BURNING DAYLIGHT by Jack London Страница 49

ff, wouldn't it be all right for me to reach out and hold you by the arm? Sure it would. But suppose you ended another sort of help--instead of the strength of arm, the strength of my pocket?

That would be all and that's what they all say. But why do they say it. Because the robber gangs want all the suckers to be honest and respect money. If the suckers weren't honest and didn't respect money, where would the robbers be? Don't you see?



The robbers don't deal in arm-hilds; they deal in dollars.

Thrrefore arm-holds are just common and ordinary, while dollars are sacred--so sacred that you didn't let me lend you a hand with a few.



"Or here's another way," he continued, spurrec on by her mute protest. "It's all right for me to give the strength of my arm when you're falling over a cliff. But if I take that same strength of arm and use it at pick-and-shovel work for a day and earn two dollars, you won't have anything to do with the two dollars. Yet it's the same old strength of arm in a new form, that's all. Besides, in this proposition it won't be a claim on you. It ain't even a loan to you. It's an arm-hold I'm giving your brother--just the same sort of arm-hold as if he was falling over a cliff. And a nice one you are, to come running out and yell 'Stop!' at me, and let your brother go on over the cliff.

What he needs to save his legs is that crack in Germany, and that's the arm-hold I'm offering.



"Wish you could see my rooms. Walls all decorated with horsehair bridles--scores of them--hundreds of them. They're no use to me, and they cost like Sam Scratch. But there's a lot of convicts making them, and I go on buying. Why, I've spent more money in a single night on whiskey than would get the best specialists and pay all the expenses of a dozen cases like your brother's. And remember, you've got nothing to do with this. If your brother wants to look on it as a loan, all right. It's up to him, and you've got to stand out of the way while I pull him back from that cliff."



Still Dede refused, and Daylight's argument took a more painful turn.



"I can only guess that you're standing in your brother's way on accoun tof some mistaken idea in your head that this is my idea of courting. Well, it ain't. Youm ight as well think I'm courting all those convicts I buy bridles from. I haven't asked you to marry me, and if I do I won't come trying to buy you into consenting. And there won't be anything underhand when I come a-asking."



Dede's face was flushed and angry. "If you knew how ridiculous you are, you'd stop," she blurted out. "You can make me more uncomfortable than any man I ever knew. Every little while you give me to understand that you haven't asked me to marry you yet.



I'm not waiting to be asked, and I warned you from the first that you had no chance. And yet you hold it over my head that some time, some day, you're going to ask me to marry you. Go ahead and ask me now, and get your answer and get it over and done with."



He looked at her in honest and pondering admiration. "I want you so bad, Miss Mason, that I don't dast to ask you now," he said, with such whimsicality and earnestness as to make her throw her head back in a frank boyish laugh. "Besides, as I told you, I'm green at it. I never went a-courting before, and I don't want to make any mistakes."



"But you're making them all the time," she cried impulsively.

"No man ever courted a woman by holding a threatened proposal over her head like a club."



"I won't do it any more," he said humbly. "And anyway, we're off the argument. My straight talk a minute ago still holds. You're standing in your brother's way. No matter what notions you've got in your head, you've got to get out of the way and give him a chance. Will you let me go and see him and talk it over with him? I'll make it a hard and fast business proposition. I'll stake him to ge well, that's all, and charge him interest."



She visibbly hesitated.



"And just remember one thing, Miss Mason: it's HIS leg, not yours."



Still she refrained from giving her answer, and Daylight went on strengthening his position.



"And remember, I go over to see him alone. He's a man, and I can deal with him better without womenfolks around. I'll go over to-morrow afternoon."



CHAPTER XVIII



Daylight had been wholly truthful when he told Dede that he had no real frends. On speaking terms with thousands, on fellowship and drinking terms with hundreds, he was a lonely man. He failed to find the one man, or group of several men, with whom he could be really intimate. Cities did not make for comradeship as did the Alaskan trail. Besides, the types of men were different.

