"Did you talk with him when you were there?"

"Yes sir; he waited on me."

"And do you think it is a credit to your family to be so intimate with a tramp who was kicked out of my place of business?"

"Oh father, that is not true--I mean, sir, that you do not understand--Mr. Falkner is not a tramp. He was out of work and applied to you for a place. Surely that is not dishonest. And that he wanted to work for you ought not to be used against him. He has never in any way shown himself anything but a gentleman, and is much more modest and intelligent than many of the young men in Boyd City who have fine homes. I am sure we ought not to blame him because he has to fight his own way in the world, instead of always having things brought to him.

If you knew him better, you wouldn't talk so." She spoke rapidly in her excitement.

"You seem to know him very well when you champion him so strongly that you call your own father a liar," replied Adam, harshly.

"Oh papa," said Amy, now in tears. "I did not mean to say that. I only meant that you were mistaken because you did not know. I cannot help talking to Mr. Falkner when I meet him in the Young People's Society.

I have not been anywhere in his company, and only just speak a few words when we do meet. You wouldn't have me refuse to recognize him in the church, would you? Surely, father, Christ wants us to be helpful, doesn't he?"

"Christ has nothing to do with this case," said Adam. "I simply will not have my daughter a.s.sociating with such characters; and another thing, you must give up that Mission business. I believe that's where you get these strange ideas."

"I have already given up my work there," said Amy, sadly. "Mr.

Falkner has taken my cla.s.s."

"Which is just the place for him. But don't you go there again. And if you have any printing that must be done at Udell's, send it by Frank, or someone. You understand, I forbid you to have any conversation whatever with that man. I'll see if such fellows are going to work themselves into my family."

Amy's face grew crimson again. "You must learn," went on the angry parent, "that the church is a place for you to listen to a sermon, and that it's the preacher's business to look after all these other details; that's what we hire him for. Let him get people from the lower cla.s.ses to do his dirty work; he shan't have my daughter. Christianity is all right, and I trust I'm as good a Christian as anyone; but a man need not make a fool of himself to get to Heaven, and I'm only looking out for my own family's interest. If you wish to please me you will drop this Young People's foolishness altogether, and go more into society.

I wish you would follow Frank's example. He is a good church member but he don't let it interfere with his best interests. He has plenty of friends and chooses his a.s.sociates among the first families in the city. _He_ don't think it necessary to take up with every vagabond Cameron chooses to drag into the church. Remember, it must stop." And the careful father took his hat and left for the place on Broadway, where on the shelves and behind the counters of his hardware store he kept the G.o.d he really worshipped.

CHAPTER XVI

The year following d.i.c.k's stand for Christianity, an open air theater was established in the park on West Fourth Street, near the outskirts of the city, which was advertised by its enterprising manager as a very respectable place, well looked after by the police. It is true that the shows were but cheap variety and vulgar burlesque, and of course liquor, as well as more harmless drinks, was sold freely; and equally of course, the lowest of the criminal cla.s.ses were regular attendants. But, with all that, there was something terribly fascinating in the freedom of the place. And all too often, on a Sunday evening, while the pure, fragrant air of summer was polluted by the fumes of tobacco and beer, while low plays were enacted on the stage, and the sound of drunken laugh or shout went out, young men and women mingled, half frightened, in the careless throng.

Among a certain set of Boyd City's gay young society people, to spend an evening at the park was just the thing to do; and often they might be seen grouped about the tables, sipping their refreshments, while laughing at the actors on the stage, or chatting and joking among themselves.

On an evening in August, when our chapter opens, one such party was even gayer than usual, and attracted no little attention from the frequenters of the place, as well as the employes. Waiters winked at each other and made remarks, as they hurried to and fro attending to the wants of their guests, while people with less wealth looked on in envy at the glittering show. The gentlemen were in evening dress, the ladies gowned in the latest fashion, jewels and trinkets flashed, eyes sparkled, cheeks glowed, as story and jest went round, while the ladies sipped their refreshing sodas and the men drank their wine.

One of the younger girls seemed a little frightened for a moment as she caught the eye of a waiter fastened upon her in anything but a respectful glance, and gave the fellow such a look in return that he dropped a napkin in his confusion. "I tell you, Bill," he said to his companion at the bar, where he had gone to get more drinks for the company, "that's a fast lot all right, but there's one in the bunch that can't go the pace."

But the waiter was evidently mistaken, for that same girl, after a glance around which revealed to her that she and her companions were the center of all eyes, tossed her head as though getting rid of some unpleasant thoughts, and turning to her escort, with a reckless laugh, asked him why he kept the best for himself. "I don't think it fair, girls," she declared in a loud voice. "We have as good a right to that nice wine as the boys have. I move that we make them treat us as well as they treat themselves."

"Done," cried one of the men before the others could object, even had they so desired; and in a moment another bottle, with more gla.s.ses, was set before them. The girl who had proposed the thing only drank a little. Something seemed to choke her when she lifted the gla.s.s to her lips, and she set it down again almost untasted. "Ugh," she said, "I don't like it," and a laugh went around at her expense.

