Evening star., 1923-11-19
CHAPTER XII.
The Fight.


at the closed door; first a little
helplessly because the bottom seemed
| quite to have dropped out of things,
and then with set face as the old
cabman's words came back to him:
! "Crang-not Claire" And at this
sort of merciless joy crept into his
eyes, and he nodded his head in saw
age satisfaction. Yes, Hawkins had
, been right in that respect, and-well.
| it would be easier to deal with
Crang!
And then suddenly John Bruce's
face softened. Hawkins! He remem-
bered the fury with which the old
man had inspired him as the other
had reeled into the room, and Claire,
hurt and miserable, had risen from
her chair. But he remembered Haw-
kins in different way now II was
Hawkins, not Claire, who had been
hurt. The shabby old figure standing
there had paid price, and, as he
believed. for Claire's sake, that had
must have meant. what did mean.
all that he cherished most in life.
John Bruce smiled a little visit
fully. Somehow he envied Hawkins
so pitifuly unstable and so weak
his strength!
He shook his head in a puzzled
way. His thoughts led him on.
What a strange. almost incompre-
hensible little world 1t was into
which fate, IL one wished to call it
fate: had flung him! 1t was an alien
world TO him. His own life of the
past rose up in contrast with it-not
OF his own violition, but because the
comparison seemed to insist on
thrusting itself upon him.
He had never before met men like
Ia III 10 hod
met drunkards and pawnbrokers.
Very many of ,hsm. He had lived
his life, or, rather. impoverished It
with a spendthrift hand. among just
such classes-but he was conscious
that 1t would never have been the
poorer fer an intimacy with either
Hawkins or Paul Veniza.
John Bruce raised his head abrupt
ly. The front door had opened. A
moment later a footstep sounded in
stairs. That would be Paul Veniza
returning, of course, though he hadn't
been gone very long: or was 1t that
he, John Bruce, had been sitting here
staring at that closed door for q far
longer period than he had imagined?
He shrugged his shoulders. dismiss
ing the interruption from his mind,
and again the wistful smile flickered
on his lips.
So that was why nothing had been
said in his hearing about the rob-
berry! Queer people-with their trav-
cling pawn-shop, which was bizarre;
and their standards Of honesty. and
their unaffected hospitality which
verged on the bizarre too. because
their genuineness and simplicity were
so unostentatious-and so rare. And
somehow, suddenly. as he sat there
with his chin cupped now in his
trast-himself on the one hand.
drunkard and q pawnbroker on the
other!
And then John Bruce raised his
in startled way. Was that a cry
in a woman'e voice? 1t was muff1ed
by the closed door, and 1t was per-
haps therefore his imagination; but
He was on his feet. 1t had come
again. No door could have shut 1t
out from his ears. 1t was from
Claire upstairs, and the cry seemed
most curiously to mingle terror and
a passionate anger. He ran across
1t was strange! It would be Paul
veniza In a new role. II the gentle.
white-haired old pawnbroker could
inspire terror in any one!
4 rasping, jeering oath-in mans
voice this tine-reached him. John
Bruce. q sudden fury whipping his
blood into fire, found himself stun
bling up the stairs. It wasn't Veniza!
His mind seemed to convert that
phrase into a sing-song refrain: "It
wasn't veniza! 1t wasn't Veniza!'
Claire's voice came to him distinctly
now, md there was the same terror
in 1t, the same passionate anger that
he had distinguished in her cry:
Keep away from me! I .loathe
you! It Is men like you that prompt
a woman to murder! But-but In
stead, I have prayed God with all
my soul to let me die before,
Her voice ended IN a sharp cry, a
scuffie Of feet.