Chapter II (2)

"I wint all round that second-story room, mostly crawlin'--och, me poor feet, it was perishin' with the pain of thim I was!--but niver a way of gittin' up to him, and him likely to drop down on the off side and run like a rabbit if I took me attention off him. So I wint scramblin' back where I'd be atween him and the road and set down on a pile of bricks. He'd been layin' flat on his stommick, gittin' his wind back in him, but prisintly he clumb up on his knees and throwed a brick at me.

"'Ye young gomeral,' I says, 'if ye do that ag'in, I'll shoot a hole in ye!'

"He wint behind a bit of brick wall and throwed another. If iver I go annywheres ag'in without a gun, may the divil fly away with me! So I wint behind a bit of wall mesilf. And there he was.

"Of course, I was ragin', and I begun tossin' bricks back at him. Hiven knows they was enough of thim! Whin he'd throwed about twinty, doin' no harm with thim, thim little arms of his wore out, and I kept just enough of thim goin' to make him nervous-like without hurtin' him, wonderin' in between would it be safe to go after me poor shoes and could I git thim on if I did, me feet bein' swelled surprisin'. Sure, the little spalpeen owed me ivrything he had about him!

"All to wanct a grand idea come to me. I would kidnap me little gintleman and hold him for wan of thim ransoms! 'Sure,' I says to mesilf, 'they're kidnappin' boys all the time, and it's the tidy sum a grown man would be bringin' me, though it's the little wan he is and part wore out.'

"'I say, sor,' I calls up to him, polite, from behind me wall, and droppin' a whole brick closer to him than common, 'wouldn't it be after bein' more pleasant for ye to come down willin',' I says, 'than to have wan of thim bricks search the head of ye for brains and turn the corpse over to me? To say nothin' of the mosquities,' I says.

"'They niver bite me,' he says, trembly-like, from behind his bit of a wall.

"'Holy Saints,' I says, 'that's queer! Are ye as bad as that?'

"'What do ye want of me annyways?' says he, still trembly.

"'Well,' I says, ''twas me intention to rob ye, but now--' And thin I stopped to listen to him keepin' quiet and worryin'. 'But now,' says I prisintly, 'I'm goin' to kidnap ye and inform your friends ye'll be killed entirely if they don't sind me five thousand dollars immediate.'

"'Oh!' says he, like I'd said I was goin' to give him something he wanted. 'Oh,' says he, 'I'll be right down. Just wait till I find me hat.'

"Och, it took me breath away to have him so willin', but I could hear him scramblin' round up there, and prisintly I seen him at a hole in the wall, and he begun lettin' down his ladder and losin' no time over it.

"'I'll just be takin' anny sticks of things ye have,' I says, frindly, whin he come down to me, and, findin' the flat side of two bricks for me poor feet, I wint through him careful and religious. So help me, they was only elivin dollars and twinty cents and niver the sign of a watch! He might as well been some wan that earned his own livin'.

"'Look here,' says he, maybe feelin' sort of hurt himsilf, 'ye said five thousand. Why not make it ten?'

"'What?' says I, gaspin'.

"'Why not make it ten?' says he.

"'Arrah,' says I, 'are ye wantin' me to feed ye till me grandchilder can be collectin' of it? Ten thousand, indeed! Ye ought to be thankful ye ain't marked down to forty-nine-fifty.'

"'Oh, well,' he says, careless, 'it's none of my business. But where do ye take me?'

"Now I'd been thinkin' of a old warehouse near Mike O'Hara's dock with a fine cellar in it and no wan nosin' round, but it's mesilf is too knowledgeable to be tellin' ivrything that's in me head, even if they was time for it. 'We'll be gittin' me shoes first,' I says, 'and thin we'll be climbin' down to me boat and cross the river,' I says, 'where they ain't room for so manny mosquities.'

"All right,' says he, cheerful, 'though I don't mind thim anny, as I told ye a bit gone. Come along afore it gits too dark.'

"Was they iver the like of that, and him bein' kidnapped! 'Faith, maybe it's a bluff he's workin',' thinks I, 'though divil the wan of me knows why he'd be workin' it.' And whin I'd took him to where I'd dropped me shoes--oh, wirra, how bad the walkin' was!--I let go of him entirely whilst I was crammin' thim two feet of mine into thim, to see would he run ag'in, but keepin' me arm handy to a brick to throw through him whin he tried it. Och, he niver made a move, and the more chanct I give him, the peaceabler he stood there waitin' for me. It was most unsettlin'.

'We'll be goin' down the cliff now,' says I, takin' off me suspinders and tyin' wan ind of thim in a hard knot around the scrawny little neck of him to hold him by.

"'Do ye always tie thim up that way?' says he.

"'Yis, sor,' I says; 'thim suspinders has kidnapped nine men, divil a wan less,' I says.

"'I hope they was nice people,' says he.

"'And why do ye hope that?' I says.

"'Why not?' says he, gintle-like.

"'Don't ye git gay, sor,' says I, 'and don't be goin' so fast whin it's so steep-like. Faith, it's you is bein' kidnapped, not mesilf.'

"'Yis,' says he, 'I raymimber that.'

"'Oh, ye do?' says I. 'Ye'd better be usin' your brains to walk with instid of strainin' thim like that. Here! That ain't the way!' I yells at him as we come to where a side path turned off. And with that me poor feet slipped on some loose stones, and I would 'a' jerked the head off him but for the suspinders stretchin'.

"'Guh!' says he, which was about what ye'd expect from him whin he talked without stoppin' to think it up aforehand. And thin says he: 'Here, me good man, ye'd better be fixin' this. The rope's comin' loose.'

