Books: Her Weight in Gold
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George Barr McCutcheon >> Her Weight in Gold
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In considerable agitation he awaited the coming of night, fully
determined that if the worst came to the worst he would accept
starvation and torture rather than submit to the cruel demands of
Elinor Crouch. He would die before he would consent to become her
husband.
She came at nine o'clock, accompanied by a fat little woman in black,
who was introduced as a justice of the peace.
"Well?" said his captor, with the most enticing smile. "Have you
decided, Cuthbert?"
"I have," said he resolutely. "I want to warn you, Elinor, that you
shall pay dearly for this outrage. I shall--"
"Then you consent?" she cried, her face aglow.
"No! A thousand times, no! I mean--"
"You are wasting your breath, Cuthbert Reynolds," she interrupted, a
steely glitter in her eyes. "Justice Snow, will you proceed at once
with the ceremony? I will not--"
Reynolds sprang past her with the agility of a cat and hurled himself
through the half-open door, hoping to find the way momentarily clear
for a dash to liberty. Even as hope leaped up in his breast it was
destroyed.
Two brawny figures fell upon him at the landing and he was borne to
earth with a fierceness that stunned him into insensibility.
When he regained consciousness a few moments later, he was lying bound
on the bed. The grim figure of the redoubtable Quinlan sat in the
rocker over against the door, and there was a scornful leer on her
thin lips.
"Bread and water for you, my laddy-buck," said she, with a broad wink.
"What a blithering fool you are. The finest lady in the land wants to
make you her husband, and you kick up a row about it. You--"
"You go to the devil," said Reynolds savagely.
Quinlan laughed.
For four days and nights, he remained in the small, bare room. Each
day brought his persecutor to his side, and on each occasion she went
away baffled but hopeful. She pleaded, stormed and threatened, but he
held steadfast to his resolve.
"I'll die a thousand times, you fiend, before I'll consent to this
ceremony. Go on starving me, as you've set out to do. What will you
have gained in the end?"
"At least the consolation of knowing that no other woman shall call
you husband," she said vindictively.
He was thin, emaciated and hollow-eyed for lack of proper sustenance.
His captors gave him barely enough food and drink to keep body and
soul together. Once a day the gaunt Quinlan brought bread and water to
his room, and once the beautiful Elinor forgot her cigarettes and a
bonbon box on leaving him in a rage. He hid the boxes after emptying
them, cunningly realising that if he ever escaped her clutches the
articles would serve as incontrovertible evidence against her. But
Quinlan and Brown, strong and vigorous, were more than a match for him
in his weakened condition. They choked him until he revealed the
hiding place of the two gold boxes. Then they beat him cruelly.
"If you tell the boss that we beat you up, young fellow, you'll get
your come-uppin's good and plenty," said Quinlan savagely, as he fell
back exhausted in the corner. "You keep your mouth closed, if you
don't want it closed forever."
"If you have a spark of humanity in your soul, woman, you'll give me
food," he cried. "I am dying. Have you no heart, either of you? See
here, I'll give each of you enough money to keep you in comfort for
the rest of your lives if you'll--"
"None o' that, Mr. Reynolds," snapped Quinlan. "What do you take us
for? Men?"
"Gad, I wish you were," he exclaimed. "I'd thrash you within an inch
of your lives if you were."
"Well, don't go to offering us money, that's all. We're women, and we
don't sell out a friend. Say, ain't you about ready to give in to her?
You'd better say the word. She'll make you the happiest man on earth.
What's more, you'll get a good square meal the minute you say you'll
marry her."
"I wouldn't marry her if she were the last woman in the world," he
cried. "Listen to me! Haven't you two women husbands who are dear to
you? Haven't you husbands--"
"They're both in the penitentiary, curse 'em," snarled Brown,
clenching and unclenching her hands. "I wish I could get my hooks on
that man of mine, that's all."
"Lucky dog!" said Reynolds.
"You bet he's a lucky dog. I believe he got sent up deliberately."
"Well, he's only got eight more years to serve, Brown," said Quinlan.
"He'll come back to you for food and clothes. Then you can make up for
this lost time."
"I'll do it, all right," said Brown, smiting the window sill with her
huge fist. Quinlan chuckled.
That night Reynolds made his last stand. When Miss Crouch left him, he
was almost ready to submit. Had she but known it, another five minutes
of argument would have brought him to terms. Starvation had conquered
him.
"If I live till morning," he kept repeating to himself in the solitude
of his cell, "I'll give in. I can't stand it any longer. I shall go
mad."
