CHAPTER X A PROFESSION OF FRIENDSHIP

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Nolan drew back as though to go away, but thought better of it, entered the little room slowly, and without waiting for an invitation, sat down in the remaining chair.

“Howdy,” he said, and smiled at Allan in a manner intended to be amiable.

“How are you?” Allan answered, striving vainly to guess what object Nolan could have had in coming here.

Nolan coughed dismally.

“You see I’m out,” he said, grinning sheepishly.

“Yes; I heard this evening that you had been parolled.”

Nolan coughed again.

“It’d have been murder to keep me in any longer,” he said. “One lung’s gone as it is. Th’ doctor told th’ board I’d be dead inside o’ six months if I wasn’t let out.”

And, indeed, as Allan looked at him more closely, he could see the change in him. He was thinner ? 108 ? and his face had a ghastly pallor, revolting to see. An experienced police officer would have recognized the prison pallor at a glance—the pallor which all criminals acquire who serve a term in jail; but to Allan it seemed proof positive of the progress of his old enemy’s disease, and his heart was stirred with pity.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “I hope you’ll get well, now you’re out again.”

Nolan shook his head lugubriously.

“Not much hope o’ that, I guess,” he answered. “Arter all, it’s no more’n I deserve fer treatin’ you th’ way I did.”

Allan stared at him in astonishment. Repentance was the last thing he had ever expected of Nolan, and he scarcely knew how to answer.

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad as that,” he managed to say, at last.

“It’s mighty kind o’ you t’ say so,” replied Nolan, humbly, “but I know better. I tell you, durin’ th’ last three months, arter I was locked up in my cell every night, I had plenty o’ time t’ think things over, an’ I begun t’ see what a blamed skunk I’d been.”

There was a whine in his voice not wholly genuine. Allan would have doubted its genuineness still more could he have seen the grimace which Nolan made at his back as he turned away to take an order. He was vaguely troubled. If Nolan was sincerely repentant, he did not wish to be unjust to him, yet, ? 109 ? at the same time, he could not wholly believe in the reality of a change so at variance with Nolan’s character. Something of this hesitation was visible in his face, as he looked up from taking the message.

“I don’t blame you fer doubtin’ me,” Nolan added. “If I was in your place, I’d kick me out.”

“Oh, I’m not going to do that,” protested Allan, laughing at the twisted pronouns. “How did you happen to come to Byers?”

Nolan’s face wrinkled a little, but the answer came readily enough.

“I’d been to Wadsworth,” he explained. “Th’ people at th’ pen. bought me a ticket an’ sent me back—but I was ashamed t’ stay there—I was ashamed fer anybody t’ see me. They all knowed what I’d done. So I thought I’d go t’ Parkersburg, where I’ve got an uncle who kin git me work, an’ give me a chance t’ earn an honest livin’.”

“And you’re going to walk?” asked Allan.

“Sure,” answered Nolan. “How else? I ain’t a-goin’ t’ jump no train—that’s agin th’ law. An’ I knows mighty well none o’ th’ trainmen ’d let me ride.”

Allan was silent a moment. He remembered vividly the time when he himself had walked from Cincinnati to Wadsworth in search of work; he remembered how long and weary each of those hundred miles had seemed. And he had been strong ? 110 ? and healthy, while Nolan was evidently weak and sick, not fit at all for such a journey.

Nolan, who had been watching Allan’s face intently, rose suddenly to his feet.

“Don’t you worry about me,” he said. “I ain’t wuth it. Besides, I’ll git along all right.”

“But maybe I can help you,” Allan began.

“No, you can’t; I won’t let you. I ain’t got that low,” and Nolan, crushing his hat fiercely down upon his head, strode to the door. “Good-bye,” he called over his shoulder, “an’ good luck.”

“Good-bye,” answered Allan, and watched him with something almost like respect until his figure was swallowed up in the darkness.

Outside in the night, Nolan was striding up and down, waving his clenched fists wildly in the air, his face convulsed with passion.

“Th’ fool!” he muttered, hoarsely. “Th’ fool! Th’ goody-goody ape! Wanted t’ help me! Oh, I couldn’t ’a’ stood it—I’d ’a’ been at his throat in a minute more. I’ll show him! I’ll show him!”

He circled the shanty cautiously until he reached a spot whence, through the window, he could see Allan bending over his key. He shook his fist at the unconscious boy in a very ecstasy of rage.

“I’ll fix ye!” he cried. “I’ll fix ye!”

He saw Allan stir uneasily in his chair, as though he had heard the threat, and for an instant he stood motionless, with bated breath, his clenched fist still ? 111 ? in the air. Then he realized the impossibility of being overheard at such a distance, and laughed weakly to himself.

“You’ve lost yer nerve, Dan,” he said. “You’ve lost yer nerve! No, I’m blamed if y’ have!” and he straightened up again and shook his fist fiercely in the air.

“Hello,” said a voice just behind him, “what’s all this about?” and a hand grabbed his wrist.

Nolan turned with a little cry of fright. He gave a gasp of relief as he recognized Nevins.

“What d’ ye want t’ scare a feller like that fer?” he demanded, wrenching his wrist loose.

“Were you scared?” asked Nevins, with a little sneer. “Lost your nerve, hey?”