"'I near dropped the suspinders entirely. 'Holy hiven,' I says to mesilf, 'he must think we're playin' he was Queen of the May, and me wantin' to quit and go home! Bedad, they's something behind all this!' But I tied him up ag'in and we wint on down, with me thinkin' till the roots of me hair was twisted, tryin' to find was they anny explanation of him, and him stumblin' along in the dark and askin' me quistions, happy and continted.

"Whin we come to the bottom I says 'whoa' to him, till I could see they was no wan hangin' round, and thin we wint down where I'd left me boat. Divil the lie I'm tellin' ye, some wan had took it!

"'Is it gone?' says he.

"'Mother of hiven, is it _here_?' says I, irritated at the empty head of him.

"'No,' says he.

"'Thin where is it?' I says.

"'Gone,' says he.

"'Right,' says I, 'and ye guessed it without puttin' yoursilf greatly about. It shows what thinkin' would do for ye if ye was to try it.'

"'What are we goin' to do now?' says he, bleatin' sorrowful like a sheep.

"'Look here, sor,' I says, drawin' with me finger in the sand, the moon havin' come up so we could see a bit; 'here is wan side of the river, and we're on it,' I says, 'and here is the other side, and we ain't, but we wish we was. What's the answer, and how manny sides is they to the river? Come along with me and figure it out to yoursilf,' I says. 'I'm goin' to see is they a chanct to steal somewan ilse's boat,' I says, pullin' him after me by the suspinders.

"But sure, wan half thim jersey omadhawns must spind all their time arrangin' to keep the other half from stealin' boats off thim, for what boats they was was chained up with enough iron to sink thim, and me with only me knife for the patent locks. Kidnappin' is easy whin ye have a place to kidnap thim to, but they ain't no money in settin' down with a man annywheres ye find him and tellin' him ye've got his tab and will his frinds give ye all their money.

"'Let's climb up the Palisades ag'in and take the trolley to the ferry,' says he.

"'The saints in glory be among us! Is it a lunytic ye think I am to take ye where ye can git help and have me arrested by openin' your mouth but wanct?'

"'Well,' says he, excusin' himsilf, 'thin what?'

"'Twinty years,' says I, 'and lucky at that.'

"'I mean,' says he, 'what are we goin' to do, thin?'

"'"We"?' says I, fair losin' me timper, '"we"? Arrah, and whose doin' this kidnappin', annyways? Ye'll be collectin' money off me next for takin' me home! Ain't ye niver been kidnapped afore?'

"'No,' says he, 'this is the first time.'

"'Yis,' I says, 'and it was gittin' dark whin I took ye.'

"'Well,' says he, peaceable and irritatin', 'what are we goin' to do?'

"'We're goin' to drown ye, if ye ask me that ag'in!' I says, bein' beyont mesilf entirely. And thin all to wanct it come to me I might be tryin' the trolley after all, and tellin' the people he was a crazy man I was takin' home, if he begun talkin'. Sure, wan look at him would convince thim he'd been a lunytic afore he was took so bad. And this way I could be takin' him to me own place on the East Side instid of to the warehouse near O'Hara. It was a fool plan, but most plans is fool wans, and what ilse could I be doin' with him?

"'I'd been considerin' the trolley mesilf,' I says, 'and I'm thinkin' we'll take it and go over on the 130th Street ferry, but if ye make wan peep to annywan, it's me will kill ye on the spot. Do ye mind that!' I says to him, ferocious.

"'Oh,' says he, 'ye don't need to talk to me like that,' he says. 'I wasn't goin' to say annything or make ye anny trouble.'

"'Oh, ye wasn't?' I says to him. 'Ye're a liar,' I says to mesilf, 'ye was, and they's something queerer about ye than ye look, which is sayin' a good deal.' But I give the suspinders a jerk, and we wint on down the shore to a easier path up thim Palisades, it bein' no long walk from the top to the trolley. What worried me worst was him bein' so cheerful. It might 'a' been from him not havin' sinse enough to be anny other way, only whin it was plain robbin' he'd thought I was after he'd been scared healthy and satisfyin' entirely. It was the kidnappin' soothed him, bad scran to him, and it was fair uneasy I was in the heart of me, almost suspectin' they were brains in him somewheres.

"Well, maybe they was and maybe they wasn't, I dunno, and maybe 'twas something worse than that. 'And the mosquities won't bite him,' I says to mesilf. 'If mosquities was humans, 'twould be easy of understandin', but a mosquity ain't got annything in his head exciptin' teeth, and thim Jersey wans will bite whativer it is if it don't bite thim first. Sure, they's times whin dumb beasts can be teachin' anny of us, and thim mosquities is after havin' their own reasons. And do ye mind,' I wint on to mesilf, 'how he wint up that ladder like he was floatin' on air?' Faith, I think I was half believin' him a ghost, excipt for his neck feelin' a bit solid whin I pulled on the suspinders.

"Whin we come to the top, and the wind was back in him ag'in, I says: 'And what might your name be, sor?'

"'Courtney Delevan Schwartz,' says he, lively as a grig.

"'Is your father livin'?' I says.

"'Why, yis,' he says, 'he's Charles B. Schwartz.'

"'I've niver met him,' I says. 'Will he want ye back?'

"'Why, of course,' says he, 'I'm the only wan he's got.'

"'Well,' I says, 'even Teddy would be givin' him a special license for not havin' anny more. Can he be raisin' the five thousand?'

"'Don't ye know who Charles B. Schwartz is?' says he, surprised-like. 'The Pittsburg multi-millionaire and railroad man?'

"'Git along with ye!' I says. 'Don't ye think I know ye wouldn't be breathin' it if they was that much money in the family?'

"'I told ye to make it ten instid of five,' he says.

