrar's office. There they found Hugo's address on the campus, +and in a few minutes they were at his door. + +"Come in," Hugo said. He smiled when he saw Lefty and Chuck. "Want some +more trunks moved?" + +"Maybe--later." They sat down, eying Hugo speculatively. Lefty acted as +spokesman. "Listen here, guy, we've just seen Woodie and he says you're +phenomenal--so much so that it isn't right." + +Hugo reddened. He had feared that his exhibition was exaggerated by his +eagerness to impress the coach. He said nothing and Lefty continued: +"You're going to be here for four years and you're going to love this +place. You're going to be willing to die for it. All the rest of your +life the fact that you went to old Webster is going to make a +difference. But there's one thing that Webster insists on--and that's +fair play. And honesty--and courage. You've come from a little town in +the West and you're a stranger here. Understand, this is all in a spirit +of friendship. So far--we like you. We want you to be one of us. To +belong. You have a lot to learn and a long way to go. I'm being frank +because I want to like you. For instance, Chuck here is a millionaire. +My old man is no dead stick in the Blue Book. Things like that will be +different from what you've known before. But the important thing is to +be a square shooter. Don't be angry. Do you understand?" + +Hugo walked to the window and looked out into the thickened gloom. He +had caught the worry, the repression, in Lefty's voice. The youth, his +merry blue eyes suddenly grave, his poised self abnormally disturbed, +had suggested a criticism of some sort. What was it? Hugo was hurt and a +little frightened. Would his college life be a repetition of Indian +Creek? Would the athletes and the others in college of his own age fear +and detest him--because he was superior? Was that what they meant? He +did not know. He was loath to offend Lefty and Chuck. But there seemed +no alternative to the risk. No one had talked to him in that way for a +long time. He sat on his bed. "Fellows," he said tersely, "I don't think +I know what you're driving at. Will you tell me?" + +The roommates fidgeted. They did not know exactly, either. They had come +to fathom the abnormality in Hugo. Chuck lit a cigarette. Lefty smiled +with an assumed ease. "Why--nothing, Danner. You see--well--I'm +quarterback of the football team. And you'll probably be on it this +year--we haven't adopted the new idea of keeping freshmen off the +varsity. Just wanted to tell you those--well--those principles." + +Hugo knew he had not been answered. He felt, too, that he would never in +his life give away his secret. The defences surrounding it had been too +immutably fixed. His joy at knowing that he had been accepted so soon as +a logical candidate for the football team was tempered by this +questioning. "I have principles, fellows." + +"Good." Lefty rose. "Guess we'll be going. By the way, Woodie said you +smashed a couple of track records to-day. Where'd you learn?" + +"Nowhere." + +"How come, then?" + +"Just--natural." + +Lefty summoned his will. "Sure it isn't--well--unhealthy. Woodie says +there are a couple of diseases that make you--well--get tough--like +stone." + +Hugo realized the purpose of the visit. "Then--be sure I haven't any +diseases. My father had an M.D." He smiled awkwardly. "Ever since I was +a kid, I've been stronger than most people. And I probably have a little +edge still. Just an accident, that's all. Is that what you were +wondering about?" + +Lefty smiled with instant relief. "Yes, it is. And I'm glad you take it +that way. Listen--why don't you come over to the Inn and take dinner +with Chuck and me? Let commons go for to-night. What say?" + + * * * * * + +At eleven Hugo wound his alarm clock and set it for seven. He yawned +and smiled. All during supper he had listened to the glories of Webster +and the advantages of belonging to the Psi Delta fraternity, to +descriptions of parties and to episodes with girls. Lefty and Chuck had +embraced him in their circle. They had made suggestions about what he +should wear and whom he should know; they had posted him on the +behaviour best suited for each of his professors. They liked him and he +liked them, immensely. They were the finest fellows in the world. +Webster was a magnificent university. And he was going to be one of its +most glorious sons. + +He undressed and went to bed. In a moment he slept, drawing in deep, +swift breaths. His face was smiling and his arm was extended, whether to +ward off shadows or to embrace a new treasure could not be told. In the +bright sunshine of morning his alarm jangled and he woke to begin his +career as an undergraduate. + + + + +VII + + +From the day of his arrival Webster University felt the presence of Hugo +Danner. Classes, football practice, hazing, fraternity scouting began on +that morning with a feverish and good-natured hurly-burly that, for a +time, completely bewildered him. Hugo participated in everything. He +went to the classroom with pleasure. It was never difficult for him to +learn and never easier than in those first few weeks. The professors he +had known (and he reluctantly included his own father) were dry-as-dust +individuals who had none of the humanities. And at least some of the +professors at Webster were brilliant, urbane, capable of all +understanding. Their lectures were like tonic to Hugo. + +The number of his friends grew with amazing rapidity. It seemed that he +could not cross the campus without being hailed by a member of the +football team and presented to another student. The Psi Deltas saw to it +that he met the entire personnel of their chapter at Webster. Other +fraternities looked at him with covetous eyes, but Lefty Foresman, who +was chairman of the membership committee, let it be known that the Psi +Deltas had marked Hugo for their own. And no one refused their bid. + +On the second Monday after college opened, Hugo went to the class +elections and found to his astonishment that he received twenty-eight +votes for president. A boy from a large preparatory school was elected, +but twenty-eight votes spoke well for the reputation he had gained in +that short time. On that day, too, he learned the class customs. +Freshmen had to wear black caps, black shoes and socks and ties. They +were not allowed to walk on the grass or to ride bicycles. The ancient +cannon in the center of the class square was defended annually by the +sophomores, and its theft was always attempted by the freshmen. No +entering class had stolen it in eight years. Those things amused Hugo. +They gave him an intimate feeling of belonging to his school. He wrote +to his parents about them. + +Dean Aiken, the newly elected president of the freshman class, +approached Hugo on the matter of the cannon. "We want a gang of good +husky boys to pull it up some night and take it away. Are you with us?" + +"Sure." + +Left to his own considerations, Hugo recalled his promise and walked +across the campus with the object of studying the cannon. It was a +medium-sized piece of Revolutionary War vintage. It stood directly in +the rear of Webster Hall, and while Hugo regarded it, he noticed that +two sophomores remained in the vicinity. He knew that guard, changed +every two hours, would be on duty day and night until Christmas was +safely passed. Well, the cannon was secure. It couldn't be rolled away. +The theft of it would require first a free-for-all with the sophomores +and after a definite victory a mob assault of the gun. Hugo walked +closer to it. + +"Off the grass, freshman!" + +He wheeled obediently. One of the guards approached him. "Get off the +grass and stay off and don't look at that cannon with longing. It isn't +healthy for young freshmen." + +Hugo grinned. "All right, fella. But you better keep a double guard on +that thing while I want it." + +Two nights later, during a heavy rain that had begun after the fall of +dark, Hugo clad himself in a slicker and moved vaguely into the night. +Presently he reached the cannon yard, and in the shelter of an arch he +saw the sophomore guards. They smoked cigarettes, and one of them sang +softly. Day and night a pair of conscripted sentries kept watchful eyes +on the gun. A shout from either of them would bring the whole class +tumbling from its slumber in a very few moments. Hugo moved out of their +vision. The campus was empty. + +He rounded Webster Hall, the mud sucking softly under his feet and the +rain dampening his face. From beneath his coat he took a flare and +lighted the fuse. He heard the two sophomores running toward it in the +thick murk. When they were very close, he stepped on to the stone +flagging, looked up into the cloudy sky, gathered himself, and leaped +over the three stories of Webster Hall. He landed with a loud thud ten +feet from the cannon. When the sophomores returned, after extinguishing +the flare, their cherished symbol of authority had vanished. + +There was din on the campus. First the loud cries of two voices. Then +the screech of raised windows, the babble of more voices, and the rush +of feet that came with new gusts of rain. Flash-lights pierced the +gloom. Where the cannon had been, a hundred and then two hundred figures +gathered, swirled, organized search-parties, built a fire. Dawn came, +and the cannon was still missing. The clouds lifted. In the wan light +some one pointed up. There, on the roof of Webster Hall, with the +numerals of the freshman class painted on its muzzle, was the old +weapon. Arms stretched. An angry, incredulous hum waxed to a steady +pitch and waned as the sophomores dispersed. + +In the morning, theory ran rife. The freshmen were tight-lipped, +pretending knowledge where they had none, exulting secretly. Dean Aiken +was kidnapped at noon and given a third degree, which extorted no +information. The theft of the cannon and its elevation to the roof of +the hall entered the annals of Webster legend. And Hugo, watching the +laborious task of its removal from the roof, seemed merely as pleased +and as mystified as the other freshmen. + +So the autumn commenced. The first football game was played and Hugo +made a touchdown. He made another in the second game. They took him to +New York in November for the dinner that was to celebrate the entrance +of a new chapter to Psi Delta. + +His fraternity had hired a private car. As soon as the college towers +vanished, the entertainment committee took over the party. Glasses were +filled with whisky and passed by a Negro porter. Hugo took his with a +feeling of nervousness and of excited anticipation. The coach had given +him permission to break training--advised it, in fact. And Hugo had +never tasted liquor. He watched the others, holding his glass gingerly. +They swallowed their drinks, took more. The effect did not seem to be +great. He smelled the whisky, and the smell revolted him. + +"Drink up, Danner!" + +"Never use the stuff. I'm afraid it'll throw me." + +"Not you. Come on! Bottoms up!" + +It ran into his throat, hot and steaming. He swallowed a thousand +needles and knew the warmth of it in his stomach. They gave another +glass to him and then a third. Some of the brothers were playing cards. +Hugo watched them. He perceived that his feet were loose on their ankles +and that his shoulders lurched. It would not do to lose control of +himself, he thought. For another man, it might be safe. Not for him. He +repeated the thought inanely. Some one took his arm. + +"Nice work in the game last week. Pretty." + +"Thanks." + +"Woodie says you're the best man on the team. Glad you went Psi Delt. +Best house on the campus. Great school, Webster. You'll love it." + +"Sure," Hugo said. + +The railroad coach was twisting and writhing peculiarly. Hugo suddenly +wanted to be in the air. He hastened to the platform of the car and +stood on it, squinting his eyes at the countryside. When they reached +the Grand Central Terminal he was cured of his faintness. They rode to +the theatre in an omnibus and saw the matinée of a musical show. Hugo +had never realized that so many pretty girls could be gathered together +in one place. Their scant, glittering costumes flashed in his face. He +wanted them. Between the acts the fraternity repaired in a body to the +lavatory and drank whisky from bottles. + +Hugo began to feel that he was living at last. He was among men, +sophisticated men, and learning to be like them. Nothing like the +_camaraderie_, the show, the liquor, in Indian Creek. He was wearing the +suit that Lefty Foresman had chosen for him. He felt well dressed, cool, +capable. He was intensely well disposed toward his companions. When the +show was over, he stood in the bright lights, momentarily depressed by +the disappearance of the long file of girls. Then he shouldered among +his companions and went out of the theatre riotously. + +Two long tables were drawn up at the Raven, a restaurant famous for its +roast meats, its beer, and its lack of scruples about the behaviour of +its guests. The Psi Deltas took their places at the tables. The +dining-room they occupied was private. Hugo saw as if in a dream the +long rows of silverware, the dishes of celery and olives, and the ranks +of shining glasses. They sat. Waiters wound their way among them. There +was a song. The toastmaster, a New York executive who had graduated from +Webster twenty years before, understood the temper of his charge. He was +witty, ribald, genial. + +He made a speech, but not too long a speech. He called on the president +of a bank, who rose totteringly and undid the toastmaster's good offices +by making too long a speech. Its reiterated "dear old Websters" were +finally lost in the ring and tinkle of glassware and cutlery. + +At the end of the long meal Hugo realized that his being had undergone +change. Objects approached and receded before his vision. The voice of +the man sitting beside him came to his ears as if through water. His +mind continually turned upon itself in a sort of infatuated examination. +His attention could not be held even on his own words. He decided that +he was feverish. Then some one said: "Well, Danner, how do you like +being drunk?" + +"Drunk?" + +"Sure. You aren't going to tell me you're sober, are you?" + +When the speaker had gone, Hugo realized that it was Chuck. There had +been no feeling of recognition. "I'm drunk!" he said. + +"Some one give Danner a drink. He has illusions." + +"Drunk! Why, this man isn't drunk. It's monstrous. He has a weakened +spine, that's all." + +"I'm drunk," Hugo repeated. He knew then what it was to be drunk. The +toastmaster was rising again. Hugo saw it dimly. + +"Fellows!" A fork banged on a glass. "Fellows!" There was a slow +increase in silence. "Fellows! It's eleven o'clock now. And I have a +surprise for you." + +"Surprise! Hey, guys, shut up for the surprise!" + +"Fellows! What I was going to say is this: the girls from the show we +saw this afternoon are coming over here--all thirty of 'em. We're going +up to my house for a real party. And the lid'll be off. Anything +goes--only anybody that fights gets thrown out straight off without an +argument. Are you on?" + +The announcement was greeted by a stunned quiet which grew into a bellow +of approval. Plates and glasses were thrown on the floor. Lefty leaped +on to the table and performed a dance. The proprietor came in, looked, +and left hastily, and then the girls arrived. + +They came through the door, after a moment of reluctant hesitation, like +a flood of brightly colored water. They sat down in the laps of the +boys, on chairs, on the edge of the disarrayed tables. They were served +with innumerable drinks as rapidly as the liquor could be brought. They +were working, that night, for the ten dollars promised to each one. But +they were working with college boys, which was a rest from the stream of +affluent and paunchy males who made their usual escort. Their gaiety was +better than assumed. + +Hugo had never seen such a party or dreamed of one. His vision was +cleared instantly of its cobwebs. He saw three boys seize one girl and +turn her heels over head. A piano was moved in. She jumped up and +started dancing on the table. Then there was a voice at his side. + +"Hello, good-looking. I could use that drink if you can spare it." + +Hugo looked at the girl. She had brown hair that had been curled. Her +lips and cheeks were heavily rouged and the corners of her mouth turned +down in a sort of petulance or fatigue. But she was pretty. And her +body, showing whitely above her evening dress, was creamy and warm. He +gave the drink to her. She sat in his lap. + +"Gosh," he whispered. She laughed. + +"I saw her first," some one said, pulling at the girl's arm. + +"Go 'way," Hugo shouted. He pushed the other from them. "What's your +name?" + +"Bessie. What's yours?" + +"Hugo." + +The girl accepted two glasses from a waiter. They drained them, looking +at each other over the rims. "Got any money, Hugo?" + +Hugo had. He carried on his person the total of his cash assets. Some +fifty dollars. "Sure. I have fifty dollars," he answered. + +He felt her red lips against his ear. "Let's you and me duck this party +and have a little one of our own. I've got an apartment not far from +here." + +He could hear the pounding of his heart. "Let's." + +They moved unostentatiously from the room. Outside, in the hall, she +took his hand. They ran to the front door. + +There was the echo of bedlam in his whirling mind when they walked +through the almost deserted street. She called to a taxi and they were +driven for several blocks. At a cheap dance hall they took a table and +drank more liquor. When his head was turned, she narrowed her eyes and +calculated the effect of the alcohol against the dwindling of his purse. +They danced. + +"Gee, you're a swell dancer." + +"So are you, Bessie." + +"Still wanna go home with Bessie?" + +"Mmmm." + +"Let's go." + +Another taxi ride. The lights seethed past him. A dark house and three +flights of rickety stairs. The gritty sound of a key in a lock. A little +room with a table, a bed, two chairs, a gas-light turned low, a +disheveled profusion of female garments. + +"Here we are. Sit down." + +Hugo looked at her tensely. He laughed then, with a harsh sound. She +flew into his arms, returning his searching caresses with startling +frankness. Presently they moved across the room. He could hear the +noises on the street at long, hot intervals. + + * * * * * + +Hugo opened his eyes and the light smote them with pain. He raised his +head wonderingly. His stomach crawled with a foul nausea. He saw the +dirty room. Bessie was not in it. He staggered to the wash-bowl and was +sick. He noticed then that her clothes were missing. The fact impressed +him as one that should have significance. He rubbed his head and eyes. +Then he thought accurately. He crossed the room and felt in his trousers +pockets. The money was gone. + +At first it did not seem like a catastrophe. He could telegraph to his +father for more money. Then he realized that he was in New York, without +a ticket back to the campus, separated from his friends, and not knowing +the address of the toastmaster. He could not find his fraternity +brothers and he could not get back to school without more money. +Moreover, he was sick. + +He dressed with miserable slowness and went down to the street. Served +him right. He had been a fool. He shrugged. A sharp wind blew out of a +bright sky. + +Maybe, he thought, he should walk back to Webster. It was only eighty +miles and that distance could be negotiated in less than two hours by +him. But that was unwise. People would see his progress. He sat down in +Madison Square Park and looked at the Flatiron Building with a leisurely +eye. A fire engine surged up the street. A man came to collect the trash +in a green can. A tramp lay down and was ousted by a policeman. + +By and by he realized that he was hungry. A little man with darting eyes +took a seat beside him. He regarded Hugo at short intervals. At length +he said. "You got a dime for a cup of coffee?" His words were blurred by +accent. + +"No. I came here from school last night and my money was stolen." + +"Ah," there was a tinge of discouragement in the other's voice. "And +hungry, perhaps?" + +"A little." + +"Me--I am also hungry. I have not eaten since two days." + +That impressed Hugo as a shameful and intolerable circumstance. "Let's +go over there"--he indicated a small restaurant--"and eat. Then I'll +promise to send the money by mail. At least, we'll be fed that way." + +"We will be thrown to the street on our faces." + +"Not I. Nobody throws me on my face. And I'll look out for you." + +They crossed the thoroughfare and entered the restaurant. The little man +ordered a quantity of food, and Hugo, looking guiltily at the waiter, +duplicated the order. They became distantly acquainted during the +filched repast. The little man's name was Izzie. He sold second-hand +rugs. But he was out of work. Eventually they finished. The waiter +brought the check. He was a large man, whose jowls and hips and +shoulders were heavily weighted with muscle. + +Hugo stood up. "Listen, fellow," he began placidly, "my friend and I +haven't a cent between us. I'm Hugo Danner, from Webster University, and +I'll mail you the price of this feed to-morrow. I'll write down my name +and--" + +He got no further. The waiter spoke in a thick voice. "So! One of them +guys, eh? Tryin' to get away with it when I'm here, huh? Well, I tell +you how you're gonna pay. You're gonna pay this check with a bloody +mush, see?" His fist doubled and drew back. Hugo did not shift his +position. The fist came forward, but an arm like stone blocked it. +Hugo's free hand barely flicked to the waiter's jaw. He rolled under the +table. "Come on," he said, but Izzie had already vanished through the +door. + +Hugo walked hurriedly up the street and turned a corner. A hand tugged +at his coat. He turned and was confronted by Izzie. "I seen you through +the window. Jeest, guy, you kin box. Say, I know where you kin clean +up--if you got the nerve." + +"Clean up? Where?" + +"Come on. We better get out of here anyhow." + +They made their way toward the river. The city changed character on the +other side of the elevated railroad, and presently they were walking +through a dirty, evil-smelling, congested neighborhood. + +"Where are we going, Izzie?" + +"Wait a minute, Mr. Danner." + +"What's the idea?" + +"You wait." + +Another series of dirty blocks. Then they came to a bulky building that +spread a canopy over the sidewalk. "Here," Izzie said, and pointed. + +His finger indicated a sign, which Hugo read twice. It said: "Battling +Ole Swenson will meet all comers in this gymnasium at three this +afternoon and eight to-night. Fifty dollars will be given to any man, +black or white, who can stay three rounds with him, and one hundred +dollars cash money to the man who knocks out Battling Ole Swenson, the +Terror of the Docks." + +"See," Izzie said, rubbing his hands excitedly, "mebbe you could do it." + +A light dawned on Hugo. He smiled. "I can," he replied. "What time is +it?" + +"Two o'clock." + +"Well, let's go." + +They entered the lobby of the "gymnasium." "Mr. Epstein," Izzie called, +"I gotta fighter for the Swede." + +Mr. Epstein was a pale fat man who ignored the handicap of the dank +cigar in his mouth and roared when he spoke. He glanced at Hugo and then +addressed Izzie. "Where is he?" + +"There." + +Epstein looked at Hugo and then was shaken by laughter. "There, you +says, and there I looks and what do I see but a pink young angel face +that Ole would swallow without chewing." + +Hugo said: "I don't think so. I'm willing to try." + +Epstein scowled. "Run away from here, kid, before you get hurt. Ole +would laugh at you. This isn't easy money. It takes a man to get a look +at it." + +Izzie stamped impatiently. "I tell you, Mr. Epstein, I seen this boy +fight. He's the goods. He can beat your Ole. I bet he can." His voice +caught and he glanced nervously at Hugo. "I bet ten dollars he can." + +"How much?" Epstein bellowed. + +"Well--say twenty dollars." + +"How much?" + +"Fifty dollars. It's all I got, Epstein." + +"All right--go in and sign up and leave your wad. Kid," he turned to +Hugo, "you may think you're husky, but Ole is a killer. He's six nine in +his socks and he weighs two hundred and eighty. He'll mash you." + +"I don't think so," Hugo repeated. + +"Well, you'll be meat. We'll put you second on the list. And the +lights'll go out fast enough for yuh." + +Hugo followed Izzie and reached him in time to see a fifty-dollar bill +peeled from a roll which was extracted with great intricacy from Izzie's +clothes. "I thought you hadn't eaten for two days!" + +"It's God's truth," Izzie answered uneasily. "I was savin' this +dough--an' it's lucky, too, isn't it?" + +Hugo did not know whether to laugh or to be angry. He said: "And you'd +have let me take a poke in the jaw from that waiter. You're a hell of a +guy, Izzie." + +Izzie moved his eyes rapidly. "I ain't so bad. I'm bettin' on you, ain't +I? An' I got you a chancet at the Swede, didn't I?" + +"How'd you know that waiter couldn't kill me?" + +"Well--he didn't. Anyhow, what's a poke in the jaw to a square meal, +eh?" + +"When the other fellow gets the poke and you get the meal. All right, +Izzie. I wish I thought Ole was going to lick me." + +Hugo wrote his name under a printed statement to the effect that the +fight managers were not responsible for the results of the combat. The +man who led him to a dressing-room was filled with sympathy and advice. +He told Hugo that one glance at Ole would discourage his reckless +avarice. But Hugo paid no attention. The room was dirty. It smelled of +sweat and rubber sneakers. He sat there for half an hour, reading a +newspaper. Outside, somewhere, he could hear the mumble of a gathering +crowd, punctuated by the voices of candy and peanut-hawkers. + +At last they brought some clothes to him. A pair of trunks that flapped +over his loins, ill-fitting canvas shoes, a musty bath robe. When the +door of his room opened, the noise of the crowd was louder. Finally it +was hushed. He heard the announcer. It was like the voice of a minister +coming through the stained windows of a church. It rose and fell. Then +the distant note of the gong. After that the crowd called steadily, +sometimes in loud rage and sometimes almost in a whisper. + +Finally they brought Ole's first victim into Hugo's cell. He was a man +with the physique of a bull. His face was cut and his eyes were +darkening. One of the men heaving his stretcher looked at Hugo. + +"Better beat it, kid, while you can still do it on your own feet. You +ain't even got the reach for Ole. He's a grizzly, bo. He'll just about +kill you." + +Hugo tightened his belt and swung the electric light back and forth with +a slow-moving fist. Another man expertly strapped his fists with +adhesive tape. + +"When do I go out?" Hugo asked. + +"You mean, when do you get knocked out?" the second laughed. + +"Fight?" + +"Well, if you're determined to get croaked, you do it now." + +In the arena it was dazzling. A bank of noisy people rose on all sides +of him. Hugo walked down the aisle and clambered into the ring. Ole was +one of the largest men he had ever seen in his life. There was no doubt +of his six feet nine inches and his two hundred and eighty pounds. Hugo +imagined that the man was not a scientific fighter. A bruiser. Well, he +knew nothing of fighting, either. + +A man in his shirt sleeves stood up in the ring and bellowed, "The next +contestant for the reward of fifty dollars to stay three rounds with +battling Ole and one hundred dollars to knock him out is Mr. H. Smith." +They cheered. It was a nasty sound, filled with the lust for blood. Hugo +realized that he was excited. His knees wabbled when he rose and his +hand trembled as he took the monstrous paw of the Swede and saw his +unpleasant smile. Hugo's heart was pounding. For one instant he felt +weak and human before Battling Ole. He whispered to himself: "Quit it, +you fool; you know better; you can't even be hurt." It did not make him +any more quiet. + +Then they were sitting face to face. A bell rang. The hall became silent +as the mountainous Swede lumbered from his corner. He towered over Hugo, +who stood up and went out to meet him like David approaching Goliath. To +the crowd the spectacle was laughable. There was jeering before they +met. "Where's your mamma?" "Got your bottle, baby?" "Put the poor little +bastard back in his carriage." "What's this--a fight or a freak show?" +Laughter. + +It was like cold water to Hugo. His face set. He looked at Ole. The +Swede's fist moved back like the piston of a great engine into which +steam has been let slowly. Then it came forward. Hugo, trained to see +and act in keeping with his gigantic strength, dodged easily. "Atta +boy!" "One for Johnny-dear!" The fist went back and came again and +again, as if that piston, gathering speed, had broken loose and was +flailing through the screaming air. Hugo dodged like a beam of light, +and the murderous weapon never touched him. The spectators began to +applaud his speed. He could beat the Swede's fist every time. "Run him, +kiddo!" "It's only three rounds." + +The bell. Ole was panting. As he sat in his corner, his coal-scuttle +gloves dangling, he cursed in his native tongue. Too little to hit. +Bell. The second round was the same. Hugo never attempted to touch the +Swede. Only to avoid him. And the man worked like a Trojan. Sweat +seethed over his big, blank face. His small eyes sharpened to points. He +brought his whole carcass flinging through the air after his fist. But +every blow ended in a sickening wrench that missed the target. The crowd +grew more excited. During the interval between the second and third +rounds there was betting on the outcome. Three to one that Ole would +connect and murder the boy. Four to one. One to five that Hugo would win +fifty dollars before he died beneath the trip-hammer. + +The third round opened. The crowd suddenly tired of the sport. A shrill +female voice reached Hugo's cold, concentrated mind: "Keep on running, +yellow baby!" + +So. They wanted a killing. They called him yellow. The Swede was on him, +elephantine, sweating, sucking great, rumbling breaths of air, swinging +his fists. Hugo studied the motion. That fist to that side, up, down, +now! + +Like hail they began to land upon the Swede. Bewilderingly, everywhere. +No hope of guarding. Every blow smashed, stung, ached. No chance to +swing back. Cover up. His arms went over his face. He felt rivets drive +into his kidneys. He reached out and clinched. They rocked in each +other's arms. Dazed by that bitter onslaught of lightning blows, Ole +thought only to lock Hugo in his arms and crush him. When they clinched, +the crowd, grown instantly hysterical, sank back in despair. It was +over. Ole could break the little man's back. They saw his arms spring +into knots. Jesus! Hugo's fist shot between their chests and Ole was +thrown violently backward. Impossible. He lunged back, crimson to kill, +one hand guarding his jaw. "Easy, now, for the love of God, easy," Hugo +said to himself. There. On the hand at the chin. Hugo's gloves went out. +Lift him! It connected. The Swede left the floor and crumpled slowly, +with a series of bumping sounds. And how the hyenas yelled! + +They crowded into his dressing-room afterwards. Epstein came to his side +before he had dressed. "Come out and have a mug of suds, kid. That was +the sweetest fight I ever hope to live to see. I can sign you up for a +fortune right now. I can make you champ in two years." + +"No, thanks," Hugo said. + +The man persisted. He talked earnestly. He handed Hugo a hundred-dollar +bill. Hugo finished his dressing. Izzie wormed his way in. "Fifty +dollars I won yet! Didn't I tole you, Mr. Epstein!" + +"Come here, Izzie!" + +The little man ran to shake Hugo's hand, but it was extended for another +reason. "I want that fifty you won," he said unsmilingly. "When a bird +tracks along for a free feed and lets another guy fight for him and has +a roll big enough to stop up a rainspout, he owes money. That lunch will +set you back just exactly what you won on me." + +There was laughter in the room. Izzie whimpered. "Ain't you got a +hundred all ready that I got for you? Ain't it enough that you got it? +Ain't I got a wife wit' kids yet?" + +"No, it ain't, yet." Hugo snapped the fingers of his extended hand. The +other hand doubled significantly. Izzie gave him the money. He was +almost in tears. The others guffawed. + +"Wait up, bo. Give us your address if you ever change your mind. You can +pick up a nice livin' in this game." + +"No, thanks. All I needed was railroad fare. Thank you, +gentlemen--and--good-by." + +No one undertook to hinder Hugo's departure. + + + + +VIII + + +Greatness seemed to elude Hugo, success such as he had earned was +inadequate, and his friendships as well as his popularity were tinged +with a sort of question that he never understood. By the end of winter +he was well established in Webster as a great athlete. Psi Delta sang +his praises and was envied his deeds. Lefty and Chuck treated him as a +brother. And, Hugo perceived, none of that treatment and none of that +society was quite real. He wondered if his personality was so meagre +that it was not equal to his strength. He wondered if his strength was +really the asset he had dreamed it would be, and if, perhaps, other +people were not different from him in every way, so that any close human +contact was impossible to him. + +It was a rather tragic question to absorb a man so filled with life and +ambition as he. Yet every month had raised it more insistently. He saw +other men sharing their inmost souls and he could never do that. He saw +those around him breaking their hearts and their lungs for the +university, and, although it was never necessary for him to do that, he +doubted that he could if he would. Webster was only a school. A +sentiment rather than an ideal, a place rather than a goal of dreams. He +thought that he was cynical. He thought that he was inhuman. It worried +him. + +His love was a similar experience. He fell in love twice during that +first year in college. Once at a prom with a girl who was related to +Lefty--a rich, socially secure girl who had studied abroad and who +almost patronized her cousin. + +Hugo had seen her dancing, and her long, slender legs and arms had +issued an almost tangible challenge to him. She had looked over Lefty's +shoulder and smiled vaguely. They had met. Hugo danced with her. "I love +to come to a prom," she said; "it makes me feel young again." + +"How old are you?" + +She ignored the obvious temptation to be coy and he appreciated that. +"Twenty-one." + +It seemed reasonably old to Hugo. The three years' difference in their +ages had given her a pinnacle of maturity. + +"And that makes you old," he reflected. + +She nodded. Her name was Iris. Afterwards Hugo thought that it should +have been Isis. Half goddess, half animal. He had never met with the +vanguard of emancipated American womanhood before then. "You're the +great Hugo Danner, aren't you? I've seen your picture in the sporting +sections." She read sporting sections. He had never thought of a woman +in that light. "But you're really much handsomer. You have more sex and +masculinity and you seem more intelligent." + +Then, between the dances, Lefty had come. "She? Oh, she's a sort of +cousin. Flies in all the high altitudes in town. Blue Book and all that. +Better look out, Hugo. She plays rough." + +"She doesn't look rough." + +Both youths watched her. Long, dark hair, willowy body, high, pale +forehead, thin nose, red mouth, smiling like a lewd agnostic and dancing +close to her partner, enjoying even that. "Well, look out, Hugo. If she +wants to play, don't let her play with your heart. Anything else is +quite in the books." + +"Oh." + +She came to the stag line, ignoring a sequence of invitations, and asked +him to dance. They went out on the velvet campus. "I could love you--for +a little while," she said. "It's too bad you have to play football +to-morrow." + +"Is that an excuse?" + +She smiled remotely. "You're being disloyal." Her fan moved delicately. +"But I shan't chide you. In fact, I'll stay over for the game--and I'll +enjoy the anticipation--more, perhaps. But you'll have to win it--to win +me. I'm not a soothing type." + +"It will be easy--to win," Hugo said and she peered through the darkness +with admiration, because he had made his ellipsis of the object very +plain. + +"It is always easy for you to win, isn't it?" she countered with an easy +mockery, and Hugo shivered. + +The game was won. Hugo had made his touchdown. He unfolded a note she +had written on the back of a score card. "At my hotel at ten, then." + +"Then." Someone lifted his eyes to praise him. His senses swam in +careful anticipation. They were cheering outside the dressing-room. A +different sound from the cheers at the fight-arena. Young, hilarious, +happy. + +At ten he bent over the desk and was told to go to her room. The clerk +shrugged. She opened the door. One light was burning. There was perfume +in the air. She wore only a translucent kimono of pale-coloured silk. +She taught him a great many things that night. And Iris learned +something, too, so that she never came back to Hugo, and kept the +longing for him as a sort of memory which she made hallowed in a shorn +soul. It was, for her, a single asceticism in a rather selfish life. + +Hugo loved her for two weeks after that, and then his emotions wearied +and he was able to see what she had done and why she did not answer his +letters. His subdued fierceness was a vehement fire to women. His +fiercer appetite was the cause of his early growth in a knowledge of +them. When most of his companions were finding their way into the +mysteries of sex both unhandily and with much turmoil, he learned well +and abnormally. It became a part of his secret self. Another barrier to +the level of the society that surrounded him. When he changed the name +of Iris to Isis in his thoughts, he moved away from the Psi Deltas, who +would have been incapable of the notion. In person he stayed among them, +but in spirit he felt another difference, which he struggled to +reconcile. + +In March the thaws came, and under the warming sun Hugo made a +deliberate attempt to fall in love with Janice, who was the daughter of +his French professor. She was a happy, innocent little girl, with gold +hair, and brown eyes that lived oddly beneath it. She worshipped Hugo. +He petted her, talked through long evenings to her, tried to be faithful +to her in his most unfettered dreams, and once considered proposing to +her. When he found himself unable to do that, he was compelled to resist +an impulse to seduce her. Ashamed, believing himself unfit for a nice +girl, he untangled that romance as painlessly as he could, separating +himself from Janice little by little and denying every accusation of +waning interest. + +Then for a month he believed that he could never be satisfied by any +woman, that he was superior to women. He read the lives of great lovers +and adulterers and he wished that he could see Bessie, who had taken his +money long before in New York City. She appealed to him then more than +all the others--probably, he thought, because he was drunk and had not +viewed her in sharp perspective. For hours he meditated on women, while +he longed constantly to possess a woman. + +But the habitual routine of his life did not suffer. He attended his +classes and lectures, played on the basketball team, tried tentatively +to write for the campus newspaper, learned to perform indifferently on +the mandolin, and made himself into the semblance of an ideal college +man. His criticism of college then was at its lowest ebb. He spent +Christmas in New York at Lefty Foresman's parents' elaborate home, +slightly intoxicated through the two weeks, hastening to the opera, to +balls and parties, ill at ease when presented to people whose names +struck his ears familiarly, seeing for the first time the exaggeration +of scale on which the very rich live and wondering constantly why he +never met Iris, wishing for and fearing that meeting while he wondered. + +When his first year at college was near to its end, and that still and +respectful silence that marks the passing of a senior class had fallen +over the campus, Hugo realized with a shock that he would soon be on his +way back to Indian Creek. Then, suddenly, he saw what an amazing and +splendid thing that year at college had been. He realized how it had +filled his life to the brim with activities of which he had not dreamed, +how it had shaped him so that he would be almost a stranger in his own +home, how it had aged and educated him in the business of living. When +the time of parting with his new friends drew near, he understood that +they were valuable to him, in spite of his questioning. And they made it +clear that he would be missed by them. At last he shared a feeling with +his classmates, a fond sadness, an illimitable poignancy that was young +and unadulterated by