CHAPTER IX
The men at the booking desk treated Fred Starratt with a rough courtesy. They did not make the required search of his person unduly humiliating, and, when they were through, one of the men said, not unkindly:
"We can ring for a messenger if you want to send word to your folks; … it's against the rules to telephone."
"I've notified them," Fred returned, crisply. It was curious to discover that he had no doubts concerning Ginger's delivery of his message.
"Is there a chance for you to get bailed out to-night?" the same man inquired.
Fred hesitated. "There may be," he said, finally.
They put him in a temporary cell with three others—two white men and a Chinese, who had been arrested for smuggling opium. The floor was of thick boards sloping toward the center, and in a corner was a washbasin. There were no seats. One of the white men was pacing up and down with the aimless ferocity of an animal freshly caged. At Fred's entrance the younger and quieter of these two looked up and said, eagerly:
"Got a smoke?"
Fred drew out a box of cigarettes and tossed it to him. The other white man came forward; even the Chinese was moved to interest.
Fred saw the box passed from one to the other. There did not seem to be any color line drawn about this transient solace. Fred took a smoke himself.
"What are you up for?" the younger man inquired.
Fred experienced a shock. "Oh … you see … I just got caught in a jam. It will come out all right."
It sounded ridiculous—this feeble attempt at pride, and Fred regretted it, once it escaped him. But his questioner was not put out of countenance.
"Well, if you've got a pull, it's easy; otherwise—" He finished with a shrug and went on smoking.
Fred looked at him intently. He was a lad not much over twenty, with thick black hair and very deep-blue eyes and an indefinable quality which made his rather irregular features seem much more delicate than they really were.
"What's your trouble?" Fred asked, suddenly.
The boy grinned. "I rolled a guy for twenty dollars in Portsmouth
Square… He was drunk, at that," he finished, as if in justification.
At this moment the door of the cell was opened. The three white men started forward expectantly. But it was the Chinese who was wanted. A group of his countrymen had come to bail him out.
The man who had been silent suddenly spoke to the policeman as he was closing the door again.
"You might as well lock me up proper for the night," he flung out, bitterly. "I guess they're not coming to get me now."
The policeman led him away, in the wake of the disappearing Chinese.
The youth turned to Starratt with a chuckle:
"The old boy's kinda peeved, ain't he? Well, he'll get over that after a while… The first time they jugged me I thought—"
"Then you've been up before?"
"Before?… Say, do I look like a dead one? This isn't a bad habit after you get used to it… So far I've only made the county jails. Some day I suppose I'll graduate… But I'm pretty wise—vagrancy is about all they've ever pinned on me."
Fred looked at his new friend curiously. There didn't seem to be anything particularly vicious about the youth. He merely had learned how to get his hands on easy money and jails were an incident in his career. Without being asked, he described his first tilt with the law. He had come, a youth of seventeen, from a country town up North. He had run away from home, to be exact; there was a stepmother or some equally ancient and honorable excuse. He had arrived in San Francisco in January without money or friends or any great moral equipment, and after a week of purposeless bumming he had been picked up by a policeman and charged with vagrancy. The obliging judge who heard his case gave him twenty-four hours to leave town. He went, in company with a professional tramp, upon the brake beams of a freight train that pulled out for Stockton that very night. But at Stockton the train was overhauled by policemen in wait for just these unwelcome strangers from a rival town, and the two were told to go back promptly where they came from. They got into San Francisco more dead than alive, and then the inevitable happened. They were haled before the selfsame judge who had given the youth such an amazing chance to get started right. He treated them both to thirty days in the county jail, and the youth emerged a wiser but by no means a sadder man. He had learned, among other things, that if one were to be jailed one might just as well be jailed for cause. The charge of vagrancy was very inclusive, and a man could skirt very near the edge of felony and still manage to achieve a nominal punishment. He told all this simply, naturally, naively—as if he were entertaining an acquaintance with a drawing-room anecdote. When he finished, Fred inquired:
"And how about bail to-night?"
The youth shrugged. "Well, I dunno. I sent word to a girl who—"
At that moment the attendant appeared again. He had come after the youth—evidently the girl had proved herself.
"So long," the boy said to Fred, as he went through the door. "If you've got a dame stuck on you there's always a chance."