"'Tare and ages!' I says. 'Don't ye know that ain't no way to act whin ye're bein' kidnapped? Ye've got all mixed up about it, sor. Ye ought to be runnin' the price down instid of tryin' to make me charge your poor father twict as much as ye ain't worth, ye blamed handless gossoon. And don't be walkin' so fast like ye couldn't wait to be locked up. It ain't you gits the five thousand, annyways.'

"'Excuse me,' says he. 'But me father won't be mindin' the other five, and the price will be lookin' a bit cheap whin it gits in the papers.'

"'Bedad, if ye're valuin' yoursilf like that, it's a blessin' it ain't you sets the price on a bushel of good potaties, what is worth something.'

"'Hold on,' says he, sudden, 'I hear somewan on the road we're comin' to. We'd better wait till they git past.'

"Och, did ye iver hear the like of that? Think of him warnin' me from his chanct to yell for help! It left me feelin' fair uneasy, even whin the wagon had gone on down the road. 'Sure,' I thinks, 'if they is anny humans as foolish as that, they wouldn't be let run loose. And annyways, he ain't got enough brains to be a real lunytic, God help him. Yit maybe he is--they ain't nothin' as different as lunytics.'

"'"The night has a thousand eyes,"' says he just thin, goin' right along with the suspinders tight on his neck, '"the day but wan"--do ye know that?' he says. 'I just happened to think of it.'

"'Faith, no wan would think of it anny other way,' I says, catchin' up with him and smellin' his breath, but it was Prohibition. 'Where do ye see thim eyes?' I asks him, bein' sure he was crazy now.

"'Why, up there,' says he, pointin' straight up in the air.

"'Niver mind, niver mind,' I says, soothin', and fearin' he would be took worse. 'They won't hurt ye anny.'

"'Hurt me?' says he.

"'Not a bit,' says I. 'We'll be turnin' to the right here,' I says.

"'But what I meant by thim eyes--' says he.

"'Don't think about thim anny more,' I says. 'It ain't good for ye.'

"He stopped and turned round, laughin', the silly fool, though it was no time for it. 'Ye think I'm crazy, don't ye, me frind?' he says.

"'Me?' says I.

"'No, me,' says he, cheerful. 'I was just playin' a joke on ye,' he says. 'The Irish likes thim, don't they?'

"'Divil a bit,' I says. 'Thin what are ye if ye ain't?' I asks him.

"'I might ask ye, after your own manner of sayin' things, Which am I if I ain't what?' says he, all to wanct talkin' like a man who knew his ways about. 'But I'll be tellin' ye wan thing I ain't, and that's crazy.'

"It was like hearin' a baby all to wanct begin talkin' like a old man. Nothin' could 'a' surprised me like him showin' they was brains in him. I knowed immediate it was no lunytic he was after bein'. 'Thin what _are_ ye?' I says, weak-like.

"'Ah, me frind,' says he, 'who's doin' this kidnappin'--you or me? Come on, now; thim cars runs half a hour apart.'

"Arrah, the anger rose in me at the owdaciousness of him, and I took me oath to git him to the East Side even if he become twins. But, bein' a thinkin' man, the unsettlement of me mind was ten times worse over him showin' signs of brains in him. If he could grow thim manny brains in half a hour, they was no tellin' how much sinse he might have by mornin'. 'But sure,' thinks I, 'thin he's worth more than what I priced him, for they may be some wan can be usin' him for something.'

"'I'll make it eight thousand, sor,' I says to him.

"'Thank ye, me good man,' says he, resumin' his old way of talkin'. 'Hurry up! I hear a car comin'.'

"Thin we run for it, and the suspinders jerkin' out of me hands, the little spalpeen showed me the heels of him, me cursin' after him amazin'. All to wanct me foot caught in a root, and down I wint, fair knockin' me daffy. By the time I'd begun seein' straight ag'in, he was wavin' his arms in the middle of the track, with the head-light shinin' on him and the car comin' to a stop.

"I seen at wanct that, even could I hold the car by yellin', he would have time to tell thim all his troubles, and like as not they'd beat me life out afore I could tell thim about him bein' crazy, and they wouldn't believe it annyways. It was gone he was and good riddance.

"'Come on!' he hollers. 'They're waitin' for ye!'

"And hiven help me, they was, and him standin' there lookin' worried over me delay and sayin' nothin' to annybody! For wanct in me life I didn't stop to think--faith, I was within wan of payin' dear for it later--and the next I knew I was climbin' in the car, with him helpin' me up, me bein' still a bit dizzy.

"'I'm sorry,' says he, blowin' for wind, whin we was in a seat togither, 'but I lost thim suspinders.'

"'Niver mind thim, niver mind _thim_,' I says, watchin' ivry minute to see would he be callin' on the other passengers. 'Wait till I git me breath!'

"But he niver paid thim others anny attention whativer, and pretty soon I begun wishin' he would. Sure, if he was thinkin' of worse than bein' rescued and havin' me handed over to the polayce, thin thim cold chills runnin' up and down me back wasn't doin' it for nothin'. 'Nonsinse,' I says to mesilf, summonin' back me manhood, 'I misdoubt if he knows what he is doin'. And annyways, he seems to be comin' along with me all right, bad cess to him, and it's me will be showin' him what it is to be dealin' with a strong man and a brainy wan.

"'A few quistions, if ye please,' I says to him, commandin'. 'And be prompt with thim!'

"'Yis,' says he, turnin' to me from lookin' out the windy and tryin' to look like he'd been intelligent whin he was a lad.

"'Where does your father, Charles B. Schwartz, live at?' says I.

"'Ye can address him at the Aldorf, but he lives in Pittsburg,' says he.

