JIM ducked his head in a delighted greeting to Miriam and performed a wave of salutation with his crutch. “Dey can’t lose us, miss,” he remarked.
Miriam regarded him with increasing pleasure and cordiality. Here was a creature, absolutely trustworthy and highly intelligent, come to her at a moment when she was most in need of precisely such a person. “Did you come alone?” was her instinctive question.
“Don’t let dat worry yer, miss,” was his reply. “I’s John de Baptis’, hollerin’ in der wilderness; de rest of de bunch mebbe don’ know where deir goin’, but dey’s on de way! We’s goin’ to clean up dis here back yard, an’ den we’ll prepare de chamber for de bridegroom! As fer honeymoon, how’d N’York suit yer? Dere’s more moons ’n honey round dese diggin’s!”
“But what news of Jack? Any message? Is he well?”
“Say, miss; wait till yer lamps him! De boss is fine—he’s out er sight! ’Bout de las’ I seen uv him he was feedin’ his face wid de best roast p’easant ’tween dis an’ Delmonniker’s, an’ washin’ her down wid de right juice, believe me! Sure, he’d a message all fixed up fer yer, pink goods, an’ smellin’ like a Fif’ Av’noo drug-joint; but me, I meets up on a suddint wid dat dere shiny gink—you knows him, de front name uv him is Sol—an’ he stakes me for de trip dat quick I didn’t git no time fer ter grab de billydux. Mebbe yer’ll have it by der reg’lar post!”
Having thus avouched his fitness for diplomatic interludes, Jim cast an approving look around him, and congratulated the lady on the homelike aspect of her surroundings. “Dis here come-an’-go stuff gits my goat,” he observed with feeling, “I dassent go fer to sit on a chair fer fear some guy’ll t’ink it away from me! An’ de scenery dey rings in on yer—say, don’ it swat yer between de peepers? De sky gits too busy wid itself, what wid moons an’ rings an’ truck like dat! No, miss, Broadway was never like dis! An’ de gals—well, not presumin’ ter speak uv yerself, miss, dat Jenny ain’t no half-tone—she’s de stuff!”
After reassuring her visitor as to the stability of her chairs, Miriam seated herself opposite to him, and begged him to disclose his plans.
“Fust off, I’ll put yer wise to meself,” he began, dropping his voice to a confidential undertone. “Dis here Sol geezer, he’s a dead-game sport an’ no come-back; he sizes up what I’s goin’ ag’inst, an’ he dolls me up wid a new suit o’ interplex, an’ manipperlates me ol’ hobble-stick inter a Paggysis an’ de Empire State Limited, an’ I dunno what nex’; but when I needs it, I has it! Wid dis stick in me han’, ol’ Torpy’s got nuttin’ on us, miss, an’ I gives yer dat straight!”
Miriam had already noticed signs of peculiar animation in the crutch, and she lent an interested ear to what was to follow.
“Lissen here, miss,” Jim continued, hitching his chair nearer. “Torpy, he ain’t no back-number, at dat; an’ he fixes up a play dat would beat us sure, on’y fer de Sol outfit an’ anudder t’ing or two. I’s been romancin’ roun’ dis ranch, quiet like, as me nater is, an’ I’m onter his curves. Dere’s just one trouble wid you, miss, speakin’ as frien’s, you’s too much of a good-looker, an’ you sure gits Torpy dat nutty on yer he’d bust up de hull universe sooner’n lose yer; an’ me, I ain’t sayin’ yer ain’t wort’ it!”
