The Landloper: The Romance of a Man on Foot






XVIII

CORRALING A CONVERT

Mr. Converse bestowed only a careless glance at the stranger who was waiting at the foot of the club-house steps.

The young man accosted him, not obsequiously, but frankly.

“I know you always take a turn in the park at this hour, Mr. Converse. I beg your pardon, but may I walk for a few steps with you?”

“Why do you want to walk with me?”

“It's a matter—”

“I never discuss business on the street, sir. Come to my office to-morrow.”

He marched on and Farr went along behind him.

“You heard?” demanded the attorney.

“I heard.” Farr replied very respectfully, but he kept on.

He had rushed away from the girl and had come face to face with Mr. Converse, his mind utterly barren of plan or resource. That interim on which he had counted as a time in which he might devise ways and means had been so crowded with happenings that all consideration of plans in regard to Archer Converse had been swept from his mind.

At all events, he had rendered a service in that time; he had made good use of that forty-five minutes—that reflection comforted him even while he dizzily wondered what he was to do now.

That service had demanded sacrifice from him—why not demand something from that service? An idea, sudden, brazen, undefendable, even outrageous, popped into his head. He had no time for sensible planning. Mr. Converse was glancing about with the air of a citizen who would like to catch the eye of a policeman.

“I know all about you, Mr. Converse, even if you know nothing about me. I'm making a curious appeal—it's to your chivalry!”

That was appeal sufficiently novel, so the demeanor of Mr. Converse announced, to arrest even the attention of a gentleman who usually refused to allow the routine of his life to be interrupted by anything less than an earthquake. He halted and fronted this stranger.

“A man who wears that,” proceeded Farr, indicating the rosette of the Military Order of the Loyal Legion in the lapel of Mr. Converse's coat, “and wears it because it came to him by inheritance from General Aaron Converse is bound to listen to that appeal.”

“Explain, sir.”

“Do you know a Richard Dodd who is the nephew of Colonel Dodd?”

“I do, sir. You aren't asking me to assist him, are you? I will have nothing to do with him—no help from me!”

“Just a moment—wait one moment! Mr. Converse, do you know a man named Dennis Burke who has been in prison for ballot frauds?”

“I helped send him there, sir. Are you reciting the rogues' roster to me?”

“Richard Dodd has dressed Burke up as a parson and is trying to force a young woman into a marriage. I haven't time to tell you how I happened to know about this affair—but it is in Rose Alley and there's no time to waste.”

“A preposterous yarn.”

“I have just come from that house.”

“You're a young man of muscle—why didn't you stop it?”

“The girl's mother is there, backing Dodd. Mr. Converse, the cause needs a man like you—a man of law, of standing, of influence. I appeal to you to follow me.”

“A moment—a moment! I scent a ruse. I don't know you. Are you a decoy for blackmailers or robbers?” he inquired, bluntly.

Farr took off his hat and stood before the Honorable Archer Converse, his strange, slow, winning smile dawning on his face.

“I beg your pardon for interrupting your stroll,” he said, gently. “I hope you'll look at me! You may see, perhaps, that you're in error. I'll go back and kill Dodd—and come to your office to-morrow—on business—engaging you as counsel for the defense.”

“Lead the way to that house,” snapped Mr. Converse. The attitude of Farr, his forbearance, his refraining from further solicitation, his frank demeanor, won out for him. “I'm sometimes a little hasty in my remarks,” acknowledged Mr. Converse in the tone of one who felt chastened. “Are you a new-comer to our city?” he continued as they hurried away. “You must be. I should certainly have remembered you if I had ever seen you before.” It was an indirect compliment—a gentleman's careful approach to an apology.

The young man did not reply. He had conceived for this stately man a sudden hero-worship. What Citizen Drew had told him was added to his own instinct in matters of the understanding of a personality. He did not dare to stop and consider to what despicable extent he was lying to his victim. He knew if he stopped to think he would quit. Now the whole affair seemed a crazy thing. Did even his proposed ends justify this procedure?

“There's a short cut through Sanson Street,” stammered Farr, the sense of his own iniquity increasing in the same ratio in which his respect and admiration grew. The honorable gentleman traveled along at a brisk jog, evidently desiring to show his apologetic mood by exhibiting confidence in his guide.

And Farr, stealing side glances at him, was more self-accusatory, more abashed. He cherished the hope that they would be able to anticipate the departure of Dodd and the confederates from the cottage. It was not clear to him just how he would make the incident serve, anyway. He was conscious that he had grasped at any opportunity which would open the ears of the Honorable Archer Converse to a person who had accosted him on the street. Finding somebody in the house would, at least, stamp his story with verity even if it served no purpose in the main intent of Farr's efforts.

But on a well-lighted street corner the young man halted suddenly.

“It's no use,” he informed the astonished Mr. Converse. “Conscience has tripped me. I can't do it.”

“Do you mean to intimate that you have been tricking me, sir?”

“I mean to say, Mr. Converse, that I had proposed to take a half-hour or so and think up some method of honestly and properly interesting you in a matter which is very dear to me—a public matter, sir. But here is how I spent that half-hour.”