He fell back on the bed and lay staring at the ceiling, a beaten
wreck. Delirium was at hand.
Sometime during the night he was aroused from a fitful slumber by a
sound at his window. The night was very dark. He could see nothing,
and yet he knew that some one was there--some one who would help him
in his final hour of despair. Struggling weakly from the bed, he
dragged himself to the bars. Beaching between them, his hand
encountered the topmost rung of a ladder. Some one was ascending from
below. He could feel the supports quiver, he could hear the ladder
creak beneath the weight of a living, moving body.
A moment later, the dull outlines of a head and shoulders appeared in
the black frame--the head of a woman! With a groan of despair he
shrank back, thinking that the visitor was one who had come to torment
him in some new fashion.
"Cuthbert!" whispered the woman on the outside. "Cuthbert, dear, are
you there? Speak!"
He staggered to the window once more. Hope buoyed him up. The voice
was not that of one of his inquisitors. It was low, sweet, gentle, yet
quivering with anxiety.
"Yes, yes!" he whispered. "Who are you? For God's sake, get me out of
this place. I am dying here."
"Thank God, you are alive," came the tense whisper from the woman. "I
am not too late."
"Who are you?" He had discovered that her features were rendered
unrecognisable by an ugly pair of motor goggles. A thick veil held her
panama motor hat in place.
She laughed nervously, even shyly.
"Never mind, Mr. Reynolds," she said. "Enough to say that I am here to
release you if it is in the power of woman to do so."
"You call me Mr. Reynolds now," he protested. "A moment ago it was
'Cuthbert dear.' Who are you, oh, my deliverer?"
"Don't ask, please. Not now. You shall know in good time. How long
have you been here?"
"Ages, it seems. In truth, but five days. She is starving me to
death."
"The fiend! Tell me, are you married to her?"
"No!"
"Then I shall do my best to save you." He reflected. Perhaps it would
be leaping from the frying-pan into the fire.
"Just a moment, please. How am I to know that I am bettering my
position by accepting liberty at your hands."
"Oho! You fear that I may want to marry you against your will? Is that
it? Well, the instant you are free you shall be at liberty to go
whither you please and to marry whosoever pleases you. Is that fair
enough?"
"Forgive me for doubting you. But how are you to effect a rescue? I am
guarded by powerful women who would make short work of you in combat.
I can see that you are slight. They are huge, well-armed creatures.
Are you--"
"Don't worry about me," she whispered eagerly. "I can take care of
myself. And now, be patient. I must leave you. The only way to release
you seems to be through the house itself. I have no saw or file, but
wait! There is a saw and file in the tool box on my machine. How
stupid of me! I'll be back in a jiffy. Don't lose heart."
She went rapidly down the ladder. He bethought himself when too late
and lighted the gas. His watch showed him that it was two o'clock.
Vastly excited and strangely revived, he awaited her return, praying
that she might not be intercepted by the minions of Elinor Crouch. An
hour passed. He was about to give up in despair, confident that she
had been summarily dealt with by the eagle-eyed Quinlan, when stealthy
sounds came to his ears from the landing outside his door.
A key was gently inserted in the lock. He prepared to defend himself
by grasping the small rocker in his weak, trembling hands.
The door opened a few inches, then swung wide. Instead of Elinor
Crouch or her hirelings on the threshold stood the lithe, graceful
figure of a girl in a grey motoring suit. She sprang into the room.
The goggles were no longer in evidence, but the green veil hid her
features quite completely.
"Quick! Follow me! I have accounted for the tall woman who stood guard
on the stairway. We must get away before the others discover her
body."
"Good God! Have you killed her?"
"I hope not. Just a little tap on the head with this wrench, that's
all. She'll come out of it all right. Hurry! I've got a couple of
friends watching outside. They'll give the alarm if we fail to appear
at once."
"Men? Thank heaven!"
"No! Women! What good are men at a time like this? Merciful--are you
going to faint?"
He sank to the floor with a groan, and the chair clattered against the
wall with a noise that must have been heard throughout the house.
When he opened his eyes again, his head was pillowed on her knees and
she was wildly whispering words of love and encouragement to him.
"My darling, speak to me. I am here to save you! Open your eyes. Look
at me! Don't--Oh, thank Heaven! You are alive!"
He looked up into the now uncovered face and an expression of utter
bewilderment grew in his eyes.
"Linda Blake!" he murmured. "Can it be possible?" His fingers
tightened on her arm and a glad light leaped into his eyes.
She pulled down her veil in confusion.
"Don't look at me," she whispered. "I hope you didn't hear what I said
to you."