“No, I ain’t lost my nerve,” retorted Nolan, savagely, “an’ you’ll soon find it out, if you tries t’ git smart with me! I didn’t tell all I knowed at th’ trial!”

Even in the darkness, Nolan could see how Nevins’s face changed, and he laughed triumphantly. Nevins echoed the laugh, but in an uncertain key.

“Oh, come, Dan,” he said, “don’t get mad. I didn’t mean anything.”

But Nolan was not one to be generous with an adversary when he had him down.

“No,” he went on slowly, "I didn’t tell all I knowed. Let’s see—last fall you was night operator at Harper’s—an’ th’ station was robbed—an’ ? 112 ? when th’ day man come on in th’ mornin’ he found you gagged an’ bound in yer chair, sufferin’ terrible. I didn’t tell th’ court how willin’ you was t’ git tied up, nor how we happened t’ choose th’ night when th’ station was full o’ vallyble freight, nor how you got a share o’ th’ swag—"

“Oh, come, Dan,” Nevins broke in, “what’s the use of raking all that up again? Of course you didn’t tell. I knew mighty well you wouldn’t give a friend away.”

“There’s no tellin’ what I’ll do if I lose my nerve,” said Nolan, threateningly. “Where ’re you stoppin’?”

“Over here at the village. And mighty dull it is.”

“Well, they’s nobody here knows me,” said Nolan. “S’pose we go over to your room an’ have a talk.”

“All right,” agreed Nevins, after an instant’s hesitation. And they walked away together. “What are you going to do now?” he asked, a moment later.

“Th’ fust thing I’m a-goin’ t’ do,” answered Nolan, his eyes shining fiercely, “is t’ git even with that dirty rat of an Allan West, who sent me to th’ pen.”

“All right,” said Nevins, heartily. “I’m with you there. I don’t like him, either. Only, of course, you’ll not—you’ll not—”

“Oh, don’t be afeerd,” snarled Nolan. "I ain’t ? 113 ? a-goin’ t’ kill him. I got too much sense t’ run my head in a noose. Besides, that ain’t what I want. That ain’t good enough! I want somethin’ t’ happen that’ll disgrace him, that he’ll never git over—somethin’ that’ll haunt him all his life. He holds his head too high, an’ I’m a-goin’ t’ make him hold it low!"

“I see,” said Nevins, thoughtfully. “Well, we can manage it some way.”

“O’ course we kin,” agreed Nolan, and licked his lips eagerly. “Afore I git through with him, he’ll be sorry he was ever born!”

Nevins nodded.

“We can manage it,” he repeated. “Here we are,” he added, and stopped before a two-story frame dwelling-house. “My room is up-stairs. Come along,” and he opened the front door.

Nolan followed him through the door and up the stairs. Nevins opened another door, struck a match to show his companion the way, and then lighted a lamp which stood on a table in the middle of the room. Then he closed the door and locked it, and going to the window, pulled down the blind so that no one could see in from the outside. Then he went to a bureau which stood in one corner, unlocked it and got out a box of stogies, a sack of sugar, a bottle of whiskey, and two glasses. He stirred up the fire in the little stove which warmed the room, and set over it a kettle which he filled with water from the pitcher on his washstand. ? 114 ? Nolan, who had been watching him with greedy eyes, licking his lips from time to time, dropped into a chair with a grunt of satisfaction.

“You’re all right, Nevins,” he said. “You treat a feller decent.”

“Of course I do,” agreed Nevins, “especially when he’s my friend. Now we can talk.”

An hour later, any one looking in upon them, would have seen them sitting together before the fire, their heads nodding, and the room so filled with tobacco-smoke that the flame of the lamp showed through it dim and yellow. Nevins was snoring heavily, but Nolan was still awake and was muttering hoarsely to himself.

“That’s it!” he said. “That’s th’ ticket! You’ve got a great head, Nevins! No, I’ll never tell—not arter you’re helpin’ me out this way. Why, we kin work it easy as greased lightnin’. Nobody’ll ever know—an’ that kid’ll never git over it. He’s that kind—it’ll haunt him! Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if he went crazy!”

Nevins awoke with a start.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s go to bed.”

“All right,” assented Nolan, and arose heavily, and began to undress, lurching unsteadily from side to side. “But you certainly are a peach, Nevins, t’ think of a scheme like that!”

“Oh, that was easy,” protested Nevins, who was winding his alarm-clock. “That was easy.”

? 115 ?

“It’ll fix him,” Nolan chuckled. “He’ll never sleep sound ag’in!”

“And he won’t be such a pet at headquarters,” Nevins added. “In fact, I think his connection with the P. & O. will end then and there.”

“O’ course,” Nolan assented. “But it ain’t that I’m thinkin’ of so much. It’s of him thinkin’ an’ worryin’ an’ goin’ crazy about it. Mebbe he’ll kill hisself!”

Even Nevins, hardened as he was, could not repress a shudder as he saw Nolan’s countenance convulsed with horrible mirth. There was something revolting and fiendish about it. He turned quickly and blew out the light.

“Come on,” he said, almost harshly. “Get to bed. It’s nearly midnight.”

But even after they were in bed, he could hear Nolan chuckling ecstatically to himself, and shrank away from him in disgust.