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The Underdog

F >> F. Hopkinson Smith >> The Underdog




"'Marse Henry, I done hearn ye every word. You don't want me here no
mo', an' I'm gwine away. I ain't a-fightin' agin you an' Sammy an' neber
will--it's 'cause I couldn't help it dat I'm wearin' dese clo'es. As to
dis money dat you won't let Sammy take, it's mine to gib 'cause I saved
it up. I gin it to Sammy 'cause I fotched him up an' 'cause he's as much
mine as he is your'n. He'll tell ye so same's me. If you say I got to
take dat money back I got to do it 'cause I ain't neber dis'beyed ye an'
I ain't gwine to begin now. But I don't want yer ter say it, Marse
Henry--I don't want yer to say it. You is my marster I know, but Sammy
is my _chile_. An' anudder thing, dey ain't gwine to let him stay in dis
town more'n a day. I found dat out yisterday when I heared he'd come.
Dar ain't no money whar he's gwine, an' dis money ain't nothin' to me
'cause I kin git mo' an' maybe Sammy can't. Please, Marse Henry, let
Sammy keep dis money. Dere didn't useter be no diff'ence 'tween us, and
dere oughtn't to be none now.'

"My father didn't speak again--he hadn't the heart, and Aleck went out,
leaving the money on the table."

Again my companion stopped and fumbled over the matches in his safe,
striking one or two nervously and relighting his cigar. It was
astonishing how often it went out. I sat with my eyes riveted on his
face. I could see now the lines of tenderness about his mouth and I
caught certain cadences in his voice which revealed to me but too
clearly why the negro loved him and why he must always be only a boy to
the old slave. The cigar a-light, he went on:

"When the war closed I came home and began to pick up my life again.
Aleck had gone to Wisconsin and was living in the same town as young
Cruger, one of my father's law-students. When my father died, I
telegraphed Cruger, inviting him to serve as one of the pall-bearers,
and asked him to find Aleck and tell him. I knew he would be hurt if I
didn't let him know.

"At two o'clock that night my niece, who was with my mother, rapped at
my door. I was sitting up with my father's body and would go down every
hour to see that everything was all right.

"'There's a man trying to get in at the front door,' she said. I got up
at once and went downstairs. I could see the outlines of a man's figure
moving in the darkness, but I could not distinguish the features.

"'Who is it?' I asked, throwing open the door and peering out.

"'It's me, Sammy--it's Aleck. Take me to my ole marster.'

"He came in and stood where the light fell full upon him. I hardly knew
him, he was so changed--much older and bent, and his clothes hung on
him in rags.

"I pointed to the parlor-door, and the old man went on tip-toe into the
room and stood looking at my father's dead face for a long time--the
body lay on a cot. Then he placed his hat on the floor and got down on
his knees. There was just light enough to see his figure black against
the white of the sheet that covered the cot. For some minutes he knelt
motionless, as if in prayer, though no sound escaped him. Then he
stretched out his big black hand and passed it over the body, smoothing
it gently and patting it tenderly as one would a sleeping child. By and
by he leaned closer to my father's face.

"'Marse Henry,' I heard him say, 'please, Marse Henry, listen. Dis
yere's Aleck. Ye'r wouldn't hear me the las' time but yer got ter hear
me now. It's yo' Aleck, Marster, dat's who it is. I come soon's I could,
Marse Henry, I didn't wait a minute.' He stopped as if expecting an
answer, and went on. 'I ain't neber laid up nothin' agin ye though,
Marse Henry. When ye turned me out dat night in the col' 'cause I had
dem soger clo'es on an' didn't want me to gin dat money to Sammy, I
knowed how yer felt, but I didn't lay it up agin ye. I ain't neber loved
nobody like I loved you, Marse Henry, you an' Sammy. Do yer 'member when
I fust come? 'Member how ye tuk me out o' jail, an' gin me a home?
'Member how ye nussed me when I was sick, an' fed me when I was hongry,
an' put clo'es on me when I was most naked? Nobody neber trusted me with
nothin' till you trusted me, dey jus' beat me an' hunt me. An' don't yer
'member, Marse Henry, de time ye gin me Sammy an' tol' me to take care
on him? you ain't forgot dat day, is yer? He's here, Marster; Sammy's
here. He's settin' outside a-watch-in'. Him an' me togedder, same's we
useter was.'