"'We'll pass over that last, Courtney,' says I; 'I'm not askin' ye for the fam'ly skeletons. Ye say he likes ye?'

"'Oh, yis,' he says, 'we're chums, the two of us. It's this way,' says he; 'the old man says that while I can't help him anny in his business, I'm interistin' to him, bein' different from ivry wan ilse he iver met.'

"'God bless the old gintleman!' I says.

"'Yis,' says he, 'he says it's excitin' to see what I'm going to spend his money on next.'

"'Now they ain't anny use in pretendin' to be so rich,' I interrupts him, irritated, 'and you with but eliven dollars and twinty cints on the whole of ye!'

"'I don't carry it all with me,' says he.

"'No,' says I, 'ye don't carry all of annything with ye,' I says.

"'Would ye believe me if I said I was poor?' says he.

"'Divil a bit,' says I.

"'But then what do ye----'

"'Go on with your story,' I says to him severe, 'and don't be wastin' time on foolishness.'

"'Well,' says he, 'me father's been a bit sore on me lately, sayin' I'm not livin' up to me repytation with him, but just spendin' money on stars and bars, like annywan ilse, and managin' to dodge the stripes. Do ye see the joke?' he says, stoppin'.

"'No,' says I, 'but it wouldn't be anny the better for me seein' it. What's the ind of the fairy-tale?' I says.

"'The joke's about flags,' says he. 'Well,' he says, 'me old man bet me I'd used up all the new ways of spendin' what he earned, and I took the bet. If I sind him in the bill for something I niver tried before, thin he doubles me allowance for six months. If I don't do it inside of wan week, thin he cuts me allowance in half,' he says. 'And I ain't allowed just to find something new in the shops and buy it.'

"'I ain't niver heard a better,' says I. 'Who wrote it?'

"'But don't ye see?' he says. 'That's why I want to be kidnapped--to win me bet! They's money in it for both of us, me good man.'

"'Och,' says I, 'tell me but this wan thing,' I says, disgusted, layin' me finger right on wan of the manny weak places in what he'd been handin' me, '_why_ did ye want to make it ten thousand instid of five, whin five would 'a' won your bet just as easy-like? Answer me _that_!' I says.

"'Well,' says he, fidgittin' in his seat, 'well, you see--oh, I was just wantin' to rub it in on the old man,' he says, stammerin'.

"'I'm glad I met ye,' I says; 'ye're the most bedivel'd and all-amazin' liar I iver seen. If ye iver meet Mr. Roosevelt, he'll choke to death tryin' to describe ye.'

"'Yis,' he says, 'I guess ye caught me. It does sound a bit queer whin I come to think about it. But I'll tell ye what I'll do,' says he, brightenin' up sudden-like, 'I'll take it all back!'

"So help me, it was too much for anny man! Whativer he was, I give him up. And him settin' there lookin' at me like he was twelve years old! Me brains was in a prespiration from tryin' to put a label on him, but no sooner was they findin' a explanation of him than he goes to work and proves thim wrong entirely. They might as well been a omelette in me head. It was queer doin's, but what it was behind thim no wan could be tellin'. 'This is me last kidnappin',' says I to mesilf. 'I want something easy on me nerves like burglin', and I wish I was safe on the East Side with me little human conundrum, bad scran to him, and what is he smilin' to himsilf about now?' thinks I.

"'Do ye want to know what I'm smilin' about?' says he right thin.

"'Yis, sor,' says I, feeble, 'if ye don't mind sayin''--me heart nearly pantin' itsilf to death. 'Holy saints!' thinks I, 'is the little divil wan of thim mind-readers, or is he the divil himsilf?'

"'Well,' says he, pleasant, the car startin' on thim bed-spring curves down to the ferry, 'I've been thinkin' that whin you and me has got through with each other,' he says, lookin' at me with thim fish-eyes in a way that raised the goose-flesh on me, 'I'll be tryin' this kidnappin' business mesilf. You like it pretty well, don't ye?'

"'They ain't nothin' like it,' I says, thankin' God it was the truth. And just thin the car stopped in front of the ferry.

"'See here, me man,' says he, as we was gittin' off, 'if me frinds can't be raisin' the eight thousand, we can be makin' it five ag'in, and if they can't be findin' that much, would ye be willin' to let me loose long enough to kidnap some wan ilse and pay ye?'

"'Oh,' thinks I, 'so _that's_ what ye've been drivin' at! But thin,' says me second thoughts, 'why has he been tellin' me--' We was walkin' in the door of the ferry, and I grabs hold of his arm, fair burstin' with rage, bein' nervous from what I'd been through: 'Ye scut,' I says, 'didn't ye say your father was rollin' in money?'

"'Yis,' says he, calm and pleasant, 'but I took all that back. I ain't got anny father now. Ye'll have to be payin' for the ferry-tickets,' he says.

"It was the ind of me last hope, and me knees wint weak under me. I'd been thinkin' I'd found out wan thing about him annyways, and now I couldn't even raymimber what it was, excipt that it was wrong. Whin I begun thinkin' ag'in, we was on the ferry-boat, the two of us, and him so cheerful it brung the tears to me eyes and made me nervouser than I'd been yit. Thin me wits come to me assistance, and I seen what was the sinsible thing to be doin' with the nasty little divil. 'Rich or poor,' I says to mesilf, 'rich or poor, drunk or sober, intilligent or what he looks like, lunytic or no lunytic, divil, ghost, sleep-walker, or plain human, whativer he is or ain't, or all of thim togither, I want no more of him!'

"Divil the lie I'm tellin' ye, no sooner was thim words in me mind than he ups and walks off from me like he'd heard me thinkin' and begins talkin' to a stranger man lookin' over the edge of the boat! Faith, the hair was crawlin' round on top me head.