motive. He was perversely happy when he became +aware of it. He felt somewhat justified for being himself and living his +life. + +A day or two before college closed, he received a letter from his +father. It was the third he had received during the year. It said: + + Dear Son-- + + Your mother and I have decided to break the news to you before you + leave for home, because there may be better opportunities for you + in the East than here at Indian Creek. When you went away to + Webster University, I agreed to take care of all your expenses. It + was the least I could do, I felt, for my only son. The two thousand + dollars your mother and I had saved seemed ample for your four + years. But the bills we have received, as well as your own demands, + have been staggering. In March, when a scant six hundred dollars of + the original fund remained, I invested the money in a mine stock + which, the salesman said, would easily net the six thousand dollars + you appeared to need. I now find to my chagrin that the stock is + worthless. I am unable to get back my purchase money. + + It will be impossible during the coming year for me to let you have + more than five hundred dollars. Perhaps, with what you earn this + summer and with the exercise of economy, you can get along. I trust + so. But, anxious as we are to see you again, we felt that, in the + light of such information, you might prefer to remain in the East + to earn what you can. + + We are both despondent over the situation and we wish that we could + do more than tender our regrets. But we hope that you will be able + to find some solution to this situation. Thus, with our very + warmest affection and our fondest hope, we wish you good fortune. + + Your loving father, + + ABEDNEGO DANNER. + +Hugo read the letter down to the last period after the rather tremulous +signature. His emotions were confused. Touched by the earnest and +pathetically futile efforts of his father and by the attempt of that +lonely little man to express what was, perhaps, a great affection, Hugo +was nevertheless aghast at a prospect that he had not considered. He was +going to be thrown into the world on his own resources. And, resting his +frame in his worn chair--a frame capable of smashing into banks and +taking the needed money without fear of punishment--Hugo began to wonder +dismally if he was able even to support himself. No trade, no +occupation, suggested itself. He had already experienced some of the +merciless coldness of the world. The boys would all leave soon. And then +he would be alone, unprovided for, helpless. + +Hugo was frightened. He read the letter again, his wistful thoughts of +his parents diminishing before the reality of his predicament. He +counted his money. Eighty dollars in the bank and twelve in his pockets. +He was glad he had started an account after his experience with Bessie. +He was glad that he had husbanded more than enough to pay his fare to +Indian Creek. Ninety-two dollars. He could live on that for a long time. +Perhaps for the summer. And he would be able to get some sort of job. He +was strong, anyway. That comforted him. He looked out of his window and +tried to enumerate the things that he could do. All sorts of farm work. +He could drive a team in the city. He could work on the docks. He +considered nothing but manual labor. It would offer more. Gradually his +fear that he would starve if left to his own devices ebbed from him, and +it was replaced by grief that he could not return to Webster. Fourteen +hundred dollars--that was the cost of his freshman year. He made a list +of the things he could do without, of the work he could do to help +himself through college. Perhaps he could return. The fear slowly +diminished. He would be a working student in the year to come. He hated +the idea. His fraternity had taken no members from that class of humble +young men who rose at dawn and scrubbed floors and waited on tables to +win the priceless gem of education. Lefty and Chuck would be chilly +toward such a step. They would even offer him money to avoid it. It was +a sad circumstance, at best. + +When that period of tribulation passed, Hugo became a man. But he +suffered keenly from his unwonted fears for some time. The calm and +suave youth who had made love to Iris was buried beneath his frightened +and imaginative adolescence. It wore out the last of his childishness. +Immediately afterwards he learned about money and how it is earned. He +sat there in the dormitory, almost trembling with uncertainty and used +mighty efforts to do the things he felt he must do. He wrote a letter to +his father which began: "Dear Dad--Why in Sam Hill didn't you tell me +you were being reamed so badly by your nit-witted son and I'd have +shovelled out and dug up some money for myself long ago?" On rereading +that letter he realized that its tone was false. He wrote another in +which he apologized with simple sincerity for the condition he had +unknowingly created, and in which he expressed every confidence that he +could take care of himself in the future. + +He bore that braver front through the last days of school. He shook +Lefty's hand warmly and looked fairly into his eyes. "Well, so long, old +sock. Be good." + +"Be good, Hugo. And don't weaken. We'll need all your beef next year. +Decided what you're going to do yet?" + +"No. Have you?" + +Lefty shrugged. "I suppose I've got to go abroad with the family as +usual. They wrote a dirty letter about the allowance I'd not have next +year if I didn't. Why don't you come with us? Iris'll be there." + +Hugo grinned. "No, sir! Iris once is very nice, but no man's equal to +Iris twice." His grin became a chuckle. "And that's a poem which you can +say to Iris if you see her--and tell her I hope it makes her mad." + +Lefty's blue eyes sparkled with appreciation. Danner was a wonderful +boy. Full of wit and not dumb like most of his kind. Getting smooth, +too. Be a great man. Too bad to leave him--even for the summer. +"Well--so long, old man." + +Hugo watched Lefty lift his bags into a cab and roll away in the warm +June dust. Then Chuck: + +"Well--by-by, Hugo. See you next September." + +"Yeah. Take care of yourself." + +"No chance of your going abroad, is there? Because we sure could paint +the old Avenue de l'Opéra red if you did." + +"Not this year, Chuck." + +"Well--don't take any wooden money." + +"Don't do anything you wouldn't eat." + +Hugo felt a lump in his throat. He could not say any more farewells. The +campus was almost deserted. No meals would be served after the next day. +He stared at the vacant dormitories and listened to the waning sound of +departures. A train puffed and fumed at the station. It was filled with +boys. Going away. He went to his room and packed. He'd leave, too. When +his suit-cases were filled, he looked round the room with damp eyes. He +thought that he was going to cry, mastered himself, and then did cry. +Some time later he remembered Iris and stopped crying. He walked to the +station, recalling his first journey in the other direction, his +pinch-backed green suit, the trunk he had carried. Grand old place, +Webster. Suddenly gone dead all over. There would be a train for New +York in half an hour. He took it. Some of the students talked to him on +the trip to the city. Then they left him, alone, in the great vacuum of +the terminal. The glittering corridors were filled with people. He +wondered if he could find Bessie's house. + +At a restaurant he ate supper. When he emerged, it was dark. He asked +his way, found a hotel, registered in a one-dollar room, went out on the +street again. He walked to the Raven. Then he took a cab. He remembered +Bessie's house. An old woman answered the door. "Bessie? Bessie? No girl +by that name I remember." + +Hugo described her. "Oh, that tart! She ran out on me--owin' a week's +rent." + +"When was that?" + +"Some time last fall." + +"Oh." Hugo meditated. The woman spoke again. "I did hear from one of my +other girls that she'd gone to work at Coney, but I ain't had time to +look her up. Owes me four dollars, she does. But Bessie, as you calls +her--her name's Sue--wasn't never much good. Still--" the woman +scrutinized Hugo and giggled--"Bessie ain't the only girl in the world. +I got a cute little piece up here named Palmerlee says only the other +night she's lonely. Glad to interdooce you." + +Hugo thought of his small capital. "No, thanks." + +He walked away. A warm moon was dimly sensible above the lights of the +street. He decided to go to Coney Island and look for the lost Bessie. +It would cost him only a dime, and she owed him money. He smiled a +little savagely and thought that he would collect its equivalent. Then +he boarded the subway, cursing himself for a fool and cursing his +appetite for the fool's master. Why did he chase that particular little +harlot on an evening when his mind should be bent toward more serious +purposes? Certainly not because he had any intention of getting back his +money. Because he wished to surprise her? Because he was angry that she +had cheated him? Or because she was the only woman in New York whom he +knew? He decided it was the last reason. Finally the train reached Coney +Island, and Hugo descended into the fantastic hurly-burly on the street +below. He realized the ridiculousness of his quest as he saw the miles +of thronging people in the loud streets. + +"See the fat woman, see Esmerelda, the beautiful fat woman, she weighs +six hundred pounds, she's had a dozen lovers, she's the fattest woman in +the world, a sensation, dressed in the robes of Cleopatra, robes that +took a bolt of cloth; but she's so fat they conceal nothing, ladies and +gentlemen, see the beautiful fat woman...." A roller coaster circled +through the skies with a noise that was audible above the crowd's +staccato voice and dashed itself at the earth below. A merry-go-round +whirled goldenly and a band struck up a strident march. Hugo smelled +stale beer and frying food. He heard the clang of a bell as a weight was +driven up to it by the shoulders of a young gentleman in a pink shirt. + +"The strongest man in the world, ladies and gentlemen, come in and see +Thorndyke, the great professor of physical culture from Munich, Germany. +He can bend a spike in his bare hands, an elephant can pass over his +body without harming him, he can lift a weight of one ton...." Hugo +laughed. Two girls saw him and brushed close. "Buy us a drink, sport." + +The strongest man in the world. Hugo wondered what sort of strong man he +would make. Perhaps he could go into competition with Dr. Thorndyke. He +saw himself pictured in gaudy reds and yellows, holding up an enormous +weight. He remembered that he was looking for Bessie. Then he saw +another girl. She was sitting at a table, alone. That fact was +significant. He sat beside her. + +"Hello, tough," she said. + +"Hello." + +"Wanna buy me a beer?" + +Hugo bought a beer and looked at the girl. Her hair was black and +straight. Her mouth was straight. It was painted scarlet. Her eyes were +hard and dark. But her body, as if to atone for her face, was made in a +series of soft curves that fitted exquisitely into her black silk dress. +He tortured himself looking at her. She permitted it sullenly. "You can +buy me a sandwich, if you want. I ain't eaten to-day." + +He bought a sandwich, wondering if she was telling the truth. She ate +ravenously. He bought another and then a second glass of beer. After +that she rose. "You can come with me if you wanna." + +Odd. No conversation, no vivacity, only a dull submission that was not +in keeping with her appearance. + +"Have you had enough to eat?" he asked. + +"It'll do," she responded. + +They turned into a side street and moved away from the shimmering lights +and the morass of people. Presently they entered a dingy frame house and +went upstairs. There was no one in the hall, no furniture, only a +flickering gas-light. She unlocked a door. "Come in." + +He looked at her again. She took off her hat and arranged her dark hair +so that it looped almost over one eye. Hugo wondered at her silence. "I +didn't mean to rush," he said. + +"Well, I did. Gotta make some more. It'll be"--she hesitated--"two +bucks." + +The girl sat down and wept. "Aw, hell," she said finally, looking at him +with a shameless defiance, "I guess I'm gonna make a rotten tart. I was +in a show, an' I got busted out for not bein' nice to the manager. I +says to myself: 'Well, what am I gonna do?' An' I starts to get hungry +this morning. So I says to myself: 'Well, there ain't but one thing to +do, Charlotte, but to get you a room,' I says, an' here I am, so help me +God." + +She removed her dress with a sweeping motion. Hugo looked at her, filled +with pity, filled with remorse at his sudden surrender to her passionate +good looks, intensely discomfited. + +"Listen. I have a roll in my pocket. I'm damn glad I came here first. I +haven't got a job, but I'll get one in the morning. And I'll get you a +decent room and stake you till you get work. God knows, I picked you up +for what I thought you were, Charlotte, and God knows too that I haven't +any noble nature. But I'm not going to let you go on the street simply +because you're broke. Not when you hate it so much." + +Charlotte shut her eyes tight and pressed out the last tears, which ran +into her rouge and streaked it with mascara. "That's sure white of you." + +"I don't know. Maybe it's selfish. I had an awful yen for you when I sat +down at that table. But let's not worry about it now. Let's go out and +get a decent dinner." + +"You mean--you mean you want me to go out and eat--now?" + +"Sure. Why not?" + +"But you ain't--?" + +"Forget it. Come on." + +Charlotte sniffled and buried her black tresses in her black dress. She +pulled it over the curves of her hips. She inspected herself in a +spotted mirror and sniffled again. Then she laughed. A throaty, gurgling +laugh. Her hands moved swiftly, and soon she turned. "How am I?" + +"Wonderful." + +"Let's go!" + +She tucked her hand under his arm when they reached the street. Hugo +walked silently. He wondered why he was doing it and to what it would +lead. It seemed good, wholly good, to have a girl at his side again, +especially a girl over whom he had so strong a claim. They stopped +before a glass-fronted restaurant that advertised its sea food and its +steaks. She sat down with an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I'm goin' to +eat you out of house and home." + +"Go ahead. I had a big supper, but I'll string along with some pie and +cheese and beer." + +Charlotte studied the menu. "Mind if I have a little steak?" + +Hugo shook his head slowly. "Waiter! A big T-bone, and some lyonnaise +potatoes, and some string beans and corn and a salad and ice cream. +Bring some pie and cheese for me--and a beer." + +"Gosh!" Charlotte said. + +Hugo watched her eat the food. He knew such pity as he had seldom felt. +Poor little kid! All alone, scared, going on the street because she +would starve otherwise. It made him feel strong and capable. Before the +meal was finished, she was talking furiously. Her pathetic life was +unravelled. "I come from Brooklyn ... old man took to drink, an' ma beat +it with a gent from Astoria ... never knew what happened to her.... I +kept house for the old man till he tried to get funny with me.... +Burlesque ... on the road ... the leading man.... He flew the coop when +I told him, and then when it came, it was dead...." Another job ... the +manager ... Coney and her dismissal. "I just couldn't let 'em have it +when I didn't like 'em, mister. Guess I'm not tough like the other +girls. My mother was French and she brought me up kind of decent. +Well...." The little outward turning of her hands, the shrug of her +shoulders. + +"Don't worry, Charlotte. I won't let them eat you. To-morrow I'll set +you up to a decent room and we'll go out and find some jobs here." + +"You don't have to do that, mister. I'll make out. All I needed was a +square and another day." + +Charlotte sighed and smoked a cigarette with her coffee. Then they went +out on the street and mixed with the throng. The voices of a score of +barkers wheedled them. Hugo began to feel gay. He took Charlotte to see +the strong man and watched his feats with a critical eye. He took her on +the roller coaster and became taut and laughing when she screamed and +held him. Then, laughing louder than before, they went through +Steeplechase. She fell in the rolling barrel and he carried her out. +They crossed over moving staircases and lost themselves in a maze, and +slid down polished chutes into fountains of light and excited screaming. +Always, afterwards, her hand found his arm, her great dark eyes looked +into his and laughed. Always they turned toward the other men and girls +with a proud and haughty expression that pointed to Hugo as her man, her +conquest. Later they danced. They drank more beer. + +"Golly," she whispered, as she snuggled against him, "you sure strut a +mean fox trot." + +"So do you, Charlotte." + +"I been doin' it a lot, I guess." + +The brazen crash of a finale. The table. A babble of voices, voices of +people snatching pleasure from Coney Island's gaudy barrel of cheap +amusements. Hugo liked it then. He liked the smell and touch of the +multitude and the incessant hysteria of its presence. After midnight the +music became more aggravating--muted, insinuating. Several of the +dancers were drunk. One of them tried to cut in. Hugo shook his head. + +"Gee!" Charlotte said, "I was sure hopin' you wouldn't let him." + +"Why--I never thought of it." + +"Most fellows would. He's a tough." + +It was an introduction to an unfamiliar world. The "tough" came to their +table and asked for a dance in thick accents. Charlotte paled and +accepted. Hugo refused. "Say, bo, I'm askin' for a dance. I got +concessions here. You can't refuse me, see? I guess you got me wrong." + +"Beat it," Hugo said, "before I take a poke at you." + +The intruder's answer was a swinging fist, which missed Hugo by a wide +margin. Hugo stood and dropped him with a single clean blow. The manager +came up, expostulated, ordered the tough's inert form from the floor, +started the music. + +"You shouldn't ought to have done it, mister. He'll get his gang." + +"The hell with his gang." + +Charlotte sighed. "That's the first time anybody ever stuck up for me. +Jeest, mister, I've been wishin' an' wishin' for the day when somebody +would bruise his knuckles for me." + +Hugo laughed. "Hey, waiter! Two beers." + +When she yawned, he took her out to the boulevard and walked at her side +toward the shabby house. They reached the steps, and Charlotte began to +cry. + +"What's the matter?" + +"I was goin' to thank you, but I don't know how. It was too nice of you. +An' now I suppose I'll never see you again." + +"Don't be silly. I'll show up at eight in the morning and we'll have +breakfast together." + +Charlotte looked into his face wistfully. "Say, kid, be a good guy and +take me to your hotel, will you? I'm scared I'll lose you." + +He held her hands. "You won't lose me. And I haven't got a hotel--yet." + +"Then--come up an' stay with me. Honest, I'm all right. I can prove it +to you. It'll be doin' me a favor." + +"I ought not to, Charlotte." + +She threw her arms around him and kissed him. He felt her breath on his +lips and the warmth of her body. "You gotta, kid. You're all I ever had. +Please, please." + +Hugo walked up the stairs thoughtfully. In her small room he watched her +disrobe. So willingly now--so eagerly. She turned back the covers of the +bed. "It ain't much of a dump, baby, but I'll make you like it." + +Much later, in the abyss of darkness, he heard her voice, sleepy and +still husky. "Say, mister, what's your name?" + +In the morning they went down to the boulevard together. The gay débris +of the night before lay in the street, and men were sweeping it away. +But their spirits were high. They had breakfast together in a quiet +enchantment. Once she kissed him. + +"Would you like to keep house--for me?" he asked. + +"Do you mean it?" She seemed to doubt every instant that good fortune +had descended permanently upon her. She was like a dreamer who +anticipated a sombre awakening even while he clung to the bliss of his +dream. + +"Sure, I mean it. I'll get a job and we'll find an apartment and you can +spend your spare time swimming and lying on the beach." He knew a twinge +of unexpected jealousy. "That is, if you'll promise not to look at all +the men who are going to look at you." He was ashamed of that statement. + +Charlotte, however, was not sufficiently civilized to be displeased. "Do +you think I'd two-time the first gent that ever worried about what I did +in my spare moments? Why, if you brought home a few bucks to most of the +birds I know, they wouldn't even ask how you earned it--they'd be so +busy lookin' for another girl an' a shot of gin." + +"Well--let's go." + +Hugo went to one of the largest side shows. After some questioning he +found the manager. "I'm H. Smith," he said, "and I want to apply for a +job." + +"Doin' what?" + +"This is my wife." The manager stared and nodded. Charlotte took his arm +and rubbed it against herself, thinking, perhaps, that it was a wifely +gesture. Hugo smiled inwardly and then looked at the sprawled form of +the manager. There, to that seamy-faced and dour man who was almost +unlike a human being, he was going to offer the first sale of his +majestic strength. A side-show manager, sitting behind a dirty desk in a +dirty building. + +"A strong-man act," Hugo said. + +Charlotte tittered. She thought that the bravado of her new friend was +over-stepping the limits of good sense. The manager sat up. "I'd like to +have a good strong man, yes. The show needs one. But you're not the +bird. You haven't got the beef. Go over and watch that damned German +work." + +Hugo bent over and fastened one hand on the back of the chair on which +the manager sat. Without evidence of effort he lifted the chair and its +occupant high over his head. + +"For Christ's sake, let me down," the manager said. + +Hugo swung him through the air in a wide arc. "I say, mister, that I'm +three times stronger than that German. And I want your job. If I don't +look strong enough, I'll wear some padded tights. And I'll give you a +show that'll be worth the admission. But I want a slice of the entrance +price--and maybe a separate tent, see? My name is Hogarth"--he winked at +Charlotte--"and you'll never be sorry you took me on." + +The manager, panting and astonished, was returned to the floor. His +anger struggled with his pleasure at Hugo's showmanship. "Well, what +else can you do? Weight-lifting is pretty stale." + +Hugo thought quickly. "I can bend a railroad rail--not a spike. I can +lift a full-grown horse with one--one shoulder. I can chin myself on my +little finger. I can set a bear trap with my teeth--" + +"That's a good number." + +"I can push up just twice as much weight as any one else in the game and +you can print a challenge on my tent. I can pull a boa constrictor +straight--" + +"We'll give you a chance. Come around here at three this afternoon with +your stuff and we'll try your act. Does this lady work in it? That'll +help." + +"Yes," Charlotte said. + +Hugo nodded. "She's my assistant." + +They left the building, and when she was sure they were out of earshot, +Charlotte said: "What do you do, strong boy, fake 'em?" + +"No. I do them." + +"Aw--you don't need to kid me." + +"I'm not. You saw me lift him, didn't you? Well--that was nothing." + +"Jeest! That I should live to see the day I got a bird like you." + +Until three o'clock Hugo and Charlotte occupied their time with feverish +activity. They found a small apartment not far from the sea-shore. It +was clean and bright and it had windows on two sides. Its furniture was +nearly new, and Charlotte, with tears in her eyes, sat in all the +chairs, lay on the bed, took the egg-beater from the drawer in the +kitchen table and spun it in an empty bowl. They went out together and +bought a quantity and a variety of food. They ate an early luncheon and +Hugo set out to gather the properties for his demonstration. At three +o'clock, before a dozen men, he gave an exhibition of strength the like +of which had never been seen in any museum of human abnormalities. + +When he went back to his apartment, Charlotte, in a gingham dress which +she had bought with part of the money he had given her, was preparing +dinner. He took her on his lap. "Did you get the job?" + +"Sure I did. Fifty a week and ten per cent of the gate receipts." + +"Gee! That's a lot of money!" + +Hugo nodded and kissed her. He was very happy. Happier, in a certain +way, than he had ever been or ever would be again. His livelihood was +assured. He was going to live with a woman, to have one always near to +love and to share his life. It was that concept of companionship, above +all other things, which made him glad. + +Two days later, as Hugo worked to prepare the vehicles of his +exhibition, he heard an altercation outside the tent that had been +erected for him. A voice said: "Whatcha tryin' to do there, anyhow?" + +"Why, I was making this strong man as I saw him. A man with the +expression of strength in his face." + +"But you gotta bat' robe on him. What we want is muscles. Muscles, bo. +Bigger an' better than any picture of any strong man ever made. Put one +here--an' one there--" + +"But that isn't correct anatomy." + +"To hell wit' that stuff. Put one there, I says." + +"But he'll be out of drawing, awkward, absurd." + +"Say, listen, do you want ten bucks for painting this sign or shall I +give it to some one else?" + +"Very well. I'll do as you say. Only--it isn't right." + +Hugo walked out of the tent. A young man was bending over a huge sheet +made of many lengths of oilcloth sewn together. He was a small person, +with pale eyes and a white skin. Beside him stood the manager, eyeing +critically the strokes applied to the cloth. In a semi-finished state +was the young man's picture of the imaginary Hogarth. + +"That's pretty good," Hugo said. + +The young man smiled apologetically. "It isn't quite right. You can see +for yourself you have no muscles there--and there. I suppose you're +Hogarth?" + +"Yes." + +"Well--I tried to explain the anatomy of it, but Mr. Smoots says anatomy +doesn't matter. So here we go." He made a broad orange streak. + +Hugo smiled. "Smoots is not an anatomical critic of any renown. I say, +Smoots, let him paint it as he sees best. God knows the other posters +are atrocious enough." + +The youth looked up from his work. "Good God, don't tell me you're +really Hogarth!" + +"Sure. Why not?" + +"Well--well--I--I guess it was your English." + +"That's funny. And I don't blame you." Hugo realized that the young +sign-painter was a person of some culture. He was about Hugo's age, +although he seemed younger on first glance. "As a matter of fact, I'm a +college man." Smoots had moved away. "But, for the love of God, don't +tell any one around here." + +The painter stopped. "Is that so! And you're doing this--to make money?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I'll be doggoned. Me, too. I study at the School of Design in the +winter, and in the summer I come out here to do signs and lightning +portraits and whatever else I can to make the money for it. Sometimes," +he added, "I pick up more than a thousand bucks in a season. This is my +fourth year at it." + +There was in the young artist's eye a hint of amusement, a suggestion +that they were in league. Hugo liked him. He sat down on a box. "Live +here?" + +"Yes. Three blocks away." + +"Me, too. Why not come up and have supper with--my wife and me?" + +"Are you married?" The artist commenced work again. + +Hugo hesitated. "Yeah." + +"Sure I'll come up. My name's Valentine Mitchel. I can't shake hands +just now. It's been a long time since I've talked to any one who doesn't +say 'deez' and 'doze.'" + +When, later in the day, they walked toward Hugo's home, he was at a loss +to explain Charlotte. The young painter would not understand why he, a +college man, chose so ignorant a mate. On the other hand, he owed it to +Charlotte to keep their secret and he was not obliged to make any +explanation. + +Valentine Mitchel was, however, a young man of some sensitivity. If he +winced at Charlotte's "Pleased to meetcher," he did not show it. Later, +after an excellent and hilarious meal, he must have guessed the +situation. He went home reluctantly and Hugo was delighted with him. He +had been urbane and filled with anecdotes of Greenwich Village and +art-school life, of Paris, whither his struggling footsteps had taken +him for a hallowed year. And with his acceptance of Hugo came an equally +warm pleasure in Charlotte's company. + +"He's a good little kid," Charlotte said. + +"Yes. I'm glad I picked him up." + +The gala opening of Hogarth's Studio of Strength took place a few nights +afterwards. It proved even more successful than Smoots had hoped. The +flamboyant advertising posters attracted crowds to see the man who could +set a bear trap with his teeth, who could pull an angry boa constrictor +into a straight line. Before ranks of gaping faces that were supplanted +by new ranks every hour, Hugo performed. Charlotte, resplendent in a +black dress that left her knees bare, and a red sash that all but +obliterated the dress, helped Hugo with his ponderous props, setting off +his strength by contrast, and sold the pamphlets Hugo had written at +Smoots's suggestion--pamphlets that purported to give away the secret +of Hogarth's phenomenal muscle power. Valentine Mitchel watched the +entire performance. + +When it was over, he said to Hugo: "Now you better beat it back and get +a hot bath. You're probably all in." + +"Yes," Charlotte said. "Come. I myself will bathe you." + +Hugo grinned. "Hell, no. Now we're all going on a bender to celebrate. +We'll eat at Villapigue's and we'll take a moonlight sail." + +They went together, marvelling at his vitality, gay, young, and living +in a world that they managed to forget did not exist. The night was +warm. The days that followed were warmer. The crowds came and the brassy +music hooted and coughed over them night and day. + +There are, in the lives of almost every man and woman, certain brief +episodes that, enduring for a long or a short time, leave in the memory +a sense of completeness. To those moments humanity returns for refuge, +for courage, and for solace. It was of such material that Hugo's next +two months were composed. The items of it were nearly all sensuous: the +sound of the sea when he sat in the sand late at night with Charlotte; +the whoop and bellow of the merry-go-round that spun and glittered +across the street from his tent; the inarticulate breathing and the +white-knuckled clenchings of the crowd as it lifted its face to his +efforts, for each of which he assumed a slow, painful motion that +exaggerated its difficulty; the smell of the sea, intermingled with a +thousand man-made odors; the faint, pervasive scent of Charlotte that +clung to him, his clothes, his house; the pageant of the people, always +in a huge parade, going nowhere, celebrating nothing but the functions +of living, loud, garish, cheap, splendid; breakfasts at his table with +his woman's voluptuousness abated in the bright sunlight to little more +than a reminiscence and a promise; the taste of beer and pop-corn and +frankfurters and lobster and steak; the affable, talkative company of +Valentine Mitchel. + +Only once that he could recall afterwards did he allow his intellect to +act in any critical direction, and that was in a conversation with the +young artist. They were sitting together in the sand, and Charlotte, +browned by weeks of bathing, lay near by. "Here I am," Mitchel said with +an unusual thoughtfulness, "with a talent that should be recognized, +wanting to be an illustrator, able to be one, and yet forced to dawdle +with this horrible business to make my living." + +Hugo nodded. "You'll come through--some winter--and you won't ever +return to Coney Island." + +"I know it. Unless I do it for sentimental reasons some day--in a +limousine." + +"It's myself," Hugo said then, "and not you who is doomed to--well, to +this sort of thing. You have a talent that is at least understandable +and--" he was going to say mediocre. He checked himself--"applicable in +the world of human affairs. My talent--if it is a talent--has no place, +no application, no audience." + +Mitchel stared at Hugo, wondering first what that talent might be and +then recognizing that Hugo meant his strength. "Nonsense. Any male in +his right senses would give all his wits to be as strong as you are." + +It was a polite, friendly thing to say. Hugo could not refrain from +comparing himself to Valentine Mitchel. An artist--a clever artist and +one who would some day be important to the world. Because people could +understand what he drew, because it represented a level of thought and +expression. He was, like Hugo, in the doldrums of progress. But Mitchel +would emerge, succeed, be happy--or at least satisfied with +himself--while Hugo was bound to silence, was compelled never to allow +himself full expression. Humanity would never accept and understand him. +They were not similar people, but their case was, at that instant, +ironically parallel. "It isn't only being strong," he answered +meditatively, "but it's knowing what to do with your strength." + +"Why--there are a thousand things to do." + +"Such as?" + +Mitchel raised himself on his elbows and turned his water-coloured eyes +on the populous beach. "Well--well--let's see. You could, of course, be +a strong man and amuse people--which you're doing. You could--oh, there +are lots of things you could do." + +Hugo smiled. "I've been thinking about them--for years. And I can't +discover any that are worth the effort." + +"Bosh!" + +Charlotte moved close to him. "There's one thing you can do, honey, and +that's enough for me." + +"I wonder," Hugo said with a seriousness the other two did not perceive. + +The increased heat of August suggested by its very intensity a shortness +of duration, an end of summer. Hugo began to wonder what he would do +with Charlotte when he went back to Webster. He worried about her a good +deal and she, guessing the subject of his frequent fits of silence, made +a resolve in her tough and worldly mind. She had learned more about +certain facets of Hugo than he knew himself. She realized that he was +superior to her and that, in almost any other place than Coney Island, +she would be a liability to him. The thought that he would have to +desert her made Hugo very miserable. He knew that he would miss +Charlotte and he knew that the blow to her might spell disaster. After +all, he thought, he had not improved her morals or raised her vision. He +did not realize that he had made both almost sublime by the mere act of +being considerate. "White," Charlotte called it. + +Nevertheless she was not without an intense sense of self-protection, +despite her condition on the night he had found her. She knew that +womankind lived at the expense of mankind. She saw the emotional +respect in which Valentine Mitchel unwittingly held Hugo. He had +scarcely spoken ten serious words to her. She realized that the artist +saw her as a property of his friend. That, in a way, made her valuable. +It was a subtle advantage, which she pressed with all the skill it +required. One night when Hugo was at work and the chill of autumn had +breathed on the hot shore, she told Valentine that he was a very nice +boy and that she liked him very much. He went away distraught, which was +what she had intended, and he carried with him a new and as yet +inarticulate idea, which was what she had foreseen. + +He believed that he loved her. He told himself that Hugo was going to +desert her, that she would be forsaken and alone. At that point, she +recited to him the story of her life and the tale of her rescue by Hugo +and said at the end that she would be very lonely when Hugo was gone. +Because Hugo had loved her, Mitchel thought she contained depths and +values which did not appear. That she contained such depths neither man +really knew then. Both of them learned it much later. Mitchel found +himself in that very artistic dilemma of being in love with his friend's +mistress. It terrified his romantic soul and it involved him +inextricably. + +When she felt that the situation had ripened to the point of action, she +waited for the precise moment. It came swiftly and in a better guise +than she had hoped. On a night in early September, when the crowds had +thinned a little, Hugo was just buckling himself into the harness that +lifted the horse. The spectators were waiting for the dénouement with +bickering patience. Charlotte was standing on the platform, watching him +with expressionless eyes. She knew that soon she would not see Hugo any +more. She knew that he was tired of his small show, that he was chafing +to be gone; and she knew that his loyalty to her would never let him go +unless it was made inevitable by her. The horse was ready. She watched +the muscles start out beneath Hugo's tawny skin. She saw his lips set, +his head thrust back. She worshipped him like that. Unemotionally, she +saw the horse lifted up from the floor. She heard the applause. There +was a bustle at the gate. + +Half a dozen people entered in single file. Three young men. Three +girls. They were intoxicated. They laughed and spoke in loud voices. She +saw by their clothes and their manner that they were rich. Slumming in +Coney Island. She smiled at the young men as she had always smiled at +such young men, friendlily, impersonally. Hugo did not see their +entrance. They came very near. + +"My God, it's Hugo Danner!" + +Hugo heard Lefty's voice and recognized it. The horse was dropped to the +floor. He turned. An expression of startled amazement crossed his +features. Chuck, Lefty, Iris, and three people whom he did not know were +staring at him. He saw the stupefied recognition on the faces of his +friends. One despairing glance he cast at Charlotte and then he went on +with his act. + +They waited for him until it was over. They clasped him to their bosoms. +They acknowledged Charlotte with critical glances. "Come on and join the +party," they said. + +After that, their silence was worse than any questions. They talked +freely and merrily enough, but behind their words was a deep reserve. +Lefty broke it when he had an opportunity to take Hugo aside. "What in +hell is eating you? Aren't you coming back to Webster?" + +"Sure. That is--I think so. I had to do this to make some money. Just +about the time school closed, my family went broke." + +"But, good God, man, why didn't you tell us? My father is an alumnus and +he'd put up five thousand a year, if necessary, to see you kept on the +football team." + +Hugo laughed. "You don't think I'd take it, Lefty?" + +"Why not?" A pause. "No, I suppose you'd be just the God-damned kind of +a fool that wouldn't. Who's the girl?" + +Hugo did not falter. "She's a tart I've been living with. I never knew a +better one--girl, that is." + +"Have you gone crazy?" + +"On the contrary, I've got wise." + +"Well, for Christ's sake, don't say anything about it on the campus." + +Hugo bit his lip. "Don't worry. My business is--my own." + +They joined the others, drinking at the table. Charlotte was telling a +joke. It was not a nice joke. He had not thought of her jokes +before--because Iris and Chuck and Lefty had not been listening to them. +Now, he was embarrassed. Iris asked him to dance with her. They went out +on the floor. + +"Lovely little thing, that Charlotte," she said acidly. + +"Isn't she!" Hugo answered with such enthusiasm that she did not speak +during the rest of the dance. + +Finally the ordeal ended. Lefty and his guests embarked in an automobile +for the city. + +"You know such people," Charlotte half-whispered. Hugo's cheeks still +flamed, but his heart bled for her. + +"I guess they aren't much," he replied. + +She answered hotly: "Don't you be like that! They're nice people. +They're fine people. That Iris even asked me to her house. Gave me a +card to see her." Charlotte could guess what Iris wanted. So could Hugo. +But Charlotte pretended to be innocent. + +He kissed Charlotte good-night and walked in the streets until morning. +Hugo could see no solution. Charlotte was so trusting, so good to him. +He could not imagine how she would receive any suggestion that she go to +New York and get a job, while he returned to college, that he see her +during vacations, that he send money to her. But he knew that a hot +fire dwelt within her and that her fury would rise, her grief, and that +he would be made very miserable and ashamed. She chided him at breakfast +for his walk in the dark. She laughed and kissed him and pushed him +bodily to his work. He looked back as he walked down to the curb. She +was leaning out of the window. She waved her hand. He rounded the corner +with wretched, leaden steps. The morning, concerned with the petty +business of receipts, refurbishings, cleaning, went slowly. When he +returned for lunch