you say, then, you did not make the statements the lady credits you with? you will take oath to that?"
"of course i will." horatio fielding's shifty brown eyes looked for a moment into john maxwell's relentless gray ones, then dropped uneasily. "what in the devil is all this about, anyhow? you come in on a fellow with some damned gossip a lot of old cats have been telling in their sewing society and accuse him of it before he knows what you're talking about. i don't even know what you're getting at."
"i am getting at the truth or falsehood of certain statements attributed to you. cut that out—i prefer to talk to you sober." he waved his hand toward the table on which were bottles of brandy and white rock. "you know what these statements are. to repeat them is unnecessary. the lady who claims she understood you to make them has repeated them to, among others, a mr. benjamin brickhouse. mr. brickhouse claims he approached you on the subject and you neither affirmed nor denied them. you are to do one or the other, and do it now."
horatio fielding's face flushed. "i am—am i? who says so?"
"i say so."
john maxwell came closer. he looked down on the short, full figure with the round, red face, and the round, red face grew redder. the restraint of the larger man, his height and breadth and radiation of power and purpose stung him, and for a moment he yielded to bravado. a look in the face above his checked him, however, and he changed his manner.
"oh, i'm perfectly willing to deny what i didn't do!" he shrugged his shoulders. "to hear you one would think i wasn't a gentleman. of course i didn't say i'd furnished mary cary with money—"
"we are speaking of miss cary."
he bowed smilingly. "miss cary with money to spend on people here, or had bought bonds, or was yorkburg's unknown friend. i said i'd be glad to do it, as i was a friend of yorkburg's and would like to be a better one."
"sit down at that table."
"what for?" horatio fielding's shoulders went back and the dots in his tan-colored vest showed plainly. "i prefer to stand."
"i prefer you to sit. there's paper and pen and ink at that table. three letters at my dictation, and if you hurry you can catch that ten-ten train."
"i'll be damned if i do!"
"you'll be damned if you don't. to make you understand what you have done is impossible. to make you make what amends you can, isn't. sit down and write."
three letters, one to mr. benjamin brickhouse, one to miss honoria brockenborough, one to miss gibbie gault, were written sulkily and in words supplied by john maxwell. signed and in their envelopes, john put them in his pocket, then again looked at his watch. "you have plenty of time," he said, "and if you know what's good for you you'll get out from here and be quick at it."
"get out nothing!" with a swift movement of his hand horatio fielding poured out a full measure of brandy and drank it. "i'd like to know what you've got to do with this thing, anyhow! that's the worst of a little hell of a town like this. nothing in it but a lot of relics and old-maid men and pussy-cat women spying on a girl because she's young and pretty. that cut-glass icicle with an antique nose asked me so many questions that i thought i'd let her know all the goods wasn't in this part of the world. she walked me around the room three times showing me a bunch of old duffers in wigs and knee-breeches, and half-dressed women with caps or curls. said she didn't suppose we had family portraits in nevada. i told her what we did have. if she chose to say i said what she says, she did it because she hates people with money worse than snake poison. all her class is muggy on money. thinks it common to have it. but they've got a long reach all right, and can be very smirky to the face when they smell the stuff. as for questions—" john being near the window, he took hastily another drink of brandy. "she asked enough to make a catechism. i didn't mind her quizzers. she's on the sour, and i thought i'd help her enjoy herself. i told her i didn't mind mary cary's having been an orphan. i was willing to marry her, parents or no parents."
/"willing!"/ john turned. his right arm went out, and from horatio fielding's nose blood spurted over the spotted vest, down the legs of his well-creased trousers, and settled on his patent-leather shoes. howling, he sprang toward the larger man. with his foot john kicked him in the air, and as he came down on the floor stood over him as he would a puppy.
"i can't fight you. i'm too much bigger," he said, spitting toward the fireplace. "to shake a rat would be as easy. but i don't promise to keep my hands off much longer. you're a liar! if you didn't say all miss brockenborough says you said, you implied it. at college you cheated, and you'd smirch a good name in a minute if your own interests could be helped. i'd rather not have blood on my hands, and i haven't time for a trial, but if you don't get out of this town to-night you'll be shipped out in a box to-morrow. you're got an hour. are you going?"
horatio fielding got up, his handkerchief to the bleeding nose. "if it takes the last cent i've got on earth i'll make you pay for this," he said, thickly. he pulled out another handkerchief and put it to his cut lip. "i believe you've broken my nose."
"i hope i have. you're lucky it's not your neck." john took a card out of his pocket-book and handed it to the shaking figure. "that's my address in new york. if you want to see me again you can find me without trouble. next time i'll kill you."
but horatio fielding was out of the room. an hour later at the station john maxwell saw him step stiffly into the sleeper for the west, and, shrugging his shoulders, he turned away and went rapidly up the street. walking toward pelham place, he reached the house in which miss gibbie was waiting, but he could not trust himself to go in. at the door he left a note, then walked down king street and into the calverton road.
for hours he walked. the moon, clear and serene, hung calmly above him, and in the sandy road shadows cast by the stripped branches of trees and shrubs swayed and danced, beckoned or stood still. the air was cold and stinging, and the silence, soft as the pale light of the meaningless moon, was unbroken save by the whispering of the wind. presently at the top of a hill he sat down under a big bare tree and leaned his back against it. far off in the distance the lights of yorkburg twinkled like fireflies in the hazy darkness, and at his left a soft, luminous ball was gathering into shape and brilliance. with a roar it rushed through the outskirts of the little town before its long black tail of cars could be defined, and as its vibrations reached him john struck a match and took out his watch.
"the one-twelve," he said, "and fifteen minutes late." a cigar was lighted slowly, and a long, deep whiff taken. watching its spirals of smoke curl lazily upward, his eyes narrowed and he nodded toward them.
"when the lord made woman"—he was looking now at a light in a group of trees not very far away—"i wonder if he ever realized the trouble she could give a man!"