"I was startin' for the other ind of the boat, but it come over me strong to slip up behind thim and listen was he plannin' anny divilment against me with the other man. Och, it was a hard thing to bring mesilf to, but whativer ilse I am, I'm not after bein' anny coward.

"Bedad, they was but talkin' of thim new tunnels under the river, and him not even mentionin' he was bein' kidnapped! Wirra, wirra, and afore I was half way down the boat, he come runnin' after me excusin' himsilf for leavin' me, and the rist of the way over he talked tunnels to me, sociable and entertainin', till I could feel thim runnin' all through me.

"They was no chanct to slip away from him in the crowd gittin' off, but whin we come to thim freight tracks just outside the ferry-house, the gates begun droppin' for a train, and, waitin' till the last minute, I sprung from him to git across and let the train come atween us, with him held back by it while I was disappearin' into the whole of New York. So help me, the little omadhawn, like as not readin' ivry thought in me head, grabbed me back and spoiled it all, neat plan as it was.

"'Ye might 'a' been killed and ruined the kidnappin'!' he says, anxious like he was me own mother.

"'Don't let me catch ye hangin' back that way a'gin!' I says, pretendin' I was uncommon mad, which I was. 'Whin that big gomach of a train is gone,' I says, 'see that ye stick close by me and try no foolishness. We're goin' to take the subway to where we git off,' says I, meanin' to dodge him at the subway and grab a surface car to whereiver it wint. 'Come along now, and be quick with ye.'

"But they wasn't no chanct to dodge him, and inside of ten minutes the two of us was settin' side by side in a subway car like both of us wanted to. He was gittin' cheerfuller ivry minute, and the cheerfuller he got, the more I fell to wishin' I'd niver seen the likes of him. He didn't look like anny human annyhow, and I begun prayin' the saints he wasn't, for if he _was_, thin they wasn't _anny_ answer to him. 'Tare and ages!' the thought come to me sudden, 'he's a detective, he is, and may the divil dance on the skinny back of him till they's snow a foot deep where the both of thim belongs! Sure, it's all plain now, ivrything he's been doin', and why wasn't I thinkin' of it whin I begun this kidnappin'--may I niver hear the word ag'in and bad scran to it!'

"And thin, at the next station, in come a polayceman siven foot long and set down across the aisle within reachin' distance of his arm, and he niver made a sign beyond glancin' at him whin he come in! 'Thin he ain't,' I says to mesilf, sinkin' back in me seat. 'Ivrything they is he ain't, and anny wan of thim would be makin' me feel better. If he follows me clear home, I _will_ kidnap him, whether I want him or not, but if they's wan breath left in me body I'll escape from him afore that,' I goes on to mesilf, tryin' to think what I ate for supper and hopin' maybe it was all wan of thim nightmares.

"It was but the beginnin' of me troubles. At the next station I tried to slip from him by pretindin' to ask the guard something and jump out just afore the doors was closed, but nothin' would do but he must be askin' the guard something himsilf. Wan of us asked if it was a express we was on and the other asked if it wasn't, and thin we set down ag'in togither. Whin we come to our station, I endivored to lose him wanct more, whin we was walkin' crosstown I tried it ag'in, and in Central Park I tried it twict. I might as well tried to dodge a ghost what was hauntin' me. And him cheerfuller than iver and not seemin' to notice annything!

"'Look here, sor,' I says, whin he was pretty well into the East Side, feelin' I could stand no more of it, 'I've been thinkin' it over, and me conscience is hurtin' me. Ye niver did me no wrong, and here I am kidnappin' ye. It ain't right, sor, and I'm goin' to give ye your liberty and let ye go without chargin' ye annything.'

"'Why,' says he, 'I don't want to git away!' he says, his voice growin' sorrowful.

"'That ain't got annything to do with it, sor, askin' your pardon,' I says; 'it's me conscience, and they ain't anny use arguin' with a man's conscience whin its dander is up. I've got to let ye go, sor,' I says, 'and ye can do it now. I'll turn me back.'

"'No, no,' says he, 'I know what ye're thinkin', but----'

"'Yis, I know ye do, sor,' I says, thim queer mind-readin' ways of his comin' over me ag'in, 'but for God's sake don't tell me!' I says. 'Don't tell me, sor. I'll believe ye without that, sor, and I know what it was already mesilf annyways, and I wasn't thinkin' annything, besides, and not meanin' a word of it,' I goes on, beyond mesilf entirely, all the queer ways of him risin' up before me, and the mosquities not bitin' him, me nerves givin' out at last from all they'd been through.

"Just thin he turned thim fish-eyes of his on to me, niver sayin' a word, and put out wan hand, soft-like, to lay it on me, and I give wan jump and was off down the street, runnin' as I niver run afore. And him after me and gainin', the divil snatch him, if he ain't the divil himsilf.

"What people they was on the street--praise be, they was but few at that hour--comminced chasin' me, too, but 'twas but wan long block to Devinsky's, here, and I come in that side door like I was a autymobile, near drownin' Peter Casey in the beer he was carryin'. By good luck Micky Doyle and Big McCarthy was drinkin' at the bar, and I yells at thim: 'Stop thim, for the love of hiven! They're tryin' to kidnap me!' and I wint out the front door like they was a thousand divils clutchin' at me.

"And the boys did it, may the blessin' of hiven shine on thim, but wan of thim fools what was helpin' chase me give that little spalpeen me name, and this day has been a curse to me from worryin' over what may happen me yit, though it's proud I should be over frustratin' the nefarious plans of him."