it was with the decision to tell her the truth about +his life and its requirements and to let her decide. + +She did not come to the door to kiss him. (She had imagined that lonely +return.) She did not answer his brave and cheerful hail. (She had let +the sound of it ring upon her ear a thousand times.) She was gone. (She +knew he would sit down and cry.) Then, stumbling, he found the two +notes. But he already understood. + +The message from Valentine Mitchel was reckless, impetuous. "Dear +Hugo--Charlotte and I have fallen in love with each other and I've run +away with her. I almost wish you'd come after us and kill me. I hate +myself for betraying you. But I love her, so I cannot help it. I've +learned to see in her what you first saw in her. Good-bye, good luck." + +Hugo put it down. Charlotte would be good to him. In a way, he didn't +deserve her. And when he was famous, some day, perhaps she would leave +him, too. He hesitated to read her note. "Good-bye, darling, I do not +love you any more. C." + +It was ludicrous, transparent, pitiful, and heroic. Hugo saw all those +qualities. "Good-bye, darling, I do not love you any more." She had +written it under Valentine's eyes. But she was shrewd enough to placate +her new lover while she told her sad little story to her old. She would +want him to feel bad. Well, God knew, he did. Hugo looked at the room. +He sobbed. He bolted into the street, tears streaming down his cheeks; +he drew his savings from the bank--seven hundred and eighty-four dollars +and sixty-four cents; he rushed to the haunted house, flung his clothes +into a bag; he sat drearily on a subway for an hour. He paced the smooth +floor of a station. He swung aboard a train. He came to Webster, his +head high, feeling a great pride in Charlotte and in his love for her, +walking in glad strides over the familiar soil. + + + + +IX + + +Hugo sat alone and marvelled at the exquisite torment of his +_Weltschmertz_. Far away, across the campus, he heard singing. Against +the square segment of sky visible from the bay window of his room he +could see the light of the great fire they had built to celebrate +victory--his victory. The light leaped into the darkness above like a +great golden ghost in some fantastic ascension, and beneath it, he knew, +a thousand students were dancing. They were druid priests at a rite to +the god of football. His fingers struggled through his black hair. The +day was fresh in his mind--the bellowing stands, the taut, almost +frightened faces of the eleven men who faced him, the smack and flight +of the brown oval, the lumbering sound of men running, the sucking of +the breath of men and their sharp, painful fall to earth. + +In his mind was a sharp picture of himself and the eyes that watched him +as he broke away time and again, with infantile ease, to carry that +precious ball. He let them make a touchdown that he could have averted. +He made one himself. Then another. The bell on Webster Hall was booming +its pæan of victory. He stiffened under the steady monody. He remembered +again. Lefty barking signals with a strange agony in his voice. Lefty +pounding on his shoulder. "Go in there, Hugo, and give it to them. I +can't." Lefty pleading. And the captain, Jerry Painter, cursing in open +jealousy of Hugo, vying hopelessly with Hugo Danner, the man who was a +god. + +It was not fair. Not right. The old and early glory was ebbing from it. +When he put down the ball, safely across the goal for the winning +touchdown, he saw three of the men on the opposing team lie down and +weep. There he stood, pretending to pant, feigning physical distress, +making himself a hero at the expense of innocent victims. Jackstraws for +a giant. There was no triumph in that. He could not go on. + +Afterwards they had made him speak, and the breathless words that had +once come so easily moved heavily through his mind. Yet he had carried +his advantage beyond the point of turning back. He could not say that +the opponents of Webster might as well attempt to hold back a +Juggernaut, to throw down a siege-gun, to outrace light, as to lay their +hands on him to check his intent. Webster had been good to him. He loved +Webster and it deserved his best. His best! He peered again into the +celebrating night and wondered what that awful best would be. + +He desired passionately to be able to give that--to cover the earth, +making men glad and bringing a revolution into their lives, to work +himself into a fury and to fatigue his incredible sinews, to end with +the feeling of a race well run, a task nobly executed. And, for a year, +that ambition had seemed in some small way to be approaching fruition. +Now it was turned to ashes. It was not with the muscles of men that his +goal was to be attained. They could not oppose him. + +As he sat gloomy and distressed, he wondered for what reason there +burned in him that wish to do great deeds. Humanity itself was too +selfish and too ignorant to care. It could boil in its tiny prejudices +for centuries to come and never know that there could be a difference. +Moreover, who was he to grind his soul and beat his thoughts for the +benefit of people who would never know and never care? What honour, when +he was dead, to lie beneath a slab on which was punily graven some note +of mighty accomplishment? Why could he not content himself with the food +he ate, the sunshine, with wind in trees, and cold water, and a woman? +It was that sad and silly command within to transcend his vegetable self +that made him human. He tried to think about it bitterly: fool man, +grown suddenly more conscious than the other beasts--how quickly he had +become vain because of it and how that vanity led him forever onward! Or +was it vanity--when his aching soul proclaimed that he would gladly +achieve and die without other recognition or acclaim than that which +rose within himself? Martyrs were made of such stuff. And was not that, +perhaps, an even more exaggerated vanity? It was so pitiful to be a man +and nothing more. Hugo bowed his head and let his body tremble with +strange agony. Perhaps, he thought, even the agony was a selfish +pleasure to him. Then he should be ashamed. He felt shame and then +thought that the feeling rose from a wish for it and foundered angrily +in the confusion of his introspection. He knew only and knew but dimly +that he would lift himself up again and go on, searching for some +universal foe to match against his strength. So pitiful to be a man! So +Christ must have felt in Gethsemane. + +"Hey, Hugo!" + +"Yeah?" + +"What the hell did you come over here for?" + +"To be alone." + +"Is that a hint?" Lefty entered the room. "They want you over at the +bonfire. We've been looking all over for you." + +"All right. I'll go. But, honest to God, I've had enough of this +business for to-day." + +Lefty slapped Hugo's shoulders. "The great must pay for their celebrity. +Come on, you sap." + +"All right." + +"What's the matter? Anything the matter?" + +"No. Nothing's the matter. Only--it's sort of sad to be--" Hugo checked +himself. + +"Sad? Good God, man, you're going stale." + +"Maybe that's it." Hugo had a sudden fancy. "Do you suppose I could be +let out of next week's game?" + +"What for? My God--" + +Hugo pursued the idea. "It's the last game. I can sit on the lines. You +fellows all play good ball. You can probably win. If you can't--then +I'll play. If you only knew, Lefty, how tired I get sometimes--" + +"Tired! Why don't you say something about it? You can lay off practice +for three or four days." + +"Not that. Tired in the head, not the body. Tired of crashing through +and always getting away with it. Oh, I'm not conceited. But I know they +can't stop me. You know it. It's a gift of mine--and a curse. How about +it? Let's start next week without me." + +The night ended at last. A new day came. The bell on Webster Hall +stopped booming. Woodie, the coach, came to see Hugo between classes. +"Lefty says you want us to start without you next week. What's the big +idea?" + +"I don't know. I thought the other birds would like a shot at Yale +without me. They can do it." + +Mr. Woodman eyed his player. "That's pretty generous of you, Hugo. Is +there any other reason?" + +"Not--that I can explain." + +"I see." The coach offered Hugo a cigarette after he had helped himself. +"Take it. It'll do you good." + +"Thanks." + +"Listen, Hugo. I want to ask you a question. But, first, I want you to +promise you'll give me a plain answer." + +"I'll try." + +"That won't do." + +"Well--I can't promise." + +Woodman sighed. "I'll ask it anyway. You can answer or not--just as you +wish." He was silent. He inhaled his cigarette and blew the smoke +through his nostrils. His eyes rested on Hugo with an expression of +intense interest, beneath which was a softer light of something not +unlike sympathy. "I'll have to tell you something, first, Hugo. When you +went away last summer, I took a trip to Colorado." + +Hugo started, and Woodman continued: "To Indian Creek. I met your father +and your mother. I told them that I knew you. I did my best to gain +their confidence. You see, Hugo, I've watched you with a more skilful +eye than most people. I've seen you do things, a few little things, that +weren't--well--that weren't--" + +Hugo's throat was dry. "Natural?" + +"That's the best word, I guess. You were never like my other boys, in +any case. So I thought I'd find out what I could. I must admit that my +efforts with your father were a failure. Aside from the fact that he is +an able biology teacher and that he had a number of queer theories years +ago, I learned nothing. But I did find out what those theories were. Do +you want me to stop?" + +A peculiar, almost hopeful expression was on Hugo's face. "No," he +answered. + +"Well, they had to do with the biochemistry of cellular structure, +didn't they? And with the production of energy in cells? And then--I +talked to lots of people. I heard about Samson." + +"Samson!" Hugo echoed, as if the dead had spoken. + +"Samson--the cat." + +Hugo was as pale as chalk. His eyes burned darkly. He felt that his +universe was slipping from beneath him. "You know, then," he said. + +"I don't know, Hugo. I merely guessed. I was going to ask. Now I shall +not. Perhaps I do know. But I had another question, son--" + +"Yes?" Hugo looked at Woodman and felt then the reason for his success +as a coach, as a leader and master of youth. He understood it. + +"Well, I wondered if you thought it was worth while to talk to your +father and discover--" + +"What he did?" Hugo suggested hoarsely. + +Woodman put his hand on Hugo's knee. "What he did, son. You ought to +know by this time what it means. I've been watching you. I don't want +your head to swell, but you're a great boy, Hugo. Not only in beef. You +have a brain and an imagination and a sense of moral responsibility. +You'll come out better than the rest--you would even without your--your +particular talent. And I thought you might think that the rest of +humanity would profit--" + +Hugo jumped to his feet. "No. A thousand times no. For the love of +Christ--no! You don't know or understand, you can't conceive, Woodie, +what it means to have it. You don't have the faintest idea of its +amount--what it tempts you with--what they did to me and I did to myself +to beat it--if I have beaten it." He laughed. "Listen, Woodie. Anything +I want is mine. Anything I desire I can take. No one can hinder. And +sometimes I sweat all night for fear some day I shall lose my temper. +There's a desire in me to break and destroy and wreck that--oh, hell--" + +Woodman waited. Then he spoke quietly. "You're sure, Hugo, that the +desire to be the only one--like that--has nothing to do with it?" + +Hugo's sole response was to look into Woodman's eyes, a look so pregnant +with meaning, so tortured, so humble, that the coach swore softly. Then +he held out his hand. "Well, Hugo, that's all. You've been damn swell +about it. The way I hoped you would be. And I think my answer is plain. +One thing. As long as I live, I promise on my oath I'll never give you +away or support any rumour that hurts your secret." + +Even Hugo was stirred to a consciousness of the strength of the other +man's grip. + +Saturday. A shrill whistle. The thump of leather against leather. The +roar of the stadium. + +Hugo leaned forward. He watched his fellows from the bench. They rushed +across the field. Lefty caught the ball. Eddie Carter interfered with +the first man, Bimbo Gaines with the second. The third slammed Lefty +against the earth. Three downs. Eight yards. A kick. New Haven brought +the ball to its twenty-one-yard line. The men in helmets formed again. A +coughing voice. Pandemonium. Again in line. The voice. The riot of +figures suddenly still. Again. A kick. Lefty with the ball, and Bimbo +Gaines leading him, his big body a shield. Down. A break and a run for +twenty-eight yards. Must have been Chuck. Good old Chuck. He'd be +playing the game of his life. Graduation next spring. Four, seven, +eleven, thirty-two, fifty-five. Hugo anticipated the spreading of the +players. He looked where the ball would be thrown. He watched Minton, +the end, spring forward, saw him falter, saw the opposing quarterback +run in, saw Lefty thrown, saw the ball received by the enemy and moved +up, saw the opposing back spilled nastily. His heart beat faster. + +No score at the end of the first half. The third quarter witnessed the +crossing of Webster's goal. Struggling grimly, gamely, against a team +that was their superior without Hugo, against a team heartened by the +knowledge that Hugo was not facing it, Webster's players were being +beaten. The goal was not kicked. It made the score six to nothing +against Webster. Hugo saw the captain rip off his headgear and throw it +angrily on the ground. He understood all that was going on in the minds +of his team in a clear, although remote, way. They went out to show +that they could play the game without Hugo Danner. And they were not +showing what they had hoped to show. A few minutes later their opponents +made a second touchdown. + +Thirteen to nothing. Mr. Woodman moved beside Hugo. "They can't do +it--and I don't altogether blame them. They've depended on you too much. +It's too bad. We all have." + +Hugo nodded. "Shall I go in?" + +The coach watched the next play. "I guess you better." + +When Hugo entered the line, Jerry Painter and Lefty spoke to him in +strained tones. "You've got to take it over, Hugo--all the way." + +"All right." + +The men lined up. A tense silence had fallen on the Yale line. They knew +what was going to happen. The signals were called, the ball shot back to +Lefty, Hugo began to run, the men in front rushed together, and Lefty +stuffed the ball into Hugo's arms. "Go on," he shouted. The touchdown +was made in one play. Hugo saw a narrow hole and scooted into it. A man +met his outstretched arm on the other side. Another. Hugo dodged twice. +The crescendo roar of the Webster section came to him dimly. He avoided +the safety man and ran to the goal. In the pandemonium afterwards, Jerry +kicked the goal. + +A new kick-off. Hugo felt a hand on his shoulder. "You've gotta break +this up." Hugo broke it up. He held Yale almost single-handed. They +kicked back. Hugo returned the kick to the middle of the field. He did +not dare to do more. + +Then he stood in his leather helmet, bent, alert, waiting to run again. +They called the captain's signal. He made four yards. Then Lefty's. He +made a first down. Then Jerry's. Two yards. Six yards. Five yards. +Another first down. The stands were insane. Hugo was glad they were not +using him--glad until he saw Jerry Painter's face. It was pale with +rage. Blood trickled across it from a small cut. Three tries failed. +Hugo spoke to him. "I'll take it over, Jerry, if you say so." + +Jerry doubled his fist and would have struck him if Hugo had not stepped +back. "God damn you, Danner, you come out here in the last few minutes +all fresh and make us look like a lot of fools. I tell you, my team and +I will take that ball across and not you with your bastard tricks." + +"But, good God, man--" + +"You heard me." + +"This is your last down." + +There was time for nothing more. Lefty called Jerry's signal, and Jerry +failed. The other team took the ball, rushed it twice, and kicked back +into the Webster territory. Again the tired, dogged players began a +march forward. The ball was not given to Hugo. He did his best, using +his body as a ram to open holes in the line, tripping tacklers with his +body, fighting within the limits of an appearance of human strength to +get his teammates through to victory. And Jerry, still pale and profane, +drove the men like slaves. It was useless. If Hugo had dared more, they +might have succeeded. But they lost the ball again. It was only in the +last few seconds that an exhausted and victorious team relinquished the +ball to Webster. + +Jerry ordered his own number again. Hugo, cold and somewhat furious at +the vanity and injustice of the performance, gritted his teeth. "How +about letting me try, Jerry? I can make it. It's for Webster--not for +you." + +"You go to hell." + +Lefty said: "You're out of your head, Jerry." + +"I said I'd take it." + +For one instant Hugo looked into his eyes. And in that instant the +captain saw a dark and flickering fury that filled him with fear. The +whistle blew. And then Hugo, to his astonishment, heard his signal. +Lefty was disobeying the captain. He felt the ball in his arms. He ran +smoothly. Suddenly he saw a dark shadow in the air. The captain hit him +on the jaw with all his strength. After that, Hugo did not think +lucidly. He was momentarily berserk. He ran into the line raging and +upset it like a row of tenpins. He raced into the open. A single man, +thirty yards away, stood between him and the goal. The man drew near in +an instant. Hugo doubled his arm to slug him. He felt the arm +straighten, relented too late, and heard, above the chaos that was +loose, a sudden, dreadful snap. The man's head flew back and he +dropped. Hugo ran across the goal. The gun stopped the game. But, before +the avalanche fell upon him, Hugo saw his victim lying motionless on the +field. What followed was nightmare. The singing and the cheering. The +parade. The smashing of the goal posts. The gradual descent of silence. +A pause. A shudder. He realized that he had been let down from the +shoulders of the students. He saw Woodman, waving his hands, his face a +graven mask. The men met in the midst of that turbulence. + +"You killed him, Hugo." + +The earth spun and rocked slowly. He was paying his first price for +losing his temper. "Killed him?" + +"His neck was broken-in three places." + +Some of the others heard. They walked away. Presently Hugo was standing +alone on the cinders outside the stadium. Lefty came up. "I just heard +about it. Tough luck. But don't let it break you." + +Hugo did not answer. He knew that he was guilty of a sort of murder. In +his own eyes it was murder. He had given away for one red moment to the +leaping, lusting urge to smash the world. And killed a man. They would +never accuse him. They would never talk about it. Only Woodman, perhaps, +would guess the thing behind the murder--the demon inside Hugo that was +tame, except then, when his captain in jealous and inferior rage had +struck him. + +It was night. Out of deference to the body of the boy lying in the +Webster chapel there was no celebration. Every ounce of glory and joy +had been drained from the victory. The students left Hugo to a solitude +that was more awful than a thousand scornful tongues. They thought he +would feel as they would feel about such an accident. They gave him +respect when he needed counsel. As he sat by himself, he thought that he +should tell them the truth, all of them, confess a crime and accept the +punishment. Hours passed. At midnight Woodman called. + +"There isn't much to say, Hugo. I'm sorry, you're sorry, we're all +sorry. But it occurred to me that you might do something foolish--tell +these people all about it, for example." + +"I was going to." + +"Don't. They'd never understand. You'd be involved in a legal war that +would undoubtedly end in your acquittal. But it would drag in all your +friends--and your mother and father--particularly him. The papers would +go wild. You might, on the other hand, be executed as a menace. You +can't tell." + +"It might be a good thing," Hugo answered bitterly. + +"Don't let me hear you say that, you fool! I tell you, Hugo, if you go +into that business, I'll get up on the stand and say I knew it all the +time and I let a man play on my team when I was pretty sure that sooner +or later he'd kill someone. Then I'll go to jail surely." + +"You're a pretty fine man, Mr. Woodman." + +"Hell!" + +"What shall I do?" Hugo's voice trembled. He suffered as he had not +dreamed it was possible to suffer. + +"That's up to you. I'd say, live it down." + +"Live it down! Do you know what that means--in a college?" + +"Yes, I think I do, Hugo." + +"You can live down almost anything, except that one thing--murder. It's +too ugly, Woodie." + +"Maybe. Maybe. You've got to decide, son. If you decide against +trying--and, mind you, you might be justified--I've got a brother-in-law +who has a ranch in Alberta. A couple of hundred miles from any place. +You'd be welcome there." + +Hugo did not reply. He took the coach's hand and wrung it. Then for an +hour the two men sat side by side in the darkness. At last Woodman rose +and left. He said only: "Remember that offer. It's cold and bleak and +the work is hard. Good-night, Hugo." + +"Good-night, Woodie. Thanks for coming up." + +When the campus was still with the quiet of sleep, Hugo crossed it as +swiftly as a spectre. All night he strode remorselessly over country +roads. His face was set. His eyes burned. He ignored the trembling of +his joints. When the sky faded, he went back. He packed his clothes in +two suit-cases. With them swinging at his side, he stole out of the Psi +Delta house, crossed the campus, stopped. For a long instant he stared +at Webster Hall. The first light of morning was just touching it. The +débris collected for a fire that was never lighted was strewn around the +cannon. He saw the initials he had painted there a year and more ago +still faintly legible. A lump rose in his throat. + +"Good-by, Webster," he said. He lifted the suitcase and vanished. In a +few minutes the campus was five miles behind him--six--ten--twenty. When +he saw the first early caravan of produce headed toward the market, he +slowed to a walk. The sun came over a hill and sparkled on a billion +drops of dew. A bird flew singing from his path. Hugo Danner had fled +beyond the gates of Webster. + + + + +X + + +A year passed. In the harbour of Cristobal, at the northern end of the +locks, waiting for the day to open the great steel jaws that dammed the +Pacific from the Atlantic, the _Katrina_ pulled at her anchor chain in +the gentle swell. A few stars, liquid bright, hung in the tropical sky. +A little puff of wind coming occasionally from the south carried the +smell of the jungle to the ship. The crew was awakening. + +A man with a bucket on a rope went to the rail and hauled up a brimming +pail from the warm sea. He splashed his face and hands into it. Then he +poured it back and repeated the act of dipping up water. + +"Hey!" he said. + +Another man joined him. "Here. Swab off your sweat. Look yonder." + +The dorsal fin of a shark rippled momentarily on the surface and dipped +beneath it. A third man appeared. He accepted the proffered water and +washed himself. His roving eye saw the shark as it rose for the second +time. He dried on a towel. The off-shore breeze stirred his dark hair. +There was a growth of equally dark beard on his tanned jaw and cheek. +Steely muscles bulged under his shirt. His forearm, when he picked up +the pail, was corded like cable. A smell of coffee issued from the +galley, and the smoke of the cook's fire was wafted on deck for a +pungent moment. Two bells sounded. The music went out over the water in +clear, humming waves. + +The man who had come first from the forecastle leaned his buttocks +against the rail. One end of it had been unhooked to permit the +discharge of mail. The rail ran, the man fell back, clawing, and then, +thinking suddenly of the sharks, he screamed. The third man looked. He +saw his fellow-seaman go overboard. He jumped from where he stood, +clearing the scuppers and falling through the air before the victim of +the slack rail had landed in the water. The two splashes were almost +simultaneous. A boatswain, hearing the cry, hastened to the scene. He +saw one man lifted clear of the water by the other, who was treading +water furiously. He shouted for a rope. He saw the curve and dip of a +fin. The first man seized the rope and climbed and was pulled up. The +second, his rescuer, dived under water as if aware of something there +that required his attention. The men above him could not know that he +had felt the rake of teeth across his leg--powerful teeth, which +nevertheless did not penetrate his skin. As he dived into the green +depths, he saw a body lunge toward him, turn, yawn a white-fringed +mouth. He snatched the lower jaw in one hand, and the upper in the +other. He exerted his strength. The mouth gaped wider, a tail twelve +feet behind it lashed, the thing died with fingers like steel claws +tearing at its brain. It floated belly up. The man rose, took the rope, +climbed aboard. Other sharks assaulted the dead one. + +The dripping sailor clasped his saviour's hand. "God Almighty, man, you +saved my life. Jesus!" + +"That's four," Hugo Danner said abstractedly, and then he smiled. "It's +all right. Forget it. I've had a lot of experience with sharks." He had +never seen one before in his life. He walked aft, where the men grouped +around him. + +"How'd you do it?" + +"It's a trick I can't explain very well," Hugo said. "You use their rush +to break their jaws. It takes a good deal of muscle." + +"Anyway--guy--thanks." + +"Sure." + +A whistle blew. The ships were lining up in the order of their arrival +for admission to the Panama Canal. Gatun loomed in the feeble sun of +dawn. The anchor chain rumbled. The _Katrina_ edged forward at half +speed. + +The sea. Blue, green, restless, ghost-ridden, driven in empty quarters +by devils riding the wind, secretive, mysterious, making a last +gigantic, primeval stand against the conquest of man, hemming and +isolating the world, beautiful, horrible, dead god of ten thousand +voices, universal incubator, universal grave. + +The _Katrina_ came to the islands in the South Pacific. Islands that +issued from the water like green wreaths and seemed to float on it. The +small boats were put out and sections of the cargo were sent to rickety +wharves where white men and brown islanders took charge of it and +carried it away into the fringe of the lush vegetation. Hugo, looking at +those islands, was moved to smile. The place where broken men hid from +civilization, where the derelicts of the world gathered to drown their +shame in a verdant paradise that had no particular position in the white +man's scheme of the earth. + +At one of the smaller islands an accident to the engine forced the +_Katrina_ to linger for two weeks. It was during those two weeks, in a +rather extraordinary manner, that Hugo Danner laid the first foundation +of the fortune that he accumulated in his later life. One day, idling +away a leave on shore in the shade of a mighty tree, he saw the +outriggers of the natives file away for the oyster beds, and, out of +pure curiosity, he followed them. For a whole day he watched the men +plunge under the surface in search of pearls. The next day he came back +and dove with one of them. + +On the bizarre floor of the ocean, among the colossal fronds of its +flora, the two men swam. They were invaders from the brilliance above +the surface, shooting like fish, horizontally, through the murk and +shadow, and the denizens of that world resented their coming. Great fish +shot past them with malevolent eyes, and the vises of giant clams shut +swiftly in attempts to trap their moving limbs. Hugo was entranced. He +watched the other man as he found the oyster bed and commenced to fill +his basket with frantic haste. When his lungs stung and he could bear +the agony no longer, he turned and forged toward the upper air. Then +they went down again. + +Hugo's blood, designed to take more oxygen from the air, and his greater +density fitted him naturally for the work. The pressure did not make him +suffer and the few moments granted to the divers beneath the forbidding +element stretched to a longer time for him. + +On the second day of diving he went alone. His amateur attempt had been +surprisingly fruitful. Standing erect in the immense solitude, he +searched the hills and valleys. At length, finding a promising cluster +of shellfish, he began to examine them one by one, pulling them loose, +feeling in their pulpy interior for the precious jewels. He occupied +himself determinedly while the _Katrina_ was waiting in Apia, and at the +end of the stay he had collected more than sixty pearls of great value +and two hundred of moderate worth. + +It was, he thought, typical of himself. He had decided to make a fortune +of some sort after the first bitter rage over his debacle at Webster had +abated in his heart. He realized that without wealth his position in +the world would be more difficult and more futile than his fates had +decreed. Poverty, at least, he was not forced to bear. He could wrest +fortune from nature by his might. That he had begun that task by diving +for pearls fitted into his scheme. It was such a method as no other man +would have considered and its achievement robbed no one while it +enriched him. + +When the _Katrina_ turned her prow westward again, Hugo worked with his +shipmates in a mood that had undergone considerable change. There was no +more despair in him, little of the taciturnity that had marked his +earliest days at sea, none of the hatred of mankind. He had buried that +slowly and carefully in a dull year of work ashore and a month of toil +on the heaving deck of the ship. For six months he had kept himself +alive in a manner that he could scarcely remember. Driving a truck. +Working on a farm. Digging in a road. His mind a bitter blank, his +valiant dreams all dead. + +One day he had saved a man's life. The reaction to that was small, but +it was definite. The strength that could slay was also a strength that +could succour. He had repeated the act some time later. He felt it was a +kind of atonement. After that, he sought deliberately to go where he +might be of assistance. In the city, again, in September, when a fire +engine clanged and whooped through the streets, he followed and carried +a woman from a blazing roof as if by a miracle. Then the seaman. He had +counted four rescues by that time. Perhaps his self-condemnation for the +boy who had fallen on the field at Webster could be stifled eventually. +Human life seemed very precious to Hugo then. + +He sold his pearls when the ship touched at large cities--a handful here +and a dozen there, bargaining carefully and forwarding the profit to a +bank in New York. He might have continued that voyage, which was a +voyage commenced half in new recognition of his old wish to see and know +the world and half in the quest of forgetfulness; but a slip and shifts +in the history of the world put an abrupt end to it. When the _Katrina_ +rounded the Bec d'Aiglon and steamed into the blue and cocoa harbour of +Marseilles, Hugo heard that war had been declared by Germany, Austria, +France, Russia, England.... + + + + +XI + + +In a day the last veil of mist that had shrouded his feelings and +thoughts, making them numb and sterile, vanished; in a day Hugo found +himself--or believed that he had; in a day his life changed and flung +itself on the course which, in a measure, destined its fixation. He +never forgot that day. + +It began in the early morning when the anchor of the freighter thundered +into the harbour water. The crew was not given shore leave until noon. +Then the mysterious silence of the captain and the change in the ship's +course was explained. Through the third officer he sent a message to the +seamen. War had been declared. The seaways were unsafe. The _Katrina_ +would remain indefinitely at Marseilles. The men could go ashore. They +would report on the following day. + +The first announcement of the word sent Hugo's blood racing. War! What +war? With whom? Why? Was America in it, or interested in it? He stepped +ashore and hurried into the city. The populace was in feverish +excitement. Soldiers were everywhere, as if they had sprung up magically +like the seed of the dragon. Hugo walked through street after street in +the furious heat. He bought a paper and read the French accounts of +mobilizations, of a battle impending. He looked everywhere for some one +who could tell him. Twice he approached the American Consulate, but it +was jammed with frantic and frightened people who were trying only to +get away. Hugo's ambition, growing in him like a fire, was in the +opposite direction. War! And he was Hugo Danner! + +He sat at a café toward the middle of the afternoon. He was so excited +by the contagion in his veins that he scarcely thrilled at the first use +of his new and half-mastered tongue. The _garçon_ hurried to his table. + +"_De la bière_," Hugo said. + +The waiter asked a question which Hugo could not understand, so he +repeated his order in the universal language of measurement of a large +glass by his hands. The waiter nodded. Hugo took his beer and stared out +at the people. They hurried along the sidewalk, brushing the table at +which he sat. They called to each other, laughed, cried sometimes, and +shook hands over and over. "_La guerre_" was on every tongue. Old men +gestured the directions of battles. Young men, a little more serious +perhaps, and often very drunk, were rushing into uniform as order +followed order for mobilization. And there were girls, thousands of +them, walking with the young men. + +Hugo wanted to be in it. He was startled by the impact of that desire. +All the ferocity of him, all the unleashed wish to rend and kill, was +blazing in his soul. But it was a subtle conflagration, which urged him +in terms of duty, in words that spoke of the war as his one perfect +opportunity to put himself to a use worthy of his gift. A war. In a war +what would hold him, what would be superior to him, who could resist +him? He swallowed glass after glass of the brackish beer, quenching a +mighty thirst and firing a mightier ambition. He saw himself charging +into battle, fighting till his ammunition was gone, till his bayonet +broke; and then turning like a Titan and doing monster deeds with bare +hands. And teeth. + +Bands played and feet marched. His blood rose to a boiling-point. A +Frenchman flung himself at Hugo's table. "And you--why aren't you a +soldier?" + +"I will be," Hugo replied. + +"Bravo! We shall revenge ourselves." The man gulped a glass of wine, +slapped Hugo's shoulder, and was gone. Then a girl talked to Hugo. Then +another man. + +Hugo dwelt on the politics of the war and its sociology only in the most +perfunctory manner. It was time the imperialistic ambitions of the +Central Powers were ended. A war was inevitable for that purpose. +France and England had been attacked. They were defending themselves. He +would assist them. Even the problem of citizenship and the tangle of red +tape his enlistment might involve did not impress him. He could see the +field of battle and hear the roar of guns, a picture conjured up by his +knowledge of the old wars. What a soldier he would be! + +While his mind was still leaping and throbbing and his head was +whirling, darkness descended. He would give away his life, do his duty +and a hundred times more than his duty. Here was the thing that was +intended for him, the weapon forged for his hand, the task designed for +his undertaking. War. In war he could bring to a full fruition the +majesty of his strength. No need to fear it there, no need to be ashamed +of it. He felt himself almost the Messiah of war, the man created at the +precise instant he was required. His call to serve was sounding in his +ears. And the bands played. + +The chaos did not diminish at night, but, rather, it increased. He went +with milling crowds to a bulletin board. The Germans had commenced to +move. They had entered Belgium in violation of treaties long held +sacred. Belgium was resisting and Liége was shaking at the devastation +of the great howitzers. A terrible crime. Hugo shook with the rage of +the crowd. The first outrages and violations, highly magnified, were +reported. The blond beast would have to be broken. + +"God damn," a voice drawled at Hugo's side. He turned. A tall, lean man +stood there, a man who was unquestionably American. Hugo spoke in +instant excitement. + +"There sure is hell to pay." + +The man turned his head and saw Hugo. He stared at him rather +superciliously, at his slightly seedy clothes and his strong, unusual +face. "American?" + +"Yeah." + +"Let's have a drink." + +They separated themselves from the mob and went to a crowded café. The +man sat down and Hugo took a chair at his side. "As you put it," the man +said, "there is hell to pay. Let's drink on the payment." + +Hugo felt in him a certain aloofness, a detachment that checked his +desire to throw himself into flamboyant conversation. "My name's +Danner," he said. + +"Mine's Shayne, Thomas Mathew Shayne. I'm from New York." + +"So am I, in a way. I was on a ship that was stranded here by the war. +At loose ends now." + +Shayne nodded. He was not particularly friendly for a person who had met +a countryman in a strange city. Hugo did not realize that Shayne had +been besieged all day by distant acquaintances and total strangers for +assistance in leaving France, or that he expected a request for money +from Hugo momentarily. And Shayne did not seem particularly wrought up +by the condition of war. They lifted their glasses and drank. Hugo lost +a little of his ardour. + +"Nice mess." + +"Time, though. Time the Germans got their answer." + +Shayne's haughty eyebrows lifted. His wide, thin mouth smiled. "Perhaps. +I just came from Germany. Seemed like a nice, peaceful country three +weeks ago." + +"Oh." Hugo wondered if there were many pro-German Americans. His +companion answered the thought. + +"Not that I don't believe the Germans are wrong. But war is such--such a +damn fool thing." + +"Well, it can't be helped." + +"No, it can't. We're all going to go out and get killed, though." + +"We?" + +"Sure. America will get in it. That's part of the game. America is more +dangerous to Germany than France--or England, for that matter." + +"That's a rather cold-blooded viewpoint." + +Shayne nodded. "I've been raised on it. _Garçon, l'addition, s'il vous +plaît._" He reached for his pocketbook simultaneously with Hugo. "I'm +sorry you're stranded," he said, "and if a hundred francs will help, +I'll be glad to let you have it. I can't do more." + +Hugo's jaw dropped. He laughed a little. "Good lord, man, I said my ship +was stuck. Not me. And these drinks are mine." He reached into his +pocket and withdrew a huge roll of American bills and a packet of +French notes. + +Shayne hesitated. His calmness was not severely shaken, however. "I'm +sorry, old man. You see, all day I've been fighting off starving and +startled Americans and I thought you were one. I apologize for my +mistake." He looked at Hugo with more interest. "As a matter of fact, +I'm a little skittish about patriotism. And about war. Of course, I'm +going to be in it. The first entertaining thing that has happened in a +dog's age. But I'm a conscientious objector on principles. I rather +thought I'd enlist in the Foreign Legion to-morrow." + +He was an unfamiliar type to Hugo. He represented the American who had +been educated at home and abroad, who had acquired a wide horizon for +his views, who was bored with the routine of his existence. His clothes +were elegant and impeccable. His face was very nearly inscrutable. +Although he was only a few years older than Hugo, he made the latter +feel youthful. + +They had a brace of drinks, two more and two more. All about them was +bedlam, as if the emotions of man had suddenly been let loose to sweep +him off his feet. Grief, joy, rage, lust, fear were all obviously there +in almost equal proportions. + +Shayne extended his hand. "They have something to fight for, at least. +Something besides money and glory. A grudge. I wonder what it is that +makes me want to get in? I do." + +"So do I." + +Shayne shook his head. "I wouldn't if I were you. Still, you will +probably be compelled to in a while." He looked at his watch. "Do you +care to take dinner with me? I had an engagement with an aunt who is on +the verge of apoplexy because two of the Boston Shaynes are in Munich. +It scarcely seems appropriate at the moment. I detest her, anyway. What +do you say?" + +"I'd like to have dinner with you." + +They walked down the Cannebière. At a restaurant on the east side near +the foot of the thoroughfare they found a table in the corner. A pair of +waiters hastened to take their order. The place was riotous with voices +and the musical sounds of dining. On a special table was a great +demijohn of 1870 cognac, which was fast being drained by the guests. +Shayne consulted with his companion and then ordered in fluent French. +The meal that was brought approached a perfection of service and a +superiority of cooking that Hugo had never experienced. And always the +babble, the blare of bands, the swelling and fading persistence of the +stringed orchestra, the stream of purple Châteauneuf du Pape and its +flinty taste, the glitter of the lights and the bright colours on the +mosaics that represented the principal cities of Europe. It was a +splendid meal. + +"I'm afraid I'll have to ask your name again," Shayne said. + +"Danner. Hugo Danner." + +"Good God! Not the football player?" + +"I did play football--some time ago." + +"I saw you against Cornell--when was it?