Out of the Primitive Part 39

"It's where this girl--Miss Leslie--ought to come in, if she's worth anything," thrust Griffith.

"But--but, my dear sir, you quite fail to understand. It will never do to so much as hint to her that he has failed."

"Failed!" retorted Griffith. "When she herself forced him to take the first drink--Don't cut in! If you know Tommy as well as you ought, you know he would never have taken that drink in the condition he was in--not a single drop of anything containing alcohol! No! the girl forced him--she must have. He's dead in love with her. He'd b.u.t.t his head against a stone wall, if she told him to. h.e.l.l!--just when he had his chance at last!"

"His chance?"

"I've been figuring it as a chance. Supposing he had pulled off this big Zariba Dam, he'd have felt that he had made good. It might have brought around that change the doctors tell about. Don't you see? It might have fixed that broken cog--straightened him up somehow for good.

But now--h.e.l.l!"

Griffith bent over, with a groan.

"Gad!" murmured Lord James. After a long pause, he added slowly, "But, I a.s.sure you, regarding Miss Leslie, it will never do to tell her. If she hears of this, he will have no chance--none! That occurred to me immediately I inferred the deplorable truth. I told her we were thinking of going with you to the bridge--Michamac."

"You did? Say, I thought Britishers were slow, but you got your finger on the right b.u.t.ton first shove. It's the very thing for him--change, open air, the bridge--Wait a minute, though! With the chances more than even that it's Tommy's own--Until he makes good on the dam, n.o.body would take his word against that lallapaloozer's."

"I--er--beg pardon. I fail to take you," said Lord James.

"Just the question of his finding out something that's apt to make him manhandle young Ashton."

"Ah--all the better, I say. Anything to divert his mind."

Griffith looked at the Englishman with an approving smile. "You sure are the goods, Mr. Scarbridge! It'll take two or three days for him to fight down the craving, even with all the help we can give him. Wait a minute till I phone to a drug-store."

He shuffled out through a side doorway that led into his private office. While he was telephoning, Lord James heard low moans from the bedroom. He clenched his hands, but he did not go in to his friend until Griffith returned and crossed to the inner door.

"Come in, Mr. Scarbridge," he said. "Next thing is to see if we can talk him into going to Michamac."

CHAPTER XX

DE PROFUNDIS

He opened the door and, seemingly heedless of all else, hastened through to the bathroom, to shut off the flow of the shower. Lord James followed him as far as the corner cot, where Blake, wet-haired and half dressed, sat bowed far over, his elbows on his knees and his face between his hands.

"Head ache, old man?"

Blake raised his head barely enough for his friend to catch a glimpse of his haggard face and miserable eyes.

"Come now, Tommy," snapped Griffith, shuffling back from the bathroom, "we all admit you've made a d.a.m.ned fool of yourself; but what's the use of grouching? Sit up now--look pleasant!" He swung around a chair for Lord James, and seated himself in an old rocker. "Come, sit up, Tommy.

We're going to hold an inquest on the remains."

"They need it--that's no lie," mumbled Blake.

"_Bah!_ Cherk up, you rooster! It isn't the first time you've lost your feet. Maybe your feelings are jolted, but--the instrument is safe.

Remember that time you fell down the fifty-foot bank and never even knocked your transit out of adjustment? You never let go of your grip on it! Come; you'll soon be streaking out again, same as ever."

"No, you're clean off this time, Grif." Instead of raising his head, Blake hunched over still lower. He went on in a dreary monotone, "No, I'm done for this trip--down for the count. I'm all in."

"Rot!" protested Lord James.

"All in, for keeps, this time. I'm not too big a fool to see that.

Everything coming my way,--and to go and chuck it all like this.

Needn't tell me she'll overlook it. Wouldn't ask her to. I'm not worth it."

"She's got to!" cried Griffith, with sudden heat. "She steered you up against this."

"What if she did? Only makes it all the worse. Didn't have sand enough to refuse. I'm no good, that's all--not fit to look at her--she's a lady. You needn't cut in with any hot air. I'm no more 'n a blackguard that got my chance to impose on her--and took it. That's the only name for it--young girl all alone!"

"No, no, old man, just the contrary, believe me!" exclaimed Lord James.

"I doubt if I myself could have done what you did when she--er--"

"'Cause there'd have been no need. You're in her cla.s.s, while I--" He groaned, and burst out morosely: "You know I'm not, both of you. What's the use of lying?"

The two friends glanced across at each other and were silent. Blake went on again, in his hopeless, dreary monotone. "Down and out--down and out. Only son of his mother, and she a drunkard. Nothing like Scripture, Jimmy, for consoling texts."

He began to quote, with an added bitterness in his despair: "'Woe unto them that are mighty to drink, and men of strength to mingle strong drink ... their root shall be as rottenness, and their blossom shall go up as dust--' 'Awake, ye drunkards, and weep and howl, all ye drinkers of wine.' 'For while they are drunken as drunkards, they shall be devoured as stubble fully dry.'--Dry? Good Lord! Ring up a can of suds, Grif. I've got ten miles of alkali desert down my throat!"

"All right, Tommy," said Griffith. "We'll soon fix that. I've sent in an order already."

"You have not!" rejoined Blake, in an incredulous growl. "Well, suppose you ring 'em up again. If that can doesn't get here mighty sudden, I'll save the fellow the trouble of bringing it."

"Hold on, young man," ordered Griffith, as Blake started to heave himself to his feet. "I'm running this soiree."

He stood up and shuffled out into the front room. Blake s.h.i.+fted around restlessly, and was again about to rise, when there came a sharp rapping at the outer door.

"That's the man now," said Lord James. "Hold tight. It will now be only a moment."

Blake restrained himself. But it was a very long moment before Griffith came in with a pitcher and three gla.s.ses upon a battered tray. At the tinkle of the gla.s.ses Blake looked up, his face aflame. He made a clutch at the pitcher.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He went on in a dreary monotone, "No, I'm done for this trip--down for the count. I'm all in."]

Griffith gave him his shoulder, and cackled: "Don't play the hog, Tommy. I've been up in Canada enough to know that the n.o.bility always get first helping. Eh, Lord Scarbridge?"

"You--you--" gasped Blake.

"But this time," went on Griffith, hastily pouring out a br.i.m.m.i.n.g gla.s.sful of liquid from the pitcher, "we'll make an exception."

He turned about quickly, and with his hand clasped over the top of the gla.s.s, reached it out to Blake. Half maddened by his thirst, the latter clutched the gla.s.s, and, without pausing to look at its contents, drained it at a gulp. An instant later the gla.s.s shattered to fragments on the floor, and Blake's fist flung out toward Griffith.

"Qua.s.sia!" he growled. "You dotty old idiot! Needn't think you're going to head me off this soon!"

Griffith set the tray on his bed, and crossing to the door, locked it and put the key in his pocket.

"Now, Tommy," he croaked, "you've got just two friends that I know of.

They're here. Maybe you can take the key from us; but you know what you'll have to do to us first."