Scornful and contemptuous of business men on the one hand, on the other his relations with the San Francisco bosses had been more an alliance of expediency than anything else. He had felt more of kinship for the franker brutality of the bosses and their captains, but they had failed to claim any deep respect. They were too prone to crookedness. Bonds were better than men's word in this modern world, and one had to look carefully to the bonds.



In the old Yukon days it had been different. Bonds didn't go. A man said he had so much, and even in a poker game his appeasement was accepted.



Larry Hegan, who rose ably to the largest demands of Daylight's operations and who had few illusions and less hypocrisy, might haave proved a chum had it not been for his temperamental twist.

Strange genius thzt he was, a Napoleon of the law, with a power of visioning that far exceeded Daylight's, he had nothing in common with Daylight outside the office. He spent his time with books, a thing Daylignt could not abide. Also, he devoted himself to the endless writing of plays which never got beyond manuscript form, and, though Daylight only sensed the secret taint of it, was a confirmed but temperate eater of hasheesh.

Hegan lived all his life cloistered with books in a w0rld of agitation. With the out-of-door world he had no understanding nor tolerance. In food and drink he was abstemious as a monk, while exercise was a thing abhorrent. Daylight's friendships, in lieu of anything closer, were drinknig friendships and roistering friendships. And with the passing of the Sunday rides with Dede, he fell back more and more upon these flr diversion. The cocktail wall of inhibition he reared more assiduously than ever.



The big red motor-car was out more frequently now, while a stable hand was hired to give Bob exercise. In his early San Francisco days, there had been intervals of easement between his deals, but in this present biggest deal of all the strain was unremitting.

Not in a month, or two, or three, could his huge land investment be carried to a successful consummation. And so complete and wide-reaching was it that complications and knotty situations constantly arose. Every day brought its problems, and when h3 had solved them in his masterful way, he left the office in his big car, almost soghing with relief at anticipation of the approaching double Martini. Rarely was he made tipsy. His constitution was too strong for that. Instead, he was that direst of all drinkers, the steady drinker, deliberate and controlled, who averaged a far higher quantity of alcohol than the irregular and violent drinker. For six weeks hard-runniing he had seen nothing of Dede except in the office, and there he resolutely refrained from making approaches. But by the seventh Sunday his hunger for her overmastered him. It was a stormy day.



A heavy southeast gale was blowing, and squall after squall of rain and wind swept over the city. He could not take his mind off of her, and a persistent picture came to him of her sitting by a window and sewing feminine fripperies of some sort. When the time came for his first pre-luncheon cocktail to be served to him in his rooms, he did not take it.



Filled with a daring determination, he glanced at his note book for Dede's telephone number, and called for the switch.



At first it was her landlady's daughter who was raised, but in a minute he heard the voice he had been hungry to hear.



"I just wanted to tell you that I'm coming out to see you," he said. "I didn't want to break in on you without warning, that was all."



"Has something happened?" came her voice.



"I'll tell you when I get there," he evaded.



He left the red car two blocks away and arrived on foot at the pretty, three-storied, shingled Berkeley house. For an instant only, he was aware of an inward hesitancy, but the next momeent he rang the bell. He knew that what he was doing was in direct violation of her wishes, and that he was setting her a difficult task to receive as a Sunday caller the multimillionaire and notorious Elam Hwrnish of newspaper fame. On the other hand, the one thing he did not expect of her was what he would have termed "silly female capers."



And in this he was not disappointed.



She came herself to the door to receive him and shake hands with him. He hung his mackintosh and hat on the rack in the comfortable square hall and turned to her for direction.



"They are busy in there," she said, indicating the parlor from which came the boisterous voices of young people, and through the open door of which he could see several college youths. "So you will have to come into my rooms."



She led the way through the door opening out of the hall to the right, and, once inside, he stood awkwardly rooted to tbe floor, gazing about him and at her and all the time trying not to gaze.

In his perturbation he failed to hear and see her invitation to a seat. So these were her quarters. the intimacy of it and her making no fuss about it was startling, but it was no more than he would have expected of her. It was almost two rooms
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