--two years ago. You were +magnificent. How does it happen that--" + +"That I'm here?" Hugo looked directly into Shayne's eyes. + +"Well--I have no intention of prying into your affairs." + +"Then I'll tell you. Why not?" Hugo drank his wine. "I killed a man--in +the game--and quit. Beat it." + +Shayne accepted the statement calmly. "That's tough. I can understand +your desire to get out from under. Things like that are bad when you're +young." + +"What else could I have done?" + +"Nothing. What are you going to do? Rather, what were you going to do?" + +"I don't know," Hugo answered slowly. "What do you do? What do people +generally do?" He felt the question was drunken, but Shayne accepted it +at its face value. + +"I'm one of those people who have too much money to be able to do +anything I really care about, most of the time. The family keeps me in +sight and control. But I'm going to cut away to-morrow." + +"In the Foreign Legion? I'll go with you." + +"Splendid!" They shook hands across the table. + +Three hours later found them at another café. They had been walking part +of the time in the throngs on the street. For a while they had stood +outside a newspaper office watching the bulletins. They were quite +drunk. + +"Old man," Shayne said, "I'm mighty glad I found you." + +"Me, too, old egg. Where do we go next?" + +"I don't know. What's your favourite vice? We can locate it in +Marseilles." + +Hugo frowned. "Well, vice is so limited in its scope." + +His companion chuckled. "Isn't it? I've always said vice was narrow. The +next time I see Aunt Emma I'm going to say: 'Emma, vice is becoming too +narrow in its scope.' She'll be furious and it will bring her to an +early demise and I'll inherit a lot more money, and that will be the +real tragedy. She's a useless old fool, Aunt Emma. Never did a valuable +thing in her life. Goes in for charity--just like we go in for golf and +what-not. Oh, well, to hell with Aunt Emma." + +Hugo banged his glass on the table. "_Garçon! Encore deux whiskey à +l'eau_ and to hell with Aunt Emma." + +"Like to play roulette?" + +"Like to try." + +They climbed into a taxi. Shayne gave an address and they were driven to +another quarter of the town. In a room packed with people in evening +clothes they played for an hour. Several people spoke to Shayne and he +introduced Hugo to them. Shayne won and Hugo lost. They went out into +the night. The streets were quieter in that part of town. Two girls +accosted them. + +"That gives me an idea," Shayne said. "Let's find a phone. Maybe we can +get Marcelle and Claudine." + +Marcelle and Claudine met them at the door of the old house. Their arms +were laden with champagne bottles. The interior of the dwelling belied +its cold, grey, ancient stones. Hugo did not remember much of what +followed that evening. Short, unrelated fragments stuck in his +mind--Shayne chasing the white form of Marcelle up and down the stairs; +himself in a huge bath-tub washing a back in front of him, his surprise +when he saw daylight through the wooden shutters of the house. + +Someone was shaking him. "Come on, soldier. The leave's up." + +He opened his eyes and collected his thoughts. He grinned at Shayne. +"All right. But if I had to defend myself right now--I'd fail against a +good strong mouse." + +"We'll fix that. Hey! Marcelle! Got any Fernet-Branca?" + +The girl came with two large glasses of the pick-me-up. Hugo swallowed +the bitter brown fluid and shuddered. Claudine awoke. "_Chéri!_" she +sighed, and kissed him. + +They sat on the edge of the bed. "Boy!" Hugo said. "What a binge!" + +"You like eet?" Claudine murmured. + +He took her hand. "Loved it, darling. And now we're going to war." + +"Ah!" she said, and, at the door: "_Bonne chance!_" + +Shayne left Hugo, after agreeing on a time and place for their meeting +in the afternoon. The hours passed slowly. Hugo took another drink, and +then, exerting his judgment and will, he refrained from taking more. At +noon he partook of a light meal. He thought, or imagined, that the +ecstasy of the day before was showing some signs of decline. It occurred +to him that the people might be very sober and quiet before the war was +a thing to be written into the history of France. + +The sun was shining. He found a place in the shade where he could avoid +it. He ordered a glass of beer, tasted it, and forgot to finish it. The +elation of his first hours had passed. But the thing within him that had +caused it was by no means dead. As he sat there, his muscles tensed with +the picturization of what was soon to be. He saw the grim shadows of the +enemy. He felt the hot splash of blood. For one suspended second he was +ashamed of himself, and then he stamped out that shame as being +something very much akin to cowardice. + +He wondered why Shayne was joining the Legion and what sort of person he +was underneath his rather haughty exterior. A man of character, +evidently, and one who was weary of the world to which he had been +privileged. Hugo's reverie veered to his mother and father. He tried to +imagine what they would think of his enlistment, of him in the war; and +even what they thought of him from the scant and scattered information +he had supplied. He was sure that he would justify himself. He felt +purged and free and noble. His strength was a thing of wreck and ruin, +given to the world at a time when wreck and ruin were needed to set it +right. It was odd that such a product should emerge from the dusty brain +of a college professor in a Bible-ridden town. + +Hugo had not possessed a religion for a long time. Now, wondering on +another tangent if the war might not bring about his end, he thought +about it. He realized that he would hate himself for murmuring a prayer +or asking protection. He was gamer than the Cross-obsessed weaklings who +were not wise enough to look life in the face and not brave enough to +draw the true conclusions from what they saw. True conclusions? He +meditated. What did it matter--agnosticism, atheism, pantheism--anything +but the savage and anthropomorphic twaddle that had been doled out since +the Israelites singled out Jehovah from among their many gods. He would +not commit himself. He would go back with his death to the place where +he had been before he was born and feel no more regret than he had in +that oblivious past. Meanwhile he would fight! He moved restively and +waited for Shayne with growing impatience. + +Until that chaotic and gorgeous hour he had lived for nothing, proved +nothing, accomplished nothing. Society was no better in any way because +he had lived. He excepted the lives he had saved, the few favours he had +done. That was nothing in proportion to his powers. He was his own +measure, and by his own efforts would he satisfy himself. War! He flexed +his arms. War. His black eyes burned with a formidable light. + +Then Shayne came. Walking with long strides. A ghostly smile on his +lips. A darkness in his usually pale-blue eyes. Hugo liked him. They +said a few words and walked toward the recruiting-tent. A _poilu_ in +steely blue looked at them and saw that they were good. He proffered +papers. They signed. That night they marched for the first time. A week +later they were sweating and swearing over the French manual of arms. +Hugo had offered his services to the commanding officer at the camp and +been summarily denied an audience or a chance to exhibit his abilities. +When they reached the lines--that would be time enough. Well, he could +wait until those lines were reached. + + + + +XII + + +Just as the eastern horizon became light with something more steady than +the flare of the guns, the command came. Hugo bit his lip till it bled +darkly. He would show them--now. They might command him to wait--he +could restrain himself no longer. The men had been standing there tense +and calm, their needle-like bayonets pointing straight up. "_En avant!_" + +His heart gave a tremendous surge. It made his hands falter as he +reached for the ladder rung. "Here we go, Hugo." + +"Luck, Tom." + +He saw Shayne go over. He followed slowly. He looked at no man's land. +They had come up in the night and he had never seen it. The scene of +holocaust resembled nothing more than the municipal ash dump at Indian +Creek. It startled him. The grey earth in irregular heaps, the litter of +metal and equipment. He realized that he was walking forward with the +other men. The ground under his feet was mushy, like ashes. Then he saw +part of a human body. It changed his thoughts. + +The man on Hugo's right emitted a noise like a squeak and jumped up in +the air. He had been hit. Out of the corner of his eye Hugo saw him +fall, get up quickly, and fall again very slowly. His foot kicked after +he lay down. The rumbling in the sky grew louder and blotted out all +other sound. + +They walked on and on. It was like some eternal journey through the dun, +vacant realms of Hades. Not much light, one single sound, and ghostly +companions who faced always forward. The air in front of him was +suddenly dyed orange and he felt the concussion of a shell. His ears +rang. He was still walking. He walked what he thought was a number of +miles. + +His great strength seemed to have left him, and in its place was a +complete enervation. With a deliberate effort he tested himself, kicking +his foot into the earth. It sank out of sight. He squared his shoulders. +A man came near him, yelling something. It was Shayne. Hugo shook his +head. Then he heard the voice, a feeble shrill note. "Soon be there." + +"Yeah?" + +"Over that hill." + +Shayne turned away and became part of the ghost escort of Hugo and his +peculiarly lucid thoughts. He believed that he was more conscious of +himself and things then than ever before in his life. But he did not +notice one-tenth of the expression and action about himself. The top of +the rise was near. He saw an officer silhouetted against it for an +instant. The officer moved down the other side. He could see over the +rise, then. + +Across the grey ashes was a long hole. In front of it a maze of wire. In +it--mushrooms. German helmets. Hugo gaped at them. All that training, +all that restraint, had been expended for this. They were small and +without meaning. He felt a sharp sting above his collar bone. He looked +there. A row of little holes had appeared in his shirt. + +"Good God," he whispered, "a machine gun." + +But there was no blood. He sat down. He presumed, as a casualty, he was +justified in sitting down. He opened his shirt by ripping it down. On +his dark-tanned skin there were four red marks. The bullets had not +penetrated him. Too tough! He stared numbly at the walking men. They had +passed him. The magnitude of his realization held him fixed for a full +minute. He was invulnerable! He should have known it--otherwise he would +have torn himself apart by his own strength. Suddenly he roared and +leaped to his feet. He snatched his rifle, cracking the stock in his +fervour. He vaulted toward the helmets in the trench. + +He dropped from the parapet and was confronted by a long knife on a gun. +His lips parted, his eyes shut to slits, he drew back his own weapon. +There was an instant's pause as they faced each other--two men, both +knowing that in a few seconds one would be dead. Then Hugo, out of his +scarlet fury, had one glimpse of his antagonist's face and person. The +glimpse was but a flash. It was finished in quick motions. He was a +little man--a foot shorter than Hugo. His eyes looked out from under his +helmet with a sort of pathetic earnestness. And he was worried, horribly +worried, standing there with his rifle lifted and trying to remember the +precise technique of what would follow even while he fought back the +realization that it was hopeless. In that split second Hugo felt a +human, amazing urge to tell him that it was all right, and that he ought +to hold his bayonet a little higher and come forward a bit faster. The +image faded back to an enemy. Hugo acted mechanically from the rituals +of drill. His own knife flashed. He saw the man's clothes part smoothly +from his bowels, where the point had been inserted, up to the gray-green +collar. The seam reddened, gushed blood, and a length of intestine +slipped out of it. The man's eyes looked at Hugo. He shook his head +twice. The look became far-away. He fell forward. + +Hugo stepped over him. He was trembling and nauseated. A more formidable +man approached warily. The bellow of battle returned to Hugo's ears. He +pushed back the threatening rifle easily and caught the neck in one +hand, crushing it to a wet, sticky handful. So he walked through the +trench, a machine that killed quickly and remorselessly--a black warrior +from a distant realm of the universe where the gods had bred another +kind of man. + +He came upon Shayne and found him engaged. Hugo stuck his opponent in +the back. No thought of fair play, no object but to kill--it did not +matter how. Dead Legionnaires and dead Germans mingled blood underfoot. +The trench was like the floor of an _abattoir_. Someone gave him a +drink. The men who remained went on across the ash dump to a second +trench. + +It was night. The men, almost too tired to see or move, were trying to +barricade themselves against the ceaseless shell fire of the enemy. They +filled bags with gory mud and lifted them on the crumbling walls. At +dawn the Germans would return to do what they had done. The darkness +reverberated and quivered. Hugo worked like a Trojan. His efforts had +made a wide and deep hole in which machine guns were being placed. +Shayne fell at his feet. Hugo lifted him up. The captain nodded. "Give +him a drink." + +Someone brought liquor, and Hugo poured it between Shayne's teeth. +"Huh!" Shayne said. + +"Come on, boy." + +"How did you like it, Danner?" + +Hugo did not answer. Shayne went on, "I didn't either--much. This is no +gentleman's war. Jesus! I saw a thing or two this morning. A guy walking +with all his--" + +"Never mind. Take another drink." + +"Got anything to eat?" + +"No." + +"Oh, well, we can fight on empty bellies. The Germans will empty them +for us anyhow." + +"The hell they will." + +"I'm pretty nearly all in." + +"So's everyone." + +They put Hugo on watch because he still seemed fresh. Those men who were +not compelled to stay awake fell into the dirt and slept immediately. +Toward dawn Hugo heard sounds in no man's land. He leaped over the +parapet. In three jumps he found himself among the enemy. They were +creeping forward. Hugo leaped back. "_Ils viennent!_" + +Men who slept like death were kicked conscious. They rose and fired into +the night. The surprise of the attack was destroyed. The enemy came on, +engaging in the darkness with the exhausted Legionnaires. Twice Hugo +went among them when inundation threatened and, using his rifle barrel +as a club, laid waste on every hand. He walked through them striking and +shattering. And twice he saved his salient from extermination. Day came +sullenly. It began to rain. The men stood silently among their dead. + +Hugo lit a cigarette. His eyes moved up and down the shambles. At +intervals of two yards a man, his helmet trickling rain, his clothes +filthy, his face inscrutable. Shayne was there on sagging knees. Hugo +could not understand why he had not been killed. + +Hugo was learning about war. He thought then that the task which he had +set for himself was not altogether to his liking. There should be other +and more important things for him to do. He did not like to slaughter +individuals. The day passed like a cycle in hell. No change in the +personnel except that made by an occasional death. No food. No water. +They seemed to be exiled by their countrymen in a pool of fire and +famine and destruction. At dusk Hugo spoke to the captain. + +"We cannot last another night without water, food," he said. + +"We shall die here, then." + +"I should like, sir, to volunteer to go back and bring food." + +"We need ammunition more." + +"Ammunition, then." + +"One man could not bring enough to assist--much." + +"I can." + +"You are valuable here. With your club and your charmed life, you have +already saved this remnant of good soldiers." + +"I will return in less than an hour." + +"Good luck, then." + +Where there had been a man, there was nothing. The captain blinked his +eyes and stared at the place. He swore softly in French and plunged into +his dug-out at the sound of ripping in the sky. + +A half hour passed. The steady, nerve-racking bombardment continued at +an unvaried pace. Then there was a heavy thud like that of a shell +landing and not exploding. The captain looked. A great bundle, tied +together by ropes, had descended into the trench. A man emerged from +beneath it. The captain passed his hand over his eyes. Here was +ammunition for the rifles and the machine guns in plenty. Here was food. +Here were four huge tins of water, one of them leaking where a shell +fragment had pierced it. Here was a crate of canned meat and a sack of +onions and a stack of bread loaves. Hugo broke the ropes. His chest rose +and fell rapidly. He was sweating. The bundle he had carried weighed +more than a ton--and he had been running very swiftly. + +The captain looked again. A case of cognac. Hugo was carrying things +into the dug-out. "Where?" the captain asked. + +Hugo smiled and named a town thirty kilometres behind the lines. A town +where citizens and soldiers together were even then in frenzied +discussion over the giant who had fallen upon their stores and supplies +and taken them, running off like a locomotive, in a hail of bullets that +did no harm to him. + +"And how?" the captain asked. + +"I am strong." + +The captain shrugged and turned his head away. His men were eating the +food, and drinking water mixed with brandy, and stuffing their pouches +with ammunition. The machine gunners were laughing. They would not be +forced to spare the precious belts when the Germans came in the +morning. Hugo sat among them, dining his tremendous appetite. + +Three days went by. Every day, twice, five times, they were attacked. +But no offence seemed capable of driving that demoniac cluster of men +from their position. A demon, so the enemy whispered, came out and +fought for them. On the third day the enemy retreated along four +kilometres of front, and the French moved up to reclaim many, many acres +of their beloved soil. The Legionnaires were relieved and another +episode was added to their valiant history. + +Hugo slept for twenty hours in the wooden barracks. After that he was +wakened by the captain's orderly and summoned to his quarters. The +captain smiled when he saluted. "My friend," he said, "I wish to thank +you in behalf of my country for your labour. I have recommended you for +the Croix de Guerre." + +Hugo took his outstretched hand. "I am pleased that I have helped." + +"And now," the captain continued, "you will tell me how you executed +that so unusual coup." + +Hugo hesitated. It was the opportunity he had sought, the chance that +might lead to a special commission whereby he could wreak the vengeance +of his muscles on the enemy. But he was careful, because he did not feel +secure in trusting the captain with too much of his secret. Even in a +war it was too terrible. They would mistrust him, or they would attempt +to send him to their biologists. And he wanted to accomplish his mission +under their permission and with their co-operation. It would be more +valuable then and of greater magnitude. So he smiled and said: "Have you +ever heard of Colorado?" + +"No, I have not heard. It is a place?" + +"A place in America. A place that has scarcely been explored. I was born +there. And all the men of Colorado are born as I was born and are like +me. We are very strong. We are great fighters. We cannot be wounded +except by the largest shells. I took that package by force and I carried +it to you on my back, running swiftly." + +The captain appeared politely interested. He thumbed a dispatch. He +stared at Hugo. "If that is the truth, you shall show me." + +"It is the truth--and I shall show you." + +Hugo looked around. Finally he walked over to the sentry at the flap of +the tent and took his rifle. The man squealed in protest. Hugo lifted +him off the floor by the collar, shook him, and set him down. + +The man shouted in dismay and then was silent at a word from the +captain. Hugo weighed the gun in his hands while they watched and then +slowly bent the barrel double. Next he tore it from its stock. Then he +grasped the parallel steel ends and broke them apart with a swift +wrench. The captain half rose, his eyes bulged, he knocked over his +ink-well. His hand tugged at his moustache and waved spasmodically. + +"You see?" Hugo said. + +The captain went to staff meeting that afternoon very thoughtful. He +understood the difficulty of exhibiting his soldier's prowess under +circumstances that would assure the proper commission. He even +considered remaining silent about Hugo. With such a man in his company +it would soon be illustrious along the whole broad front. But the chance +came. When the meeting was finished and the officers relaxed over their +wine, a colonel brought up the subject of the merits of various breeds +of men as soldiers. + +"I think," he said, "that the Prussians are undoubtedly our most +dangerous foe. On our own side we have--" + +"Begging the colonel's pardon," the captain said, "there is a species of +fighter unknown, or almost unknown, in this part of the world, who +excels by far all others." + +"And who may they be?" the colonel asked stiffly. + +"Have you ever heard of the Colorados?" + +"No," the colonel said. + +Another officer meditated. "They are redskins, American Indians, are +they not?" + +The captain shrugged. "I do not know. I know only that they are superior +to all other soldiers." + +"And in what way?" + +The captain's eyes flickered. "I have one Colorado in my troops. I will +tell you what he did in five days near the town of Barsine." The +officers listened. When the captain finished, the colonel patted his +shoulder. "That is a very amusing fabrication. Very. With a thousand +such men, the war would be ended in a week. Captain Crouan, I fear you +have been overgenerous in pouring the wine." + +The captain rose, saluted. "With your permission, I shall cause my +Colorado to be brought and you shall see." + +The other men laughed. "Bring him, by all means." + +The captain dispatched an orderly. A few minutes later, Hugo was +announced at headquarters. The captain introduced him. "Here, messieurs, +is a Colorado. What will you have him do?" + +The colonel, who had expected the soldier to be both embarrassed and +made ridiculous, was impressed by Hugo's calm demeanour. "You are +strong?" he said with a faint irony. + +"Exceedingly." + +"He is not humble, at least, gentlemen." Laughter. The colonel fixed +Hugo with his eye. "Then, my good fellow, if you are so strong, if you +can run so swiftly and carry such burdens, bring us one of our beautiful +seventy-fives from the artillery." + +"With your written order, if you please." + +The colonel started, wrote the order laughingly, and gave it to Hugo. He +left the room. + +"It is a good joke," the colonel said. "But I fear it is harsh on the +private." + +The captain shrugged. Wine was poured. In a few minutes they heard heavy +footsteps outside the tent. "He is here!" the captain cried. The +officers rushed forward. Hugo stood outside the tent with the cannon +they had requested lifted over his head in one hand. With that same hand +clasped on the breach, he set it down. The colonel paled and gulped. +"Name of the mother of God! He has brought it." + +Hugo nodded. "It was as nothing, my colonel. Now I will show you what we +men from Colorado can do. Watch." + +They eyed him. There was a grating sound beneath his feet. Those who +were quickest of vision saw his body catapult through the air high over +their heads. It landed, bounced prodigiously, vanished. + +Captain Crouan coughed and swallowed. He faced his superiors, trying to +seem nonchalant. "That, gentlemen, is the sort of thing the Colorados +do--for sport." + +The colonel recovered first. "It is not human. Gentlemen, we have been +in the presence of the devil himself." + +"Or the Good Lord." + +The captain shook his head. "He is a man, I tell you. In Colorado all +the men are like that. He told me so himself. When he first enlisted, he +came to me and asked for a special commission to go to Berlin and smash +the Reich--to bring back the Kaiser himself. I thought he was mad. I +made him peel potatoes. He did not say any more foolish things. He was a +good soldier. Then the battle came and I saw him, not believing I saw +him, standing on the parapet and wielding his rifle like the lightning, +killing I do not know how many men. Hundreds certainly, perhaps +thousands. Ah, it is as I said, the Colorados are the finest soldiers on +earth. They are more than men." + +"He comes!" + +Hugo burst from the sky, moving like a hawk. He came from the direction +of the lines, many miles away. There was a bundle slung across his +shoulder. There were holes in his uniform. He landed heavily among the +officers and set down his burden. It was a German. He dropped to the +ground. + +"Water for him," Hugo panted. "He has fainted. I snatched him from his +outpost in a trench." + + + + +XIII + + +At Blaisencourt it was spring again. The war was nearly a year old. +Blaisencourt was now a street of houses' ghosts, of rubble and dirt, +populated by soldiers. A little new grass sprouted peevishly here and +there; an occasional house retained enough of its original shape to +harbour an industry. Captain Crouan, his arm in a sling, was looking +over a heap of débris with the aid of field glasses. + +"I see him," he said, pointing to a place on the boiling field where an +apparent lump of soil had detached itself. + +"He rises! He goes on! He takes one of his mighty leaps! Ah, God, if I +only had a company of such men!" + +His aide, squatted near by, muttered something under his breath. The +captain spoke again. "He is very near their infernal little gun now. He +has taken his rope. Ahaaaa! He spins it in the air. It falls. They are +astonished. They rise up in the trench. Quick, Phèdre! Give me a rifle." +The rifle barked sharply four, five times. Its bullet found a mark. +Then another. "Ahaaa! Two of them! And M. Danner now has his rope on +that pig's breath. It comes up. See! He has taken it under his arm! They +are shooting their machine guns. He drops into a shell hole. He has been +hit, but he is laughing at them. He leaps. Look out, Phèdre!" + +Hugo landed behind the débris with a small German trench mortar in his +arms. He set it on the floor. The captain opened his mouth, and Hugo +waved to him to be silent. Deliberately, Hugo looked over the rickety +parapet of loose stones. He elevated the muzzle of the gun and drew back +the lanyard. The captain, grinning, watched through his glasses. The gun +roared. + +Its shell exploded presently on the brow of the enemy trench, tossing up +a column of smoke and earth. "I should have brought some ammunition with +me," Hugo said. + +Captain Crouan stared at the little gun. "Pig," he said. "Son of a pig! +Five of my men are in your little belly! Bah!" He kicked it. + + * * * * * + +Summer in Aix-au-Dixvaches. A tall Englishman addressing Captain Crouan. +His voice was irritated by the heat. "Is it true that you French have an +Indian scout here who can bash in those Minenwerfers?" + +"_Pardon, mon colonel, mais je ne comprends pas l'anglais._" + +He began again in bad French. Captain Crouan smiled. "Ah? You are +troubled there on your sector? You wish to borrow our astonishing +soldier? It will be a pleasure, I assure you." + +Hot calm night. The sky pin-pricked with stars, the air redolent with +the mushy flavour of dead meat. So strong it left a taste in the mouth. +So strong that food and water tasted like faintly chlorinated +putrescence. Hugo, his blue uniform darker with perspiration, tramped +through the blackness to a dug-out. Fifteen minutes in candlelight with +a man who spoke English in an odd manner. + +"They've been raisin' bloody hell with us from a point about there." The +tap of a pencil. "We've got little enough confidence in you, God +knows--" + +"Thank you." + +"Don't be huffy. We're obliged to your captain for the loan of you. But +we've lost too many trying to take the place ourselves not to be fed up +with it. I suppose you'll want a raiding party?" + +"No, thanks." + +"But, cripes, you can't make it there alone." + +"I can do it." Hugo smiled. "And you've lost so many of your own men--" + +"Very well." + + * * * * * + +Otto Meyer pushed his helmet back on his sandy-haired head and gasped in +the feverish air. A non-commissioned officer passing behind him shoved +the helmet over his eyes with a muttered word of caution. Otto +shrugged. Half a dozen men lounged near by. Beside and above them were +the muzzles of four squat guns and the irregular silhouette of a heap of +ammunition. Two of the men rolled onto their backs and panted. "I wish," +one said in a soft voice, "that I was back in the Hofbrau at Munich with +a tall stein of beer, with that fat _Fräulein_ that kissed me in the +Potsdam station last September sitting at my side and the orchestra +playing--" + +Otto flung a clod of dank earth at the speaker. There were chuckles from +the shadows that sucked in and exhaled the rancid air. Outside the pit +in which they lay, there was a gentle thud. + +Otto scrambled into a sitting posture. "What is that?" + +"Nothing. Even these damned English aren't low enough to fight us in +this weather." + +"You can never tell. At night, in the first battle of--listen!" + +The thud was repeated, much closer. It was an ominous sound, like the +drop of a sack of earth from a great height. Otto picked up a gun. He +was a man who perspired freely, and now, in that single minute, his face +trickled. He pointed the gun into the air and pulled the trigger. It +kicked back and jarred his arm. In the glaring light that followed, six +men peered through the spider-web of the wire. They saw nothing. + +"You see?" + +Their eyes smarted with the light and dark, so swiftly exchanged. Came +a thud in their midst. A great thud that spattered the dirt in all +directions. "Something has fallen." "A shell!" "It's a dud!" + +The men rose and tried to run. Otto had regained his vision and saw the +object that had descended. A package of yellow sticks tied to a great +mass of iron--wired to it. Instead of running, he grasped it. His +strength was not enough to lift it. Then, for one short eternity, he saw +a sizzling spark move toward the sticks. He clutched at it. "Help! The +guns must be saved. A bomb!" He knew his arms surrounded death. "I +cannot--" + +His feeble voice was blown to the four winds at that instant. A terrible +explosion burst from him, shattering the escaping men, blasting the +howitzers into fragments, enlarging the pit to enormous dimensions. Both +fronts clattered with machine-gun fire. Flares lit the terrain. Hugo, +running as if with seven-league boots, was thrown on his face by the +concussion. + + * * * * * + +Winter. Mud. A light fall of snow that was split into festers by the +guns before it could anneal the ancient sores. Hugo shivered and stared +into no man's land, whence a groan had issued for twenty hours, audible +occasionally over the tumult of the artillery. He saw German eyes turned +mutely on the same heap of rags that moved pitifully over the snow, +leaving a red wake, dragging a bloody thing behind. It rose and fell, +moving parallel to the two trenches. Many machine-gun bullets had +either missed it or increased its crimson torment. Hugo went out and +killed the heap of rags, with a revolver that cracked until the groans +stopped in a low moan. Breaths on both sides were bated. The rags had +been gray-green. A shout of low, rumbling praise came from the silent +enemy trenches. Hugo looked over there for a moment and smiled. He +looked down at the thing and vomited. The guns began again. + + * * * * * + +Another winter. Time had become stagnant. All about it was a pool of mud +and suppuration, and shot through it was the sound of guns and the scent +of women, the taste of wine and the touch of cold flesh. Somewhere, he +could not remember distinctly where, Hugo had a clean uniform, a +portfolio of papers, a jewel-case of medals. He was a great man--a man +feared. The Colorado in the Foreign Legion. Men would talk about what +they had seen him accomplish all through the next fifty years--at +watering places in the Sahara, at the crackling fires of country-house +parties in Shropshire, on the shores of the South Seas, on the moon, +maybe. Old men, at the last, would clear the phlegm from their skinny +throats and begin: "When I was a-fightin' with the Legion in my youngest +days, there was a fellow in our company that came from some place in +wild America that I disrecollect." And younger, more sanguine men would +listen and shake their heads and wish that there was a war for them to +fight. + +Hugo was not satisfied with that. Still, he could see no decent exit and +contrive no better use for himself. He clung frantically to the ideals +he had taken with him and to the splendid purpose with which he had +emblazoned his mad lust to enlist. Marseilles and the sentiment it had +inspired seemed very far away. He thought about it as he walked toward +the front, his head bent into the gale and his helmet pitched to protect +his eyes from the sting of the rain. + +That night he slept with Shayne, a lieutenant now, twice wounded, thrice +decorated, and, like Hugo, thinner than he had been, older, with eyes +grown bleak, and seldom vehement. He resembled his lean Yankee ancestors +after their exhausting campaigns of the wilderness, alive and sentient +only through a sheer stubbornness that brooked neither element nor +disaster. Only at rare moments did the slight strain of his French blood +lift him from that grim posture. Such a moment was afforded by the +arrival of Hugo. + +"Great God, Hugo! We haven't seen you in a dog's age." Other soldiers +smiled and brought rusty cigarettes into the dug-out where they sat and +smoked. + +Hugo held out his hand. "Been busy. Glad to see you." + +"Yes. I know how busy you've been. Up and down the lines we hear about +you. _Le Colorado._ Damn funny war. You'd think you weren't human, or +anywhere near human, to hear these birds. Wish you'd tell me how you get +away with it. Hasn't one nicked you yet?" + +"Not yet." + +"God damn. Got me here"--he tapped his shoulder--"and here"--his thigh. + +"That's tough. I guess the sort of work I do isn't calculated to be as +risky as yours," Hugo said. + +"Huh! That you can tell to Sweeny." The Frenchmen were still sitting +politely, listening to a dialogue they could not understand. Hugo and +Shayne eyed each other in silence. A long, penetrating silence. At +length the latter said soberly: "Still as enthusiastic as you were that +night in Marseilles?" + +"Are you?" + +"I didn't have much conception of what war would be then." + +"Neither did I," Hugo responded. "And I'm not very enthusiastic any +more." + +"Oh, well--" + +"Exactly." + +"Heard from your family?" + +"Sure." + +"Well--" + +They relapsed into silence again. By and by they ate a meal of cold +food, supplemented by rank, steaming coffee. Then they slept. Before +dawn Hugo woke feeling like a man in the mouth of a volcano that had +commenced to erupt. The universe was shaking. The walls of the dug-out +were molting chunks of earth. The scream and burst of shells were +constant. He heard Shayne's voice above the din, issuing orders in +French. Their batteries were to be phoned. A protective counter-fire. A +_barrage_ in readiness in case of attack, which seemed imminent. Larger +shells drowned the voice. Hugo rose and stood beside Shayne. + +"Coming over?" + +"Coming over." + +A shapeless face spoke in the gloom. The voice panted. "We must get out +of here, my lieutenant. They are smashing in the dug-out." A methodical +scramble to the orifice. Hell was rampaging in the trench. The shells +fell everywhere. Shayne shook his head. It was neither light nor dark. +The incessant blinding fire did not make things visible except for +fragments of time and in fantastic perspectives. Things belched and +boomed and smashed the earth and whistled and howled. It was impossible +to see how life could exist in that caldron, and yet men stood calmly +all along the line. A few of them, here and there, were obliterated. + +The red sky in the southeast became redder with the rising sun. Hugo +remained close to the wall. It was no novelty for him to be under shell +fire. But at such times he felt the need of a caution with which he +could ordinarily dispense. If one of the steel cylinders found him, even +his mighty frame might not contain itself. Even he might be rent +asunder. Shayne saw him and smiled. Twenty yards away a geyser of fire +sprayed the heavens. Ten feet away a fragment of shell lashed down a +pile of sand-bags. Shayne's smile widened. Hugo returned it. + +Then red fury enveloped the two men. Hugo was crushed ferociously +against the wall and liberated in the same second. He fell forward, his +ears singing and his head dizzy. He lay there, aching. Dark red stains +flowed over his face from his nose and ears. Painfully he stood up. A +soldier was watching him from a distance with alarmed eyes. Hugo +stepped. He found that locomotion was possible. The bedlam increased. It +brought a sort of madness. He remembered Shayne. He searched in the +smoking, stinking muck. He found the shoulders and part of Shayne's +head. He picked them up in his hands, disregarding the butchered ends of +the raw gobbet. White electricity crackled in his head. + +He leaped to the parapet, shaking his fists. "God damn you dirty sons of +bitches. I'll make you pay for this. You got him, got him, you bastards! +I'll shove your filthy hides down the devil's throat and through his +guts. Oh, Jesus!" He did not feel the frantic tugging of his fellows. He +ran into that bubbling, doom-ridden chaos, waving his arms and shouting +maniacal profanities. A dozen times he was knocked down. He bled slowly +where fragments had battered him. He crossed over and paused on the +German parapet. He was like a being of steel. Bullets sprayed him. His +arms dangled and lifted. Barbed wire trailed behind him. + +Down before him, shoulder to shoulder, the attacking regiments waited +for the last crescendo of the bombardment. They saw him come out of the +fury and smiled grimly. They knew such madness. They shot. He came on. +At last they could hear his voice dimly through the tumult. Someone +shouted that he was mad--to beware when he fell. Hugo jumped among them. +Bayonets rose. Hugo wrenched three knives from their wielders in one +wild clutch. His hands went out, snatching and squeezing. That was all. +No weapons, no defence. Just--hands. Whatever they caught they crushed +flat, and heads fell into those dreadful fingers, sides, legs, arms, +bellies. Bayonets slid from his tawny skin, taking his clothes. By and +by, except for his shoes, he was naked. His fingers had made a hundred +bunches of clotted pulp and then a thousand as he walked swiftly forward +in that trench. Ahead of him was a file of green; behind, a clogged row +of writhing men. Scarcely did the occupants of each new traverse see him +before they were smitten. The wounds he inflicted were monstrous. On he +walked, his voice now stilled, his breath sucking and whistling through +his teeth, his hands flailing and pinching and spurting red with every +contact. No more formidable engine of desolation had been seen by man, +no more titanic fury, no swifter and surer death. For thirty minutes he +raged through that line. The men thinned. He had crossed the attacking +front. + +Then the barrage lifted. But no whistles blew. No soldiers rose. A few +raised their heads and then lay down again. Hugo stopped and went back +into the _abattoir_. He leaped to the parapet. The French saw him, +silhouetted against the sky. The second German wave, coming