CHAPTER IV
Jimmy Wren made his train without difficulty that evening. He spent half an hour in the diner and then made his way forward to the club car, anticipating a smoke and an hour of talk before retiring. To his infinite disgust, he found the car crowded.
As he stood beside the magazine rack and scanned the smoke-filled body of the car, he was suddenly aware that most of the men were amusedly watching one of their number—and Jimmy Wren, following the general gaze, found himself looking at the flushed features of Pete Slosson.
Obviously having ordered innocuous drinks for himself and a protesting fellow-traveler, Slosson was putting into the drinks a heavy "stick" from a large pocket-flask. It was his maudlin ostentation that had drawn all eyes, in tolerant amusement, for he was flourishing the flask and delivering a general address upon prohibition, while inviting all and sundry to join his libations.
Uttering a grunt of contempt, Jimmy Wren turned and retraced his steps to the rear of the train. Gaining the observation platform, he found himself alone, and settled down in a corner chair. He lighted his cigar and stared out into the night across the rails that flashed in the track of the train.
"Confound the fellow!" 'he thought angrily. "Confound the luck that brought me on the same train with him!"
He removed his black-rimmed glasses, pocketed them, and cursed the cinders and Slosson impartially.
In reality, Jimmy Wren meant his oaths to apply liberally to himself; his folly was magnified in his own eyes. There was no telling how much harm his intimacy with Mrs. Fowler had done Armstrong's cause in the past few weeks; and now that he had to sit here inactively and think about it, he was tormented anew.
Again, that glimpse of Pete Slosson revived in his mind the memory of how he had looked from the window to see Slosson bring Mrs. Fowler home. All tenderness and fond imaginings had been ripped out of Wren's soul at one quick wrench, yet the hurt was there. Unable to vent his anger on the lady in the case, he scowled blackly at thought of Slosson's vaguely-guessed hand in all this game, and cursed himself for a fool.
Jimmy tossed away his cigar and produced another one. As he was lighting it within cupped hands, the car door opened and another man came out beneath the dome light of the observation platform. In no mood for conversation, Jimmy Wren did not glance at him.
"Hell of a conductor on this train!" said the other, with voice uplifted above the roar. "Hell of a conductor, that's all I've got to say! Idea of tellin' me to go to bed an' behave myself!"
Jimmy Wren looked up. Slosson stood there, swaying unsteadily to the swinging lurch of the train, trying to extract his flask from his hip-pocket. As he labored, Slosson looked down at Wren, but entirely without recognition. The absence of Wren's usual glasses, and the light from directly above, combined with Slosson's befogged condition to render him entirely oblivious of the identity of the person whom he now addressed.
"Ain't that the limit, I'm asking you? What right's a conductor got to put passenger out o' the club car, eh? I've paid my fare and I'm 'titled to ride where I like. You see what happens when I write in to the company about this, that's all! Here, have a li'l drink? Don't be 'fraid; no white mule in this, brother."
"To hell with you," snapped Jimmy Wren, and turned his shoulder to the intruder. He saw that he was unrecognized, and was glad of the fact. None the less, his temper was hot and at the surface.
Slosson uttered a propitiatory laugh.
"Oh, it's all right! Bonded stuff, I'm tellin' you, brother! Go far's you like; more where this comes from. Can't fool me on liquor, you bet! Here, take a li'l sample, just to prove you'n me—"
He thrust the flask under Wren's nose. Irritated beyond endurance, Wren angrily struck it aside; there came a shivering crash of glass and an odor of raw whisky as the flask shivered on the brass guard-rail.
"Hey!" cried Slosson's indignant voice. "Now look what you've done! What's matter with you, eh?"
His hand clamped down suddenly on Wren's shoulder. Wren took the cigar from his mouth and shoved the glowing end into Slosson's hand.
"Get to hell out of here," he snarled.
A howl of agony burst from Slosson, then his fist drove into Wren's face and sent him sprawling. A long train of sparks flew out into the night from the cigar as it shivered; the train clattered over a crossing and the brakes screeched slightly, slowing down for a stop at a large town ahead.
To everything except each other, the two men on the observation platform were blinded.
Wren rose and hurled himself on Slosson, lashing out in wildcat fury. Every restraint was gone from him, swept away by a whirlwind of rage; he forgot everything except that detested face, and slammed his fists into it frantically.
It was well for Jimmy Wren that Slosson's muddled brain could not exert its usual keen cunning. Aghast before the unexpected passion of this attack, Slosson was slow to answer it in kind, until the sting and batter of Wren's blows hammering into his face roused him to response. Then, bearing forward with a storm of oaths, he beat back the more slender figure of Wren, his arms working like piston-rods. Both men were too beside themselves to hit vitally for the body; they struck only for the face, for punishment, insensate with mutual madness and battle-fever.
Wren had the worse of this slugging-match. Backed into a corner of the guard-rail, he received terrific punishment—until he seized an opening and got in a whip-crack blow to the mouth whose impact staggered Slosson. Enraged afresh, the latter flung himself bodily at Wren; the two men clinched, and went reeling back and forth across the narrow platform to the lurches of the train.
Slosson, panting forth curses, got his fingers locked about Wren's throat, and the latter tried desperately but vainly to free himself of that death-grip. One of the folding chairs tripped them both. The train swung sharply; for an instant Wren felt the brass rail at his back—then he was over, falling into the night, and Slosson with him. A crash, the keen edge of cutting gravel in his face, and Wren found the hold upon his throat loosened as they struck and rolled over together.
The train went thundering on.
After a moment Wren pulled himself to hands and knees, dazed by the shock, and stared about. Dotting lights showed him that he was in the precincts of a town; then, with a low exclamation, he drew himself to where Slosson lay motionless under the stars.
"Stunned—thank heaven he's not dead!" murmured Wren. "Why both of us weren't killed, is more than I know—"
The whistle of another train warned him that they were yet in danger. He stooped, dragged Slosson's inert figure down the embankment, and then relaxed, panting. A brief examination served to show that he was badly bruised and knocked about, a mass of cuts and scratches, but sound in wind and limb. His quick wits took stock of the situation.
"Hm! Nobody saw that scrap," he reflected swiftly. "They'll think we got left at this station or some other one, when they find we're gone. Well, I sure bit off more than I could chew this time—if we hadn't gone over, that devil would have choked the life out of me!"
He bent over Slosson again, and this time made a more careful search. He could find no serious injury, and as he worked, Slosson's stertorous breathing became regular and deep. The man's coma had passed into a drunken sleep.
Jimmy Wren laughed softly. He removed Slosson's coat, emptied it of everything, and then rolled it up and put it under the head of its owner. Stiff and sore, he dragged himself to his feet.
"Sleep hearty!" he admonished his unconscious enemy. "And if I ever hit you again, it'll be with a crowbar—'and let no mournful yesterdays disturb thy peaceful heart!' Pleasant dreams."
Gaining the track, he took up his slow and painful way toward the town.