The Merry Anne 17
"What--Joe?"
"Yes."
"Oh, he needn't bother you."
"I can't help it. You see, you're--"
"His wife? Yes, so I am. But I'm--"
"What, Madge?"
"I don't know what you would think if I said it."
"Say it, please."
She glanced into his face. He saw with surprise that her eyes were
shining. "Well--I was--going to say--that--that--I'm about through with
him."
"Do you mean that, Madge?"
She was silent; perhaps she had not meant to say so much.
"Has he been ugly to you?"
"It isn't his meanness altogether. If that were all, I could have stood
it. I have tried hard enough to love him all the while. Even after he
first struck me--"
"You don't mean--"
She smiled, half bitterly, and rolled her sleeve up above her elbow.
Even in that faint light he could see the discoloration on her forearm.
"He meant it for my head," she said.
"Why, he's a brute."
She smiled again. "Didn't you know that a woman can love a brute? It
wasn't that. Even when he made me live in the saloon, and when I found
out what his business really was--" she paused. "I was brought up a
little better than this, you know."
"Yes, I have always thought that."
"And when I learned that he wasn't--well, honest, I don't believe I
should have cared very much."
"Oh, I guess he is not dishonest, is he?"
"He is bad enough, I'm afraid. He--I don't know--I don't believe it
would do any good to tell you--"
"No, don't, if you'd rather not, Madge."
"I don't care--I'd just as soon. You don't know what a relief it is to
have somebody I can talk out with. I have guarded my tongue so long. And
I suppose, even after all that is past, that if he hadn't left me--"
"You don't mean that he has gone?"
She nodded. "It comes to the same thing. He will drop in once in a
while, I suppose. But he has gone back to the Lake with Captain Smiley,
and that means that he wants to see--" she turned toward the shadow of
the oaks--"there's somebody up in Michigan that--that he--"
"Oh," said Beveridge.
"Yes, I have known it a long while." She turned, looked at him, and
spoke impetuously: "Do you think I haven't been fair to him? Do you
think he--anybody--could say I hadn't stood all a woman ought to stand?"
Her real emotion caught Beveridge off his guard. For an instant he
hesitated; then he said gently: "Don't let it disturb you now, Madge.
I don't think he can bother you much more. There is no reason why that
shouldn't all slip into the past."
"I wish it could."
Beveridge was silent for a moment. He wished to lead her into telling
all she knew about McGlory and his ways, yet he hesitated to abuse the
confidence so frankly offered. But, however--"There is one thing about
it, though, Madge," he said quietly. "If he is on the Lake, he will have
to go where his boat goes, and there isn't much chance for him to get
into bad ways. Even if, as you think, he is dishonest, he will have to
behave himself until he gets back to town."
"You don't understand," she cried. "It is just there, on the water, that
he can do the most harm. I'm going to tell you, anyway. I don't care.
He is a smuggler, or a moonshiner, or something,--I don't know what you
would call it."
"A moonshiner--here in Chicago!"
She nodded nervously. "He is only one of them. I have known it for a
long time, and sometimes I have thought I ought to speak out, but then
he--oh, you don't know what a place he has put me into--what he has
dragged me to! There is one thing I will say for Joe,--he is not the
worst of them. The rest are smarter than he is, and I believe they have
used him for a cat's-paw. But he is bad enough."
"You don't know how hard this is to believe, Madge. That a man sailing
on a decent lumber schooner can manage to do enough moonshining--or even
smuggling--to hurt anybody--"
"But that is just it! It is in the lumber."
"In the lumber!" He had stopped rowing, and was leaning forward. Had her
own excitement been less, she could hardly have failed to observe the
eager note in his voice.
"Yes--oh, I know about it. But it's no use saying anything. They will
never catch the head man--he is too smart for them--" Beveridge took her
hand, and held it gently in both his own. "Don't let's think any more
about any of them, Madge. I don't wonder it excites you--it would
anybody. But you are through with them all now." She sat up, rigid, and
looked at him. "Are you sure I am?"
"Yes."
"But how? Joe is my husband. Tell me what you mean. What am I to think?
You see what I have done. I have let you bring me out here; I have--I
have told you things that could put Joe in prison. Do you--do you mean
that you can help me--that I can get free from him?"
For a moment Beveridge thought of turning and rowing back. But he was
not yet through. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, but he
would not retreat now.
"You are willing to be free?" he whispered. "Oh--yes."
"To leave him forever?"
"Yes."
"Then we understand each other, Madge. It may take some time."
"I don't care--I don't care for anything now."
"I shall have to do some thinking."
"Do you think it will be hard?"
"No, but we shall see. Shall we start back--I'm afraid you won't get
home till pretty late, now."
"It doesn't matter; I'm alone there now, you know. But still, perhaps
we'd better." As they rowed down the stream, and later, on the ride back
to the city, Beveridge could not but be fascinated by Madge, in the flow
of spirits that had come with the freedom of this evening. She liked
to look at him and to laugh at his little jokes. She caressed him in a
hundred ways with her voice and her eyes. She rode her wheel with the
lightness of youth, and led the way flying down the paved streets of the
city. And when at last she dismounted at "The Teamster's Friend," and
unlocked the side door, she was in a merry glow.
"Come in," she said.
"Don't you want to get to sleep? It is late."
"I'm not tired. We must have something to eat after that ride. Wasn't it
fine?"
So he went in with her, and they sat down to a cold lunch in the dining
room.
When he rose to go, and they were both lingering in the dining-room
door, he said, smiling, "By the way, Madge, while I think of it, I want
an empty bottle."
"Come out into the bar-room. You can help yourself."
She lighted the gas for him, and he went in behind the bar and rummaged
among some bottles and flasks that stood on the floor. At length he
found one that seemed to suit him, and stood a moment looking intently
at the label.
"Do you find what you want?"
"Yes, this will do first-rate."
She followed him to the door, and said, as he stood on the step, "When
am I to see you again?"
"In a few days."
"Not to-morrow?"
"No, I'm afraid not. I expect to be out of the city over Sunday. I have
to go where I'm sent, you know."
"Do you know," she said, with a smile, "you have not told me anything
about your business? Why, I hardly think I know anything about you."
"You will soon know enough."
She smiled again. "Wait, you will have to be a little careful about
coming. Mr. Murphy goes away about ten o'clock every night. You might
come a little later, and then if Joe isn't here, I will be down. If you don't see me, you mustn't ask any questions."
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