Fred went over and leaned against the washbasin. His companions had been diverting. In their company he had ceased to think very definitely about his own plight. Now he was alone. He wondered what Helen would do… He put his hand to his cheek—it was still smarting from the blow that had waked his primitive hatred…
He was standing in this same position before the washbasin, smoking furiously, when the attendant came for him.
"It's past midnight," the man said. "I guess your folks ain't coming."
Fred stirred. "No, I guess not," he echoed, with resignation.
The officer took his arm. "Well, we'll have to get fixed up for the night," he announced.
Fred threw his cigarette butt on the floor and stepped on it.
* * * * *
The next morning at eleven o'clock Fred Starratt heard his name bawled through the corridors and he was led out to the room where prisoners were allowed to receive their lawyers or converse with relatives and friends through the barred and screened opening.
A man was exchanging tearful confidences with his wife and baby as he clung to the bars. The woman was sending a brave smile across, but the wire mesh between gave her face the same unreality that a gauze drop in a play gives to the figures on the other side. A strange man was ushered in.
"Mr. Starratt?" he inquired.
Fred inclined his head.
"My name is Watson—from the firm of Kimball & Devine. We're attorneys for Mr. Hilmer. He asked me to run in and see you this morning. Just what did happen?"
Fred recited the events briefly. When he had finished, the attorney said:
"Everything depends on this man Brauer. I'll have to get in touch with him to-day. Hilmer told me to use my own judgment about bail… I guess it's all right."
A hot flush overspread Fred's face, but it died quickly. He could stand any insult now. All night he had been brooding on that slap upon the cheek. A clenched fist had an element of fairness in it, but the bare palm was always the mark of a petty tyrant. It was thus that a woman struck … or a piddling official … or a mob bent on humiliation. They smote Christ in the same way—with their hands. He remembered the phrase perfectly and the circumstance that had impressed it so indelibly on his mind. His people had seen to it that he had attended Sabbath school, but he was well past ten before they had taken him to church. And, out of the hazy impression of the first sermon he had fidgeted through, he remembered the picture of Christ which the good man in the pulpit had drawn, sitting in a mockery of purple, receiving the open-palmed blows of cowards. In his extremity the story recurred with sharp insistence and all night he had been haunted by this thorn-crowned remembrance.
Hilmer's messenger was waiting for him to speak. He gave a shrug.
"It really doesn't matter," he said.
"Oh, come now, Mr. Starratt," Watson broke in, reprovingly. "That isn't any way to talk. You've got to keep your spirits up. Things might be worse. It's lucky you've got a friend like Hilmer. He's a man that can do things for you, if anyone can."
Fred smiled wanly. "I don't suppose you saw my wife, by any chance," he ventured.
"No… Fact is, she's in bed… Hilmer said the news completely bowled her over… That's another reason you've got to buck up—for her sake, you know!"
It ended in Watson putting up the bail money and their departing in a yellow taxicab for an obscure hotel in Ellis Street.
"This is the best arrangement, under the circumstances," Watson explained. "You'll want to be quiet and lie low."
Fred assented indifferently. He was very tired and all he longed for was a chance to sleep.
In less than fifteen minutes after his release Fred Starratt found himself alone in the narrow impersonal room where Hilmer's emissary had installed him. He did not wait to undress—he threw himself upon the bed and slept until midnight.
* * * * *
He awoke startled and unrefreshed. A newsboy just under his window was calling the morning papers with monotonous stridency. Fred jumped to his feet and peered out. People drifted by on the homeward stretch in little pattering groups—actors, chorus girls, waiters, and melancholy bartenders. The usual night wind had died … it had grown warmer. He turned toward his bed again. The walls of the room seemed suddenly to contract. He had a desire to get out into the open… He freshened up and felt better.
