David Lockwin--The People's Idol Part 41

Five millions, for instance.

After that crisis secrecy may be, less sternly imposed. If the lady, in her illness--ah! that was a shock to Harpwood, that runaway--if the lady, in her illness, demand personal calls, which must certainly let loose the gossips--after all, it is her matter. If Esther Lockwin desire to see George Harpwood in the day-time, in the evening--all the time--so be it.

Is it the bright face of Esther Lockwin that spurs Corkey to his grand enterprise? What has kept the short man so many months in silence?

Why is it he has never gotten beyond the matter of the lounge in the fore-cabin of the Africa? This afternoon he will speak. It is a good scheme. It can be fixed--especially by a woman.

"She can stand it if he can," says Corkey, who reckons on the resurrection of David Lockwin.

So the face that was dark at State street becomes self-satisfied at Prairie avenue. Corkey is picturesque as he raps his cane on the marble stairs.

"Bet your sweet life none of this don't scare me!" he soliloquizes, touching the stateliness of the premises.

He enters. He comes forth later, meeting another caller in the vestibule. It is a dark face that the Commodore carries to the bedside of David Lockwin, around on State street.

Corkey sits down. Then he stands up. He concludes he will not talk, but it is a false conclusion. He will talk on the patient's case.

"How slow you git on, old man."

"Not at all. I am getting well," is the cheerful reply. Corkey is in trouble. It is, therefore, time for Lockwin to give him sympathy.

"Corkey is a good fellow," thinks Lockwin, gazing contentedly on his caller.

"I'm afraid it ain't no use," says Corkey, half to himself. "I ain't had no luck since I let the mascot go to the league nine," he says, more audibly.

"I am quite happy," Lockwin says. "It will be a sufficient reward to look like other folks. Only a few weeks of this. But it is a trial."

"It's more of a trial, old man, than I like to see you undertake."

"Yet I am happy. It will be a success. Wonderful, isn't it?"

"Pretty wonderful!" Yet Corkey does not look it.

The man in the bandages thinks upon what he has suffered with his face.

He blesses the day he was permitted by Providence to stop that runaway.

All is coming about in good order. It needed the patience of love--of love, the impatient. He is so sanguine to-day that he must push Corkey a little regarding that scheme.

"Yes, it is wonderful!" says Corkey with affected animation, recovering his presence of mind.

"Have you been over at our friend's lately?" The question comes with the deepest excitement. The countenance of Corkey falls instantly.

"Yes, just come from there."

"Are things all smiling over there?"

"Yes. They're too smiling."

"Did you see Dr. Tarpion?"

"Oh, I never see him! Things are too smiling! You'll never catch me there again."

Lockwin starts.

"She can't play none of her high games onto me. Bet your sweet life!

If she don't want to listen to reason, it's none of my funeral. I say to her--and I ought to say it afore--I say to her how would she like to see her old man."

The patient turns away from Corkey. The oldest wounds sting like a hive of hornets.

"Well, you ought to see the office she give me! She rip and stave and tear! She talk of political slander, and libel, and disgrace, and all that. She rise up big right afore me, and come nigh swearing she would kill such a David Lockwin on sight. There wasn't no such a David Lockwin at all. Her husband was a n.o.bleman. She wished I was fit to black his boots--do you mind?--and you bet your sweet life I was gitting pretty hot myself!"

The thought of it sets Corkey coughing. A thousand wounds are piercing David Lockwin, yet he does not lose a word.

"Then she cool off a considerable, and ask me for to excuse her. 'Oh, it is all right,' says I, a little tart. 'That will be all right.'

"Then she fall right on her knees, and pray to David Lockwin to forgive her for even thinking he isn't dead.

"Now it was only Wednesday that a duck in this town knocked me out at the primaries--played the identical West Side car-barn game on me!

Yes, sir, fetched over 500 street-sweepers to my primaries--machine candidate and all that--oh! he's a jim-dandy!"

"I'm sorry for you, Corkey," the wretched husband says, and thus escapes for a moment from his own terror.

"Yes, it was bad medicine. So I wasn't taking much off anybody. I gets up pretty stiff--this way, and says: 'Good day, Mrs. Lockwin. I guess I can't be no more use to you, nohow.' And just as I was pulling my hat off the peg there comes the very duck that knocked me out--right there! And she chipper to him as sweet as if David Lockwin had been dead twenty years. And he as sweet on her, and right before me! Ugh!"

"Weren't you mistaken, Corkey!" feebly asks the man in the bandages.

"Wasn't I mistaken? Oh, yes! I suppose I can't tell a pair that wants to bite each other! She that was a giving me the limit a minute before was as cunning as a kitten to that rooster. Ugh! it makes me ill!"

"Who is he?" asks David Lockwin.

"He's Mister George Harpwood," cries Corkey bitterly, "and if he aint no snooker, then you needn't tell me I ever see one!"

CHAPTER II

HAPPINESS AND PEACE

Esther Lockwin looks upon George Harpwood as her savior.

"I wanted to be happy," she smiles. "I did not believe I could exist in that desolate state. You came to me! You came to me!"

"Emerson declares that all men honor love because it looks up, not down; aspires, not despairs," says Harpwood. The friend of Esther's widowhood has quoted to her nearly every consolatory remark of the philosophers.

"Shall we live here?" she asks, willing to go to Sahara.

"Certainly. Here I have the best future. You are a helpful soul, Esther. I shall rely upon you."

"We are too sad to be true lovers," she sighs. "Yet I could wish to have you all to myself."