slowly over +a far hill, saw him and hesitated. No ragged line of advancing men. No +cacophony of rifle fire. Only that strange, savage figure. A man dipped +in scarlet, nude, dripping, panting. Slowly in that hiatus he wheeled. +His lungs thundered to the French. "Come on, you black bastards. I've +killed them all. Come on. We'll send them down to hell." + +The officers looked and understood that something phenomenal had +happened. No Germans were coming. A man stood above their trench. "Come, +quick!" Hugo shouted. He saw that they did not understand. He stood an +instant, fell into the trench; and presently a shower of German corpses +flung through the air in wide arcs and landed on the very edge of the +French position. Then they came, and Hugo, seeing them, went on alone to +meet the second line. He might have forged on through that bloody swathe +to the heart of the Empire if his vitality had been endless. But, some +time in the battle, he fell unconscious on the field, and his +forward-leaning comrades, pushing back the startled enemy, found him +lying there. + +They made a little knot around him, silent, quivering. "It is the +Colorado," someone said. "His friend, Shayne--it is he who was the +lieutenant just killed." + +They shook their heads and felt a strange fear of the unconscious man. +"He is breathing." They called for stretcher-bearers. They faced the +enemy again, bent over on the stocks of their rifles, surged forward. + + * * * * * + +Hugo was washed and dressed in pyjamas. His wounds had healed without +the necessity of a single stitch. He was grateful for that. Otherwise +the surgeons might have had a surprise which would have been difficult +to allay. He sat in a wheel chair, staring across a lawn. An angular +woman in an angular hat and tailored clothes was trying to engage him in +conversation. + +"Is it very painful, my man?" + +Hugo was seeing that trench again--the pulp and blood and hate of it. +"Not very." + +Her tongue and saliva made a noise. "Don't tell me. I know it was. I +know how you all bleed and suffer." + +"Madam, it happens that my wounds were quite superficial." + +"Nonsense, my boy. They wouldn't have brought you to a base hospital in +that case. You can't fool me." + +"I was suffering only from exhaustion." + +She paused. He saw a gleam in her eye. "I suppose you don't like to +talk--about things. Poor boy! But I imagine your life has been so full +of horror that it would be good for you to unburden yourself. Now tell +me, just what does it feel like to bayonet a man?" + +Hugo trembled. He controlled his voice. "Madam," he replied, "it feels +exactly like sticking your finger into a warm, steaming pile of +cow-dung." + +"Oh!" she gasped. And he heard her repeat it again in the corridor. + + + + +XIV + + + "Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Jordan Shayne," Hugo wrote. Then he paused in + thought. He began again. "I met your son in Marseilles and was with + him most of the time until his death." He hesitated. "In fact, he + died in my arms from the effect of the same shell which sent me to + this hospital. He is buried in Carcy cemetery, on the south side. + It is for that reason I take the liberty to address you. + + "I thought that you would like to know some of the things that he + did not write to you. Your son enlisted because he felt the war + involved certain ideals that were worthy of preservation. That he + gave his life for those ideals must be a source of pride to you. In + training he was always controlled, kindly, unquarrelsome, + comprehending. In battle he was aggressive, brilliant, and more + courageous than any other man I have ever known. + + "In October, a year ago, he was decorated for bringing in Captain + Crouan, who was severely wounded during an attack that was + repulsed. Under heavy shell fire Tom went boldly into no man's + land and carried the officer from a shell pit on his back. At the + time Tom himself sustained three wounds. He was mentioned a number + of times in the dispatches for his leadership of attacks and + patrols. He was decorated a second time for the capture of a German + field officer and three of his staff, a coup which your son + executed almost single-handed. + + "Following his death his company made an attack to avenge him, + which wiped out the entire enemy position along a sector nearly a + kilometre in width and which brought a permanent advantage to the + Allied lines. That is mute testimony of his popularity among the + officers and men. I know of no man more worthy of the name + 'American,' no American more worthy of the words 'gentleman' and + 'hero.' + + "I realize the slight comfort of these things, and yet I feel bound + to tell you of them, because Tom was my friend, and his death is + grievous to me as well as to you. + + "Yours sincerely, + + "(LIEUTENANT) HUGO DANNER" + +Hugo posted the letter. When the answer came, he was once again in +action, the guns chugging and rumbling, the earth shaking. The reply +read: + + "DEAR LIEUTENANT DANNER: + + "Thank you for your letter in reference to our son. We knew that he + had enlisted in some foreign service. We did not know of his + death. I am having your statements checked, because, if they are + true, I shall be one of the happiest persons alive, and his mother + will be both happy and sad. The side of young Tom which you claim + to have seen is one quite unfamiliar to us. At home he was always a + waster, much of a snob, and impossible to control. It may be harsh + to say such things of him now that he is dead, but I cannot recall + one noble deed, one unselfish act, in his life here with us. + + "That I have a dead son would not sadden me. Tom had been + disinherited by us, his mother and father. But that my dead son was + a hero makes me feel that at last, coming into the Shayne blood and + heritage, he has atoned. And so I honour him. If the records show + that all you said of him is true, I shall not only honour him in + this country, but I shall come to France to pay my tribute with a + full heart and a knowledge that neither he nor I lived in vain. + + "Gratefully yours, + + "R. J. SHAYNE" + +Hugo reread the letter and stood awhile with wistful eyes. He remembered +Shayne's Aunt Emma, Shayne's bitter calumniation of his family. Well, +they had not understood him and he had not wanted them to understand +him. Perhaps Shayne had been more content than he admitted in the mud of +the trenches. The war had been a real thing to him. Hugo thought of its +insufficiencies for himself. The world was not enough for Shayne, but +the war had been. Both were insufficient for Hugo Danner. He listened to +the thunder in the sky tiredly. + +Two months later Hugo was ordered from rest billets to the major's +quarters. A middle-aged man and woman accompanied by a sleek Frenchman +awaited him. The man stepped forward with dignified courtesy. "I am Tom +Shayne's father. This is Mrs. Shayne." + +Hugo felt a great lack of interest in them. They had come too late. It +was their son who had been his friend. He almost regretted the letter. +He shook hands with them. Mrs. Shayne went to an automobile. Her husband +invited Hugo to a café. Over the wine he became suddenly less dignified, +more human, and almost pathetic. "Tell me about him, Danner. I loved +that kid once, you know." + +Hugo found himself unexpectedly moved. The man was so eager, so +strangely happy. He stroked his white moustache and turned away moist +eyes. So Hugo told him. He talked endlessly of the trenches and the dark +wet nights and the fire that stabbed through them. He invented brave +sorties for his friend, tripled his accomplishments, and put gaiety and +wit in his mouth. The father drank every syllable as if he was +committing the whole story to memory as the text of a life's solace. At +last he was crying. + +"That was the Tom I knew," Hugo said softly. + +"And that was the Tom I dreamed and hoped and thought he would become +when he was a little shaver. Well, he did, Danner." + +"A thousand times he did." + +Ralph Jordan Shayne blew his nose unashamedly. He thought of his +patiently waiting wife. "I've got to go, I suppose. This has been more +than kind of you, Mr. Danner--Lieutenant Danner. I'm glad--more glad +than I can say--that you were there. I understand from the major that +you're no small shakes in this army yourself." He smiled deferentially. +"I wish there was something we could do for you." + +"Nothing. Thank you, Mr. Shayne." + +"I'm going to give you my card. In New York--my name is not without +meaning." + +"It is very familiar to me. Was before I met your son." + +"If you ever come to the city--I mean, when you come--you must look us +up. Anything we can do--in the way of jobs, positions--" He was +confused. + +Hugo shook his head. "That's very kind of you, sir. But I have some +means of my own and, right now, I'm not even thinking of going back to +New York." + +Mr. Shayne stepped into the car. "I would like to do something." Hugo +realized the sincerity of that desire. He reflected. + +"Nothing I can think of--" + +"I'm a banker. Perhaps--if I might take the liberty--I could handle your +affairs?" + +Hugo smiled. "My affairs consist of one bank account in the City Loan +that would seem very small to you, Mr. Shayne." + +"Why, that's one of my banks. I'll arrange it. You know and I know how +small the matter of money is. But I'd appreciate your turning over some +of your capital to me. I would consider it a blessed opportunity to +return a service, a great service with a small one, I'm afraid." + +"Thanks," Hugo said. + +The banker scribbled a statement, asked a question, and raised his +eyebrows over the amount Hugo gave him. Then he was the father again. +"We've been to the cemetery, Danner. We owe that privilege to you. It +says there, in French: 'The remains of a great hero who gave his life +for France.' Not America, my boy; but I think that France was a worthy +cause." + +When they had gone, Hugo spent a disturbed afternoon. He had not been so +moved in many, many months. + + + + +XV + + +Now the streets of Paris were assailed by the colour of olive drab, the +twang of Yankee accents, the music of Broadway songs. Hugo watched the +first parade with eyes somewhat proud and not a little sombre. Each +shuffling step seemed to ask a rhythmic question. Who would not return +to Paris? Who would return once and not again? Who would be blind? Who +would be hideous? Who would be armless, legless, who would wear silver +plates and leather props for his declining years? Hugo wondered, and, +looking into those sometimes stern and sometimes ribald faces, he saw +that they had not yet commenced to wonder. + +They did not know the hammer and shock of falling shells and the jelly +and putty which men became. They chafed and bantered and stormed every +café and cocotte impartially, recklessly. Even the Legion had been more +grim and better prepared for the iron feet of war. They fell upon Hugo +with their atrocious French--two young men who wanted a drink and could +not make the bar-tender understand. + +"Hey, _fransay_," they called to him, "_comment dire que nous voulez des +choses boire?_" + +Hugo smiled. "What do you birds want to drink?" + +"God Almighty! Here's a Frog that speaks United States. Get the gang. +What's your name, bo?" + +"Danner." + +"Come on an' have a flock of drinks on us. You're probably dying on +French pay. You order for the gang and we'll treat." Eager, grinning +American faces. "Can you get whisky in this God-forsaken dump?" + +"Straight or highball?" + +"That's the talk. Straight, Dan. We're in the army now." + +Hugo drank with them. Only for one moment did they remember they were in +the army to fight: "Say, Dan, the war really isn't as tough as they +claim, is it?" + +"I don't know how tough they claim it is." + +"Well, you seen much fightin'?" + +"Three years." + +"Is it true that the Heinies--?" His hands indicated his question. + +"Sometimes. Accidentally, more or less. You can't help it." + +"And do them machine guns really mow 'em down?" + +Hugo shrugged. "There are only four men in service now who started with +my company." + +"Ouch! _Garçon! Encore!_ An' tell him to make it double--no, +triple--Dan, old man. It may be my last." To Hugo: "Well, it's about +time we got here an' took the war off your shoulders. You guys sure have +had a bellyful. An' I'm goin' to get me one right here and now. Bottoms +up, you guys." + +Hugo was transferred to an American unit. The officers belittled the +recommendations that came with him. They put him in the ranks. He served +behind the lines for a week. Then his regiment moved up. As soon as the +guns began to rumble, a nervous second lieutenant edged toward the +demoted private. "Say, Danner, you've been in this before. Do you think +it's all right to keep on along this road the way we are?" + +"I'm sure I couldn't say. You're taking a chance. Plane strafing and +shells." + +"Well, what else are we to do? These are our orders." + +"Nothing," Hugo said. + +When the first shells fell among them, however, Danner forgot that his +transference had cost his commission and sadly bereft Captain Crouan and +his command. He forgot his repressed anger at the stupidity of American +headquarters and their bland assumption of knowledge superior to that +gained by three years of actual fighting. He virtually took charge of +his company, ignoring the bickering of a lieutenant who swore and +shouted and accomplished nothing and who was presently beheaded for his +lack of caution. A month later, with troops that had some feeling of +respect for the enemy--a feeling gained through close and gory +association--Hugo was returned his commission. + +Slowly at first, and with increasing momentum, the war was pushed up out +of the trenches and the Germans retreated. The summer that filled the +windows of American homes with gold stars passed. Hugo worked like a +slave out beyond the front trenches, scouting, spying, destroying, +salvaging, bending his heart and shoulders to a task that had long since +become an acid routine. September. October. November. The end of that +holocaust was very near. + +Then there came a day warmer than the rest and less rainy. Hugo was +riding toward the lines on a _camion_. He rode as much as possible now. +He had not slept for two days. His eyes were red and twitching. He felt +tired--tired as if his fatigue were the beginning of death--tired so +that nothing counted or mattered--tired of killing, of hating, of +suffering--tired even of an ideal that had tarnished through long +weathering. The _camion_ was steel and it rattled and bumped as it moved +over the road. Hugo lay flat in it, trying to close his eyes. + +After a time, moving between the stumps of a row of poplars, they came +abreast of a regiment returning from the battle. They walked slowly and +dazedly. Each individual was still amazed at being alive after the +things he had witnessed. Hugo raised himself and looked at them. The +same expression had often been on the faces of the French. The long line +of the regiment ended. Then there was an empty place on the road, and +the speed of the truck increased. + +Finally it stopped with a sharp jar, and the driver shouted that he +could go no farther. Hugo clambered to the ground. He estimated that the +battery toward which he was travelling was a mile farther. He began to +walk. There was none of the former lunge and stride in his steps. He +trudged, rather, his head bent forward. A little file of men approached +him, and, even at a distance, he did not need a second glance to +identify them. Walking wounded. + +By ones and twos they began to pass him. He paid scant attention. Their +field dressings were stained with the blood that their progress cost. +They cursed and muttered. Someone had given them cigarettes, and a dozen +wisps of smoke rose from each group. It was not until he reached the end +of the straggling line that he looked up. Then he saw one man whose arms +were both under bandage walking with another whose eyes were covered and +whose hand, resting on his companion's shoulder, guided his stumbling +feet. + +Hugo viewed them as they came on and presently heard their conversation. +"Christ, it hurts," one of them said. + +"The devil with hurting, boy," the blinded man answered. "So do I, for +that matter. I feel like there was a hot poker in my brains." + +"Want another butt?" + +"No, thanks. Makes me kind of sick to drag on them. Wish I had a drink, +though." + +"Who doesn't?" + +Hugo heard his voice. "Hey, you guys," it said. "Here's some water. And +a shot of cognac, too." + +The first man stopped and the blind man ran into him, bumping his head. +He gasped with pain, but his lips smiled. "Damn nice of you, whoever you +are." + +They took the canteen and swallowed. "Go on," Hugo said, and permitted +himself a small lie. "I can get more in a couple of hours." He produced +his flask. "And finish off on a shot of this." + +He held the containers for the armless man and handed them to the other. +Their clothes were ragged and stained. Their shoes were in pieces. Sweat +had soaked under the blind man's armpits and stained his tunic. As Hugo +watched him swallow thirstily, he started. The chin and the hair were +familiar. His mind spun. He knew the voice, although its tenor was sadly +changed. + +"Good God," he said involuntarily, "it's Lefty!" + +Lefty stiffened. "Who are you?" + +"Hugo Danner." + +"Hugo Danner?" The tortured brain reflected. + +"Hugo! Good old Hugo! What, in the name of Jesus, are you doing here?" + +"Same thing you are." + +An odd silence fell. The man with the shattered arms broke it. "Know +this fellow?" + +"Do I know him! Gee! He was at college with me. One of my buddies. +Gosh!" His hand reached out. "Put it there, Hugo." + +They shook hands. "Got it bad, Lefty?" + +The bound head shook. "Not so bad. I guess--I kind of feel that I won't +be able to see much any more. Eyes all washed out. Got mustard gas in +'em. But I'll be all right, you know. A little thing like that's +nothing. Glad to be alive. Still have my sex appeal, anyhow. Still got +the old appetite. But--listen--what happened to you? Why in hell did you +quit? Woodman nearly went crazy looking for you." + +"Oh--" Hugo's thoughts went back a distance that seemed infinite, into +another epoch and another world--"oh, I just couldn't stick it. Say, you +guys, wait a minute." He turned. His _camion_-driver was lingering in +the distance. "Wait here." He rushed back. The armless man whistled. + +"God in heaven! Your friend there can sure cover the ground." + +"Yeah," Lefty said absently. "He always could." + +In a moment Hugo returned. "I got it all fixed up for you two to ride +in. No limousine, but it'll carry you." + +Lefty's lip trembled. "Gee--Jesus Christ--" he amended stubbornly; +"that's decent. I don't feel so dusty to-day. Damn it, if I had any +eyes, I guess I'd cry. Must be the cognac." + +"Nothing at all, Lefty old kid. Here, I'll give you a hand." He took +Lefty's arm over his shoulder, encircled him with his own, and carried +him rapidly over the broken road. + +"Still got the old fight," Lefty murmured as he felt himself rushed +forward. + +"Still." + +"Been in this mess long?" + +"Since the beginning." + +"I should have thought of that. I often wondered what became of you. +Iris used to wonder, too." + +"How is she?" + +"All right." + +They reached the truck. Lefty sat down on the metal bottom with a sigh. +"Thanks, old bean. I was just about _kaputt_. Tough going, this war. I +saw my first shell fall yesterday. Never saw a single German at all. One +of those squdgy things came across, and before I knew it, there was +onion in my eye for a goal." The truck motor roared. The armless man +came alongside and was lifted beside Lefty. "Well, Hugo, so long. You +sure were a friend in need. Never forget it. And look me up when the +Krauts are all dead, will you?" The gears clashed. "Thanks again--and +for the cognac, too." He waved airily. "See you later." + +Hugo stalked back on the road. Once he looked over his shoulder. The +truck was a blur of dust. "See you later. See you later. See you later." +Lefty would never see him later--never see anyone ever. + +That night he sat in a quiet stupor, all thought of great ideal, of fine +abandon, of the fury of justice, and all flagrant phrases brought to an +abrupt end by the immediate claims of his own sorrow. Tom Shayne was +blasted to death. The stinging horror of mustard had fallen into Lefty's +eyes. All the young men were dying. The friendships he had made, the +human things that gave in memory root to the earth were ripped up and +shrivelled. That seemed grossly wrong and patently ignoble. He discarded +his personal travail. It was nothing. His life had been comprised of +attempt and failure, of disappointment and misunderstanding; he was +accustomed to witness the blunting of the edge of his hopes and the +dulling of his desires when they were enacted. + +Even his great sacrifice had been vain. It was always thus. His deeds +frightened men or made them jealous. When he conceived a fine thing, the +masses, individually or collectively, transformed it into something +cheap. His fort in the forest had been branded a hoax. His effort to +send himself through college and to rescue Charlotte from an unpleasant +life had ended in vulgar comedy. Even that had been her triumph, her +hour, and an incongruous strain of greatness had filtered through her +personality rather than his. Now his years in the war were reduced to +no grandeur, to a mere outlet for his savage instinct to destroy. After +such a life, he reflected, he could no longer visualize himself engaged +in any search for a comprehension of real values. + +His mind was thorny with doubts. Seeing himself as a man made +hypocritical by his gifts and the narrowness of the world, discarding +his own problem as tragically solved, Hugo then looked upon the war as +the same sort of colossal error. A waste. Useless, hopeless, gaining +nothing but the temporal power which it so blatantly disavowed, it had +exacted the price of its tawdry excitement in lives, and, now that it +was almost finished, mankind was ready to emerge blank-faced and +panting, no better off than before. + +His heart ached as he thought of the toil, the effort, the energy and +hope and courage that had been spilled over those mucky fields to +satisfy the lusts and foolish hates of the demagogues. He was no longer +angry. The memory of Lefty sitting smilingly on the van and calling that +he would see him later was too sharp an emotion to permit brain storms +and pyrotechnics. + +If he could but have ended the war single-handed, it might have been +different. But he was not great enough for that. He had been a thousand +men, perhaps ten thousand, but he could not be millions. He could not +wrap his arms around a continent and squeeze it into submission. There +were too many people and they were too stupid to do more than fear him +and hate him. Sitting there, he realized that his naïve faith in +himself and the universe had foundered. The war was only another war +that future generations would find romantic to contemplate and dull to +study. He was only a species of genius who had missed his mark by a +cosmic margin. + +When he considered his failure, he believed that he was not thinking +about himself. There he was, entrusted with special missions which he +accomplished no one knew how, and no one questioned in those hectic +days. Those who had seen him escape machine-gun fire, carry tons, leap a +hundred yards, kill scores, still clung to their original concepts of +mankind and discredited the miracle their own eyes had witnessed. Too +many strange things happened in that blasting carnival of destruction +for one strange sight or one strange man to leave a great mark. Personal +security was at too great a premium to leave much room for interest and +speculation. Even Captain Crouan believed he was only a man of freak +strength and Major Ingalls in his present situation was too busy to do +more than note that Hugo was capable and nod his head when Hugo reported +another signal victory, ascribing it to his long experience in the war +rather than to his peculiar abilities. + +As he sat empty-eyed in the darkness, smoking cigarettes and breathing +in his own and the world's tragic futility, his own and the world's +abysmal sorrow, that stubborn ancestral courage and determination that +was in him still continued to lash his reason. "Even if the war is not +worth while," it whispered, "you have committed yourself to it. You are +bound and pledged to see it to the bitter end. You cannot finish it on a +declining note. To-night, to-morrow, you must begin again." At the same +time his lust for carnage stirred within him like a long-subdued demon. +Now he recognized it and knew that it must be mastered. But it combined +with his conscience to quicken his sinews anew. + +It was a cold night, but Hugo perspired. Was he to go again into the +holocaust to avenge a friend? Was he to live over those crimson seconds +that followed the death of Shayne, all because he had helped a blind +friend into a _camion_? He knew that he was not. Never again could his +instinct so triumph over his reason. That was the greatest danger in +being Hugo Danner. That, he commenced to see, was the explanation of all +his suffering in the past. The idea warmed and encouraged him. +Henceforth his emotions and sentiments would be buried even deeper than +his first inbred caution had buried them. He would be a creature of +intelligence, master of his caprice as well as of the power he possessed +to carry out that caprice. + +He lit a fresh cigarette and planned what he would do. On the next night +he would prepare himself very carefully. He would eat enormously, +provide himself with food and water, rest as much as he could, and then +start south and east in a plane. He would drive it far into Germany. +When its petrol failed, he would crash it. Stepping from the ruins, he +would hasten on in the darkness, on, on, like Pheidippides, till he +reached the centre of the enemy government. There, crashing through the +petty human barriers, he would perform his last feat, strangling the +Emperor, slaying the generals, pulling the buildings apart with his +Samsonian arms, and disrupting the control of the war. + +He had dreamed of such an enterprise even before he had enlisted. But he +had known that he lacked sufficient stamina without a great internal +cause, and no rage, no blood-madness, was great enough to drive him to +that effort. With amazement he realized that a clenched determination +depending on the brain rather than the emotions was a greater catalyst +than any passion. He knew that he could do such a thing. In the warmth +of that knowledge he completed his plan tranquilly and retired. For +twelve hours, by order undisturbed, Hugo slept. + +In the bright morning, he girded himself. He requisitioned the plane he +needed through Major Ingalls. He explained that requirement by saying +that he was going to bomb a battery of big guns. The plane offered was +an old one. Hugo had seen enough of flying in his French service to +understand its navigation. He ate the huge meal he had planned. And +then, a cool and grim man, he made his way to the hangar. In fifteen +minutes his last adventure would have commenced. But a dispatch rider, +charging on to the field in a roaring motor cycle, announced the +signing of the Armistice and the end of the war. + +Hugo stood near his plane when he heard the news. Two men at his side +began to cry, one repeating over and over: "And I'm still alive, so help +me God. I wish I was dead, like Joey." Hugo was rigid. His first gesture +was to lift his clenched fist and search for an object to smash with it. +The fist lingered in the air. His rage passed--rage that would have +required a giant vent had it occurred two days sooner. He relaxed. His +arm fell. He ruffled his black hair; his blacker eyes stared and then +twinkled. His lips smiled for the first time in many months. His great +shoulders sagged. "I should have guessed it," he said to himself, and +entered the rejoicing with a fervour that was unexpected. + + + + +XVI + + +There must be in heaven a certain god--a paunchy, cynical god whose task +it is to arrange for each of the birthward-marching souls a set of +circumstances so nicely adjusted to its character that the result of its +life, in triumph or defeat, will be hinged on the finest of threads. So +Hugo must have felt coming home from war. He had celebrated the +Armistice hugely, not because it had spared his life--most of the pomp, +parade, bawdiness, and glory had originated in such a deliverance--but +because it had rescued him from the hot blast of destructiveness. An +instantaneous realization of that prevented despair. He had failed in +the hour of becoming death itself; such failure was fortunate because +life to him, even at the end of the war, seemed more the effort of +creation than the business of annihilation. + +To know that had cost a struggle--a struggle that took place at the +hangar as the dispatch-bearer rode up and that remained crucial only +between the instant when he lifted his fist and when he lowered it. +Brevity made it no less intense; a second of time had resolved his soul +afresh, had redistilled it and recombined it. + +Not long after that he started back to America. The mass of soldiers +surrounding him were undergoing a transition that Hugo felt vividly. +These men would wake up sweating at night and cry out until someone +whispered roughly that there were no more submarines. A door would slam +and one of them would begin to weep. There were whisperings and +bickerings about life at home, about what each person, disintegrated +again to individuality, would do and say and think. Little fears about +lost jobs and lost girls cropped out, were thrust back, came finally to +remain. And no one wanted life to be what it had been; no one considered +that it could be the same. + +Hugo wrote to his family that the war was ended, that he was well, that +he expected to see them some time in the near future. The ship that +carried him reached the end of the blue sea; he was disembarked and +demobilized in New York. He realized even before he was accustomed to +the novelty of civilian clothes that a familiar, friendly city had +changed. The retrospective spell of the eighties and nineties had +vanished. New York was brand-new, blatant, rushing, prosperous. The +inheritance from Europe had been assimilated; a social reality, entirely +foreign and American, had been wrought and New York was ready to spread +it across the parent world. Those things were pressed quickly into +Hugo's mind by his hotel, the magazines, a chance novel of the precise +date, the cinema, and the more general, more indefinite human pulses. + +After a few days of random inspection, of casual imbibing, he called +upon Tom Shayne's father. He would have preferred to escape all painful +reminiscing, but he went partly as a duty and partly from necessity: he +had no money whatever. + +A butler opened the door of a large stone mansion and ushered Hugo to +the library, where Mr. Shayne rose eagerly. "I'm so glad you came. Knew +you'd be here soon. How are you?" + +Hugo was slightly surprised. In his host's manner was the hardness and +intensity that he had observed everywhere. "I'm very well, thanks." + +"Splendid! Cocktails, Smith." + +There was a pause. Mr. Shayne smiled. "Well, it's over, eh?" + +"Yes." + +"All over. And now we've got to beat the spears into plowshares, eh?" + +"We have." + +Mr. Shayne chuckled. "Some of my spears were already made into plows, +and it was a great season for the harvest, young man--a great season." + +Hugo was still uncertain of Mr. Shayne's deepest viewpoint. His +uncertainty nettled him. "The grim reaper has done some harvesting on +his own account--" He spoke almost rudely. + +Mr. Shayne frowned disapprovingly. "I made up my mind to forget, Danner. +To forget and to buckle down. And I've done both. You'll want to know +what happened to the funds I handled for you--" + +"I wasn't particularly--" + +The older man shook his head with grotesque coyness. "Not so fast, not +so fast. You were particularly eager to hear. We're getting honest about +our emotions in this day and place. You're eaten with impatience. +Well--I won't hold out. Danner, I've made you a million. A clean, cold +million." + +Hugo had been struggling in a rising tide of incomprehension; that +statement engulfed him. "Me? A million?" + +"In the bank in your name waiting for a blonde girl." + +"I'm afraid I don't exactly understand, Mr. Shayne." + +The banker readjusted his glasses and swallowed a cocktail by tipping +back his head. Then he rose, paced across the broad carpet, and faced +Hugo. "Of course you don't understand. Well, I'll tell you about it. +Once you did a favour for me which has no place in this conversation." +He hesitated; his face seemed to flinch and then to be jerked back to +its former expression. "In return I've done a little for you. And I want +to add a word to the gift of your bank book. You have, if you're +careful, leisure to enjoy life, freedom, the world at your feet. No +more strife for you, no worry, and no care. Take it. Be a hedonist. +There is nothing else. I've lain in bed nights enjoying the life that +lies ahead of you, my boy. Vicariously voluptuous. Catchy phrase, isn't +it? My own. I want to see you do it up brown." + +Hugo rubbed his hand across his forehead. It was not long ago that this +same man had sat at an _estaminet_ and wept over snatches of a childhood +which death had made sacred. Here he stood now, asking that a life be +done up brown, and meaning cheap, obvious things. He wished that he had +never called on Tom's father. + +"That wasn't my idea of living--" he said slowly. + +"It will be. Forget the war. It was a dream. I realized it suddenly. If +I had not, I would still be--just a banker. Not a great banker. The +great banker. I saw, suddenly, that it was a dream. The world was mad. +So I took my profit from it, beginning on the day I saw." + +"How, exactly?" + +"Eh?" + +"I mean--how did you profit by the war?" + +Mr. Shayne smiled expansively. "What was in demand then, my boy? What +were the stupid, traduced, misguided people raising billions to get? +What? Why, shells, guns, foodstuffs. For six months I had a corner on +four chemicals vitally necessary to the government. And the government +got them--at my price. I owned a lot of steel. I mixed food and +diplomacy in equal parts--and when the pie was opened, it was full of +solid gold." + +Hugo's voice was strange. "And that is the way--my money was made?" + +"It is." Mr. Shayne perceived that Hugo was angry. "Now, don't get +sentimental. Keep your eye on the ball. I--" He did not finish, because +Mrs. Shayne came into the room. Hugo stared at him fixedly, his face +livid, for several seconds before he was conscious of her. Even then it +was only a partial consciousness. + +She was stuffed into a tight, bright dress. She was holding out her +hand, holding his hand, holding his hand too long. There was mascara +around her eyes and they dilated and blinked in a foolish and +flirtatious way; her voice was syrup. She was taking a cocktail with the +other hand--maybe if he gave her hand a real squeeze, she would let go. +A tall, sallow young man had come in behind her; he was Mr. Jerome +Leonardo Bateau, a perfect dear. Mrs. Shayne was still holding his hand +and murmuring; Mr. Shayne was patting his shoulder; Mr. Bateau was +staring with haughty and jealous eyes. Hugo excused himself. + +In the hall he asked for Mr. Shayne's secretary. He collected himself in +a few frigid sentences. "Please tell Mr. Shayne I am very grateful. I +wish to transfer my entire fortune to my parents in Indian Creek, +Colorado. The name is Abednego Danner. Make all arrangements." + +A faint "But--" followed him futilely through the door. In the space of +a block he had cut a pace that set other pedestrians gaping to a fast +walk. + + + + +XVII + + +Hugo sat in Madison Square Park giving his attention in a circuit to the +Flatiron Building, the clock on the Metropolitan Tower, and the creeping +barrage of traffic that sent people scampering, stopped, moved forward +again. He had sat on the identical bench at the identical time of day +during his obscure undergraduate period. To repeat that contemplative +stasis after so much living had intervened ought to have produced an +emotion. He had gone to the park with that idea. But the febrile fires +of feeling were banked under the weight of many things and he could +suffer nothing, enjoy nothing and think but one fragmentary routine. + +He had tried much and made no progress. He would be forced presently to +depart on a different course from a new threshold. That idea went round +and round in his head like a single fly in a big room. It lost poignancy +and eventually it lost meaning. Still he sat in feeble sunshine trying +to move beyond stagnancy. He remembered the small man with the huge +roll of bills who had moved beside him and asked for a cup of coffee. He +remembered the woman who had robbed him; silk ankles crossed his line of +vision, and a gusty appetite vaporized even as it steamed into the +coldness of his indecision. + +He was without money now, as he had been then, so long ago. He budged on +the bench and challenged himself to think. + +What would you do if you were the strongest man in the world, the +strongest thing in the world, mightier than the machine? He made himself +guess answers for that rhetorical query. "I would--I would have won the +war. But I did not. I would run the universe single-handed. Literally +single-handed. I would scorn the universe and turn it to my own ends. I +would be a criminal. I would rip open banks and gut them. I would kill +and destroy. I would be a secret, invisible blight. I would set out to +stamp crime off the earth; I would be a super-detective, following and +summarily punishing every criminal until no one dared to commit a +felony. What would I do? What will I do?" + +Then he realized that he was hungry. He had not eaten enough in the last +few days. Enough for him. With some intention of finding work he had +left Mr. Shayne's house. A call on the telephone from Mr. Shayne himself +volunteering a position had crystallized that intention. In three days +he had discovered the vast abundance of young men, the embarrassment of +young men, who were walking along the streets looking for work. He who +had always worked with his arms and shoulders had determined to try to +earn his living with his head. But the white-collar ranks were teeming, +overflowing, supersaturated. He went down in the scale of clerkships and +inexperienced clerkships. There was no work. + +Thence he had gone to the park, and presently he rose. He had seen the +clusters of men on Sixth Avenue standing outside the employment +agencies. He could go there. Any employment was better than hunger--and +he had learned that hunger could come swiftly and formidably to him. +Business was slack, hands were being laid off; where an apprentice was +required, three trained men waited avidly for work. It was appalling and +Hugo saw it as appalling. He was not frightened, but, as he walked, he +knew that it was a mistake to sit in the park with the myriad other men. +Walking made him feel better. It was action, it bred the thought that +any work was better than none. Work would not hinder his dreams, +meantime. + +When he reached Forty-second Street he could see the sullen, watchful +groups of men. He joined one of them. A loose-jointed, dark-faced person +came down a flight of stairs, wrote on a blackboard in chalk, and went +up again. Several of the group detached themselves and followed him--to +compete for a chance to wash windows. + +A man at his side spoke to him. "Tough, ain't it, buddy?" + +"Yeah, it's tough," Hugo said. + +"I got three bones left. Wanna join me in a feed an' get a job +afterward?" + +Hugo looked into his eyes. They were troubled and desirous of +companionship. "No, thanks," he replied. + +They waited for the man to scribble again in chalk. + +"They was goin' to fix up everybody slick after the war. Oh, hell, yes." + +"You in it?" Hugo asked. + +"Up to my God-damned neck, buddy." + +"Me, too. Guess I'll go up the line." + +"I'll go witcha." + +"Well--" + +They waited a moment longer, for the man with the chalk had reappeared. +Hugo's comrade grunted. "Wash windows an' work in the steel mills. Break +your neck or burn your ear off. Wha' do they care?" Hugo had taken a +step toward the door, but the youth with the troubled eyes caught his +sleeve. "Don't go up for that, son. They burn you in them steel mills. I +seen guys afterward. Two years an' you're all done. This is tough, but +that's tougher. Sweet Jesus, I'll say it is." + +Hugo loosened himself. "Gotta eat, buddy. I don't happen to have even +three bones available at the moment." + +The man looked after him. "Gosh," he murmured. "Even guys like that." + +He was in a dingy room standing before a grilled window. A voice from +behind it asked his name, age, address, war