"Naw," said the Deacon, "the poke was cold and the thimble was a phoney."
"Je's," exclaimed the Kid. "I never got wise! Well, then there was no chance for him to spring us."
"No."
"It's tough to fall for a dead one," mused the Kid.
The other prisoners had been respectfully silent while these two thieves compared notes, but their conversation annoyed Danner. He could not understand what they were saying, and this angered him, and besides, their talking interfered with his entries, for he was excessively stupid.
"They gave me a young mouthpiece," the Kid was beginning, when Danner raised his head and said:
"Now you fellows cut that out, do you hear? I want to get my work done and start."
"I beg your pardon, papa," said the Kid; "we're anxious to start, too.
Did you engage a lower berth for me?"
The line of miserable men laughed, not with mirth so much as for the sake of any diversion, and at the laugh Danner's face and neck colored a deeper red. The Kid saw this change in color and went on:
"Please don't laugh, gentlemen; you're disturbing the main screw." And then, lifting his eyebrows, he leaned forward a little and said: "Can't I help you, papa?"
Danner paid no attention, but he was rapidly growing angry.
"I'd be glad to sling your ink for you, papa," the Kid went on, "and anyway you'd better splice yourself in the middle of the line before we start, or you might get lost. You know you're not used to traveling or to the ways of the world--"
"Cheese it, Kid," said the Deacon warningly. But the spirit of deviltry which he had never been able to resist, and indeed had never tried very hard to resist, was upon the Kid, and he went on:
"Deac, pipe the preacher clothes! And the brand new kicks, and the mush! They must have put him on the nut for ten ninety-eight."
"He'll soak you with a sap if you don't cheese it," said the Deacon.
"Oh, no, a nice old pappy guy like him wouldn't, would you?" the Kid persisted. "He knows I'm speaking for his good. I want him to chain himself to us so's he won't get lost; if he'd get away and fall off the rattler, he'd never catch us again."
"Well, I could catch you all right," said Danner, stopping and looking up.
"Why, my dear boy," said the Kid, "you couldn't track an elephant through the snow."
The line laughed again, even the under-turnkeys could not repress their smiles. But Danner made a great effort that showed in the changing hues of scarlet that swept over his face, and he choked down his anger. He put on his overcoat and picked up his satchel, and said:
"Come on, now."
Utter unlocked the outer doors, and the line of men filed out.
"Good-by, Bud," the Kid called to Utter. "If you ever get down to the dump, look me up."
The others bade Utter good-by, for they all liked him, and as the line shuffled down the stone steps the men eagerly inhaled the fresh air they had not breathed for weeks, save for the few minutes consumed in going over to the court-house and back, and a thrill of gladness momentarily ran through the line. Then the Kid called out:
"Hold on, Danner!"
He halted suddenly, and so jerked the whole line to an abrupt standstill. "I've left my mackintosh in my room!"
"If you don't shut up, I'll smash your jaw!"
The Kid's laugh rang out in the air.
"Yes, that'd be just about your size!" he said.
Danner turned quickly toward the Kid, but just at that instant a dark fluttering form flew out of the misty gloom and enveloped Schypalski; it was his wife, who had been waiting all the afternoon outside the jail.
She clung to the Pole, who was as surprised as any of them, and she wept and kissed him in her Slavonic fashion,--wept and kissed as only the Slavs can weep and kiss. Then Danner, when he realized what had occurred, seized her and flung her aside.
"You damn bitch!" he said. "I'll show you!"
"That's right, Danner," said the Kid. "You've got some one your size now! Soak her again."
Danner whirled, his anger loose now, and struck the Kid savagely in the face. The line thrilled through its entire length; wild, vague hopes of freedom suddenly blazed within the breasts of these men, and they tugged at the chains that bound them. Utter, watching from the door, ran down the walk, and Danner drew his revolver.
"Get into that wagon!" he shouted, and then he hurled after them another mouthful of the oaths he always had ready. The little sensation ended, the hope fell dead, and the prisoners moved doggedly on. In a second the Kid had recovered himself, and then, speaking thickly, for the blood in his mouth, he said in a low voice:
"Danner, you coward, I'll serve you out for that, if I get the chair for it!"
It was all still there in the gloom and the misty rain, save for the shuffle of the feet, the occasional click of a handcuff chain, and presently the sobbing of the Polish woman rising from the wet ground.
Danner hustled his line along, and a moment later they were clambering up the steps of the patrol wagon.
"Well, for God's sake!" exclaimed the driver, "I thought you'd never get here! Did you want to keep these horses standing out all night in the wet?"
The men took their seats inside, those at the far end having to hold their hands across the wagon because they were chained together, and the wagon jolted and lurched as the driver started his team and went bowling away for the station. The Pole was weeping.
"The poor devil!" said the pickpocket. "That's a pretty little broad he has. Can't you fellows do something for him? Give him a cigarette--or--a chew--or--something." Their resources of comfort were so few that the Kid could think of nothing more likely.
Just behind the patrol wagon came a handsome brougham, whose progress for an instant through the street which saw so few equipages of its rank had been stayed by the patrol wagon, moving heavily about before it started. The occupants of the brougham had seen the line come out of the jail, had seen it halt, had seen Danner fling the Polish woman aside and strike the pickpocket in the face; they had seen the men hustled into the patrol wagon, and now, as it followed after, Elizabeth Ward heard a voice call impudently:
"All aboard for the stir!"
IX
The patrol wagon bowled rapidly onward, and the brougham followed rapidly behind. The early darkness of the winter afternoon was enveloping the world, and in the damp and heavy air the roar of the city was intensified. The patrol wagon turned into Franklin Street and disappeared in the confusion of vehicles. The street was crowded; enormous trucks clung obstinately to the car tracks and only wrenched themselves away when the clamor of the gongs became desperate, their drivers swearing at the motormen, flinging angry glances at them. The trolley-cars swept by, filled with shop-girls, clerks, working-men, business men hanging to straps, reading evening papers in the brilliant electric lights; men clung to the broad rear platforms; at every crossing others attached themselves to these dark masses of humanity, swarming like insects. The sidewalks were crowded, and, as far as one could see, umbrellas balanced in the glistening mist.
The brougham of the Wards succeeded presently in crossing Franklin Street.
"They were taking them to the penitentiary!" said Elizabeth, speaking for the first time.
"I presume they were," said her mother.
"Harry Graves was among them," Elizabeth went on, staring widely before her, her tone low and level.
Mrs. Ward turned her head.