He did not wait for the elevator, but walked down the dim stairway to the narrow hotel lobby, flooded by a white, searching light. For a moment he stood in curious confusion at the foot of the stairs that had so suddenly spewed him from half-light to glare, his eyes blinking aimlessly. At that moment he saw a familiar figure rising from one of the morris chairs near the plate-glass window. He stared—it was the private detective who had hounded him all day Saturday. Slowly he retraced his steps and found his way back to his room again… No doubt Brauer, fearful lest his victim would escape before he arranged the proper warrants for arrest, had been responsible for this man's presence in the first instance, but who was hiring him now?… Hilmer?… Well, why not? Surely a man who risked bail money was justified in seeing that the object of his charity kept faith… Fred Starratt sat down and laughed unpleasantly. What a contempt everybody must have for him! What a contempt he had for himself! He threw himself sprawling his full length upon the rumpled bed. But this time it was not to sleep. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling and puffed cigarette after cigarette until morning flooded the room… At eight o'clock he phoned down to have his breakfast sent up.
* * * * *
Toward noon Watson came in. "I saw Brauer yesterday and again this morning… What did you do to make him so sore?"
Fred shrugged. "I guess I took a superior air… A man who plays up his honesty is always nasty… I meant well—most fools do!"
Watson stared uncomprehendingly. "The best thing I can get this man Brauer to agree to is a compromise… He's eager for his pound of flesh."
"What do you mean?"
"He wants to punish you … even the score some way… After I saw him yesterday I went out and talked to Hilmer… We outlined a plan that Brauer is willing to accept. Hilmer has a pull, you know … and if the scheme goes through there'll be no trial, no notoriety, nothing disagreeable… We'll make it plain to the authorities that you gave out this check when you were drunk. Habitual intemperance … that's to be our plea… It means a few months for you at the state's Home for Inebriates … a bit of a rest, really… I'd say you were extremely lucky."
Fred was beyond so futile an emotion as anger. Somehow he was not even surprised, but he had energy enough left for sarcasm. He looked squarely at Watson as he said:
"Why not tell the truth? If any judge is willing to convict me on my intentions I'll go to jail gladly. It seems to me that it ought to be easy enough to prove that I gave that check to Brauer with every prospect in the world that I could cover it. He tricked me, really."
"Yes, but how can you prove it?"
"Why, there's my wife. She heard every bit of the—"
"My dear man, you're not going to drag her into this mess, I hope. What we're trying to do is to hush this thing up, so that in due time you can come back and take your place in society again without scandal."
"How are you going to stop Brauer's tongue?"
"Oh, we'll see that he keeps his counsel… Hilmer will throw him a sop… He's going in with this man Kendrick, you know."
Fred rose and went over to the washbasin and drew himself a drink. Finally he spoke. "It's a damned lie—the whole thing. That is enough to queer it with me. I'm not a common drunkard, and you know it."
"You were drunk when they arrested you."
"Well … yes."
"And that's what gives us such a good chance… Now look here, Starratt, you can take a tip from me or leave it, just as you see fit. A trial for a charge such as you're up against is a damned nasty business. You get publicity that you never live down. And just now there's a big sentiment developing against letting people off easily once the thing is made public. The judges are soaking people hard… You might get off, and then again you might not. Would you like to put your wife in the position of having a convict for a husband? … Think it over."
Fred sat down. He was not beaten yet. After all, what did Helen think about this arrangement? Had they spoken to her? Some of her methods in the past had not been to his taste, but they were the best means to an end that she knew. And she always had been loyal. Ah yes, in a scratch women did rise to the occasion! For an instant he remembered the parting comment of his cell companion of Saturday night:
"If you've got a dame stuck on you there's always a chance."
He turned to Watson with a smile of triumph.
"I'll leave the thing to Mrs. Starratt," he said, confidently. "I think I can depend upon her to stand by me, whatever happens…"
Watson reached into his inner coat pocket.
"I've a note from her here," he said, handing Starratt a square envelope.
Fred broke the seal and unfolded the contents deliberately. He read very slowly… When he had finished he read it through again. He sat for some moments on the edge of the bed, tapping his lips with a tentative finger. Finally he rose.
"Well, Mr. Watson," he said, bitterly, "I said I'd stand by Mrs.
Starratt's decision. And I'm a man of my word."
Watson rose also. "You won't regret this, I'm sure," he ventured, heartily. "Meanwhile I'll get busy pulling wires at once. It won't do to let this thing get cold. I'll go right out and see Hilmer now… Any message you'd like to give your wife?"
Fred looked at the man before him searchingly. "No … none!"
Watson bowed himself out… Fred Starratt put both hands to his temples.