"I heard every word, love of my life. I--Listen! What's that?" He sat
bolt upright.
"Some one's coming!" she cried, springing to her feet and placing
herself between him and the door. He saw a glistening revolver in her
small, white hand.
"It's Elinor Crouch," he whispered. "Heavens, how I have come to hate
those footsteps of hers."
Elinor Crouch, her face pale with anger and apprehension, dashed into
the room an instant later. She was attired in a loose wrapper, secured
at the waist by a handsome Oriental girdle. Her black hair hung in two
long plaits down her back. It was apparent that she had made no effort
to perfect a toilet before rushing up-stairs in response to the noise.
Her dark eyes scarcely took in the slight figure of Linda Blake. They
were for the man on the floor, and for him alone.
"Thank Heaven, you are here!" she cried, in a voice thrilling with
relief. "I was afraid you might have--"
"Stand back, Miss Crouch," interrupted Linda firmly. "Don't you dare
to touch him."
"Who--who are you?" gasped Elinor, for the first time granting the
girl a look of surprise, but not of fear. "Why, on my life, it's that
Blake girl. Soho! This is your work, is it? May I inquire, Miss Blake,
what you are doing in my house at this time of night?"
"I am not here to parley with you, Miss Crouch. Stand aside, please.
If you attempt to stop us, I shall shoot you like a dog."
"Oh, you think you can take him away from me, do you? Well, we shall
soon make short shrift of you, my excellent heroine. Brown! Quinlan!
Here, at once!" She called angrily down the stairs.
Linda smiled. "I think you'll find that my friends have taken care of
Brown and Quinlan."
As if to prove the declaration, a ringing voice came up the stairway
from far below.
"Are you all right, Linda?" It was a woman's voice and it was full of
triumph.
"We've fixed these two muckers down here. Shall we come up?"
"Stay where you are, girls. I can manage nicely by myself, thank you,"
called Linda. Then she turned to the infuriated Elinor, who had shrunk
back against the wall, panting with rage and disappointment. "You'd
better come with us peaceably, my woman," she said coldly, still
keeping the revolver levelled at the person of her rival. "Don't make
any trouble for us. If you show fight we'll be obliged to--Here!"
Elinor Crouch suddenly threw herself forward. The movement was so
unexpected that she was upon Linda before the girl could fire. Twice
the revolver was discharged in a vain attempt to end the struggle at
its beginning, and both bullets came so near to hitting Reynolds that
he hastily rolled under the bed, from which position he watched the
contest in some security but with a great deal of interest.
The combatants swayed back and forth across the narrow room, locked in
a tight embrace. The Crouch woman was the larger and stronger, but her
adversary was lithe and sinewy and as cool as a veteran in the line of
battle. She succeeded in tripping the heavier woman, resorting to a
new trick in wrestling that had just come into practice among athletic
women, and they went to the floor with a crash, Reynolds' rescuer on
top.
He crawled forth to assist her, keeping his eye on the pistol all the
while. Weak as he was, he succeeded in sitting upon Miss Crouch's head
while Linda attempted to secure her arms with the thick veil she had
torn from her hat. He suffered excruciating pain when the furious
Elinor bit him severely, but called out words of encouragement to the
brave girl who fought so valiantly for him.
Just as Elinor Crouch relaxed with a groan of despair, two eager young
women dashed into the room. In a jiffy, the late mistress of the
situation was bound securely, hand and foot, and Linda Blake stood
triumphant and lovely over her foe.
"We'll turn you over to the police," she said, smiling down upon the
ghastly face of Elinor Crouch.
"For God's sake, spare me," groaned the unhappy captive. "It was all
for love, Cuthbert. I--"
But Cuthbert Reynolds had already passed from the room, leaning feebly
on the arm of his deliverer.
"How did you trace me here, dear?" he asked as they slowly descended
the stairs.
"I found out that she was having her mail forwarded to the village
over yonder, and I knew that she owned this place in the woods. I only
had to put two and two together, Cuthbert. You--you don't mind if I
call you Cuthbert, do you?"
He pressed her arm closer to his side. "You are a darling, Linda. I'll
marry you tomorrow if you say the word."
She kissed him rapturously.
"It's too good to be true," she sighed.