Frankly, simply, convincingly he related to his amazed listener the full story of what he had found in the cottage in Rose Alley.

“And therefore I had no time to ponder on my business with you—I simply turned from the young lady, and there you were, sir, coming down the club steps. I did the very best I could on short notice—but what I did was very crude. I apologize. I suppose, under the circumstances, I may as well say 'Good-night'!” He raised his hat.

But there was something in all this which piqued Converse's curiosity.

“Wait one moment. This is getting to be interesting.”

A rather hazy conviction began to assure Farr that possibly chance had dealt a better stroke for him than well-considered planning. It was surely something to know that the honorable gentleman was interested.

“If you had had time to think out a method of approaching me—Let me see, your name is—”

“Farr.”

“Mr. Farr, supposing I had been amenable to your suggestions, what is it you wanted of me?”

“I wanted you to attend a public meeting,” blurted the young man. “They are men who need help—they need—”

“That's sufficient,” snapped Converse. “I am not in politics. I do not address public meetings. Mr. Farr, you would have wasted your time planning. Absolutely!”

“But is there not some appeal that—”

“Useless—useless, sir.” He tapped his cane, and his tones showed irritation. He whirled on his heels. “It is decidedly evident that you are a stranger in these parts, sir. On that account I forgive your presumption.”

At that moment a jigger-wagon rumbled to a halt near them. The corner light had revealed them to the driver.

“Mr. Farr,” called the man, “it hasn't taken long for the news of what you did at the meeting to-night to travel around among the boys. And we ain't going to let you get ahead of us, sir.”

“The more, the merrier, in a good cause,” said Farr; but he was staring regretfully at the back of Mr. Converse, who had begun his retreat.

“I want to tell you I'm on the executive committee of the State Teamsters Union, Mr. Farr. I've been talking the matter up and I can promise you that the union as a body will vote to lend horses and men to carry your spring-water free gratis. And I hope that gent who's starting up-town where the dudes are will tell 'em that there are honest men enough left to protect the poor folks from that poison water him and his rich friends are pumping out of the river to us.”

The Honorable Archer Converse halted his departure very suddenly.

“You are not referring to me, are you, my man?”

“I am if you're tied up with that Consolidated Water Company bunch,” stated the unterrified member of the proletariat.

Mr. Converse retraced his steps. He shook his cane at the driver.

“I want to inform you very distinctly, sir, that I am not interested in the Consolidated.”

“Dawson, apologize to this gentleman,” Farr admonished the driver.

“I'm sorry I said anything,” muttered the man. “But all dudes look alike to me,” he told himself under his breath.

Mr. Converse appeared to be considerably disturbed by the humble citizen's sneer in regard to the Consolidated matter. He addressed himself to Farr.

“I have been touched on a point where I am very sensitive,” he informed the young man. “I do not condone the policies of the Consolidated in regard to their control of franchises. Their system of operation has introduced a bad element into our finance and politics. I would be sorry to be misunderstood by the people of this state.”

“I hope you will not be misunderstood, sir,” averred Farr, with humility.

“In order to show you my stand in the matter and so that you may correct any misunderstanding among your friends in these quarters,” proceeded Mr. Converse, stiffly, “I will inform you that I am taking the case of the citizens' syndicate of Danburg on appeal up to our highest court. We hope to prove criminal conspiracy. We hope to show up some of the corruption in the state. That is why I have gone into the case.”

“I thank you for informing me. I have been trying to fight the Consolidated in my own humble way.”

The eminent lawyer came closer and was promptly interested.

“I am in search of information of all kinds, sir. Kindly explain.”

Eliminating himself as much as possible, Farr described the operations of the Co-operative Spring Water Association. But he could not eliminate the man on the box-seat of the jigger-wagon. When Farr had finished his brief explanation that loyal admirer gave in some enthusiastic testimony in regard to the man who had devised the plan and had sacrificed his time in efforts to extend the system. He kept on until Farr checked him.

“I will say, Mr. Converse, before you leave, that I'd like to have you carry away a right opinion of me. I was not trying to drag you to a mere political gathering. There are some poor men assembled just now in this quarter who need a sympathetic listener and a little good advice. They are also trying to get justice from the Consolidated and all the general oppression it represents.”

“Where are those men?” asked Converse, after a pause during which he wrinkled his brows and tapped his cane.

Farr pointed down the street. Not far away a low-hung transparency heralded “The Square Deal Club.”

Mr. Converse gazed in that direction and hesitated a few moments longer.

“You assure me that it's not a mere political rally?”

“I do, sir!”

Then the son of General Converse gallantly extended his arm.

“I'll be glad to be escorted by you, Mr. Farr,” he said. “Now that I understand this thing a bit better, I am going to break one of my rules.” As they walked along he remarked: “A man's affairs are sometimes directed and controlled for him in a most singular fashion. Little things change preconceived notions very suddenly.”

“They do, sir,” agreed Walker Farr.

All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg