Over the Border: A Novel

Walking up to the counter, the young man had held out his hand – evidently for the key of his room – while his indifferent gaze traveled around the lobby. The clerk, who departed in no wise from the casual specifications of his supercilious breed, glanced at the hand contemptuously. Turning, the young man spoke. Then as, without glancing up, the clerk answered, he snatched, hauled that superior person across the counter, and slammed him down hard on the floor. Next, as they came on, he felled one large door porter and three oversized bell-boys who had answered the clerk’s yell. This done, he waited, expectantly, quietly surveying the wreck, the hazel eye admired by Naylor transmuted into hard steel flecked with dots of brown light.

Jaw, eyes, pose, all said, “Next!” But the “wreck” was complete. The oversized bell-boys ran off to answer imaginary calls. An automobile party at the door called for the porter’s attention. Deserted, the clerk swiftly retreated behind his counter, behind which, from a safe distance, he issued defiant mutterings. With a slight nod that expressed comprehension and satisfaction, Hazel-Eyes sauntered across the lobby out into the street.

All had passed in the time required for the correspondent to reach the desk. He was back again in five seconds. “He’s broke – owes two weeks’ room rent. Clerk told him to get out; hence the scrap. Diogenes, we’re in luck! Venus and Cupid are in the ascendant. He’s our meat.”

Grabbing Bull’s arm, he hustled him outside, where they spied the quarry turning up a cross-street that led to the plaza. When he finally settled down on an empty bench, the correspondent nudged Bull in the ribs.

“Look at them!” He indicated the hundreds of men idling on the benches or sprawled out on the turf. “Last refuge of the broke, home of the out-of-works. That settles it. Bet you he hasn’t the price of a meal. But, say! he’s plucky. The beggar is actually smiling.”

From the way in which the young fellow’s glance wandered around the assembled out-of-works, it was easy to see that he rather enjoyed the novel situation. When Bull had noted and commented on the fact, the correspondent went on:

“Now, Diogenes, we must proceed with due regard for the traditions. When grand dukes, princes, and caliphs in disguise befriend some worthy person, they invariably begin by testing his honesty – see Arabian Nights and other authorities. Split a couple of tens off your wad and drop them as you stroll past him. I’ll stay here and watch lest he be found wanting.”

Bull managed it, too, quite cleverly, scraping the bills out of his pocket along with his tobacco-pouch. Watching closely, the correspondent saw the young fellow look, pick them up, then run and tap Bull’s shoulder. Leaning back, he shook with silent laughter.

“And they say romance is dead,” his thought ran. “Dead! while this big, black giant stalks around like a knight of old seeking a perfect husband for a girl he’s known only a few weeks. Diogenes, my friend, Don Quixote had nothing on you. Of all the lovely, fine pieces of idiocy that ever helped to raise us out of the muck of commercialism, this is the very finest. And wouldn’t it be queer if it worked? It’s almost too good to be true, and yet – a girl that can move a man to do things like that must be remarkably worth while. Quien sabe? Perhaps it will end like all true romances, with a happy marriage.”

Till the two settled down side by side on a bench, the correspondent watched. Then with a satisfied nod he rose and walked out of Bull’s life in the same casual way he had entered it; to return once more, however, at a critical juncture, many months later.

Thus left to his own devices, Bull carried on the campaign with diplomacy quite foreign to his Goliath makeup. From thanks and casual observations anent the weather, he led by gradual stages to labor conditions as exemplified by the surrounding out-of-works. His simulated astonishment when the young fellow claimed community with them was remarkably well done.

“No-o-o!” he protested.

“Sure!” the other nodded. “I was turned out of my hotel only half an hour ago.”

Quite in the fashion of grand dukes and caliphs, Bull still pretended doubt. “Broke, mebbe, but you don’t belong with these. What was it? Wine, weemen, or cyards?”

The young fellow grinned a little ruefully. “A woman, yes, but not in the usual way. What would you think if I told you – But, pshaw! what’s the use? It would sound to you just like any other out-of-work fairy-tale. Well, it may amuse you. If you really want to know, I’m here, busted and broke, because I refused a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of gilt-edged securities and real estate.”

“A hundred thousand!” Bull’s financial acquaintance having rarely risen above the sixty-a-month class, he could not repress his surprise.

“There, I told you. Nevertheless, it is true. I am here because I refused a hundred thousand – with a girl attached.”

Bull’s face fell. “I see. Folks wanted you to marry her an’ you refused beca’se you’d already picked one for yourself.”

The young man nodded. “Correct except in one or two particulars. I disliked the girl so much that her money couldn’t tempt me. As for the one I’ll marry, I haven’t picked her yet. But I mean to when I’m taken that way.”

Bull’s face lit up with hope again as, with naïve frankness, the young fellow went into details; told how his father had set his heart on a marriage that would unite the wealth of two families. The girl, an only daughter, was desirable; pretty, accomplished, played, sang, and all that! They had been brought up almost like brother and sister, and there was the hitch!

“For a fellow doesn’t want to marry his sister,” he explained. “I know her so well she hasn’t a surprise in her hand. When I hook up, it will be with a girl that can bowl me over at first sight and keep me guessing forever after. But the Relieving Officer” – he broke off, laughing at Bull’s puzzled look – “that’s my name for my father. He was always coming through when I got in debt at college, hence the title. He’s a good old scout, but obstinate as – as – ”

“ – yourself?” Bull suggested.

“Right-o! Well, you know what happens when the irresistible force hits the immovable obstacle – something busts. That was me. Without even the last check the stern parent presents to the undutiful son in melodrama, I got. Of course the dear old gentleman wouldn’t have me suffer. He supposed I’d presently come home to partake of the fatted calf; and just for fear that I might, I took my last money and bought a ticket West. So here I am, without money and without friends. Add it up and subtract the result – pick and shovel. I see them looming in the future.”

“Oh, shore!” The caliph – that is, Bull – was proceeding very cautiously. “You’ll get a job in some bank.”

“Don’t believe it. You see, I’d just come home from Princeton and had no commercial training. Anyway, I’d rather work in the open, ranching, or something like that. If I had a little capital, I’d buy in. As I haven’t, I’m open for any kind of a job. But there, again, I’ve got no experience further than the fact that I can ride a horse. I’m afraid it’s pick and shovel.”

The abused and hackneyed psychological moment had arrived! The net was spread, the twigs limed, the cage door open! With great artfulness Bull proceeded to shoo the bird inside. He knew of a job – in fact, it was on the same hacienda where he worked himself! Of course it had the disadvantage of being located in Mexico, across the line where nothing was certain but death and “requisitions”! And there was always the chance of a scrap! He, Bull, wouldn’t advise any one to try it that had too strong a grip on this life, for there was no saying just when one might be launched into “Kingdom Come.” But for a man who liked action and would take a fighting chance – so forth and so on.

A disinterested listener would have thought these and kindred inducements were eminently fitted to scare the bird away. If so – Bull did not want him. But, sizing him for a lad of spirit with the romantic outlook of his years, he counted on their appeal. Nor was he mistaken. He had finished telling of Carleton’s death at the hands of the Colorados, and was relating the accidental manner in which he and hiscompañeros had assumed the guardianship of Lee, when the young fellow thrust out his hand.