QUIDDLERS THREE
CHAPTER I
THE THREE VAN WINKLES
It was not because Mr. Van Winkle had no love for his sons that he
turned the three of them out of his house and home, but because he
loved them well. There was Courtney Van Winkle--nicknamed "Corky" by
his irrepressible brothers--and, besides him, the twins, Jefferson and
Ripley. Courtney was thirty, the twins twenty-six. Jeff and Rip were
big, breezy fellows who had rowed on their college crew and rowed with
the professors through five or six irksome and no doubt valueless
years; Courtney was their opposite in every particular except
breeziness. But he was not breezy in the same way. He was the typical
society butterfly, chatty to the point of blissfulness and as full of
energy as a pint bottle of champagne. You could never by any stretch
of the fancy liken him to anything so magnificent as a quart. Dapper,
arrogant, snobbish, superior was he, and a very handy man to have
about if one wanted to debate the question: Should spats be worn this
year the same as last, or why WILL the common herd!
He had never done a stroke of work in his life. Nor, for that matter,
had his towering, able-bodied brothers. They took the not unnatural
stand that it wasn't necessary. Were they not the sons of the very
rich Mr. Van Winkle? Wasn't he accountable for their coming into the
world and wasn't he therefore responsible for them up to the very
banks of the Jordan? Of course, he was. No one will pretend to deny
it. Work is intended only for those who long for a holiday, not for
him who begins a vacation the day he is born. Such was the attitude of
the Van Winkle boys, if not their argument.
For years old Bleecker Van Winkle had paid for their automobiles,
their polo ponies, their pony ballets, their lobsters and other
glorifications, and he had finally reached the conclusion that while
it was practically impossible for him to part with his money, he was
nevertheless a fool. So he sat him down to think. As the result of his
cogitations--long-drawn-out--he turned over a leaf in the Van Winkle
family history.
"Boys," said he, at the end of a rather stupefying half-hour for them,
"you've heard what I have to say. You know that I love you all. You
will agree that I have been a fond, foolish and over-indulgent father.
As I've said before, it is my fault entirely that you are triflers and
spendthrifts. I should have done better by you. You are college men.
At least, you are CALLED college men, because, with the unceasing aid
of well-paid tutors you managed to get your degrees. I regret,
however, to say that you are not educated men. You are socially
cultivated, but that's all. I am to be blamed for all this. Now I am
paying the penalty. What I have just disclosed to you is the result of
painful deliberation and with your welfare in mind, not my own. You
have agreed at last to my proposition, not, I fear, willingly, but
because there is no alternative. I have given Jeff and Ripley an
excellent education in baseball, swimming, golf and Broadway. No doubt
either of you could get a job as a professional baseball player.
Courtney has been thoroughly polished by contact with society. He
should have no trouble at all in earning quite a decent living by
teaching the nouveau riche how to behave in polite society. If, in ten
years, you all come to me and convince me that you have actually
acquired something of a fortune without any assistance from me, I
shall be happy to kill the fatted calf and divide it with you. Please
bear in mind the little statement in regard to my last will and
testament. Get it into your heads clearly. At my death my fortune goes
to the three of you, share and share alike, but it is to be held in
trust for ten years thereafter, principal AND INCOME intact. Note
that, please: and income. It is possible, even probable that I may
alter the will later on, but now it stands in just that way."
They looked at each other blankly for a long time after the old
gentleman left the room. The expression in Courtney's cock-a-doodle
face was beyond description. The world had come to an end! The twins
were unable to lounge with their accustomed ease and elegance. They
sat bolt upright for perhaps the first time in their lives. To them,
the world was just beginning, and it was a hard, cold, unfriendly
world that lay before them.
In exactly one week from that day the three of them were to start out
in the world to make men of themselves. Each was to have two thousand
dollars in money and each was to start the journey free from debt. Mr.
Van Winkle agreed to square up every pecuniary debt of honour and
every debt of folly. They were to shift for themselves, and they were
to have a fair start. For at least three years they were to absent
themselves from his home, support themselves without assistance from
him, and report progress whenever they felt inclined to do so. He did
not even require them to do that much unless they wished, but he
assured them that he would be proud and happy if they could report
PROGRESS.
"I don't ask you to get rich in ten years. You couldn't do it
honestly, my lads. All I ask is that you support yourselves honourably
and be as respectable as possible in this day and age. Don't try to be
too respectable. People will discredit you. They always do. Be
square." He had said this to them in the course of the amazing
monologue.
"I can't live more than a month on two thousand dollars," whimpered
Courtney, long after the old man had closed the door behind him. "Why,
he hasn't the remotest idea what it costs to keep up one's end in
society here in New York. I--"
"Shut up, Corky," growled Ripley. "We want to think."
"Don't call me Corky," snarled his brother. "You know I detest it,
even when I'm feeling cheerful, and God knows I don't want to be
spoken of lightly today."
"Do you mean that as a joke?"