“Jim, your compliments are wonderful,” said Miriam; “but please—”
“In course, miss. It’s like dis—Torpy’s figgerin’ to slip de hawser o’ dis here dinky lil moon o’ his, an’ go cavortin’ roun’ de solar system, unhitchin’ all de odder eart’s as he sails by, an’ fetchin’ up at de sun. He changes cars dere—de sun ’d be some too hot fer my tastes, but likely he takes a cooler along—an heads de process’un fer O’Brien’s belt an’ de milky way! A sort o’ Cook’s tour, puss-nel conducted, see? An’ you along, eatin’ ice cream an’ chattin’ sociable like: ‘Gimme a new batch o’ stars ter-morrer, Torpy,’ you says; ‘dis lot is some tarnished, an’ outer fashion, anyway,’ you tells him. ‘Right-o!’ he comes back. Down goes de clutch, an’ ho, fer de boun’-less main! Dat’s Torpy!”
Miriam shook her head and smiled sadly. “I’ve seen something of what magic and do, Jim,” she said; “but I think you have been deceived. After all, there is such a thing as reality!”
“Magic, nuttin’!” retorted Jim; “dis here game is sci’ntific! Torpy’s been coachin’ up on de gravitation stunt; he’s had his sci’nce sharps workin’ overtime dese five years on de job to fix up a counter to it; an’ dey gets de hull t’ing ready ter touch off at sunup ter-morrer! Ain’t I been t’rough de lab’ratories an’ seen ’em at it!”
“If such a thing were possible,” began Miriam. But she reflected that the discussion was unprofitable, whether or not the possibility existed. “What we must think of,” she said, “is whether anything can be done to escape. I have a plan of my own, but only for the last resort.” She hesitated, but resolved to trust the gnome with her secret. “In that room,” she went on, “is an instrument for atomic disintegration, which I have adjusted so that by merely reversing the magnetic field, Tor would be exploded into dust. I tell you this, Jim, because should there be no other hope, and I be unable to reach the machine myself, I should ask you to act in my place!”
Jim eyed her admiringly. “Say, miss, speakin’ o’ game sports, you’s a top-liner! Le’s take a slant at de outfit.” She led the way to the laboratory, and found no difficulty in explaining the mechanism of the machine, Jim, as has been noted, having a natural aptitude for all mechanical contrivances. He handled the magnet with a touch suggestive of the innate longing of the unregenerate small boy to unleash the elements of destruction. But he virtuously mastered the inclination. “She’s a sure-enough peach, miss,” he said, stepping back with a sigh; “but we’s ain’t needin’ her. An’ anudder t’ing, Torpy’s a slob, all right; but he’s up ag’in a stiff game, an’ you’s de stakes he’s playin’ fer; an’ I puts it to you straight, kin yer blame him? Ef he’d got de strangle clutch on yer, it ’ud be all right to pull de gun on him, ’cause we’s bound ter win, anyway; but we’s got him beat, dough he don’t know it yit; an’ what I says is, when he does know it, dat’s punishment enough fer him, an’ we kin let it go at dat! Let him keep his ol’ moon, an’ spen’ his declinin’ years sorrerin’ over de error uv his ways an’ de loss uv all he helt mos’ dear! Say, a’ter I’s had me chin wid him, yer ’ll see him takin’ water like an ol’ boozer de mornin’ a’ter a wet night—d’ yer git me! I’s goin’ ter han’ him some home trut’s—dat’s me! An’ when you an’ me starts our slide fer home-base, yer’ll see Torpy a gazin’ at us in a wild su’mize, like dat dago gink in Cent’al America musin’ on de ruins o’ Cart’age!”
In spite of the radiant self-confidence thus poetically expressed, Miriam could not help feeling a little uneasy. She had no desire to annihilate Torpeon if she might escape on any terms less tragic; but was Jim as well equipped as he imagined for the undertaking? What could he or she know of Torpeon’s resources?
“You spoke of seeing his laboratories,” she said. “What if the work they are doing should be accomplished before we can act? And what prevented Jack, or some of the Saturnians, from coming here with you?”
Jim had no objection to treating facts with the imaginative coloring proper to his temperament, but he recognized the prudence of discrimination in this case. Miriam must not be led to suppose that Jack had neglected her; and yet, if she learned of the complication with Zarga, she might feel some distress.