record. Hugo was handed a +piece of paper to sign and then a second piece that bore the scrawled +words: "Amalgamated Crucible Steel Corp., Harrison, N. J." + +Hugo's emotional life was reawakened when he walked into the mills. His +last nickel was gone. He had left the train at the wrong station and +walked more than a mile. He was hungry and cold. He came, as if naked, +to the monster and he did it homage. + +Its predominant colour scheme was black and red. It had a loud, pagan +voice. It breathed fire. It melted steel and rock and drank human sweat, +with human blood for an occasional stimulant. On every side of him were +enormous buildings and woven between them a plaid of girders, cables, +and tracks across which masses of machinery moved. Inside, Thor was +hammering. Inside, a crane sped overhead like a tarantula, trailing its +viscera to the floor, dangling a gigantic iron rib. A white speck in its +wounded abdomen was a human face. + +The bright metal gushed from another hole. It was livid and partially +alive; it was hot and had a smell; it swept away the thought of the dark +descending night. It made a pool in a great ladle; it made a cupful +dipped from a river in hell. A furnace exhaled sulphurously, darting a +snake's tongue into the sky. The mills roared and the earth shook. It +was bestial, reptilian--labour, and the labour of creation, and the +engine that turned the earth could be no more terrible. + +Hugo, standing sublimely small in its midst, measured his strength +against it, soaked up its warmth, shook his fist at it, and shouted in a +voice that could not be heard for a foot: "Christ Almighty! This--is +something!" + +"Name?" + +"Hugo Danner." + +"Address?" + +"None at present." + +"Experience?" + +"None." + +"Married?" + +"No." + +"Union?" + +"What?" + +"Lemme see your union card." + +"I don't belong." + +"Well, you gotta join." + +He went to the headquarters of the union. Men were there of all sorts. +The mills were taking on hands. There was reconstruction to be done +abroad and steel was needed. They came from Europe, for the most part. +Thickset, square-headed, small-eyed men. Men with expressionless faces +and bulging muscles that held more meaning than most countenances. They +gave him room and no more. They answered the same questions that he +answered. He stood in a third queue with them, belly to back, mouths +closed. He was sent to a lodging-house, advanced five dollars, and told +that he would be boarded and given a bed and no more until the +employment agency had taken its commission, and the union its dues. He +signed a paper. He went on the night shift without supper. + +He ran a wheelbarrow filled with heavy, warm slag for a hundred feet +over a walk of loose bricks. The job was simple. Load, carry, dump, +return, load. On some later night he would count the number of loads. +But on this first night he walked with excited eyes, watching the +tremendous things that happened all around him. Men ran the machinery +that dumped the ladle. Men guided liquid iron from the furnaces into a +maze of channels and cloughs, clearing the way through the sand, cutting +off the stream, making new openings. Men wheeled the slag and steered +the trains and trams and cranes. Men operated the hammers. And almost +all of the men were nude to the waist, sleek and shining with sweat; +almost all of them drank whisky. + +One of the men in the wheelbarrow line even offered a drink to Hugo. He +held out the flask and bellowed in Czech. Hugo took it. The drink was +raw and foul. Pouring into his empty stomach, it had a powerful effect, +making him exalted, making him work like a demon. After a long, noisy +time that did not seem long a steam whistle screamed faintly and the +shift was ended. + +The Czech accompanied Hugo through the door. The new shift was already +at work. They went out. A nightmare of brilliant orange and black fled +from Hugo's vision and he looked into the pale, remote chiaroscuro of +dawn. + +"Me tired," the Czech said in a small, aimless tone. + +They flung themselves on dirty beds in a big room. But Hugo did not +sleep for a time--not until the sun rose and day was evident in the +grimy interior of the bunk house. + +That he could think while he worked had been Hugo's thesis when he +walked up Sixth Avenue. Now, working steadily, working at a thing that +was hard for other men and easy for him, he nevertheless fell into the +stolid vacuum of the manual labourer. The mills became familiar, less +fantastic. He remembered that oftentimes the war had given a more +dramatic passage of man's imagination forged into fire and steel. + +His task was changed numerous times. For a while he puddled pig iron +with the long-handled, hoe-like tool. + +"Don't slip in," they said. It was succinct, graphic. + +Then they put him on the hand cars that fed the furnaces. It was +picturesque, daring, and for most men too hard. Few could manage the +weight or keep up with the pace. Those who did were honoured by their +fellows. The trucks were moved forward by human strength and dumped by +hand-windlasses. Occasionally, they said, you became tired and fell +into the furnace. Or jumped. If you got feeling woozy, they said, quit. +The high rails and red mouths were hypnotic, like burning Baal and the +Juggernaut. + +Hugo's problems had been abandoned. He worked as hard as he dared. The +presence of grandeur and din made him content. How long it would have +lasted is uncertain; not forever. On the day when he had pushed up two +hundred and three loads during his shift, the boss stopped him in the +yard. + +A tall, lean, acid man. He caught Hugo's sleeve and turned him round. +"You're one of the bastards on the furnace line." + +"Yes." + +"How many cars did you push up to-day?" + +"Two hundred and three." + +"What the hell do you think this is, anyway?" + +"I don't get you." + +"Oh, you don't, huh? Well, listen here, you God-damned athlete, what are +you trying to do? You got the men all sore--wearing themselves out. I +had to lay off three--why? Because they couldn't keep up with you, +that's why. Because they got their guts in a snarl trying to bust your +record. What do you think you're in? A race? Somebody's got to show you +your place around here and I think I'll just kick a lung out right now." + +The boss had worked himself into a fury. He became conscious of an +audience of workers. Hugo smiled. "I wouldn't advise you to try +that--even if you are a big guy." + +"What was that?" The words were roared. He gathered himself, but when +Hugo did not flinch, did not prepare himself, he was suddenly startled. +He remembered, perhaps, the two hundred and three cars. He opened his +fist. "All right. I ain't even goin' to bother myself tryin' to break +you in to this game. Get out." + +"What?" + +"Get out. Beat it. I'm firing you." + +"Firing me? For working too hard?" Hugo laughed. He bent double with +laughter. His laughter sounded above the thunder of the mill. "Oh, God, +that's funny. Fire me!" He moved toward the boss menacingly. "I've a +notion to twist your liver around your neck myself." + +The workers realized that an event of some magnitude was taking place. +They drew nearer. Hugo's laughter came again and changed into a +smile--an emotion that cooled visibly. Then swiftly he peeled up the +sleeve of his shirt. His fist clenched; his arm bent; under the nose of +his boss he caused his mighty biceps to swell. His whole body trembled. +With his other hand he took the tall man's fingers and laid them on that +muscle. + +"Squeeze," he shouted. + +The boss squeezed. His face grew pallid and he let go suddenly. He tried +to speak through his dry mouth, but Hugo had turned his back. At the +brick gate post he paused and drew a breath. + +His words resounded like the crack of doom. "So long!" + + + + +XVIII + + +In the next four weeks Hugo knew the pangs of hunger frequently. He +found odd jobs, but none of them lasted. Once he helped to remove a late +snowstorm from the streets. He worked for five days on a subway +excavation. His clothes became shabby, he began to carry his razor in +his overcoat pocket and to sleep in hotels that demanded only +twenty-five cents for a night's lodging. When he considered the tens of +thousands of men in his predicament, he was not surprised at or ashamed +of himself. When, however, he dwelt on his own peculiar capacities, he +was both astonished and ashamed to meander along the dreary pavements. + +Hunger did curious things to him. He had moments of fury, of imagined +violence, and other moments of fantasy when he dreamed of a rich and +noble life. Sometimes he meditated the wisdom of devouring one +prodigious meal and fleeing through the dead of night to the warm south. +Occasionally he considered going back to his family in Colorado. His +most bitter hours were spent in thinking of Mr. Shayne and of accepting +a position in one of Mr. Shayne's banks. + +In his maculate, threadbare clothes, with his dark, aquiline face +matured by the war he was a sharp contrast of facts and possibilities. +It never occurred to him that he was young, that his dissatisfaction, +his idealism, his _Weltschmertz_ were integral to the life-cycle of +every man. + +At the end of four weeks, with hunger gnawing so avidly at his core that +he could not pass a restaurant without twitching muscles and quivering +nerves, he turned abruptly from the street into a cigar store and +telephoned to Mr. Shayne. The banker was full of sound counsel and ready +charity. Hugo regretted the call as soon as he heard Mr. Shayne's voice; +he regretted it when he was ravishing a luxurious dinner at Mr. Shayne's +expense. It was the weakest thing he had done in his life. + +Nevertheless he accepted the position offered by Mr. Shayne. That same +evening he rented a small apartment, and, lying on his bed, a clean bed, +he wondered if he really cared about anything or about anyone. In the +morning he took a shower and stood for a long time in front of the +mirror on the bathroom door, staring at his nude body as if it were a +rune he might learn to read, an enigma he might solve by concentration. +Then he went to work. His affiliation with the Down Town Savings Bank +lasted into the spring and was terminated by one of the oddest +incidents of his career. + +Until the day of that incident his incumbency was in no way unusual. He +was one of the bank's young men, receiving fifty dollars weekly to learn +the banking business. They moved him from department to department, +giving him mentally menial tasks which afforded him in each case a +glimpse of a new facet of financial technique. It was fairly +interesting. He made no friends and he worked diligently. + +One day in April when he had returned from lunch and a stroll in the +environs of the Battery--returned to a list of securities and a strip +from an adding machine, which he checked item by item--he was conscious +of a stirring in his vicinity. A woman employee on the opposite side of +a wire wicket was talking shrilly. A vice-president rose from his desk +and hastened down the corridor, his usually composed face suddenly white +and disconcerted. The tension was cumulative. Work stopped and clusters +of people began to chatter. Hugo joined one of them. + +"Yeah," a boy was saying, "it's happened before. A couple o' times." + +"How do they know he's there?" + +"They got a telephone goin' inside and they're talkin' to him." + +"I'll be damned." + +The boy nodded rapidly. "Yeah--some talk! Tellin' him what to try +next." + +"Poor devil!" + +"What's the matter?" Hugo asked. + +The boy was glad of a new and uninformed listener. "Aw, some dumb vault +clerk got himself locked in, an' the locks jammed an' they can't get him +out." + +"Which vault? The big one?" + +"Naw. The big one's got pipes for that kinda trouble. The little one +they moved from the old building." + +"It's not so darn little at that," someone said. + +Another person, a man, chuckled. "Not so darn. But there isn't air in +there to last three hours. Caughlin said so." + +"Honest to God?" + +"Honest. An' he's been there more than an hour already." + +"Jeest!" There was a pregnant, pictorial silence. Someone looked at +Hugo. + +"What's eatin' you, Danner? Scared?" + +His face was tense and his hands were opening and closing convulsively. +"No," he answered. "Guess I'll go down and have a look." + +He rang for an elevator in the corridor and was carried to the basement. +In the small room on which the vault opened were five or six people, +among them a woman who seemed to command the situation. The men were all +smoking; their attitudes were relaxed, their voices hushed. + +One repeated nervously: "Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ." + +"That won't help, Mr. Quail. I've sent for the expert and he will +probably have the safe open in a short time." + +"Blowtorches?" the swearing man asked abruptly. + +"Absurd. He would cook before he was out. And three feet of steel and +then two feet more." + +"Nitroglycerin?" + +"And make jelly out of him?" The woman tapped her finger-nails with her +glasses. + +Another arrival, who carried a small satchel, talked with her in an +undertone and then took off his coat. He went first to a telephone on +the wall and said: "Gi' me the inside of the vault. Hello.... Hello? You +there? Are you all right?... Try that combination again." The +safe-expert held the wire and waited. Not even the faintest sounds of +the attempt were audible in the front room. "Hello? You tried it?... +Well, see if those numbers are in this order." He repeated a series of +complicated directions. Finally he hung up. "Says it's getting pretty +stuffy in there. Says he's lying down on the floor." + +People came and went. The president himself walked in calmly and +occupied a chair. He lit a cigar, puffed on it, and stared with +ruminative eyes at the shiny mechanism on the front of the safe. + +"We are doing everything possible," the woman said to him crisply. + +"Of course," he nodded. "I called up the insurance company. We're amply +covered." A pause. "Mrs. Robinson, post one of the guards to keep +people from running in and out of here. There are enough around +already." + +No one had given Hugo any attention. He stood quietly in the background. +The expert worked and all eyes were on him. Occasionally he muttered to +himself. The hands of an electric clock moved along in audible jerks. +Nearly an hour passed and the room had become hazy with tobacco smoke. +The man working on the safe was moist with perspiration. His blue shirt +was a darker blue around the armpits. He lit a cigarette, set it down, +whirled the dials again, lit another cigarette while the first one +burned a chair arm, and threw a crumpled, empty package on the floor. + +At last he went to the phone again. He waited for some time before it +was answered, and he was compelled to make the man inside repeat +frequently. The new series of stratagems was without result. Before he +went again to his labours, he addressed the group. "Air getting pretty +bad, I guess." + +"Is it dark?" one of them asked tremulously. + +"No." + +Fifteen minutes more. The expert glanced at the bank's president, +hesitated, struggled frenziedly for a while, and then sighed. "I'm +afraid I can't get him out, sir. The combination is jammed and the +time-lock is all off." + +The president considered. "Do you know of anyone else who could do +this?" + +The man shook his head. "No. I'm supposed to be the best. I've been +called out for this--maybe six times. I never missed before. You see, we +make this safe--or we used to make it. And I'm a specialist. It looks +serious." + +The president took his cigar from his mouth. "Well, go ahead +anyway--until it's too late." + +Hugo stepped away from the wall. "I think I can get him out." + +They turned toward him. The president looked at him coldly. "And who are +you?" + +Mrs. Robinson answered. "He's the new man Mr. Shayne recommended so +highly." + +"Ah. And how do you propose to get him out, young man?" + +Hugo stood pensively for a moment. "By methods known only to me. I am +certain I can do it--but I will undertake it only if you will all leave +the room." + +"Ridiculous!" Mrs. Robinson said. + +The president's mouth worked. He looked more sharply at Hugo. Then he +rose. "Come on, everybody." He spoke quietly to Hugo. "You have a nerve. +How much time do you want?" + +"Five minutes." + +"Only five minutes," the president murmured as he walked from the +chamber. + +Hugo did not move until they had all gone. Then he locked the door +behind them. He walked to the safe and rapped on it tentatively with his +knuckles. He removed his coat and vest. He planted his feet against the +steel sill under the door. He caught hold of the two handles, fidgeted +with his elbows, drew a deep breath, and pulled. There was a resonant, +metallic sound. Something gave. The edge of the seven-foot door moved +outward and a miasma steamed through the aperture. Hugo changed his +stance and took the door itself in his hands. His back bent. He pulled +again. With a reverberating clang and a falling of broken steel it swung +out. Hugo dragged the man who lay on the floor to a window that gave on +a grated pit. He broke the glass with his fist. The clerk's chest heaved +violently; he panted, opened his eyes, and closed them tremblingly. + +Hugo put on his coat and vest and unlocked the door. The people outside +all moved toward him. + +"It's all right," Hugo said. "He's out." + +Mrs. Robinson glanced at the clerk and walked to the safe. "He's ruined +it!" she said in a shrill voice. + +The president was behind her. He looked at the handles of the vault, +which had been bent like hair-pins, and he stooped to examine the +shattered bolts. Then his eyes travelled to Hugo. There was a profoundly +startled expression in them. + +The clerk was sobbing. Presently he stopped. "Who got me out?" + +They indicated Hugo and he crossed the floor on tottering feet. "Thanks, +mister," he said piteously. "Oh, my God, what a wonderful thing to do! +I--I just passed out when I saw your fingers reaching around--" + +"Never mind," Hugo interrupted. "It's all right, buddy." + +The president touched his shoulder. "Come up to my office." A doctor +arrived. Several people left. Others stood around the demolished door. + +The president was alone when Hugo entered and sat down. He was cold and +he eyed Hugo coldly. "How did you do that?" + +Hugo shrugged. "That's my secret, Mr. Mills." + +"Pretty clever, I'd say." + +"Not when you know how." Hugo was puzzled. His ancient reticence about +himself was acting together with a natural modesty. + +"Some new explosive?" + +"Not exactly." + +"Electricity? Magnetism? Thought-waves?" + +Hugo chuckled. "No. All wrong." + +"Could you do it on a modern safe?" + +"I don't know." + +President Mills rubbed his fingers on the mahogany desk. "I presume you +were planning that for other purposes?" + +"What!" Hugo said. + +"Very well done. Very well acted. I will play up to you, Mr.--" + +"Danner." + +"Danner. I'll play up to this assumption of innocence. You have saved a +man's life. You are, of course, blushingly modest. But you have shown +your hand rather clearly. Hmmm." He smiled sardonically. "I read a book +about a safe-cracker who opened a safe to get a child out--at the +expense of his liberty and position--or at the hazard of them, anyhow. +Maybe you have read the same book." + +"Maybe," Hugo answered icily. + +"Safe-crackers--blasters, light fingers educated to the dials, and ears +attuned to the tumblers--we can cope with those things, Mr.--" + +"Danner." + +"But this new stunt of yours. Well, until we find out what it is, we +can't let you go. This is business, Mr. Danner. It involves money, +millions, the security of American finance, of the very nation. You will +understand. Society cannot afford to permit a man like you to go at +large until it has a thoroughly effective defence against you. Society +must disregard your momentary sacrifice, momentary nobleness. Your +process, unknown by us, constitutes a great social danger. I do not dare +overlook it. I cannot disregard it even after the service you have +done--even if I thought you never intended to put it to malicious use." + +Hugo's thoughts were far away--to the fort he had built when he was a +child in Colorado, to the wagon he had lifted up, to the long, +discouraging gauntlet of hard hearts and frightened eyes that his +miracles had met with. His voice was wistful when, at last, he addressed +the banker. + +"What do you propose to do?" + +"I shan't bandy words, Danner. I propose to hang on to you until I get +that secret. And I shall be absolutely without mercy. That is frank, is +it not?" + +"Quite." + +"You comprehend the significance of the third degree?" + +"Not clearly." + +"You will learn about it--unless you are reasonable." + +Hugo bowed sadly. The president pressed a button. Two policemen came +into the room. "McClaren has my instructions," he said. + +"Come on." Hugo rose and stood between them. He realized that the whole +pantomime of his arrest was in earnest. For one brief instant the +president was given a glimpse of a smile, a smile that worried him for a +long time. He was so worried that he called McClaren on the telephone +and added to his already abundant instructions. + +A handful of bystanders collected to watch Hugo cross from the bank to +the steel patrol wagon. It moved forward and its bell sounded. The +policemen had searched Hugo and now they sat dumbly beside him. He was +handcuffed to both of them. Once he looked down at the nickel bonds and +up at the dull faces. His eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. + +Captain McClaren received Hugo in a bare room shadowed by bars. He was a +thick-shouldered, red-haired man with a flabby mouth from which +protruded a moist and chewed toothpick. His eyes were blue and bland. +He made Hugo strip nude and gave him a suit of soiled clothes. Hugo +remained alone in that room for thirty hours without food or water. The +strain of that ordeal was greater than his jailers could have conceived, +but he bore it with absolute stoicism. + +Early in the evening of the second day the lights in the room were put +out, a glaring automobile lamp was set up on a table, he was seated in +front of it, and men behind the table began to question him in voices +that strove to be terrible. They asked several questions and ultimately +boiled them down to one: "How did you get that safe open?" which was +bawled at him and whispered hoarsely at him from the darkness behind the +light until his mind rang with the words, until he was waiting +frantically for each new issue of the words, until sweat glistened on +his brow and he grew weak and nauseated. His head ached splittingly and +his heart pounded. They desisted at dawn, gave him a glass of water, +which he gulped, and a dose of castor oil, which he allowed them to +force into his mouth. A few hours later they began again. It was night +before they gave up. + +The remnant of Hugo's clenched sanity was dumbfounded at what followed +after that. They beat his face with fists that shot from the blackness. +They threw him to the floor and kicked him. When his skin did not burst +and he did not bleed, they beat and kicked more viciously. They lashed +him with rubber hoses. They twisted his arms as far as they +could--until the bones of an ordinary man would have become dislocated. + +Except for thirst and hunger and the discomfort caused by the castor +oil, Hugo did not suffer. They refined their torture slowly. They tried +to drive a splinter under his nails; they turned on the lights and drank +water copiously in his presence; they finally brought a blowtorch and +prepared to brand him. Hugo perceived that his invulnerability was to +stand him in stead no longer. His tongue was swollen, but he could still +talk. Sitting placidly in his bonds, he watched the soldering iron grow +white in the softly roaring flame. When, in the full light that shone on +the bare and hideous room, they took up the iron and approached him, +Hugo spoke. + +"Wait. I'll tell you." + +McClaren put the iron back. "You will, eh?" + +"No." + +"Oh, you won't." + +"I shan't tell you, McClaren; I'll show you. And may God have mercy on +your filthy soul." + +There were six men in the room. Hugo looked from one to another. He +could tolerate nothing more; he had followed the course of President +Mills's social theory far enough to be surfeited with it. There was +decision in his attitude, and not one of the six men who had worked his +torment in relays could have failed to feel the chill of that decision. +They stood still. McClaren's voice rang out: "Cover him, boys." + +Hugo stretched. His bonds burst; the chair on which he sat splintered to +kindling. Six revolvers spat simultaneously. Hugo felt the sting of the +bullets. Six chambers were emptied. The room eddied smoke. There was a +harsh silence. + +"Now," Hugo said gently, "I will demonstrate how I opened that safe." + +"Christ save us," one of the men whispered, crossing himself. + +McClaren was frozen still. Hugo walked to the wall of the jail and +stabbed his fist through it. Brick and mortar burst out on the other +side and fell into the cinder yard. Hugo kicked and lashed with his +fists. A large hole opened. Then he turned to the men. They broke toward +the door, but he caught them one by one--and one by one he knocked them +unconscious. That much was for his own soul. Only McClaren was left. He +carried McClaren to the hole and dropped him into the yard. He wrenched +open the iron gate and walked out on the street, holding the policeman +by the arm. McClaren fainted twice and Hugo had to keep him upright by +clinging to his collar. It was dark. He hailed a cab and lifted the man +in. + +"Just drive out of town," Hugo said. + +McClaren came to. They bumped along for miles and he did not dare to +speak. The apartment buildings thinned. Street lights disappeared. They +traversed a stretch of woodland and then rumbled through a small town. + +"Who are you?" McClaren said. + +"I'm just a man, McClaren--a man who is going to teach you a lesson." + +The taxi was on a smooth turnpike. It made swift time. Twice Hugo +satisfied the driver that the direction was all right. At last, on a +deserted stretch, Hugo called to the driver to stop. McClaren thought +that he was going to die. He did not plead. Hugo still held him by the +arm and helped him from the cab. + +"Got any money on you?" Hugo asked. + +"About twenty dollars." + +"Give me five." + +With trembling fingers McClaren produced the bill. He put the remainder +of his money back in his pocket automatically. The taxi-driver was +watching, but Hugo ignored him. + +"McClaren," he said soberly, "here's your lesson. I just happen to be +the strongest man in the world. Never tell anybody that. And don't tell +anyone where I took you to-night--wherever it is. I shan't be here +anyway. If you tell either of those two things, I'll eat you. Actually. +There was a poor devil smothering in that safe and I yanked it open and +dragged him out. As a reward you and your dirty scavengers were put to +work on me. If I weren't as merciful as God Himself, you'd all be dead. +Now, that's your lesson. Keep your mouth shut. Here is the final +parable." + +Still holding the policeman's arm, he walked to the taxi and, to the +astonishment of the driver, gripped the axle in one hand, lifted up the +front end like a derrick, and turned the entire car around. He put +McClaren in the back seat. + +"Don't forget, McClaren." To the driver: "Back to where you picked us +up. The bird in the back seat will be glad to pay." + +The red lamp of the cab vanished. Hugo turned in the other direction and +began to run in great leaps. He slowed when he came to a town. A light +was burning in an all-night restaurant. Hugo produced the five-dollar +bill. + +"Give me a bucket of water--and put on about five steaks. Five." + + + + +XIX + + +It was bright morning when Hugo awoke. Through the window-pane in the +room where he had slept, he could see a straggling back yard; damp +clothes moved in the breeze, and beyond was a depression green with +young shoots. He descended to the restaurant and ate his breakfast. +Automobiles were swishing along the road outside and he could hear a +clatter of dishes in the kitchen. Afterwards he went out doors and +walked through the busy centre of the village and on into the country. + +Sun streamed upon him; the sky was blue; birds twittered in the budding +bushes. He had almost forgotten the beauty and peacefulness of +springtime; now it came over him with a rush--pastel colours and fecund +warmth, smells of earth and rain, melodious, haphazard wind. He knew +intuitively that McClaren would never send for him; he wondered what Mr. +Mills would say to Mr. Shayne about him. Both thoughts passed like white +clouds over his mind and he forgot them for an indolent vegetative +tranquillity. + +The road curved over hills and descended into tinted valleys. Farmers +were ploughing and planting. The men at the restaurant had told him that +he was in Connecticut. That did not matter, for any other place would +have been the same on this May morning. A truck-driver offered him a +ride, which Hugo refused, and then, watching the cubic van surge away in +the distance, he wished fugitively that he had accepted. + +Two half dollars and a quarter jingled in his pocket. His suit was seedy +and his beard unshaven. A picture of New York ran through his mind: he +stood far off from it gazing at the splendour of its towers in the +morning light; he came closer and the noise of it smote his ears; +suddenly he plunged into the city, his perspective vanished, and there +rose about him the ugly, unrelated, inchoate masses of tawdriness that +had been glorious from a distance, while people--dour, malicious, +selfish people who scuttled like ants--supplanted the vista of stone and +steel. The trite truth of the ratio between approach and enchantment +amused him. It was so obvious, yet so few mortals had the fine sense to +withdraw themselves. He was very happy walking tirelessly along that +road. + +After his luncheon he allowed a truck to carry him farther from the +city, deeper into the magic of spring. The driver bubbled with it--he +wore a purple tulip in his greasy cap and he slowed down on the +hilltops with an unassuming reverence and a naïve slang that fitted well +with Hugo's mood. When he reached his destination, Hugo walked on with +reluctance. Shadows of the higher places moved into the lowlands. He +crossed a brook and leaned over its middle on the bridge rail, +fascinated by an underwater landscape, complete, full of colour, less +than a foot high. From every side came the strident music of frogs. +Spring, spring, spring, they sang, rolling their liquid gutturals and +stopping abruptly when he came too near. + +In the evening, far from the city, he turned from the pavement on a +muddy country road, walking on until he reached the skeleton of an old +house. There he lay down, taking his supper from his pocket and eating +it slowly. The floor of the second story had fallen down and he could +see the stars through a hole in the roof. In such houses, he thought, +the first chapters of American history had been lived. When it was +entirely dark, a whippoorwill began to make its sweet and mournful +music. Warmth and chilliness came together from the ground. He slept. + +In the morning he followed the road into the hills. Long stretches of +woodland were interrupted by fields. He passed farmhouses and the paved +drive of an estate. More than a mile from the deserted farm, more than +two miles from the main road, half hidden in a skirt of venerable trees, +he saw an old, green house behind which was a row of barns. It was a +big house; tile medallions had been set in its foundations by an +architect whose tombstone must now be aslant and illegible. It was built +on a variety of planes and angles; gables cropped at random from its +mossy roof. Grass grew in the broad yard under the trees, and in the +grass were crocuses, yellow and red and blue, like wind-strewn confetti. + +Hugo paused to contemplate this peaceful edifice. A man walked briskly +from one of the barn doors. He perceived Hugo and stopped, holding a +spade in his hand. Then, after starting across to the house, he changed +his mind and, dropping the spade, approached Hugo. + +"Looking for work, my man?" + +Hugo smiled. "Why--yes." + +"Know anything about cattle?" + +"I was reared in a farming country." + +"Good." He scrutinized Hugo minutely. "I'll try you at eight dollars a +week, room, and board." He opened the gate. + +Hugo paused. The notion of finding employment somewhere in the country +had been fixed in his mind and he wondered why he waited, even as he +did, when the charm of the old manor had offered itself to him as if by +a miracle. The man swung open the gate; he was lithe, sober, direct. + +"My name is Cane--Ralph Cane. We raise blooded Guernsey stock here. At +the moment we haven't a man." + +"I see," Hugo said. + +"I could make the eight ten--in a week--if you were satisfactory." + +"I wasn't considering the money--" + +"How?" + +"I wasn't considering the money." + +"Oh! Come in. Try it." An eagerness was apparent in his tone. While Hugo +still halted on a knoll of indecision, a woman opened the French windows +which lined one façade of the house and stepped down from the porch. She +was very tall and very slender. Her eyes were slaty blue and there was a +delicate suggestion--almost an apparition--of grey in her hair. + +"What is it, Ralph?" Her voice was cool and pitched low. + +"This is my wife," Cane said. + +"My name is Danner." + +Cane explained. "I saw this man standing by the gate, and now I'm hiring +him." + +"I see," she said. She looked at Hugo. The crystalline substance of her +eyes glinted transiently with some inwardness--surprise, a vanishing +gladness, it might have been. "You are looking for work?" + +"Yes," Hugo answered. + +Cane spoke hastily. "I offered him eight a week and board, Roseanne." + +She glanced at her husband and returned her attention inquisitively to +Hugo. "Are you interested?" + +"I'll try it." + +Cane frowned nervously, walked to his wife, and nodded with averted +face. Then he addressed Hugo: "You can sleep in the barn. We have +quarters there. I don't think we'll be in for any more cold weather. If +you'll come with me now, I'll start you right in." + +Until noon Hugo cleaned stables. There were two dozen cows--animals that +would have seemed beautiful to a rustic connoisseur--and one lordly bull +with malignant horns and bloodshot eyes. He shoveled the pungent and not +offensive débris into a wheelbarrow and transferred it to a dung-heap +that sweated with internal humidity. At noon Cane came into the barn. + +"Pretty good," he said, viewing floors fairly shaved by Hugo's +diligence. "Lunch is ready. You'll eat in the kitchen." + +Hugo saw the woman again. She was toiling over a stove, her hair in +disarray, a spotted apron covering her long body. He realized that they +had no servants, that the three of them constituted the human +inhabitants of the estate--but there were shades, innumerable shades, of +a long past, and some of those ghosts had crept into Roseanne's slaty +eyes. She carried lunch for herself and her husband into a front room +and left him to eat in the soft silence. + +After lunch Cane spoke to him again. "Can you plough?" + +"It's been a long time--but I think so." + +"Good. I have a team. We'll drive to the north field. I've got to start +getting the corn in pretty soon." + +The room in the barn was bare: four board walls, a board ceiling and +floor, an iron cot, blankets, the sound and smell of the cows beneath. +Hugo slept dreamlessly, and when he woke, he was ravenous. + +His week passed. Cane drove him like a slave-master, but to drive Hugo +was an unhazardous thing. He did not think much, and when he did, it was +to read the innuendo of living that was written parallel to the +existence of his employer and Roseanne. They were troubled with each +other. Part of that trouble sprang from an evident source: Cane was a +miser. He resented the amount of food that Hugo consumed, despite the +unequal ratio of Hugo's labours. When Hugo asked for a few dollars in +advance, he was curtly refused. That had happened at lunch one day. +After lunch, however, and evidently after Cane had debated with his +wife, he inquired of Hugo what he wanted. A razor and some shaving +things and new trousers, Hugo had said. + +Cane drove the station wagon to town and returned with the desired +articles. He gave them to Hugo. + +"Thank you," Hugo said. + +Cane chuckled, opening his thin lips wide. "All right, Danner. As a +matter of fact, it's money in my bank." + +"Money in your bank?" + +"Sure. I've lived here for years and I get a ten-per-cent discount at +the general store. But I'm charging you full price--naturally." + +"Naturally," Hugo agreed. + +That was one thing that would make the tribulation in her eyes. Hugo +wished that he could have met these two people on a different basis, so +that he could have learned the truth about them. It was plain that they +were educated, cultured, refined. Cane had said something once about +raising cattle in England, and Roseanne had cooked peas as she had +learned to cook them in France. "_Petits pois au beurre_," she had +murmured--with an unimpeachable accent. + +Then the week had passed and there had been no mention of the advance in +wages. For himself, Hugo did not care. But it was easy to see why no one +had been working on the place when Hugo arrived, why they were eager to +hire a transient stranger. + +He learned part of what he had already guessed from a clerk in the +general store. One of the cows was ailing. Mr. Cane could not drive to +town (Mrs. Cane, it seemed, never left the house and its environs) and +they had sent Hugo. + +"You working for the Canes?" the clerk had asked. + +"Yes." + +"Funny people." + +Hugo replied indirectly. "Have they lived here long?" + +"Long? Roseanne Cane was a Bishop. The Bishops built that house and the +house before it--back in the seventeen hundreds. They had a lot of +money. Have it still, I guess, but Cane's too tight to spend it." There +was nothing furtive in the youth's manner; he was evidently touching on +common village gossip. "Yes, sir, too tight. Won't give her a maid. But +before her folks died, it was Europe every year and a maid for every one +of 'em, and 'Why, deary, don't tell me that's the second time you've put +on that dress! Take it right off and never wear it again.'" The joke was +part of the formula for telling about the Canes, and the clerk snickered +appreciatively. "Yes, sir. You come down here some day when I ain't got +the Friday orders to fill an' I'll tell you some things about old man +Cane that'll turn your stummick." + +Hugo accepted his bundle, set it in the seat beside himself, and drove +back to the big, green house. + +Later in the day he said to Cane: "If you will want me to drive the +station wagon very often, I ought to have a license." + +"Go ahead. Get one." + +"I couldn't afford it at the moment, and since it would be entirely for +you, I thought--" + +"I see," Cane answered calmly. "Trying to get a license out of me. Well, +you're out of luck. You probably won't be needed as a chauffeur again +for the next year. If you are, you'll drive without a license, and drive +damn carefully, too, because any fines or any accidents would come out +of your wages." + +Hugo received the insult unmoved. He wondered what Cane would say if he +smashed the car and made an escape. He knew he would not do it; the +whole universe appeared so constructed that men like Cane inevitably +avoided their desserts. + +June came, and July. The sea-shore was not distant and occasionally at +night Hugo slipped away from the woods and lay on the sand, sometimes +drinking in the firmament, sometimes closing his eyes. When it was very +hot he undressed behind a pile of barnacle-covered boulders and swam far +out in the water. He swam naked, unmolested, stirring up tiny whirlpools +of phosphorescence, and afterwards, damp and cool, he would dress and +steal back to the barn through the forest and the hay-sweet fields. + +One day a man in Middletown asked Mr. Cane to call on him regarding the +possible purchase of three cows. Cane's cows were raised with the +maximum of human care, the minimum of extraneous expense. His profit on +them was great and he sold them, ordinarily, one at a time. He was so +excited at the prospect of a triple sale that for a day he was almost +gay, very nearly generous. He drove off blithely--not in the sedan, but +in the station wagon, because its gasoline mileage was greater. + +It was a day filled with wonder for Hugo. When Cane drove from the +house, Roseanne was standing beside the drive. She walked over to the +barn and said to Hugo in an oddly agitated voice: "Mr. Danner, could you +spare an hour or two this morning to help me get some flowers from the +woods?" + +"Certainly." + +She glanced in the direction her husband had taken and hurried to the +kitchen, returning presently with two baskets and a