"A joke? Oh, I see. I suppose you connect 'cork' and 'light' in your
effort to--"
"Thank Heaven," broke in Jefferson, a shadow of relief crossing his
doleful face, "we are spared one thing."
"What's that?" said Ripley.
"The pleasure of lending money to Corky."
Courtney's face fell. He had intended to ask his brothers for a small
loan, and was ready to argue that they, being strong, healthy beasts,
would survive as long on fifteen hundred dollars as he could possibly
hope to exist on three thousand.
"I'm not asking for alms, confound you."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Ripley, with a gleam of joy in his eyes. "Didn't
the governor say he'd settle all of our debts, giving us a clean bill
to start with?"
"He did, bless his heart," said Jeff.
"Precious little good that will do me," lamented Courtney.
"Well, it may do me a lot of good. In settling your debts, Corky, it
occurs to me he'll have to fork over that twenty-seven hundred dollars
you owe me."
"Clever head, Rippy," shouted Jeff. "He owes me a matter of fifteen or
sixteen hundred. Fine work. The old gentleman can't go back on the
debts of honour. He'll have to settle for Corky's--"
"You go to thunder," grated Corky. "Do you suppose I'm going to see
the governor stung by you two vampires? In the first place, it was HIS
money I borrowed from you. In the second place--"
"Right you are, Corky," agreed Rip. "It WAS his money. We absolve him
but not you. If the time ever comes when you are able to pay it back
to me, out of your own pocket, I'll be pleased to collect. We'll let
it go at that."
"I expect to starve to death inside of--"
"Oh, no, you won't. Neither of us will go so far as that." It was
Jefferson who spoke. He arose and stretched his long, muscular frame.
"Do you know, I think the pater is absolutely right in this thing. He--"
"RIGHT?" shrieked Courtney.
"Yes, right. We ARE loafers. We waste time over trifles. He wants to
be proud of us if such a thing is possible. I don't blame him. If I
ever have a son I'll know how to bring him up."
"This is no time to be sentimental, Jeff," said Courtney, with deep
irony in his voice. "We are confronted by a catastrophe. Unlike most
catastrophes, it awaits our pleasure. We are expected to walk up and
shake hands with it and say, 'I'm glad to meet you, old chap,' or
something of the sort."
"It IS a pretty howdy-do, I'll admit," said Rip thoughtfully. "Still,
I agree with Jeff. The governor's right."
"You always agree with each other," said Courtney, pacing the floor in
his despair.
"Don't pull your hair like that, Corky," cautioned Jeff, with a good-
humoured grin. "You've got to be very saving from now on."
"A miserable pittance, a bagatelle," groaned Courtney.
"It IS getting thin," commented Rip.
"Eh? I'm not talking about hair, damn it!"
"Be a man, Corky," cried Jeff cheerfully.
"I asked you not to call me 'Corky,' didn't I?" He glared at his big
brother. "How can you stand there grinning like an imbecile with all
this hanging over you?"
Jefferson's smile expanded. "If dad can make men of all three of his
sons, he won't have to die to go to heaven. He'll BE there."
"And you fellows could have married those awful Sickler girls without
half trying last winter," groaned Courtney. "A million apiece in their
own right! My Lord, if you could only have looked ahead!"
"We did!" cried the twins in unison.
A cunning gleam leaped into Courtney's watery eyes. He drew a long
breath.
"I wonder--" he began, and then stopped.
"No," said Jeff, divining his thoughts. "You proposed to both of 'em,
Corky. It's no use. You are NOT the Van Winkle twins."
After a time, they fell into a discussion of plans and possibilities.
Their father had not left a loophole through which they could fire at
random. His sentence was clean-cut. They could not fall back upon him
for support, help or advice. It was all very clearly set forth. They
were to find their own road and travel it to the bitter end.
"I'm willing to work," said Jeff. "The trouble with me is I don't know
what to tackle first."
"That's my fix," said his twin.
"Well, I know the first thing I'm going to do," said Courtney,
springing to his feet. And he did it an hour later. He succeeded in
borrowing ten thousand dollars from a millionaire who had come to New
York from Cleveland to live and die a Gothamite. With sublime
disregard for the thing called conscience, Courtney included this new
debt in the list to be prepared for his father, and permitted the old
gentleman to settle without so much as a qualm of self-reproach. He
considered it high finance, I believe. His brothers lived up to his
estimate of their astuteness by never even thinking of a ruse so
clever. Corky congratulated himself on getting a long start over them.
Moreover, he had something else in mind. It will be disclosed later
on.
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