Chapter 86
On the platform Karl Kastner had come forward, and his icy, incisive, menacing voice cut the growing tumult.
"You haff heard with patience thiss so silly prattle of a rich young girl--" he began. "Now it is a poor man who speaks to you out of a heart full of bitterness against this law and order which you haff heard so highly praised.
"For this much-praised law and order it ha.s.s to-night a.s.sa.s.sinated free speech; it has arrested our comrades, Nathan Bromberg and Max Sondheim; it ha.s.s fill our hall with policemen. And I wonder if there iss, perhaps, a little too much law and order in the world, und iff _vielleicht_, there may be too many policemen as vell as capitalist-little-girls in thiss hall.
"Und, sometimes, too, I am wondering why iss it ve do not kill a few----"
"That'll do!" interrupted the sergeant of police, striding down the aisle. "Come on, now, Karl; you done it that time."
An angry roar arose all around him; he nodded to his men:
"Run in any cut-ups," he said briefly; climbed up to the rostrum, and laid his hand on Kastner's arm.
At the same moment a stunning explosion shook the place and plunged it into darkness. Out of the smoke-choked blackness burst an uproar of shrieks and screams; plaster and gla.s.s fell everywhere; police whistles sounded; a frantic, struggling ma.s.s of humanity fought for escape.
As Jim reeled out into the lobby, he saw Palla leaning against the wall, with blood on her face.
Before the first of the trampling horde emerged he had caught her by the arm and had led her down the steps to the street.
"They've blown up the--the place," she stammered, wiping her face with her gloved hand in a dazed sort of way.
"Are you badly hurt?" he asked unsteadily.
"No, I don't think so----"
He had led her as far as the avenue, now echoing with the clang of fire engines and the police patrol. And out of the darkness, from everywhere, swarmed the crowd that only a great city can conjure instantly and from nowhere.
Blood ran down her face from a cut over her temple. A tiny triangular bit of gla.s.s still glittered in the wound; and he removed it and gave her his handkerchief.
"Was Ilse there, too?" he asked.
"No. n.o.body went to-night except myself.... Why were you there, Jim?"
"Why in G.o.d's name did _you_ go there all alone among those Reds!"
She shook her head wearily:
"I had to.... What a horrible thing to happen!... I am so tired, Jim.
Could you get me home?"
He found a taxi nearer
At the door he took leave of her, deeming it no time to subject her to any further shock that night; but she retained her hold on his arm.
"I want you to come in, Jim."
"You said you were tired; and you've had a terrible shock----"
"That is why I need you," she said in a low voice. Then, looking up at him with a pale smile: "I want you--just once more."
They went in together. Her maid, hearing the opening door, appeared and took her away; and Jim turned into the living-room. A lighted lamp on the piano illuminated his own framed photograph--that was the first thing he noticed--the portrait of himself in uniform, flanked on either side by little vases full of blue forget-me-nots.
He started to lift one to his face, but reaction had set in and his hands were shaking. And he turned away and stood staring into the empty fireplace, pa.s.sionately possessed once more by the eternal witchery of this young girl, and under the spell again of the enchanted place wherein she dwelt.
The very air breathed her magic; every familiar object seemed to be stealthily conspiring in the subdued light to reaccomplish his subjection.
Her maid appeared to say that Miss Dumont would be ready in a few minutes. She came, presently, in a clinging chamber-gown--a pale golden affair with misty touches of lace.
He arranged cus.h.i.+ons for her: she lighted a cigarette for him; and he sank down beside her in the old place.
Both were still a little shaken. He said that he believed the explosion had come from the outside, and that the princ.i.p.al damage had been done next door, in Mr. Puma's office.
She nodded a.s.sent, listlessly, evidently preoccupied with something else.
After a few moments she looked up at him.
"This is the second day of February," she said. "Within the last month Jack Estridge died, and Vanya died.... To-day another man died--a man I have known from childhood.... His name was Pawling. And his death has ruined me."
"When--when did you learn that?" he asked, astounded.
"This morning. My housekeeper in Shadow Hill telephoned me that Mr.
Pawling had killed himself, that the bank was closed, and that probably there was nothing left for those who had funds deposited there."
"You knew that this morning?" he asked, amazed.
"Yes."
"And you--you still had courage to go to your Red Cross, to your canteen and Hostess House--to that horrible Red Flag Club--and face those beasts and make the--the perfectly magnificent speech you made!----"
"Did--did _you_ hear it!" she faltered.
"Every word."
For a few moments she sat motionless and very white in her knowledge that this man had heard her confess her own conversion.
Her brain whirled: she was striving to think steadily trying to find the right way to rea.s.sure him--to forestall any impulsive chivalry born of imaginary obligation.
"Jim," she said in a colorless voice, "there are so many worse things than losing money. I think Mr. Pawling's suicide shocked me much more than the knowledge that I should be obliged to earn my own living like millions of other women.
"Of course it scared me for a few minutes. I couldn't help that. But after I got over the first unpleasant--feeling, I concluded to go about my business in life until it came time for me to adjust myself to the scheme of things."
She smiled without effort: "Besides, it's not really so bad. I have a house in Shadow Hill to which I can retreat when I sell this one; and with a tiny income from the sale of this house, and with what I can earn, I ought to be able to support myself very nicely."
"So you--expect to sell?"
"Yes, I must. Even if I sell my house and land in Connecticut I cannot afford this house any longer."
"I see."