trowel. He followed +her up the road. They turned off on an overgrown path, pushed through +underbrush, and arrived in a few minutes at the side of a pond. The +edges were grown thick with bushes and water weeds, dead trees lifted +awkward arms at the upper end, and dragon flies skimmed over the warm +brown water. + +"I used to come here to play when I was a little girl," she said. "It's +still just the same." She wore a blue dress; branches had dishevelled +her hair; she seemed more alive than he had ever seen her. + +"It's charming," Hugo answered. + +"There used to be a path all the way around--with stones crossing the +brook at the inlet. And over there, underneath those pine trees, there +are some orchids. I've always wanted to bring them down to the house. I +think I could make them grow. Of course, this is a bad time to +transplant anything--but I so seldom get a chance. I can't remember +when--when--" + +He realized with a shock that she was going to cry. She turned her head +away and peered into the green wall. "I think it's here," she said +tremulously. + +They followed a dimly discernible trail; there were deer tracks in it +and signs of other animals whose feet had kept it passable. It was hot +and damp and they were forced to bend low beneath the tangle to make +progress. Almost suddenly they emerged in a grove of white pines. They +stood upright and looked: wind stirred sibilantly in the high tops, and +the ground underfoot was a soft carpet; the lake reflected the blue of +the sky instead of the brown of its soft bottom. + +"Let's rest a minute," she said. And then: "I always think a pine grove +is like a cathedral. I read somewhere that pines inspired Gothic +architecture. Do you suppose it's true?" + +"There was the lotos and the Corinthian column," Hugo answered. + +They sat down. This was a new emotion--a paradoxical emotion for him. He +had come to an inharmonious sanctuary and he could expect both tragedy +and enchantment. There was Roseanne herself, a hidden beautiful thing in +whom were prisoned many beauties. She was growing old in the frosty +seclusion of her husband's company. She was feeding on the toothless +food of dreams when her hunger was still strong. That much anyone might +see; the reason alone remained invisible. He was acutely conscious of an +hour at hand, an imminent moment of vision. + +"You're a strange man," she said finally. + +That was to be the password. "Yes?" + +"I've watched you every day from the kitchen window." Her depression +had gone now and she was talking with a vague excitement. + +"Have you?" + +"Do you mind if we pretend for a minute?" + +"I'd like it." + +"Then let's pretend this is a magic carpet and we've flown away from the +world and there's nothing to do but play. Play," she repeated musingly. +"I'll be Roseanne and you'll be Hugo. You see, I found out your name +from the letters. I found out a lot about you. Not facts like born, +occupation, father's first name; just--things." + +He dared a little then. "What sort of things, Roseanne?" + +She laughed. "I knew you could do it! That's one of them. I found out +you had a soul. Souls show even in barn-yards. You looked at the peonies +one day and you played with the puppies the next. In one +way--Hugo--you're a failure as a farm hand." + +"Failure?" + +"A flop. You never make a grammatical mistake." She saw his surprise and +laughed again. "And your manners--and, then, you understood French. +See--the carpet is taking us higher and farther away. Isn't it fun! +You're the hired man and I'm the farmer's wife and all of a +sudden--we're--" + +"A prince and princess?" + +"That's exactly right. I won't pretend I'm not curious--morbidly +curious. But I won't ask questions, either, because that isn't what the +carpet is for." + +"What is it for, Roseanne?" + +"To get away from the world, silly. And now--there's a look about you. +When I was a little girl, my father was a great man, and many great men +used to come to our house. I know what the frown of power is and the +attitude of greatness. You have them--much more than any pompous old +magnate I ever laid eyes on. The way you touch things and handle them, +the way you square your shoulders. Sometimes I think you're not real at +all and just an imaginary knight come to storm my castle. And sometimes +I think you're a very famous man whose afternoon walk just has been +extended for a few months. The first thought frightens me, and the +second makes me wonder why I haven't seen your picture in the Sunday +rotogravures." + +Hugo's shoulders shook. "Poor Princess Roseanne. And what do I think +about you, then--" + +She held up her hand. "Don't tell me, Hugo. I should be sad. After all, +my life--" + +"May be what it does not appear to be." + +She took a brittle pine twig and dug in the mould of the needles until +it broke. "Ralph--was different once. He was a chemist. Then--the war +came. And he was there and a shell--" + +"Ah," Hugo said. "And you loved him before?" + +"I had promised him before. But it changed him so. And it's hard." + +"The carpet," he answered gently. "The carpet--" + +"I almost dropped off, and then I'd have been hurt, wouldn't I?" + +"A favour for a favour. I'm not a great man, but I hope to be one. I +have something that I think is a talent. Let it go at that. The letters +come from my father and mother--in Colorado." + +"I've never seen Colorado." + +"It's big--" + +"Like the nursery of the Titans, I think," she said softly, and Hugo +shuddered. The instinct had been too true. + +Her eyes were suddenly stormy. "I feel old enough to mother you, Hugo. +And yet, since you came, I've been a little bit in love with you. It +doesn't matter, does it?" + +"I think--I know--" + +"Sit closer to me then, Hugo." + +The sun had passed the zenith before they spoke connectedly again. "Time +for the magic carpet to come to earth," she said gaily. + +"Is it?" + +"Don't be masculine any longer--and don't be rudely possessive. Of +course it is. Aren't you hungry?" + +"I was hungry--" he began moodily. + +"All off at earth. Come on. Button me. Am I a sight?" + +"I disregard the bait." + +"You're being funny. Come. No--wait. We've forgotten the orchids. I +wonder if I really came for orchids. Should you be terribly offended if +I said I thought I did?" + +"Extravagantly offended." + +Cane returned late in the day. The cows had been sold--"I even made five +hundred clear and above the feeding and labour on the one with the off +leg. She'll breed good cattle." The barns were as clean as a park, and +Roseanne was singing as she prepared dinner. + +Nothing happened until a hot night in August. The leaves were still and +limp, the moon had set. Hugo lay awake and he heard her coming quietly +up the stairs. + +"Ralph had a headache and he took two triple bromides. Of course, I +could always have said that I heard one of the cows in distress and came +to wake you. But he's jealous, poor dear. And then--but who could resist +a couple of simultaneous alibis?" + +"Nobody," he whispered. She sat down on his bed. He put his arm around +her and felt that she was in a nightdress. "I wish I could see you now." + +"Then take this flashlight--just for an instant. Wait." He heard the +rustle of her clothing. "Now." + +She heard him draw in his breath. Then the light went out. + + * * * * * + +With the approach of autumn weather Roseanne caught a cold. She +continued her myriad tasks, but he could see that she was miserable. +Even Cane sympathized with her gruffly. When the week of the cattle show +in New York arrived, the cold was worse and she begged off the long trip +on the trucks with the animals. He departed alone with his two most +precious cows, scarcely thinking of her, muttering about judges and +prizes. + +Again she came out to the barn. "You've made me a dreadful hypocrite." + +"I know it." + +"You were waiting for me! Men are so disgustingly sure of everything!" + +"But--" + +"I've made myself cough and sniffle until I can't stop." + +Hugo smiled broadly. "All aboard the carpet...." + +They lay in a field that was surrounded by trees. The high weeds hid +them. Goldenrod hung over them. "Life can't go on--" + +"Like this," he finished for her. + +"Well--can it?" + +"It's up to you, Roseanne. I never knew there were women--" + +"Like me? You should have said 'was a woman.'" + +"Would you run away with me?" + +"Never." + +"Aren't we just hunting for an emotion?" + +"Perhaps. Because there was a day--one day--in the pines--" + +He nodded. "Different from these other two. That's because of the tragic +formation of life. There is only one first, only one commencement, only +one virginity. Then--" + +"Character sets in." + +"Then it becomes living. It may remain beautiful, but it cannot remain +original." + +"You'd be hard to live with." + +"Why, Roseanne?" + +"Because you're so determined not to have an illusion." + +"And you--" + +"Go on. Say it. I'm so determined to have one." + +"Are we quarreling? I can fix that. Come closer, Roseanne." Her face +changed through delicate shades of feeling to tenderness and to +intensity. Abruptly Hugo leaped to his feet. + +The rhythmic thunder rode down upon them like the wind. A few yards +away, head down, tail straight, the big bull charged over the ground +like an avalanche. Roseanne lifted herself in time to see Hugo take two +quick steps, draw back his fist, and hit the bull between the horns. It +was a diabolical thing. The bull was thrown back upon itself. Its neck +snapped loudly. Its feet crumpled; it dropped dead. Twenty feet to one +side was a stone wall. Hugo picked up a hoof and dragged the carcass to +the base of the wall. With his hand he made an indenture in the rocks, +and over the face of the hollow he splashed the bull's blood. Then he +approached Roseanne. The whole episode had occupied less than a minute. + +She had hunched her shoulders together, and her face was pale. She +articulated with difficulty. "The bull"--her hands twitched--"broke in +here--and you hit him." + +"Just in time, Roseanne." + +"You killed him. Then--why did you drag him over there?" + +"Because," Hugo answered slowly, "I thought it would be better to make +it seem as if he charged the wall and broke his neck that way." + +Her frigidity was worse than any hysteria. "It isn't natural to be able +to do things like that. It isn't human." + +He swallowed; those words in that stifled intonation were very familiar. +"I know it. I'm very strong." + +Roseanne looked down at the grass. "Wipe your hand, will you?" + +He rubbed it in the earth. "You mustn't be frightened." + +"No?" She laughed a little. "What must I be, then? I'm alive, I'm +crawling with terror. Don't touch me!" She screamed and drew back. + +"I can explain it." + +"You can explain everything! But not that." + +"It was an idiotic, wild, unfair thing to have happen at this time," he +said. "My life's like that." He looked beyond her. "I began wanting to +do tremendous things. The more I tried, the more discouraged I became. +You see, I was strong. There have been other things figuratively like +the bull. But the things themselves get littler and more preposterous, +because my ambition and my nerve grows smaller." He lowered his head. +"Some day--I shan't want to do anything at all any more. Continuous and +unwonted defeat might infuriate some men to a great effort. It's tiring +me." He raised his eyes sadly to hers. "Roseanne--!" + +She gathered her legs under herself and ran. Hugo made no attempt to +follow her. He merely watched. Twice she tripped and once she fell. At +the stone wall she looked back at him. It was not necessary to be able +to see her expression. She went on across the fields--a skinny, flapping +thing--at last a mere spot of moving colour. + +Hugo turned and stared at the brown mound of the bull. After a moment he +walked over and stood above it. Its tongue hung out and its mouth +grinned. It lay there dead, and yet to Hugo it still had life: the +indestructibility of a ghost and the immortality of a symbol. He sat +beside it until sundown. + +At twilight he entered the barn and tended the cows. The doors of the +house were closed. He went without supper. Cane returned jubilantly +later in the evening. He called Hugo from the back porch. + +"Telegram for you." + +Hugo read the wire. His father was sick and failing rapidly. "I want my +wages," he said. Then he went back to the barn. His trifling belongings +were already wrapped in a bundle. Cane reluctantly counted out the +money. Hugo felt nauseated and feverish. He put the money in his pocket, +the bundle under his arm; he opened the gate, and his feet found the +soft earth of the road in the darkness. + + + + +XX + + +Hugo had three hours to wait for a Chicago train. His wages purchased +his ticket and left him in possession of twenty dollars. His clothing +was nondescript; he had no baggage. He did not go outside the Grand +Central Terminal, but sat patiently in the smoking-room, waiting for the +time to pass. A guard came up to him and asked to see his ticket. Hugo +did not remonstrate and produced it mechanically; he would undoubtedly +be mistaken for a tramp amid the sleek travellers and commuters. + +When the train started, his fit of perplexed lethargy had not abated. +His hands and feet were cold and his heart beat slowly. Life had +accustomed him to frustration and to disappointment, yet it was +agonizing to assimilate this new cudgeling at the hands of fate. The old +green house in the Connecticut hills had been a refuge; Roseanne had +been a refuge. They were, both of them, peaceful and whimsical and they +had seemed innocent of the capacity for great anguish. Every man dreams +of the season-changed countryside as an escape; every man dreams of a +woman on whose broad breast he may rest, beneath whose tumbling hair and +moth-like hands he may discover forgetfulness and freedom. Some men are +successful in a quest for those anodynes. Hugo could understand the +sharp contours of one fact: because he was himself, such a quest would +always end in failure. No woman lived who could assuage him; his fires +would not yield to any temporal powers. + +He was barren of desire to investigate deeper into the philosophy of +himself. All people turned aside by fate fall into the same morass. +Except in his strength, Hugo was pitifully like all people: wounds could +easily be opened in his sensitiveness; his moral courage could be taxed +to the fringe of dilemma; he looked upon his fellow men sometimes with +awe at the variety of high places they attained in spite of the heavy +handicap of being human--he looked upon them again with repugnance--and +very rarely, as he grew older, did such inspections of his kind include +a study of the difference between them and him made by his singular +gift. When that thought entered his mind, it gave rise to peculiar +speculations. + +He approached thirty, he thought, and still the world had not re-echoed +with his name; the trumps, banners, and cavalcade of his glory had been +only shadows in the sky, dust at sunset that made evanescent and +intangible colours. Again, he thought, the very perfection of his +prowess was responsible for its inapplicability; if he but had an +Achilles' heel so that his might could taste the occasional tonic of +inadequacy, then he could meet the challenge of possible failure with +successful effort. More frequently he condemned his mind and spirit for +not being great enough to conceive a mission for his thews. Then he +would fall into a reverie, trying to invent a creation that would be as +magnificent as the destructions he could so easily envision. + +In such a painful and painstaking mood he was carried over the +Alleghenies and out on the Western plains. He changed trains at Chicago +without having slept, and all he could remember of the journey was a +protracted sorrow, a stabbing consciousness of Roseanne, dulled by his +last picture of her, and a hopeless guessing of what she thought about +him now. + +Hugo's mother met him at the station. She was unaltered, everything was +unaltered. The last few instants in the vestibule of the train had been +a series of quick remembrances; the whole countryside was like a +long-deserted house to which he had returned. The mountains took on a +familiar aspect, then the houses, then the dingy red station. Lastly his +mother, upright and uncompromisingly grim, dressed in her perpetual +mourning of black silk. Her recognition of Hugo produced only the +slightest flurry and immediately she became mundane. + +"Whatever made you come in those clothes?" + +"I was working outdoors, mother. I got right on a train. How is father?" + +"Sinking slowly." + +"I'm glad I'm in time." + +"It's God's will." She gazed at him. "You've changed a little, son." + +"I'm older." He felt diffident. A vast gulf had risen between this +vigorous, religious woman and himself. + +She opened a new topic. "Whatever in the world made you send us all that +money?" + +Hugo smiled. "Why--I didn't need it, mother. And I thought it would make +you and father happy." + +"Perhaps. Perhaps. It has done some good. I've sent four missionaries +out in the field and I am thinking of sending two more. I had a new +addition put on the church, for the drunkards and the fallen. And we put +a bathroom in the house. Your father wanted two, but I wouldn't hear of +it." + +"Have you got a car?" + +"Car? I couldn't use one of those inventions of Satan. Your father made +me hire this one to meet you. There's Anna Blake's house. She married +that fellow she was flirting with when you went away. And there's our +house. It was painted last month." + +Now all the years had dropped away and Hugo was a child again, an +adolescent again. The car stopped. + +"You can go right up. He's in the front room. I'll get lunch." + +Hugo's father was lying on the bed watching the door. A little wizened +old man with a big head and thin yellow hands. Illness had made his eyes +rheumy, but they lighted up when his son entered, and he half raised +himself. + +"Hello, father." + +"Hugo! You've come back." + +"Yes, father." + +"I've waited for you. Sit down here on the bed. Move me over a little. +Now close the door. Is it cold out? I was afraid you might not get here. +I was afraid you might get sick on the train. Old people are like that, +Hugo." He shaded his eyes. "You aren't a very big man, son. Somehow I +always remembered you as big. But--I suppose"--his voice thinned--"I +suppose you don't want to talk about yourself." + +"Anything you want to hear, father." + +"I can't believe you came back." He ruminated. "There were a thousand +things I wanted to ask you, son--but they've all gone from my mind. I'm +not so easy in your presence as I was when you were a little shaver." + +Hugo knew what those questions would be. Here, on his death-bed, his +father was still a scientist. His soul flinched from giving its account. +He saw suddenly that he could never tell his father the truth; pity, +kindredship, kindness, moved him. "I know what you wanted to ask, +father. Am I still strong?" It took courage to suggest that. But he was +rewarded. The old man sighed ecstatically. "That's it, Hugo, my son." + +"Then--father, I am. I grew constantly stronger when I left you. In +college I was strong. At sea I was strong. In the war. First I wanted to +be mighty in games and I was. Then I wanted to do services. And I did, +because I could." + +The head nodded on its feeble neck. "You found things to do? I--I hoped +you would. But I always worried about you. Every day, son, every day for +all these years, I picked up the papers and looked at them with +misgivings. 'Suppose,' I said to myself, 'suppose my boy lost his temper +last night. Suppose someone wronged him and he undertook to avenge +himself.' I trusted you, Hugo. I could not quite trust--the other thing. +I've even blamed myself and hated myself." He smiled. "But it's all +right--all right. So I am glad. Then, tell me--what--what--" + +"What have I done?" + +"Do you mind? It's been so long and you were so far away." + +"Well--" Hugo swept his memory back over his career--"so many things, +father. It's hard to recite one's own--" + +"I know. But I'm your father, and my ears ache to hear." + +"I saved a man pinned under a wagon. I saved a man from a shark. I +pulled open a safe in which a man was smothering. Many things like that. +Then--there was the war." + +"I know. I know. When you wrote that you had gone to war, I was +frightened--and happy. Try as I might, I could not think of a great +constructive cause for you to enter. I had to satisfy myself by thinking +that you could find such a cause. Then the war came. And you wrote that +you were in it. I was happy. I am old, Hugo, and perhaps my nationalism +and my patriotism are dead. Sides in a war did not seem to matter. But +peace mattered to me, and I thought--I hoped that you could hasten +peace. Four years, Hugo. Your letters said nothing. Four years. And then +it stopped. And I understood. War is property fighting property, not +David fighting Goliath. The greatest David would be unavailing now. Even +you could do little enough." + +"Perhaps not so little, father." + +"There were things, then?" + +Hugo could not disappoint his father with the whole formidable truth. +"Yes." He lied with a steady gaze. "I stopped the war." + +"You!" + +"After four years I perceived the truth of what you have just said. War +is a mistake. It is not sides that matter. The object of war is to make +peace. On a dark night, father, I went alone into the enemy lines. For +one hundred miles that night I upset every gun, I wrecked every +ammunition train, I blew up every dump--every arsenal, that is. Alone I +did it. The next day they asked for peace. Remember the false armistice? +Somehow it leaked out that there would be victory and surrender the +next night--because of me. Only the truth about me was never known. And +a day later--it came." + +The weak old man was transported. He raised himself up on his elbows. +"You did that! Then all my work was not in vain. My dream and my prayer +were justified! Oh, Hugo, you can never know how glad I am you came and +told me this. How glad." + +He repeated his expression of joy until his tongue was weary; then he +fell back. Hugo sat with shining eyes during the silence that followed. +His father at length groped for a glass of water. Strength returned to +him. "I could ask for no more, son. And yet we are petulant, insatiable +creatures. What is doing now? The world is wicked. Yet it tries +half-heartedly to rebuild itself. One great deed is not enough--or are +you tired?" + +Hugo smiled. "Am I ever tired, father? Am I vulnerable?" + +"I had forgotten. It is so hard for the finite mind to think beyond +itself. Not tired. Not vulnerable. No. There was Samson--the cat." He +was embarrassed. "I hurt you?" + +"No, father." He repeated it. Every gentle fall of the word "father" +from his lips and every mention of "son" by his father was rare +privilege, unfamiliar elixir to the old man. His new lie took its cue +from Abednego Danner's expressions. "My work goes on. Now it is with +America. I expect to go to Washington soon to right the wrongs of +politics and government. Vicious and selfish men I shall force from +their high places. I shall secure the idealistic and the courageous." It +was a theory he had never considered, a possible practice born of +necessity. "The pressure I shall bring against them will be physical and +mental. Here a man will be driven from his house mysteriously. There a +man will slip into the limbo. Yonder an inconspicuous person will +suddenly be braced by a new courage; his enemies will be gone and his +work will progress unhampered. I shall be an invisible agent of +right--right as best I can see it. You understand, father?" + +Abednego smiled like a happy child. "I do, son. To be you must be +splendid." + +"The most splendid thing on earth! And I have you to thank, you and your +genius to tender gratitude to. I am merely the agent. It is you that +created and the whole world that benefits." + +Abednego's face was serene--not smug, but transfigured. "I yearned as +you now perform. It is strange that one cloistered mortal can become +inspired with the toil and lament of the universe. Yet there is a danger +of false pride in that, too. I am apt to fall into the pit because my +cup is so full here at the last. And the greatest problem of all is not +settled." + +"What problem?" Hugo asked in surprise. + +"Why, the problem that up until now has been with me day and night. +Shall there be made more men like you--and women like you?" + +The idea staggered Hugo. It paralyzed him and he heard his father's +voice come from a great distance. "Up in the attic in the black trunk +are six notebooks wrapped in oilpaper. They were written in pencil, but +I went over them carefully in ink. That is my life-work, Hugo. It is the +secret--of you. Given those books, a good laboratory worker could go +through all my experiments and repeat each with the same success. I +tried a little myself. I found out things--for example, the effect of +the process is not inherited by the future generations. It must be done +over each time. It has seemed to me that those six little books--you +could slip them all into your coat pocket--are a terrible explosive. +They can rip the world apart and wipe humanity from it. In malicious +hands they would end life. Sometimes, when I became nervous waiting for +the newspapers, waiting for a letter from you, I have been sorely +tempted to destroy them. But now--" + +"Now?" Hugo echoed huskily. + +"Now I understand. There is no better keeping for them than your own. I +give them to you." + +"Me!" + +"You, son. You must take them, and the burden must be yours. You have +grown to manhood now and I am proud of you. More than proud. If I were +not, I myself would destroy the books here on this bed. Matilda would +bring them and I would watch them burn so that the danger would go +with--" he cleared his throat--"my dream." + +"But--" + +"You cannot deny me. It is my wish. You can see what it means. A world +grown suddenly--as you are." + +"I, father--" + +"You have not avoided responsibility. You will not avoid this, the +greatest of your responsibilities. Since the days when I made those +notes--what days!--biology has made great strides. For a time I was +anxious. For a time I thought that my research might be rediscovered. +But it cannot be. Theory has swung in a different direction." He smiled +with inner amusement. "The opticians have decided that the microscope I +made is impossible. The biochemists, moving through the secretions of +such things as hippuric acid in the epithelial cells, to enzymes, to +hormones, to chromosomes, have put a false construction on everything. +It will take hundreds, thousands of years to see the light. The darkness +is so intense and the error so plausible that they may never see again +exactly as I saw. The fact of you, at best, may remain always no more +than a theory. This is not vanity. My findings were a combination of +accidents almost outside the bounds of mathematical probability. It is +you who must bear the light." + +Hugo felt that now, indeed, circumstance had closed around him and left +him without succour or recourse. He bowed his head. "I will do it, +father." + +"Now I can die in peace--in joy." + +With an almost visible wrench Hugo brought himself back to his +surroundings. "Nonsense, father. You'll probably get well." + +"No, son. I've studied the progress of this disease in the lower +orders--when I saw it imminent. I shall die--not in pain, but in sleep. +But I shall not be dead--because of you." He held out his hand for Hugo. + +Some time later the old professor fell asleep and Hugo tiptoed from the +room. Food was sizzling downstairs in the kitchen, but he ignored it, +going out into the sharp air by the front door. He hastened along the +streets and soon came to the road that led up the mountain. He climbed +rapidly, and when he dared, he discarded the tedious little steps of all +mankind. He reached the side of the quarry where he had built the stone +fort, and seated himself on a ledge that hung over it. Trees, creepers, +and underbrush had grown over the place, but through the +October-stripped barricade of their branches he could see a heap of +stones that was his dolmen, on which the hieroglyph of him was +inscribed. + +Two tears scalded his cheeks; he trembled with the welter of his +emotions. He had failed his father, failed his trust, failed the world; +and in the abyss of that grief he could catch no sight of promise or +hope. Having done his best, he had still done nothing, and it was +necessary for him to lie to put the thoughts of a dying man to rest. The +pity of that lie! The folly of the picture he had painted of +himself--Hugo Danner the scourge of God, Hugo Danner the destroying +angel, Hugo Danner the hero of a quick love-affair that turned brown +and dead like a plucked flower, the sentimental soldier, the involuntary +misanthrope. + +"I must do it!" he whispered fiercely. The ruined stones echoed the +sound of his voice with a remote demoniac jeer. Do what? What, strong +man? What? + + + + +XXI + + +Now the winds keened from the mountains, and snow fell. Abednego Danner, +the magnificent Abednego Danner, was carried to his last resting-place, +the laboratory of nature herself. His wife and his son followed the +bier; the dirge was intoned, the meaningless cadence of ritual was +spoken to the cold ground; a ghostly obelisk was lifted up over his +meagre remains. Hugo had a wish to go to the hills and roll down some +gigantic chunk of living rock to mark that place until the coming of a +glacier, but he forbore and followed all the dark conventions of +disintegration. + +The will was read and the bulk of Hugo's sorry gains was thrust back +into his keeping. He went into the attic and opened the black trunk +where the six small notebooks lay in oilpaper. He took them out and +unwrapped them. The first two books were a maze of numbered experiments. +In the third a more vigorous calligraphy, a quivering tracery of +excitement, marked the repressed beginning of a new earth. + +He bought a bag and some clothes and packed; the false contralto of his +mother's hymns as she went about the house filled him with such despair +that he left after the minimum interval allowed by filial decency. She +was a grim old woman still, one to whom the coming of the kingdom to +Africa was a passion, the polishing of the coal stove a duty, and the +presence of her unfamiliar son a burden. + +When he said good-by, he kissed her, which left her standing on the +station platform looking at the train with a flat, uncomprehending +expression. Hugo knew where he was going and why: he was on his way to +Washington. The great crusade was to begin. He had no plans, only +ideals, which are plans of a sort. He had told his father he was making +the world a better place, and the idea had taken hold of him. He would +grapple the world, his world, at its source; he would no longer attempt +to rise from a lowly place; he would exert his power in the highest +places; government, politics, law, were malleable to the force of one +man. + +Most of his illusion was gone. As he had said so glibly to his father, +there were good men and corrupt in the important situations in the +world; to the good he would lend his strength, to the corrupt he would +exhibit his embattled antipathy. He would be not one impotent person +seeking to dominate, but the agent of uplift. He would be what he +perceived life had meant him to be: an instrument. He could not be a +leader, but he could create a leader. + +Such was his intention; he had seen a new way to reform the world, and +if his inspiration was clouded occasionally with doubt, he disavowed the +doubts as a Christian disavows temptation. This was to be his +magnificent gesture; he closed his eyes to the inferences made by his +past. + +He never thought of himself as pathetic or quixotic; his ability to +measure up to external requirements was infinite; his disappointment lay +always (he thought) in his spirit and his intelligence. He went to +Washington: the world was pivoting there. + +His first few weeks were dull. He installed himself in a pleasant house +and hired two servants. The use to which he was putting his funds +compensated for their origin. It was men like Shayne who would suffer +from his mission. And such a man came into view before very long. + +Hugo interested himself in politics and the appearance of politics. He +read the _Congressional Record_, he talked with everyone he met, he went +daily to the Capitol and listened to the amazing pattern of harangue +from the lips of innumerable statesmen. In looking for a cause his eye +fell naturally on the problem of disarmament. Hugo saw at once that it +was a great cause and that it was bogged in the greed of individuals. It +is not difficult to become politically partisan in the Capitol of any +nation. It was patent to Hugo that disarmament meant a removal of the +chance for war; Hugo hated war. He moved hither and thither, making +friends, learning, entertaining, never exposing his plan--which his new +friends thought to be lobbying for some impending legislation. + +He picked out an individual readily enough. Some of the men he had come +to know were in the Senate, others in the House of Representatives, +others were diplomats, newspaper reporters, attachés. Each alliance had +been cemented with care and purpose. His knowledge of an enemy came by +whisperings, by hints, by plain statements. + +Congressman Hatten, who argued so eloquently for laying down arms and +picking up the cause of humanity, was a guest of Hugo's. + +"Danner," he said, after a third highball, "you're a sensible chap. But +you don't quite get us. I'm fighting for disarmament--" + +"And making a grand fight--" + +The Congressman waved his hand. "Sure. That's what I mean. You really +want this thing for itself. But, between you and me, I don't give a rap +about ships and guns. My district is a farm district. We aren't +interested in paying millions in taxes to the bosses and owners in a +coal and iron community. So I'm against it. Dead against it--with my +constituency behind me. Nobody really wants to spend the money except +the shipbuilders and steel men. Maybe they don't, theoretically. But +the money in it is too big. That's why I fight." + +"And your speeches?" + +"Pap, Danner, pure pap. Even the yokels in my home towns realize that." + +"It doesn't seem like pap to me." + +"That's politics. In a way it isn't. Two boys I was fond of are lying +over there in France. I don't want to make any more shells. But I have +to think of something else first. If I came from some other district, +the case would be reversed. I'd like to change the tariff. But the +industrials oppose me in that. So we compromise. Or we don't. I think I +could put across a decent arms-limitation bill right now, for example, +if I could get Willard Melcher out of town for a month." + +"Melcher?" + +"You know him, of course--at least, who he is. He spends the steel money +here in Washington--to keep the building program going on. Simple thing +to do. The Navy helps him. Tell the public about the Japanese menace, +the English menace, all the other menaces, and the public coughs up for +bigger guns and better ships. Run 'em till they rust and nobody ever +really knows what good they could do." + +"And Melcher does that?" + +The Congressman chuckled. "His pay-roll would make your eyes bulge. But +you can't touch him." + +Hugo nodded thoughtfully. "Don't you think anyone around here works +purely for an idea?" + +"How's that? Oh--I understand. Sure. The cranks!" And his laughter ended +the discussion. + +Hugo began. He walked up the brick steps of Melcher's residence and +pulled the glittering brass knob. A servant came to the door. + +"Mr. Danner to see Mr. Melcher. Just a moment." + +A wait in the hall. The servant returned. "Sorry, but he's not in." + +Hugo's mouth was firm. "Please tell him that I saw him come in." + +"I'm sorry, sir, but he is going right out." + +"Tell him--that he will see me." + +The servant raised his voice. "Harry!" A heavy person with a flattened +nose and cauliflower ears stepped into the hall. "This gentleman wishes +to see Mr. Melcher, and Mr. Melcher is not in--to him. Take care of him, +Harry." The servant withdrew. + +"Run along, fellow." + +Hugo smiled. "Mr. Melcher keeps a bouncer?" + +An evil light flickered in the other's eyes. "Yeah, fellow. And I came +up from the Pennsy mines. I'm a tough guy, so beat it." + +"Not so tough your ears and nose aren't a sight," Hugo said lightly. + +The man advanced. His voice was throaty. "Git!" + +"You go to the devil. I came here to see Melcher and I'm going to see +him." + +"Yeah?" + +The tough one drew back his fist, but he never understood afterwards +what had taken place. He came to in the kitchen an hour later. Mr. +Melcher heard him rumble to the floor and emerged from the library. He +was a huge man, bigger than his bouncer; his face was hard and sinister +and it lighted with an unpleasant smile when he saw the unconscious thug +and measured the size of Hugo. "Pulled a fast one on Harry, eh?" + +"I came to see you, Melcher." + +"Well, might as well come in now. I worked up from the mines myself, and +I'm a hard egg. If you got funny with me, you'd get killed. Wha' daya +want?" + +Hugo sat down in a leather chair and lit a cigarette. He was +comparatively without emotion. This was his appointed task and he would +make short shrift of it. "I came here, Melcher," he began, "to talk +about your part in the arms conferences. It happens that I disagree with +you and your propaganda. It happens that I have a method of enforcing my +opinion. Disarmament is a great thing for the world, and putting the +idea across is the first step toward even bigger things. I know the +relative truths of what you say about America's peril and what you get +from saying it. Am I clear?" + +Melcher had reddened. He nodded. "Perfectly." + +"I have nothing to add. Get out of town." + +Melcher's eyes narrowed. "Do you really believe that sending me out of +town would do any good? Do you have the conceit to think that one nutty +shrimp like you can buck the will and ideas of millions of people?" + +Hugo did not permit his convictions to be shaken. "There happen to be +extenuating circumstances, Melcher." + +"Really? You surprise me." The broad sarcasm was shaken like a weapon. +"And do you honestly think you could chase me--me--out of here?" + +"I am sure of it." + +"How?" + +Hugo extinguished his cigarette. "I happen to be more than a man. I +am--" he hesitated, seeking words--"let us say, a devil, or an angel, or +a scourge. I detest you and what you stand for. If you do not leave--I +can ruin your house and destroy you. And I will." He finished his words +almost gently. + +Melcher appeared to hesitate. "All right. I'll go. Immediately. This +afternoon." + +Hugo was astonished. "You will go?" + +"I promise. Good afternoon, Mr. Danner." + +Hugo rose and walked toward the door. He was seething with surprise and +suspicion. Had he actually intimidated Melcher so easily? His hand +touched the knob. At that instant Melcher hit him on the head with a +chair. It broke in pieces. Hugo turned around slowly. + +"I understand. You mistook me for a dangerous lunatic. I was puzzled for +a moment. Now--" + +Melcher's jaw sagged in amazement when Hugo did not fall. An instant +later he threw himself forward, arms out, head drawn between his +shoulders. With one hand Hugo imprisoned his wrists. He lifted Melcher +from the floor and shook him. "I meant it, Melcher. And I will give you +a sign. Rotten politics, graft, bad government, are doomed." Melcher +watched with staring eyes while Hugo, with his free hand, rapidly +demolished the room. He picked up the great desk and smashed it, he tore +the stone mantelpiece from its roots; he kicked the fireplace apart; he +burst a hole in the brick wall--dragging the bulk of a man behind him as +he moved. "Remember that, Melcher. No one else on earth is like me--and +I will get you if you fail to stop. I'll come for you if you squeal +about this--and I leave it to you to imagine what will happen." + +Hugo walked into the hall. "You're all done for--you cheap swindlers. +And I am doom." The door banged. + +Melcher swayed on his feet, swallowed hard, and ran upstairs. "Pack," he +said to his valet. + +He had gone; Hugo had removed the first of the public enemies. Yet Hugo +was not satisfied. His approach to Melcher had been dramatic, +terrifying, effective. There were rumours of that violent morning. The +rumours said that Melcher had been attacked, that he had been bought out +for bigger money, that something peculiar was occurring in Washington. +If ten, twenty men left and those rumours multiplied by geometrical +progression, sheer intimidation would work a vast good. + +But other facts disconcerted Hugo. In the first place, his mind kept +reverting to Melcher's words: "Do you have the conceit to think that one +person can buck the will of millions?" No matter how powerful that +person, his logic added. Millions of dollars or people? the