Tim merely grunted. A tough-looking waiter entered through the swinging door, approached the table where the two were sitting, and tossed a dainty envelope in front of Patsy, with the announcement that a messenger had brought it. It was addressed to "Patsy Moran, Esq., Care of Devinsky's Place." Patsy opened it with nervous fingers, and a newspaper clipping fell out upon the table, displaying the unprepossessing features of a young man over the words: "Courtney Schwartz, son of multi-Millionaire Chas. B. Schwartz, of Pittsburg."

A gasp from Patsy, another grunt from Tim, and the two of them seized the letter with a common impulse, Tim's stolidity shaken for once. There was dead silence while the two pairs of eyes followed the straggling words of what was written there:

"My dear Mr. Moran:

"The enclosed clipping will convince you that I gave you my real
name, and that my father is abundantly able to pay ransoms. All I
told you about that bet may also be true, but as I took that story
back, I really can't say now whether it is or not. It doesn't
sound so, does it?

"It may be, on the other hand, that I merely figured out in the
beginning that you were the kind I could get so rattled you would
let me go before I got through with you. If that is true, it
worked, didn't it? But maybe it isn't true.

"If neither one of these things is true, what is?

"In any case, you lost $8,000 of the easiest money that ever
happened. Why not have tied me up somewhere till you got a boat,
or, after getting me as far as you did, why not have taken me the
rest of the way?

"But I bear you no grudge. I am sure no one but you could make
being kidnapped so amusing. It was great. I am exceedingly sorry,
however, that I lost your suspenders. Please accept, in their
place, the eleven dollars you have already taken from me. Would
enclose more, but feel that the experience alone was worth a
fortune to you. You needed the practice. You were right, though,
in refusing to set my ransom at $10,000, for in that case you
would now be out $2,000 more of easy money.

"Life would be far easier, wouldn't it, if we could judge a book
by its covers?

"Very truly yours,

"Courtney Delevan Schwartz.

"P.S.--It may interest you to know that before I came down from my
roost in those ruins, I concealed my watch and $840 under some of
the bricks you threw at me. I found them there this morning.

"C. D. S."

ARCTIC COLOR

THE ADVENTUROUS EXPEDITIONS OF ALEXANDER BORISSOFF, THE PAINTER OF THE FAR NORTH

BY STERLING HEILIG

ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PAINTINGS BY ALEXANDER BORISSOFF

IN THE POSSESSION OF THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT]

About twenty-five years ago, the Grand Duke Vladimir of Russia, making a journey into the northern part of the Empire, chanced to visit the lonely Solovetski Monastery on the shores of the White Sea. Among the sacred painters of this monastery he found a young peasant who had been sent there by his parents as a boy of fifteen. Duke Vladimir, struck with his talent, shipped him off to St. Petersburg to study in the Imperial Academy of Fine Arts. The young Russian peasant was Alexander Borissoff, the adventurous painter whose work in the last few years has made the wonderful color scheme of the Arctic Circle for the first time accessible to the eyes of the world.

His early years on the edge of the Arctic fired the imagination of the youth, and directed the course of his whole future life. While he was still a student he made a trip to England. "There," he says, "an idea that had long been shaping itself in my brain took hold of me. The polar regions fascinated me. My forefathers, I knew, hunted bears at Spitzbergen; and as a boy I had heard all about the Arctic. I wanted to see and paint that wonderful country. Travelers would write that the Arctic nights were magnificent; but I wanted to give the colors and lights themselves."

_Borissoff Becomes a Samoyed_

Borissoff shipped on a Russian boat from Newcastle for the Murman Coast--Russian territory adjoining Norway--and from there sailed to Nova Zembla. On the frozen island of the Arctic Sea, living among the wandering Samoyed tribes, he began to paint under such conditions as certainly no artist has ever painted before. It was the make-shift expedition of a buoyantly adventurous and rough-bred young artist, better furnished with canvases and brushes than with clothing, instruments, and stores. He practically became a Samoyed; he adapted himself to the tribal laws with good-natured tact, helping out the native commissariat by shooting white partridges, wild geese, and Arctic bear. He studied reindeer breeding; he took native baths in steam-tents and ice-water; he attended weddings, funerals, and pagan rites. Wherever the tribe traveled, he followed; and everywhere he painted.

The movements of the Samoyed depend largely on the habits of the reindeer. "In autumn the reindeer seeks the wooded zone," says Borissoff. "He cannot stand the tremendous snowstorms that whirl in the tundra; and he must live on lichen from the trunks and boughs of fir-trees, or feed on the shoots of birch and willows, when the frozen soil prevents him from browsing moss under the snow. But no sooner does he sniff the polar spring, than he longs irresistibly to gallop to the north to the open air of the Arctic, where there are no tiresome gnats, no intolerable wasps to lay their larvae in his skin and cause him torment."

The Samoyed keeps in this migrating animal's wake; and it was in one of these migrations north that Borissoff first saw what he calls the Realms of Death.

_Painting in a Temperature of 30 deg. Below Zero_

"The curious thing was that I found all as I had imagined it," he says. "The knowledge of the icebergs and the snow seemed to have been born in me. Vast stretches of glaciers with their yawning chasms of death, icebergs mountain-high--I greeted them as old friends. Living on native rations and enduring the most bitter cold, I made landscapes--or rather, icescapes--in the open, with a temperature of 30 degrees below zero.

"Sometimes it was impossible to paint. Even the turpentine froze. The paint congealed in lumps, whilst the hairs of the brushes snapped off like brittle glass. I had to put on fur gloves to hold a brush, and work with swift, energetic strokes--as the rough appearance of some of my paintings bears evidence."

