And Thus He Came: A Christmas Fantasy, Cyrus Townsend Brady [pdf e book reader .TXT] 📗

She pressed them against her face.

After a time she fell down on her knees. She pressed them against her face. She did not say anything. She could scarcely think anything. She just knelt there until something gently drew her head around. She dropped the stockings. She put her right hand on the window-ledge to steady herself and looked backward.

No sound save the breathing of the children and her own stifled sobs had broken the silence; the door was shut, but a man was there, a man of strange vesture seen dimly in the moon's radiance, yet there was a kind of light about his face. She could see his features. They were those of a man in middle years. They were lined with care. He had seen life on its seamy side. The woman felt that he had known poverty and loneliness. She stared up at him.

"I didn't believe," she whispered; "it cannot be. I thought we were forgotten."

The man slowly raised his hand. The moonlight struck fair upon it. She saw that it was calloused, the hand of a man who toiled. It was extended over her head. There was no bodily touch, but her head bent low down until she rested it upon her hands upon the floor. When she looked up, the room was empty. There was no sound save the breathing of the children and the throb of her own heart which beat wildly in the fearful hollow of her ear.

She heard a sound of strange footsteps outside the door. There was a crackle as of paper, the soft sound of things laid upon the floor, a gentle rapping on the panels, a light laugh, a rustle of draperies, footsteps moving away. As in a dream she got to her feet, she knew not how. She opened the door.

The hall was dimly illuminated. Her feet struck a little heap of joy-bringing parcels. She leaned back against the door-jamb, her hand to her heart, trembling. What could it mean?

A tiny voice broke the silence. It was the littlest girl turning over in her sleep, murmuring incoherently and then clearly:

"If you only believe, that's enough; if you only believe."

IV The Workman "IS NOT THIS THE CARPENTER?"

In the mean squalid room back of the saloon half a score of men were assembled. They were all young in years, in other things not youthful. Some of them lounged against the wall. Some sat at tables. All were drinking. The air was foul with smoke and reeked with the odor of vile liquor.

"We've got two jobs on hand to-night," said the leader of the gang. "There's a crib to be cracked an' a guy to be croaked. Red, you an' Gypsie an' the Gunney will crack the crib. It's dead easy. Only an old man an' his wife. The servants are out except one an' he's fixed. I'll give you the layout presently. The other job's harder. Kid, I'll put you in charge, an' as it's got to be done early to-night I'll give you the orders now. He'll be at The Montmorency at ten o'clock. Someone will call him out to the street."

"Who?"

"Never mind who. You'll be there in the car."

"Whose car?"

"Never mind whose. Why're you askin' so many questions? It'll take you an' the four to The Montmorency at ten o'clock. When he comes out every one of you let go, the whole bunch, understand. If they don't find five bullets in him there'll be trouble to-morrow."

"What do we get out of it?"

"A hundred apiece fer you an' a hundred an' fifty fer me fer engineerin' the job. Christmas money! You get me?"

"Of course. How'll we know who we've got to shoot?"

"I'll be there myself on the sidewalk. I'll point him out to you."

"The police?"

"They're fixed."

"Easy enough," said the Kid, the youngest of the gang.

"Well, you guys," said the leader pointing out four of the men, "will go with the Kid. The car'll be at the door in half an hour."

"Now, gimme my orders," said Red.

The gang leader scribbled something on a bit of paper.

"You go to that number with these two guys between midnight an' two in the mornin'. You'll find a back winder open. Here's the combination of the safe. The silver'll be in that."

"Jewels?"

"In a wall cabinet upstairs. It'll be unlocked."

"An' if they make any noise?"

"Croak 'em, of course. But don't make no noise doin' it. Better use a blackjack. We're not sure about the cop on that beat."

"I understand."

"Well, git your gats and make ready. Before we go, the drinks'll be on me. Fill up, men," he added, first pouring himself a liberal glassful, "an' here's to bringin' it off easy."

With deep relish the toast was drunk by all save Red and the Kid. Red set his glass down on the table. The Kid dropped his to the floor.

"There's somebody else in the room," whispered Red.

"Yes, yonder by the door," said the Kid. "You c'n jest see him."

"Don't be a fool," said the gang leader. "There's nobody here but us."

"He's wearin' strange clothes," said Red.

"He looks like a carpenter by his kit o' tools," said the Kid.

"Here, pull yourselves together, men," said the gang leader; "you're dippy, there's nobody here. Where's your nerve?"

But Red made no move to obey. He thrust his glass from him and rose and leaned over the table staring. The other men shrank back glancing at the two figures, for the Kid had also dashed the proffered glass aside.

"I see him," he said, "he's lookin' at me, he's lookin' through me."

In his excitement he took a step forward and the table went over with a crash. The two men passed their hands over their eyes in bewilderment.

"Why, there ain't nobody here," said the Kid.

"But I seen him I tell you," persisted Red.

"And so did I."

"Well, he's gone, whoever he was, accordin' to your own showin'," said the gang leader contemptuously. "Now brace up. Take your liquor. Get a move on youse."

"Not me," exclaimed Red suddenly.

"Nor me," said the Kid.

"What d'ye mean?"

"I won't do it."

"Neither will I."

Both men moved to the door. The gang leader sprang to intercept them, his arms upraised, his hands clenched.

"Lemme pass," said Red.

"Are you goin' to give us away?"

"No," answered Red. "But you don't rob no house, an' you don't kill no man to-night."

"You all know what that means," cried the leader. "Here you men grab 'em."

But the rest of the gang hung back.

"Mebbe they did see somethin'," said one.

"You cowardly dogs," cried the leader.

"We won't mention no names to nobody," said the Kid, "but you can't pull them jobs off. We'll jest warn 'em."

"You swore you'd be true to the gang, that you'd obey orders an' follow directions."

"We won't give ye away but I'm goin' to quit the gang an' go to work," said Red.

"Me too," said the Kid.

"Work! Hell!" exclaimed the gang leader, but they shoved him out of the way and went out of the door.

V Comforter "NEITHER DO I CONDEMN THEE"

She was a daughter of shame. Even inexperience could see that as she wandered up and down the streets of the town, desperate, impelled to go on by a force too strong for her to resist. She trod the pavement, yet loathed the necessity and hated herself for her compliance. She had only to look forward to the jail or the hospital; yet there was always the river. Had it come to that? Was there nothing else?

She lifted her eyes from the stone walk as hard as the heart of the world, and found herself opposite a brightly lighted building. She leaned against the door. From within came the sound of music, the strains of a hymn, words of prayer. The light streamed about her face from the stained window. This was a Church of God. Stained window, stained woman, confronting each other in the night!

There was no God for her. There might have been once, but she had committed the unpardonable sin against society and society was God. There was no place for her anywhere, save the jail or the hospital or the river. That last was the best. The street was deserted. She had thought it not a good place in which to ply her trade! She made a step forward and stopped.

In her pathway stood a figure seen dimly in the darkness. It stood in the shadow beyond the broad light from the painted window. There was something strangely familiar about it. She glanced up at that window. Had the figure there stepped down and embodied itself vaguely on the walk before her?