same logic +questioned. After all, did it matter? People could be perjured by +subtler influences than gold. Secondly, the parley over arms continued +to be an impasse despite the absence of Melcher. Perhaps, he argued, he +had not removed Melcher soon enough. A more carefully focused +consideration showed that, in spite of what Hatten had said. It was not +individuals against whom the struggle was made, but mass stupidity, +gigantic bulwarks of human incertitude. And a new man came in Melcher's +place--a man who employed different tactics. Hugo could not exorcise the +world. + +A few days later Hugo learned that two radicals had been thrown into +jail on a charge of murder. The event had taken place in Newark, New +Jersey. A federal officer had attempted to break up a meeting. He had +been shot. The men arrested were blamed, although it was evident that +they were chance seizures, that their proved guilt could be at most only +a social resentfulness. At first no one gave the story much attention. +The slow wheels of Jersey justice--printed always in quotation marks by +the dailies--began to turn. The men were summarily tried and convicted +of murder in the first degree. A mob assaulted the jail where they were +confined--without success. Two of the mob were wounded by riot guns. + +A meeting was held in Berlin, one in London, another in Paris. Moscow +was silent, but Moscow was reported to be in an uproar. The trial +assumed international proportions overnight. Embassies were stormed; +legations from America were forced to board cruisers. Strikes were +ordered; long queues of sullen men and women formed at camp kitchens. +The President delivered a message to Congress on the subject. Prominent +personages debated it in public halls, only to be acclaimed and booed +concomitantly. The sentence imposed on two Russian immigrants rocked the +world. In some cities it was not safe for American tourists to go abroad +in the streets. And all the time the two men drew nearer to the electric +chair. + +It was then that Hugo met Skorvsky. Many people knew him; he was a +radical, a writer; he lived in Washington, he styled himself an +unofficial ambassador of the world. A small, dark man with a black +moustache who attended one of Hugo's informal afternoon discussions on a +vicarious invitation. "Come over and see Hugo Danner. He's something new +in Washington." + +"Something new in Washington? I shall omit the obvious sarcasm. I shall +go." Skorvsky went. + +Hugo listened to him talk about the two prisoners. He was lucid; he +made allowances for the American democracy, which in themselves were +burning criticism. Hugo asked him to dinner. They dined at Hugo's house. + +"You have the French taste in wines," Skorvsky said, "but, as it is to +my mind the finest taste in the world, I can say only that." + +Hugo tried to lead him back to the topic that interested both of them so +acutely. Skorvsky shrugged. "You are polite--or else you are curious. I +know you--an American business man in Washington with a purpose. Not an +apparent purpose--just now. No, no. Just now you are a host, cultivated +and genial, and retiring. But at the proper time--ah! A dam somewhere in +Arizona. A forest that you covet in Alaska. Is it not so?" + +"What if it is not?" + +Skorvsky stared at the ceiling. "What then? A secret? Yes, I thought +that about you while we were talking to the others to-day. There is +something deep about you, my new friend. You are a power. Possibly you +are not even really an American." + +"That is wrong." + +"You assure me that I am right. But I will agree with you. You are, let +us say, the very epitome of the man Mr. Mencken and Mr. Lewis tell us +about so charmingly. I am Russian and I cannot know all of America. You +might divulge your errand, perhaps?" + +"Suppose I said it was to set the world aright?" + +Skorvsky laughed lightly. "Then I should throw myself at your feet." + +Both men were in deadly earnest, Hugo not quite willing to adopt the +Russian's almost effeminate delicacy, yet eager to talk to him, or to +someone like him--someone who was more than a great self-centred wheel +in the progress of the nation. Hugo yielded a little further. "Yet that +is my purpose. And I am not altogether impotent. There are things I can +do--" He got up from the table and stretched himself with a feline +grace. + +"Such as?" + +"I was thinking of your two compatriots who were recently given such +wretched justice. Suppose they were liberated by force. What then?" + +"Ah! You are an independent communist?" + +"Not even that. Just a friend of progress." + +"So. A dreamer. One of the few who have wealth. And you have a plan to +free these men?" + +Hugo shrugged. "I merely speculated on the possible outcome of such a +thing; assume that they were snatched from prison and hidden beyond the +law." + +Skorvsky meditated. "It would be a great victory for the cause, of +course. A splendid lift to its morale." + +"The cause of Bolshevism?" + +"A higher and a different cause. I cannot explain it briefly. Perhaps I +cannot explain it at all. But the old world of empires is crumbled. +Democracy is at its farcical height. The new world is not yet manifest. +I shall be direct. What is your plan, Mr. Danner?" + +"I couldn't tell you. Anyway, you would not believe it. But I could +guarantee to deliver those two men anywhere in the country within a few +days without leaving a trace of how it was done. What do you think of +that, Skorvsky?" + +"I think you are a dangerous and a valuable man." + +"Not many people do." Hugo's eyes were moody. "I have been thinking +about it for a long time. Nothing that I can remember has happened +during my life that gives me a greater feeling of understanding than the +imprisonment and sentencing of those men. I know poignantly the glances +that are given them, the stupidity of the police and the courts, the +horror-stricken attitude of those who condemn them without knowledge of +the truth or a desire for such knowledge." He buried his face in his +hands and then looked up quickly. "I know all that passionately and +intensely. I know the blind fury to which it all gives birth. I hate it. +I detest it. Selfishness, stupidity, malice. I know the fear it +engenders--a dreadful and a justified fear. I've felt it. Very little in +this world avails against it. You'll forgive so much sentiment, +Skorvsky?" + +"It makes us brothers." The Russian spoke with force and simplicity. +"You, too--" + +Hugo crossed the room restlessly. "I don't know. I am always losing my +grip. I came to Washington with a purpose and I cannot screw myself to +it unremittingly. These men seem--" + +Skorvsky was thinking. "Your plan for them. What assistance would you +need?" + +"None." + +"None!" + +"Why should I need help? I--never mind. I need none." + +"You have your own organization?" + +"There is no one but me." + +Skorvsky shook his head. "I cannot--and yet--looking at you--I believe +you can. I shall tell you. You will come with me to-night and meet my +friends--those who are working earnestly for a new America, an America +ruled by intelligence alone. Few outsiders enter our councils. We are +all--nearly all--foreigners. Yet we are more American than the Maine +fisherman, the Minnesota farmer. Behind us is a party that grows apace. +This incident in New Jersey has added to it, as does every dense mumble +of Congress, every scandalous metropolitan investigation. I shall +telephone." + +Hugo allowed himself to be conducted half-dubiously. But what he found +was superficially, at least, what he had dreamed for himself. The house +to which he was taken was pretentious; the people in its salon were +amiable and educated; there was no sign of the red flag, the ragged +reformer, the anarchist. The women were gracious; the men witty. As he +talked to them, one by one, he began to believe that here was the +nucleus around which he could construct his imaginary empire. He became +interested; he expanded. + +It was late in the night when Skorvsky raised his voice slightly, so +that everyone would listen, and made an announcement: "Friends, I have +had the honour to introduce Mr. Danner to you. Now I have the greater +honour of telling you his purpose and pledge. To-morrow night he will go +to New Jersey"--the silence became absolute--"and two nights later he +will bring to us in person from their cells Davidoff and Pletzky." + +A quick, pregnant pause was followed by excitement. They took Hugo by +the hand, some of them applauded, one or two cheered, they shouldered +near him, they asked questions and expressed doubts. It was broad +daylight before they dispersed. Hugo walked to his house, listening to a +long rhapsody from Skorvsky. + +"We will make you a great man if you succeed," Skorvsky said. +"Good-night, comrade." + +"Good-night." Hugo went into the hall and up to his bedroom. He sat on +his bed. A dullness overcame him. He had never been patronized quite in +the same way as he had that night; it exerted at once a corrosive and a +lethargic influence. He undressed slowly, dropping his shoes on the +floor. Splendid people they were, he thought. A smaller voice suggested +to him that he did not really care to go to New Jersey for the +prisoners. They would be hard to locate. There would be a sensation and +a mystery again. Still, he had found a purpose. + +His telephone rang. He reached automatically from the bed. The room was +bright with sunshine, which meant that it was late in the day. His brain +took reluctant hold on consciousness. "Hello?" + +"Hello? Danner, my friend--" + +"Oh, hello, Skorvsky--" + +"May I come up? It is important." + +"Sure. I'm still in bed. But come on." + +Hugo was under the shower bath when his visitor arrived. He invited +Skorvsky to share his breakfast, but was impatiently refused. "Things +have happened since last night, Comrade Danner. For one, I saw the +chief." + +"Chief?" + +"You have not met him as yet. We conferred about your scheme. He--I +regret to say--opposed it." + +Hugo nodded. "I'm not surprised. I'll tell you what to do. You take me +to him--and I'll prove conclusively that it will be successful. Then, +perhaps, he will agree to sanction it. Every time I think of those two +poor devils--snatched from a mob--waiting there in the dark for the +electric chair--it makes my blood boil." + +"Quite," Skorvsky agreed. "But you do not understand. It is not that he +doubts your ability--if you failed it would not be important. He fears +you might accomplish it. I assured him you would. I have faith in you." + +"He's afraid I would do it? That doesn't make sense, Skorvsky." + +"It does, I regret to say." His expressive face stirred with discomfort. +"We were too hasty, too precipitate. I see his reason now. We cannot +afford as a group to be branded as jail-breakers." + +"That's--weak," Hugo said. + +Skorvsky cleared his throat. "There are other matters. Since Davidoff +and Pletzky were jailed, the party has grown by leaps and bounds. Money +has poured in--" + +"Ah," Hugo said softly, "money." + +Skorvsky raged. "Go ahead. Be sarcastic. To free those men would cost us +a million dollars, perhaps." + +"Too bad." + +"With a million--the million their electrocution will bring from the +outraged--we can accomplish more than saving two paltry lives. We must +be hard, we must think ahead." + +"In thinking ahead, Skorvsky, do you not think of the closing of a +switch and the burning of human flesh?" + +"For every cause there must be martyrs. Their names will live +eternally." + +"And they themselves--?" + +"Bah! You are impractical." + +"Perhaps." Hugo ate a slice of toast with outward calm. "I was hoping +for a government that--did not weigh people against dollars--" + +"Nor do we!" + +"No?" + +Skorvsky leaped to his feet. "Fool! Dreamer! Preposterous idealist! I +must be going." + +Hugo sighed. "Suppose I went ahead?" + +"One thing!" The Russian turned with a livid face. "One thing the chief +bade me tell you. If those men escape--you die." + +"Oh," Hugo said. He stared through the window. "And supposing I were to +offer your chief a million--or nearly a million--for the privilege of +freeing them?" + +Skorvsky's face returned to its look of transfiguration, the look that +had accompanied his noblest words of the night before. "You would do +that, comrade?" he whispered. "You would give us--give the cause--a +million? Never since the days of our Saviour has a man like you walked +on this--" + +Hugo stood up suddenly. "Get out of here!" His voice was a cosmic +menace. "Get out of here, you dirty swine. Get out of here before I +break you to matchwood, before I rip out your guts and stuff them back +through your filthy, lying throat. Get out, oh, God, get out!" + + + + +XXII + + +Hugo realized at last that there was no place in his world for him. +Tides and tempest, volcanoes and lightning, all other majestic +vehemences of the universe had a purpose, but he had none. Either +because he was all those forces unnaturally locked in the body of a man, +or because he was a giant compelled to stoop and pander to live at all +among his feeble fellows, his anachronism was complete. + +That much he perceived calmly. His tragedy lay in the lie he had told to +his father: great deeds were always imminent and none of them could be +accomplished because they involved humanity, humanity protecting its +diseases, its pettiness, its miserable convictions and conventions, with +the essence of itself--life. Life not misty and fecund for the future, +but life clawing at the dollar in the hour, the security of platitudes, +the relief of visible facts, the hope in rationalization, the needs of +skin, belly, and womb. + +Beyond that, he could see destiny by interpreting his limited career. +Through a sort of ontogenetic recapitulation he had survived his savage +childhood, his barbaric youth, and the Greeces, Romes, Egypts, and +Babylons of his early manhood, emerging into a present that was endowed +with as much aspiration and engaged with the same futility as was his +contemporary microcosm. No life span could observe anything but material +progress, for so mean and inalterable is the gauge of man that his races +topple before his soul expands, and the eventualities of his growth in +space and time must remain a problem for thousands and tens of thousands +of years. + +Searching still further, he appreciated that no single man could force a +change upon his unwilling fellows. At most he might inculcate an idea in +a few and live to see its gradual spreading. Even then he could have no +assurance of its contortions to the desire for wealth and power or of +the consequences of those contortions. + +Finally, to build, one must first destroy, and he questioned his right +to select unaided the objects for destruction. He looked at the Capitol +in Washington and pondered the effect of issuing an ultimatum and +thereafter bringing down the great dome like Samson. He thought of the +churches and their bewildering, stupefying effect on masses who were +mulcted by their own fellows, equally bewildered, equally stupefied. +Suppose through a thousand nights he ravaged the churches, wrecking +every structure in the land, laying waste property, making the loud, +unattended volume of worship an impossibility, taking away the +purple-robed gods of his forbears? Suppose he sank the navy, annihilated +the army, set up a despotism? No matter how efficiently and well he +ruled, the millions would hate him, plot against him, attempt his life; +and every essential agent would be a hypocritical sycophant seeking +selfish ends. + +He reached the last of his conclusions sitting beside a river whither he +had walked to think. An immense loathing for the world rose up in him. +At its apex a locomotive whistled in the distance, thundered +inarticulately, and rounded a bend. It came very near the place where +Hugo reclined, black, smoking, and noisy, drivers churning along the +rails, a train of passenger cars behind. Hugo could see the dots that +were people's heads. People! Human beings! How he hated them! The train +was very near. Suddenly all his muscles were unsprung. He threw himself +to his feet and rushed toward the train, with a passionate desire to get +his fingers around the sliding piston, to up-end the locomotive and to +throw the ordered machinery into a blackened, blazing, bloody tangle of +ruin. + +His lips uttered a wild cry; he jumped across the river and ran two +prodigious steps. Then he stopped. The train went on unharmed. Hugo +shuddered. + +If the world did not want him, he would leave the world. Perhaps he was +a menace to it. Perhaps he should kill himself. But his burning, +sickened heart refused once more to give up. Frenzy departed, then +numbness. In its place came a fresh hope, new determination. Hugo Danner +would do his utmost until the end. Meanwhile, he would remove himself +some distance from the civilization that had tortured him. He would go +away and find a new dream. + +The sound of the locomotive was dead in the distance. He crossed the +river on a bridge and went back to his house. He felt strong again and +glad--glad because he had won an obscure victory, glad because the farce +of his quest in political government had ended with no tragic +dénouement. + +They were electrocuting Davidoff and Pletzky that day. The news scarcely +interested Hugo. The part he had very nearly played in the affair seemed +like the folly of a dimly remembered acquaintance. The relief of +resigning that impossible purpose overwhelmed him. He dismissed his +servants, closed his house, and boarded a train. When the locomotive +pounded through the station, he suffered a momentary pang. He sat in a +seat with people all around him. He was tranquil and almost content. + + + + +XXIII + + +Hugo had no friends. One single individual whom he loved, whom he could +have taken fully into his confidence, might, in a measure, have resolved +his whole life. Yet so intense was the pressure that had conditioned him +that he invariably retreated before the rare opportunities for such +confidences. He had known many persons well: his father and mother, Anna +Blake, Lefty Foresman, Charlotte, Iris, Tom Shayne, Roseanne, even +Skorvsky--but none of them had known him. His friendlessness was +responsible for a melancholy yearning to remain with his kind. Having +already determined to go away, he sought for a kind of compromise. + +He did not want to be in New York, or Washington, or any other city; the +landscape of America was haunted for him. He would leave it, but he +would not open himself to the cruel longing for his own language, the +sight of familiar customs and manners. From his hotel in New York he +made excursions to various steamship agencies and travel bureaus. He +had seen many lands, and his _Wanderlust_ demanded novelty. For days he +was undecided. + +It was a chance group of photographs in a Sunday newspaper that excited +his first real interest. One of the pictures was of a man--erect, +white-haired, tanned, clear-eyed--Professor Daniel Hardin--a procession +of letters--head of the new expedition to Yucatan. The other pictures +were of ruined temples, unpiled stone causeways, jungle. He thought +instantly that he would like to attach himself to the party. + +Many factors combined to make the withdrawal offered by an expedition +ideal. The more Hugo thought about it, the more excited he became. The +very nascency of a fresh objective was accompanied by and crowded with +new hints for himself and his problems. The expedition would take him +away from his tribulations, and it would not entirely cut him off from +his kind: Professor Hardin had both the face and the fame of a +distinguished man. + +A thought that had been in the archives of his mind for many months came +sharply into relief: of all human beings alive, the scientists were the +only ones who retained imagination, ideals, and a sincere interest in +the larger world. It was to them he should give his allegiance, not to +the statesmen, not to industry or commerce or war. Hugo felt that in one +quick glimpse he had made a long step forward. + +Another concept, far more fantastic and in a way even more intriguing, +dawned in his mind as he read accounts of the Maya ruins which were to +be excavated. The world was cluttered with these great lumps of +incredible architecture. Walls had been builded by primitive man, +temples, hanging gardens, obelisks, pyramids, palaces, bridges, +terraces, roads--all of them gigantic and all of them defying the +penetration of archæology to find the manner of their creation. Was it +not possible--Hugo's heart skipped a beat when it occurred to him--that +in their strange combination of ignorance and brilliance the ancients +had stumbled upon the secret of human strength--his secret! Had not +those antique and migratory peoples carried with them the formula which +could be poured into the veins of slaves, making them stronger than +engines? And was it not conceivable that, as their civilizations +crumbled, the secret was lost, together with so many other formulæ of +knowledge? + +He could imagine plumed and painted priests with prayer and sacrifice +cutting open the veins of prehistoric mothers and pouring in the magic +potion. When the babies grew, they could raise up the pyramids, walls, +and temples; they could do it rapidly and easily. A great enigma was +thus resolved. He set out immediately to locate Professor Hardin and +with difficulty arranged an interview with him. + +Preparations for the expedition were being carried on in an ordinary New +York business office. A secretary announced Hugo and he was conducted +before the professor. Daniel Hardin was no dusty pedagogue. His +knowledge was profound and academic, his books were authoritative, but +in himself he belonged to the type of man certain to succeed, whatever +his choice of occupation. Much of his life had been spent in field +work--arduous toil in bizarre lands where life depended sometimes on +tact and sometimes on military strategy. He appraised Hugo shrewdly +before he spoke. + +"What can I do for you, Mr. Danner?" + +Hugo came directly to the point. "I should like to join your Yucatan +expedition." + +Professor Hardin smiled. "I'm sorry. We're full up." + +"I'd be glad to go in any capacity--" + +"Have you special qualifications? Knowledge of the language? Of +archæology?" + +"No." + +The professor picked up a tray of letters. "These letters--more than +three hundred--are all from young men--and women--who would like to join +my expedition." + +"I think I should be useful," Hugo said, and then he played his trump, +"and I should be willing to contribute, for the favour of being +included, a sum of fifty thousand dollars." + +Professor Hardin whistled. Then his eyes narrowed. "What's your object, +young man? Treasure?" + +"No. A life--let us say--with ample means at my disposal and no definite +purpose." + +"Boredom, then." He smiled. "A lot of these other young men are +independently wealthy, and bored. I must say, I feel sorry for your +generation. But--no--I can't accept. We are already adequately +financed." + +Hugo smiled in response. "Then--perhaps--I could organize my own party +and camp near you." + +"That would hamper me." + +"Then--a hundred thousand dollars." + +"Good Lord. You are determined." + +"I have decided. I am familiar with the jungle. I am an athlete. I speak +a little Spanish--enough to boss a labour gang. I propose to assist you +in that way, as well as financially. I will make any contract with you +that you desire--and attach no strings whatever to my money." + +Professor Hardin pondered for a long time. His eyes twinkled when he +replied. "You won't believe it, but I don't give a damn for your money. +Not that it wouldn't assist us. But--the fact is--I could use a man like +you. Anybody could. I'll take you--and you can keep your money." + +"There will be a check in the mail to-morrow," Hugo answered. + +The professor stood. "We're hoping to get away in three weeks. You'll +leave your address with my secretary and I'll send a list of the things +you'll want for your kit." He held out his hand and Hugo shook it. When +he had gone, the professor looked over the roof-tops and swore gleefully +to himself. + +Hugo discovered, after the ship sailed, that everyone called Professor +Hardin "Dan" and they used Hugo's first name from the second day out. +Dan Hardin was too busy to be very friendly with any of the members of +his party during the voyage, but they themselves fraternized +continually. There were deck games and card games; there were long and +erudite arguments about the people whom they were going to study. What +was the Mayan time cycle and did it correspond to the Egyptian Sothic +cycle or the Greek Metonic cycle. Where did the Mayans get their jade? +Did they come from Asia over Bering Strait or were they a colony of +Atlantis? When they knew so much about engineering, why did they not use +the keystone arch and the wheel? Why was their civilization decadent, +finished when the _conquistadores_ discovered it? How old were +they--four thousand years or twelve thousand years? There were +innumerable other debates to which Hugo listened like a man new-born. + +The cold Atlantic winds were transformed overnight to the balm of the +Gulf stream. Presently they passed the West Indies, which lay on the +water like marine jewels. Ages turned back through the days of +buccaneering to the more remote times. In the port of Xantl a rickety +wharf, a single white man, a zinc bar, and a storehouse filled with +chicle blocks marked off the realm of the twentieth century. The ship +anchored. During the next year it would make two voyages back to the +homeland for supplies. But the explorers would not emerge from the +jungle in that time. + +An antiquated, wood-burning locomotive, which rocked along over +treacherous rails, carried them inland. The scientists became silent and +pensive. In another car the Maya Indians who were to do the manual +labour chattered incessantly in their explosive tongue. At the last +sun-baked stop they disembarked, slept through an insect-droning night, +and entered the jungle. For three weeks they hacked and hewed their way +forward; the vegetation closed behind them, cutting off the universe as +completely as the submerging waves of the sea. It was hot, difficult +work, to which Hugo lent himself with an energy that astounded even +Hardin, who had judged him valuable. + +One day, when the high mountains loomed into view, Hugo caught his first +glimpse of Uctotol, the Sacred City. A creeper on the hillside fell +before his machete, then another--a hole in the green wall--and there it +stood, shining white, huge, desolate, still as the grave. His arm hung +in mid-air. Over him passed the mystic feeling of familiarity, that +fugitive sense of recognition which springs so readily into a belief in +immortality. It seemed to him during that staggering instant that he +knew every contour of those great structures, that he had run in the +streets, lived, loved, died there--that he could almost remember the +names and faces of its inhabitants, dead for thousands of years--that he +could nearly recall the language and the music--that destiny itself had +arranged a home-coming. The vision died. He gave a great shout. The +others rushed to his side and found him trembling and pointing. + +Tons of verdure were cut down and pushed aside. A hacienda was +constructed and a camp for the labourers. Then the shovels and picks +were broken from their boxes; the scientists arranged their +paraphernalia, and the work began, interrupted frequently by the +exultant shouts that marked a new finding. No one regretted Hugo. He +made his men work magically; his example was a challenge. He could do +more than any of them, and his hair and eyes, black as their own, his +granite face, stern and indefatigable, gave him a natural dominion over +them. + +All this--the dark, starlit, plushy nights with their hypnotic silences, +the vivid days of toil, the patient and single-minded men--was respite +to Hugo. It salved his tribulations. It brought him to a gradual +assurance that any work with such men would be sufficient for him. He +was going backward into the world instead of forward; that did not +matter. He stood on the frontier of human knowledge. He was a factor in +its preparation, and if what they carried back with them was no more +than history, if it cast no new light on existing wants and +perplexities, it still served a splendid purpose. Months rolled by +unheeded; Hugo gathered friends among these men--and the greatest of +those friends was Daniel Hardin. + +In their isolation and occasional loneliness each of them little by +little stripped his past for the others. Only Hugo remained silent about +himself until his reticence was conspicuous. He might never have spoken, +except for the accident. + +It was, in itself, a little thing, which happened apart from the main +field of activity. Hugo and two Indians were at work on a small temple +at the city's fringe. Hardin came down to see. The great stone in the +roof, crumbled by ages, slipped and teetered. Underneath the professor +stood, unheeding. But Hugo saw. He caught the mass of rock in his arms +and lifted it to one side. And Dan Hardin turned in time to perceive the +full miracle. + +When Hugo lifted his head, he knew. Yet, to his astonishment, there was +no look of fear in Hardin's blue eyes. Instead, they were moderately +surprised, vastly interested. He did not speak for some time. Then he +said: "Thanks, Danner. I believe you saved my life. Should you mind +picking up that rock again?" + +Hugo dismissed the Indians with a few words. He glanced again at Hardin +to make sure of his composure. Then he lifted the square stone back to +its position. + +Hardin was thinking aloud. "That stone must weigh four tons. No man +alive can handle four tons like that. How do you do it, Hugo?" + +Hot, streaming sun. Tumbled débris. This profound question asked again, +asked mildly for the first time. "My father--was a biologist. A great +biologist. I was--an experiment." + +"Good Lord! And--and that's why you've kept your past dark, Hugo?" + +"Of course. Not many people--" + +"Survive the shock? You forget that we--here--are all scientists. I +won't press you." + +"Perhaps," Hugo heard himself saying, "I'd like to tell you." + +"In that case--in my room--to-night. I should like to hear." + +That night, after a day of indecision, Hugo sat in a dim light and +poured out the story of his life. Hardin never interrupted, never +commented, until the end. Then he said softly: "You poor devil. Oh, you +poor bastard." And Hugo saw that he was weeping. He tried to laugh. + +"It isn't as bad as that--Dan." + +"Son"--his voice choked with emotion--"this thing--this is my life-work. +This is why you came to my office last winter. This is--the most +important thing on earth. What a story! What a man you are!" + +"On the contrary--" + +"Don't be modest. I know. I feel. I understand." + +Hugo's head shook sadly. "Perhaps not. You can see--I have tried +everything. In itself, it is great. I can see that. It is, objectively, +the most important thing on earth. But the other way--What can I do? +Tell me that. You cannot tell me. I can destroy. As nothing that ever +came before or will come again, I can destroy. But destruction--as I +believe, as you believe--is at best only a step toward re-creation. And +what can I make afterwards? Think. Think, man! Rack your brains! What?" +His hands clenched and unclenched. "I can build great halls and palaces. +Futile! I can make bridges. I can rip open mountains and take out the +gold. I am that strong. It is as if my metabolism was atomic instead of +molecular. But what of it? Stretch your imagination to its uttermost +limits--and what can I do that is more than an affair of petty profit to +myself? Mankind has already extended its senses and its muscles to their +tenth powers. He can already command engines to do what I can do. It is +not necessary that he become an engine himself. It is preposterous that +he should think of it--even to transcend his engines. I defy you, I defy +you with all my strength, to think of what I can do to justify myself!" + +The words had been wrung from Hugo. Perspiration trickled down his face. +He bit his lips to check himself. The older man was grave. "All your +emotions, your reflections, your yearnings and passions, come--to that. +And yet--" + +"Look at me in another light," Hugo went on. "I've tried to give you an +inkling of it. You were the first who saw what I could do--glimpsed a +fraction of it, rather--and into whose face did not come fear, loathing, +even hate. Try to live with a sense of that. I can remember almost back +to the cradle that same thing. First it was envy and jealousy. Then, as +I grew stronger, it was fear, alarm, and the thing that comes from +fear--hatred. That is another and perhaps a greater obstacle. If I found +something to do, the whole universe would be against me. These little +people! Can you imagine what it is to be me and to look at people? A +crowd at a ball game? A parade? Can you?" + +"Great God," the scientist breathed. + +"When I see them for what they are, and when they exert the tremendous +bulk of their united detestation and denial against me, when I feel rage +rising inside myself--can you conceive--?" + +"That's enough. I don't want to try to think. Not of that. I--" + +"Shall I walk to my grave afraid that I shall let go of myself, +searching everywhere for something to absorb my energy? Shall I?" + +"No." + +The professor spoke with a firm concentration. Hugo arrested himself. +"Then what?" + +"Did it ever dawn on you that you had missed your purpose entirely?" + +The words were like cold water to Hugo. He pulled himself together with +a physical effort and replied: "You mean--that I have not guessed it so +far?" + +"Precisely." + +"It never occurred to me. Not that I had missed it entirely." + +"You have." + +"Then, for the love of God, what is it?" + +Hardin smiled a gentle, wise smile. "Easy there. I'll tell you. And +listen well, Hugo, because to-night I feel inspired. The reason you have +missed it is simple. You've tried to do everything single-handed--" + +"On the contrary. Every kind of assistance I have enlisted has failed me +utterly." + +"Except one kind." + +"Science?" + +"No. Your own kind, Hugo." + +The words did not convey their meaning for several seconds. Then Hugo +gasped. "You mean--other men like me?" + +"Exactly. Other men like you. Not one or two. Scores, hundreds. And +women. All picked with the utmost care. Eugenic offspring. Cultivated +and reared in secret by a society for the purpose. Not necessarily your +children, but the children of the best parents. Perfect bodies, +intellectual minds, your strength. Don't you see it, Hugo? You are not +the reformer of the old world. You are the beginning of the new. We +begin with a thousand of you. Living by yourselves and multiplying, you +produce your own arts and industries and ideals. The new Titans! +Then--slowly--you dominate the world. Conquer and stamp out all these +things to which you and I and all men of intelligence object. In the +end--you are alone and supreme." + +Hugo groaned. "To make a thousand men live my life--" + +"But they will not. Suppose you had been proud of your strength. Suppose +you had not been compelled to keep it a secret. Suppose you could have +found glorious uses for it from childhood--" + +"In the mountains," Hugo whispered, his eyes bemused, "where the sun is +warm and the days long--these children growing. Even here, in this +place--" + +"So I thought. Don't you see, Hugo?" + +"Yes, I see. At last, thank God, I do see!" + +For a long time their thoughts ran wild. When they cooled, it was to +formulate plans. A child taken here. Another there. A city in the +jungle--the jungle had harboured races before: not only these Mayas, but +the Incas, Khmers, and others. A modern city for dwellings, and these +tremendous ruins would be the blocks for the nursery. They would teach +them art and architecture--and science. Engineering, medicine--their +own, undiscovered medicine--the new Titans, the sons of dawn--so ran +their inspired imaginations. + +When the night was far advanced and the camp was wrapped in slumber, +they made a truce with this divine fire. They shook each other's hands. + +"Good-night, Hugo. And to-morrow we'll go over the notes." + +"I'll bring them." + +"Till evening, then." + +Hugo lay on his bed, more ecstatic than he had ever been in his life. By +and by he slept. Then, as if the ghosts of Uctotol had risen, his mind +was troubled by a host, a pageant of dreams. He turned in his sleep, +rending his blankets. He moaned and mumbled. When he woke, he understood +that his soul had undergone another of its diametric inversions. The mad +fancies of the night before had died and memory could not rekindle them. +Little dreads had goaded away their brightness. Conscience was bickering +inside him. Humanity was content; it would hate his new race. And the +new race, being itself human, might grow top-heavy with power. If his +theory about the great builders of the past was true, then perhaps this +incubus would explain why the past was no more. If his Titans disagreed +and made war on each other--surely that would end the earth. He quailed. + +Overcome by a desire to think more about this giants' scheme, he avoided +Hardin. In the siesta hour he went back to his tent and procured the +books wherein his father had written the second secret of life. He +crammed them into his pocket and broke through the jungle. When he was +beyond sight and sound, he dropped his machete and made his way as none +but he could do. With his body he cut a swath toward the mountains and +emerged from the green veil on to the bare rocks, panting and hot. +Upward he climbed until he had gained the summit. To the west were +strewn the frozen billows of the range. To the east a limitless sea of +verdure. At his feet the ruins in neat miniature, like a model. Above, +scalding sun and blue sky. Around him a wind, strangely chill. And +silence. + +He sat with his head on his hands until his thoughts were disturbed. A +humid breath had risen sluggishly from the jungle floor. The sun was +dull. Looking toward the horizon, he could see a black cloud. For an +instant he was frightened, the transformation had been so gigantic and +so soundless. He knew a sudden, urgent impulse to go back to the valley. +He disobeyed it and watched the coming of the storm. The first rapier of +lightning through the bowels of the approaching cloud warned him again. +Staunchly he stood. He had come there to think. + +"I must go back and begin this work," he told himself. "I have found a +friend!" The cloud was descending. Thunder ruminated in heaven's garret. +"It is folly," he repeated, "folly, folly, folly in the face of God." +Now the sun went out like an extinguished lamp, and the horizon crept +closer. A curtain of torrential rain was lowered in the north. "They +will make the earth beautiful," he said, and ever and again: "This thing +is not beautiful. It is wrong." His agitation increased rapidly. The +cloud was closing on the mountain like a huge hand. The muscles in his +legs quivered. + +"If there were only a God," he whispered, "what a prayer I would make!" +Then the wind came like a visible thing, pushing its fingers over the +vegetation below, and whirling up the mountain, laden with dust. After +the wind, the rain--heavy, roaring rain that fell, not in separate +drops, but in thick streams. The lightning was incessant. It illuminated +remote, white-topped peaks, which, in the fury of the storm, appeared to +be swaying. It split clouds apart, and the hurricane healed the rents. +All light went out. The world was wrapped in darkness. + +Hugo clutched his precious books in the remnants of his clothing and +braced himself on the bare rock. His voice roared back into the storm +the sounds it gave. He flung one hand upward. + +"Now--God--oh, God--if there be a God--tell me! Can I defy You? Can I +defy Your world? Is this Your will? Or are You, like all mankind, +impotent? Oh, God!" He put his hand to his mouth and called God like a +name into the tumult above. Madness was upon him and the bitter irony +with which his blood ran black was within him. + +A bolt of lightning stabbed earthward. It struck Hugo, outlining him in +fire. His hand slipped away from his mouth. His voice was quenched. He +fell to the ground. + +After three days of frantic searching, Daniel Hardin came upon the +incredible passage through the jungle and followed it to the mountain +top. There he found the blackened body of Hugo Danner, lying face down. +His clothing was burned to ashes, and an accumulation of cinders was +all that remained of the notebooks. After discovering that, Professor +Hardin could not forbear to glance aloft at the sun and sky. His face +was saddened and perplexed. + +"We will carry him yonder to Uctotol and bury him," he said at last; +"then--the work will go on." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Gladiator, by Philip Wylie + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42914 *** |