All of Borissoff's paintings were done in the ice zone beyond the 70th parallel of north latitude, in the district between Archangel and the Yalmal Peninsula. He never tires of telling of the peculiar color-tones of this region, and the curious psychological effects of its distance, silence, and isolation. Living amid its singular light phenomena, where the spring-time snow turns pink against blue icebergs, and the boggy midsummer tundra swims in a sea of orange-red against a sky of aquamarine, even the Samoyed becomes a color worshiper.

"Why does that man sit in a scarlet cloak on rose-colored snow against a solid background of dark blue?" I asked, examining one of Borissoff's paintings.

"The deep blue is an iceberg," he laughed. "Yes, and the snow is really that color--by reflection. The man is a Samoyed who bartered everything he owned--reindeer, walrus, ivory, dogs, and sledges--to an adventurous dealer from the nearest settlements for a robe of scarlet woolen stuff. Then, in his scarlet cloak, he wandered about in the sunlight for ten days, in an ecstatic trance, silent, good-for-nothing, living on his family, drunk with the glory of that scarlet garment!"

_Traveling With a Woman Scout_

The man was Danillo, the brother-in-law of Ireena, a woman scout of whom Borissoff speaks frequently in his reminiscences, and whose wonderful gift of "seeing" by atmospheric signs the country beyond the horizon and divining where the trails lay gave her a position of peculiar dignity among her tribesfolk. This woman was their sole and undisputed guide through the monotonous flat wastes of snow. Among the last of the pagans of Europe woman's place is certainly higher than it is supposed to have been before the dawn of Christianity. A woman like Ireena may hold the tribal-family together; revive courage in dire surroundings; decide momentous debates as to reindeer-speculation; practise medicine and surgery; withstand the redoubtable devils of blizzard and thaw; serve the bad Siadey in his bloody sanctuary; and even dare the unmentionable good god's isolating stretches of white cold, to serve an inquisitive painter from the South.

It was Ireena and Danillo who took Borissoff to the last pagan shrines of Europe, never visited before by a European.

"In the background," says Borissoff, "one sees mountains of floating icebergs of tremendous dimensions, prevented from approaching the coast by submarine reefs. Here, on the edge of the Arctic, are the cliffs containing the Holy Place, reached only after a terrible journey over icy rocks and fearful ravines, through riverbeds stuffed with snow, up snowy slopes in intricate zig-zags, where the reindeer floundered and protested."

_Borissoff's Pilgrimage to the Last Pagan Shrines of Europe_

Three versts' distance from the shrine, they stopped on the threshold of the Samoyed Mecca. Borissoff stumbled over huge mounds of idols heaped between cliffs, one of them so great that forty sledges could not have removed the idols. He passed mountains of deer-skulls, antlers, and skulls of polar bears; and heaps of rusty axes, knives, chains, fragments of anchors, harpoons, and parts of rifles brought as offerings over weary leagues. The Samoyeds often drive here from a thousand miles away, stop at the threshold of this dwelling-place of the supreme Idol-God of the polar regions, and, killing a domestic deer as the least sacrifice, besprinkle the shrine with its blood.

IN THE POSSESSION OF THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND]

"People who naively believe that the Samoyeds are no longer heathen are greatly mistaken," says Borissoff. "Notwithstanding their being nominally Christians, they still worship their Hyes and Siadeys no less fervently than in old times. Recent bloodstains on the idols testified to recent visits; but it was only when we were about to take our departure that I learned that this was not the chief shrine at all!"

Borissoff insisting, Ireena reluctantly guided him to it, three or four versts down the coast, to the east.

"Now we passed far greater mounds of axes, knives, and other valuable offerings," he says. "The idols stood like an army around two enormous elevated, round clay altars at the very top of the mountain, cut off by a deep chasm bridged by a stone archway; but the number of bones was less than I had expected to find."

Ireena explained.

"This is the dwelling-place of Hye, the god, not that of Siadey, the devil," she said. "Hye wants for sacrifice the head of a human being or of a white bear, or at least of a wild deer. Now that white bears are harder to kill and wild deer are scarcer, it's no good for people to come here--unless in great stress. But Siadey takes anything, even domestic deer!"

"In great stress" had a grim significance. One of the skulls was obviously that of a man of Aryan race.

Further on they came on one of the sledges habitually used by the Samoyeds for the conveyance of their gods. Opening its box, Borissoff found two human-shaped idols, one of wood and the other of stone, and the images of a bear and a wolf in wood. These must have been brought out of the tundra by some sorceress, to keep real bears and wolves from some locality. As long as these objects remained at Hye's shrine, there would be no danger to the pious offerer's herds. Near by lay another curiosity. It was a piece of boulder wrapped up in red cloth. It was "sickness," removed from the tundra, beyond the sea, so as never to return to the dwellers of the Tchoom!

Borissoff lived with the Samoyeds until he had painted up all his canvases. Returning to civilization, he was immediately welcomed by enthusiastic amateurs. The sale of seventy-five pictures _en bloc_ to M. Tretiakoff, of Moscow, put him on his feet financially. Count Witte took an interest in his work. The Grand Duke Vladimir remembered that he had been the first to appreciate the painter's possibilities; and the Tsar told him to go ahead with another expedition, offering to defray most of the expenses.

_An Ill-Fated Expedition_

So, with the zoologist Timofeieff, and the chemist Filipoff, he soon started on a veritable white man's expedition, with a smart cutter, the "Metchka," a portable dwelling-house, kerosene stoves, scientific instruments, photographic apparatus, guns, ammunition, books, clothing, trading-stores, and food delicacies in abundance. Yet, by a strange irony of fate, the well-stocked little expedition was destined to suffer perils and privations such as Borissoff had never dreamed of among his Samoyeds.