“Dis here is de age uv splittin’ jobs, miss,” he explained. “Me an’ Sol is tendin’ dis end, an’ de boss an’ de Sattum gang is busy fixin’ up t’ings fer de getaway when we’s t’rough here. De lab-ratories,” he hastened on, “has got deirs befo’ I seen yer. I can’t tell no lies; I chops ’em down wid me lil crutchet, like de fader uv his country! I picks up a bunch o’ bums here an’ dere as I comes roun’, an’ gives ’em de tip to fire de pop’lar heart an’ work a French revolution stunt on Torpy to distrac’ his min’; an’ by the rumpus dey’s raisin’,” he added, breaking off as a noise of tumult made itself audible outside the castle, “I figgers me orders is bein’ obeyed!”
The door opened and Jenny, her pink cheeks streaked with pallor and her eyes round with consternation, ran into the room with a tale of terror:
“Oh, if your please, miss, the mob is broke loose and we’ll all be murthered in our beds! They’ve fetched ladders and torches, for all the world like the history-books, and the garrison is parleying with the ringleaders, and us without our traveling-dresses! Oh, wurra-wurra! Whatever will become of us?”
Miriam was not inaccessible to imaginative fears; but anything like a menace of actual danger restored her composure. She silenced Jenny with a contemptuous gesture and walked to the window.
A disorderly crowd of strange-looking people, constantly increasing in numbers, was collecting in front of the castle. They evidently meant mischief; but Miriam recognized at once that only the treason of those who composed the defenders could involve any immediate peril. She had no reason to doubt that Torpeon was competent to impose order, in any case; and, assuming that he was still in the castle, she expected him to appear. But he was nowhere to be seen. She recalled that she had been expecting him to visit her at the moment when Jim entered. She was now aware, of course, how he had been prevented.
A shower of stones hurled by the mob smashed some windows in the lower part of the castle. The garrison made no counter-demonstration; and there were signs which might indicate that Jenny’s statement about a parley was not all fancy.
Jim, at Miriam’s side, was contemplating the scene with grunts and chuckles of manifest satisfaction. But he did not lose his critical acumen.
“Dese here guys don’t know de ropes,” he remarked. “What’s brickbats an’ hollerin’ in a play like dis? Dinnermite’s de stuff! But I figgers Torpy’s cornered de supply! He’ll show his han’ befor’ long!”
“Will I be after makin’ a rope of the bedclothes to let down the back winder, miss?” suggested Jenny, still palpitating.
“Jim is the captain of the watch,” Miriam replied with a smile.
“We’s neutral, miss, in dis here scrimmage,” Jim informed her, assuming the gravity of a commander. “De more Torpy an’ dat bunch lams de life out o’ each odder, de more us gives ’em de merry ha-ha! When dey gits t’rough, we deals wid de remains; we rides the whirlwin’ an’ direcks de storm! Dere’s one o’ my boys now!” he exclaimed—“dat fat duck wid his pants gone—Asgar—dat’s him! He’s hoopin’ it up to beat de band! What’s gone wrong wid Krotox? Mebbe he’s fell by de wayside!”
“Oh, if Jack were here!” thought Miriam, as a fresh volley of stones crashed against the walls. “No!” she added in the same breath; “thank God he isn’t!”
The next moment she faced about with a violent start and a leap of the heart. Had she heard Jack’s voice speak her name, close to her ear? But no one was there!
She was about to call out his name—to shriek it out; but she silenced it on her lips. Was it not, rather, as if a hand—his hand—touched her mouth in warning? Assuredly he was here. She could not be mistaken in the sense of his neighborhood. Never, even in his more physical presence, had she been more convinced of it. And yet, save for Jim and Jenny, who were absorbed in the scene outside the window, the room was empty. What did this mean?
It was, somehow, different from the physical invisibility of the Saturnians. The influence was not like that; it was a spiritual vibration. Was Jack dead, then?
She felt, on the contrary, that he had never been more alive.