"He got upon his feet, and looked earnestly into the dead face. Then he
bent down and picked up one corner of the white sheet, and kissed it
reverently. He did not touch the face. When he had tiptoed out of the
room, he laid his hand on my shoulder. The tears were streaming down his
face: 'It was jes' like ye, Sammy, to send fo' me. We knows one anudder,
you an' me--' and he turned toward the front door.

[Illustration: I hardly knew him, he was so changed.]

"'Where are you going, Aleck?' I asked.

"'I dunno, Sammy--some place whar I kin lay down.'

"'You don't leave here to-night, Aleck,' I said. 'Go upstairs to that
room next to mine--you know where it is--and get into that bed.' He held
up his hand and began to say he couldn't, but I insisted.

"The next morning was Sunday. I saw when he came downstairs that he had
done the best he could with his clothes, but they were still pretty
ragged. I asked him if he had brought any others, but he told me they
were all he had. I didn't say anything at the time, but that afternoon I
took him to a clothing store, had it opened as a favor to me and fitted
him out with a suit of black, and a shirt, and shoes and a
hat--everything he wanted--and got him a carpet-bag, and told Abraham,
the clothier, to put Aleck's old things into it, and he would call for
them the next day.

"When we got outside, Aleck looked himself all over--along his sleeves,
over his waistcoat, and down to his shoes. He seemed to be thinking
about something. He would start to speak to me and stop and look over
his clothes again, testing the quality with his fingers. Finally he laid
his hand on my arm, and, with a curious, beseeching look, in his
eyes, said:

"'Sammy, all yesterday, when I was a-comin', I was a-studyin' about it,
an' I couldn't git it out'n my mind. It come to me agin when I saw Marse
Henry las' night, an' I wanted to tell him. But when I got up dis
mawnin' an' see myself I knowed I couldn't ask ye, Sammy, an' I didn't.
Now I got dese clo'es, it's come to me agin. I kin ask ye now, an' I
don't want ye to 'fuse me. I want ye to let me drive my marster's body
to de grave.'

"I held out my hand, and for an instant neither of us spoke.

"'Thank ye, Sammy,' was all he said."

Again my companion's voice broke. Then he went on:

"When the carriages formed in line I saw Aleck leaning against the
fence, and the undertaker's man was on the hearse. I caught Aleck's eye
and beckoned to him.

"'What's the matter, Aleck? Why aren't you on the hearse?'

"'De undertaker man wouldn't let me, Sammy; an' I didn't like to 'sturb
you an' de mistis.'

"The tears stood in his eyes.

"'Go find him and bring him to me,' I said.

"When he came I told him the funeral would stop where it was if he
didn't carry out my orders.

"He said there was some mistake, though I didn't believe it, and went
off with Aleck. As we turned out of the gate and into the road I caught
sight of the hearse, Aleck on the box. He sat bolt upright, head erect,
the reins in one hand, the whip resting on his knee, as I had seen him
do so often when driving my father--grave, dignified, and thoughtful,
speaking to the horses in low tones, the hearse moving and stopping as
each carriage would be filled and driven ah pad.

"He wouldn't drive the hearse back; left it standing at the gate of the
cemetery. I heard the discussion, but I couldn't leave my mother to
settle it.

"'I ain't gwine to do it,' I heard him say to the undertaker. 'It was my
marster I was 'tendin' on, not yo' horses. You can drive 'em home
yo'-self.'"

My companion settled himself in his chair, rested his head on his hand,
and closed his eyes. I remained silent, watching him. His cigar had gone
out; so had mine. Once or twice a slight quiver crossed his lips, then
his teeth would close tight, and again his face would relapse into calm
impassiveness.

At this instant the curtains of the smoking-room parted and the Pullman
porter entered.

"Your berth's all ready, Major," said the porter.

My companion rose from his chair, straightened his leg, held out his
band, and said:

"You can understand now, sir, how I feel about these continued outrages.
I don't mean to say that every man is like Aleck, but I do mean to say
that Aleck would never have been as loyal as he is but for the way my
father brought him up. Good-night, sir."