They set up their portable dwelling-house on the edge of the Nova Zembla tundra off the Strait of Matochkin Shar, transporting its parts and furnishings by dog-sledge. By the time this was accomplished, the "Metchka" had arrived in the Strait; and they started on a voyage into the Kara Sea. Their object was to distribute materials and provisions along the extreme northeastern coast of Nova Zembla during the fall, and to return to their house to spend the winter. In the spring they hoped to make an early start in sledges along the route of their supplies.

_The Abandonment of the Ship_

"It was in navigating the Sea of Kara that we encountered our first acute peril," says Borissoff. "The further north we got, the more numerous were icebergs. Often our small ship was wedged in tight between walls of ice that threatened to crush us.

"We decided to turn back; but it was too late. Winter was closing in earlier than we had anticipated; and the broken ice about us was becoming a solid field. After two weeks' battle, we had to surrender. Nature had captured us. We were being carried off into regions of certain death. Our only escape lay in abandoning our ship, and attempting to regain the coast by journeying across the dreadful sea of ice on foot. Gathering what provisions we could carry, our party of nine, including the five sailors, set out with but little expectation of ever reaching land."

Everything was put into three canoes, to be pulled along the edges of ice-banks by nine men and some twenty dogs. Soon the free water froze tight; and they had to drag the boats over the ice. The wind made this too difficult. The canoes were abandoned; and the most necessary supplies were placed on sledges made of skis. With the snow up to their waists, they plodded on--until they discovered that they were on a drifting island of ice!

_Drifting Out to Sea on Floes of Ice_

"We noticed that the ice a little way in front of us was flying at a terrible speed toward the north, while we seemed to be standing still; but this was merely an optical illusion--the ice in front of us was standing still, for it was shore-ice, while we were being carried at a giddy pace out to sea!

"Our only salvation was to reach the stationary shore-ice. The edge of the moving floe was grinding it into a devilish porridge. Immense blocks, weighing tens of thousands of tons, were whirled round, leaped out of the sea, climbed on each other, rearing on high, groaning and roaring, and plunging and vanishing!"

They made the crossing and dragged on inland for three days. A gentle breeze was blowing. Borissoff heard a suspicious plash of water.

"It was horrible to believe our ears. We climbed a hummock; and there our eyes assured us that another channel of water really separated us from firm land! The floe began breaking up. The solid ground failed beneath us. Our feet were sucked into yielding quicksands of snow and splintered ice. We threw ourselves flat to distribute our weight and clutched the larger lumps. We lost our kerosene stove, the tray for lighting fires on, some of our cartridges, and most of our instruments. The sleeping-bags, fur coats, and other remnants of our supplies we managed to save."

The despairing howls of their lost dogs cut them to the heart. The men lost courage. Borissoff and the two scientific men had to threaten the others with revolvers; and a tragedy on the ice was imminent, when they found themselves being carried into an extensive bay surrounded by lofty cliffs. On an iceberg they discovered brackish water. Later it gave them unbearable thirst, until the men cried: "Oh, God, for one small cup of warm water, to die in peace!"

_Making a Fire with Seal Fat_

Borissoff killed a seal and implored them to be patient while he made a fire with its oily fat to melt snow for drinking--a trick he had learned among the Samoyeds. Ravenously eating the liver, lights, kidneys, and brains raw, they began cutting the necessary pieces of fat. Borissoff would take a tiny log of firewood, cut it small, pour kerosene over it, rub it with fat, and light it. This had to be done in a tea-tin. They put fat on the fire. It burned splendidly. One small stick warmed the kettle; and the famished men were soon drinking lukewarm cocoa. During their further wanderings from floe to floe, they carried with them the embers of wood and treasured every little piece of rag and paper "to keep the lamp of our life burning as long as we should have seal fat. The wood embers seemed capable of burning for ever, provided there was enough fat!"

They grew attached to particular floes on which they had built shelters. But the sleeping-bags were becoming unendurable, the fur rubbed off, the leather wet and clammy, like the skin of a putrefying carcass. They had almost got to lying in the sleeping-bags by day, when a Samoyed declared he smelt the smoke of a native encampment. A sailor thought he heard the barking of dogs; but they paid no attention, for the howls of their own poor beasts, wandering aimlessly on the floes, often came to them. After drinking tea, they rose up and prepared to make some effort.

_The Party Rescued by Samoyeds_

It grew lighter. There was something moving on the shore. It could not be merely birds! They let off a gun. Two shots answered. Lines of tiny black dots advanced toward them. They were Samoyed dog-sledges. "And fancy what a stroke of luck!" says Borissoff; "they were old friends of mine, with whom I had lived on my first sojourn in the tundra!"

Brought finally to shore by the natives, they rejoiced childishly at its contact. Here was solid land! Here were real stones! "Strange phenomenon," says Borissoff, "an hour before, we had scarcely been able to lift our weary feet. Now we wanted to leap, dance, laugh, cry, pray, and run about aimlessly! Timofeieff and I took two rifles and went along the shore northward. We ploughed through the snow, why and whither we did not know. We could not sit still. Then, when we returned to the snug tents, we ate boiled reindeer meat, drank hot tea, and lay down to sleep twenty-seven hours without once waking!" The land journey back to their portable house was accomplished in dog-sledges.

The three months' night was passed amid comfortable surroundings. They shot the white bear. They read, dreamed, told stories, and played cards interminably. They received continual visits from delighted natives, come on perilous pilgrimages to the magic European house, with its lavish food novelties, its devil-boxes that talked, sang, and played music.

When the three months' day came again, they made a great sledge expedition north to the Straits of Tchekin, called The Unknown and the Bear Straits. Borissoff, as usual, made quantities of paintings. He named one enormous glacier after Count Witte.