"Take it. Take it. You must. You started it you know."

"I can't," she protested. "Here Jim," to her companion, who had already taken more than was good for him. "You must help me out." And she handed him the gla.s.s.

"Glad to help a lady always," he declared. "Notisch please, gen'lemen, I set y' good example. Alwaysh come to the rescue of fair ones in trouble--" He drained the gla.s.s. "Anybody else in trouble?" he said, looking around the table with a half tipsy grin. But the other girls had no scruples and drank their wine without a protest.

At last the party discovered that it was time to go home, and indeed the garden was almost deserted. One of the girls proposed that they walk, it was such a beautiful night; and accordingly they set out, two and two; the men reckless with wine; the ladies flushed and excited; all singing and laughing. Not far from the park entrance, the girl who had proposed the wine, and her companion, who was by this time more than half intoxicated, dropped a little behind the others and soon turned down a side street.

"This is not the way, Jim," she said, in a tone of laughing protest.

"Oh yesh 'tis. I know where'm goin'. Come 'long." And he caught her by the arm. "Nicesh place down here where we can stop and resht," and he staggered against her.

"But I want to go home, Jim," her tone of laughing protest changed to one of earnestness. "Father will be looking for me."

"Hang father," said the other. "Old man don't know. Come on I tell you." And he tried to put his arm about her waist.

The girl was frightened now in earnest. "Stop sir," she said.

"Why? Whash ze matter m' dear?" stammered the other. "Whash ze harm--zash all--I'll take care you all right--Ol' man never know." And again he clutched her arm.

This was too much, and giving the drunken wretch a push, which sent him tumbling into the gutter, where cursing fiercely he struggled to regain his feet, the frightened girl, without pausing to see his condition, or listening to his calls and threats, fled down the street.

When her companion had at last managed to stagger to the sidewalk and could look around by clinging to the fence, she was out of sight. He called two or three times, and then swearing vilely, started in pursuit, reeling from side to side. The frightened girl ran on and on, paying no heed to her course, as she turned corner after corner her only thought being to escape from her drunken and enraged companion.

Meanwhile, d.i.c.k Falkner was making his way home after a delightful evening at the parsonage, where he had talked with Cameron on the veranda until a late hour. As he was walking leisurely along through the quiet streets, past the dark houses, enjoying the coolness of the evening and thinking of the things that he and Cameron had been discussing, his ear caught a strange sound, that seemed to come from within a half finished house on North Catalpa Street, near the railroad.

He paused a moment and listened. Surely he was not mistaken. There it was again. The sound of someone sobbing. Stepping closer and peering into the shadow, he saw a figure crouching behind a pile of lumber.

It was a woman.

"I beg your pardon, madam, but can I be of any help to you?"

She started to her feet with a little cry. "Don't be frightened," said d.i.c.k, in a calm voice. "I am a gentleman. Come, let me help you." And stepping into the shadow, he gently led her to the light, where she stood trembling before him. "Tell me what--My G.o.d! Amy--I beg your pardon--Miss Goodrich."

"Oh Mr. Falkner," sobbed the poor girl, almost beside herself with fear. "Don't let that man come near me. I want to go home. Oh, please take me home?"

"There, there," said d.i.c.k, controlling himself and speaking in a steady, matter-of-fact tone. "Of course I'll see you home. Take my arm, please.

You need have no fear. You know I'll protect you."

Calmed by his voice and manner, the girl ceased her sobbing and walked quietly down the street by his side.

d.i.c.k's mind was in a whirl. "Was he dreaming? How came she here at such an hour. Who was she afraid of? By her dress, she had been to a social party of some kind; what did it all mean? But he spoke no word as they walked on together.

"Oh look," exclaimed Amy, a few moments later, as they turned east on Sixth Street; "there he is again. Oh Mr. Falkner, what shall I do? Let me go." And she turned to run once more.

d.i.c.k laid his hand on her arm. "Miss Goodrich, don't you know that you are safe with me? Be calm and tell me what you fear." Something in his touch brought Amy to herself again and she whispered: "Don't you see that man standing there by the light?" She pointed to a figure leaning against a telephone pole.

"Well, what of it?" said d.i.c.k. "He won't hurt you."

"Oh, but you don't understand. I ran away from him. He is drunk and threatened me."

d.i.c.k's form straightened and his face grew hard and cold. "Ran away from him. Do you mean that that fellow insulted you, Miss Goodrich?"

"I--I--was with him--and--he frightened me--" gasped Amy. "Let's go the other way."

But they were too late. Amy's former escort had seen them, and with uncertain steps approached. "Oh, here you are," he said. "Thought I'd find you, my beauty."

d.i.c.k whispered to Amy in a tone she dared not disobey. "Stand right where you are. Don't move. And you might watch that star over there.

Isn't it a beautiful one?" He deftly turned her so that she faced away from the drunkard. Then with three long steps, he placed himself in the way of the half-crazed man.