He was gone before I could do more than express my thanks for his
confidence. It was just as well--any further word of mine would have
been superfluous. Even my thanks seemed out of place.

In a few minutes the porter returned with, "Lower Four's all ready,
sir."

"All right, I'm coming. Oh, porter."

"Yes, sir."

"Porter, come closer. Who is that gentleman I've been talking to?"

"That's Major Sam Garnett, sir."

"Was he in the war?"

"Yes, sir, he was, for a fact. He was in de Cavalry, sir, one o'
Morgan's Raiders. Got more'n six bullets in him now. I jes' done helped
him off wid his wooden leg. It was cut off below de knee. His old man
Aleck most generally takes care of dat leg. He didn't come wid him dis
trip. But he'll be on de platform in de mornin' a-waitin' for him."



MARNY'S SHADOW

If you know the St. Nicholas--and if you don't you should make its
acquaintance at once--you won't breakfast upstairs in that gorgeous room
overlooking the street where immaculate, smilelees waiters move
noiselessly about, limp palms droop in the corners, and the tables are
lighted with imitation wax candles burning electric wicks hooded by
ruby-colored shades, but you will stumble down a dark, crooked staircase
to the left of the office-desk, push open a swinging, green baize door
studded with brass tacks, pass a corner of the bar resplendent in cut
glass, and with lowered head slip into a little box of a place built
under the sidewalk.

Here of an afternoon thirsty gentlemen sip their cocktails or sit
talking by the hour, the smoke from their cigars drifting in long lines
out the open door leading to the bar, and into the caffè beyond. Here in
the morning hungry habitues take their first meal--those whose
life-tickets are punched with much knowledge of the world, and who,
therefore, know how much shorter is the distance from where they sit to
the chef's charcoal fire.

Marny has one of these same ragged life-tickets bearing punch-marks
made the world over, and so whenever I journey his way we always
breakfast together in this cool, restful retreat, especially of a
Sunday morning.

On one of these mornings, the first course had been brought and eaten,
the cucumbers and a' special mysterious dish served, and I was about to
light a cigarette--we were entirely alone--when a well-dressed man
pushed open the door, leaned for a moment against the jamb, peered into
the room, retreated, appeared again, caught sight of Marny, and settled
himself in a chair with his eyes on the painter.

I wondered if he were a friend of Marny's, or whether he had only been
attracted by that glow of geniality which seems to radiate from
Marny's pores.

The intruder differed but little in his manner of approach from other
strangers I had seen hovering about my friend, but to make sure of his
identity--the painter had not yet noticed the man--I sent Marny a
Marconi message of inquiry with my eyebrows, which he answered in the
negative with his shoulders.

The stranger must have read its meaning, for he rose quickly, and, with
an embarrassed look on his face, left the room.

"Wanted a quarter, perhaps," I suggested, laughing.

"No, guess not. He's just a Diffendorfer. Always some of them round
Sunday mornings. That's a new one, never saw him before. In town over
night, perhaps."

"What's a Diffendorfer?"

"Did you never meet one?"

"No, never heard of one."

"Oh, yes, you have; you've seen lots of them."

"Do they belong to any sect?"

"No."

"What are they, then?"

"Just Diffendorfers. Thought I'd told you about one whom I knew. No?
Wait till I light my cigar; it's a long story."

"Anything to do with the fellow who's just gone out?"

"Not a thing, though I'm sure he's one of them. You'll find
Diffendorfers everywhere. First one I struck was in Venice, some years
ago. I can pick them out now at sight." Marny struck a match and lighted
his cigar. I drew my cup of coffee toward me and settled myself in my
chair to listen.

"You remember that little smoking-room to the right as you enter the
Caffè Quadri," he began; "the one off the piazza? Well, a lot of us
fellows used to dine there--Whistler, Rico, Old Ziem, Roscoff, Fildes,
Blaas, and the rest of the gang.

"Jimmy was making his marvellous pastels that year" (it is in this
irreverent way that Marny often speaks of the gods), "and we used to
crowd into the little room every night to look them over. We were an
enthusiastic lot of Bohemians, each one with an opinion of his own about
any subject he happened to be interested in, and ready to back it up if
it took all night. Whistler's pastels, however, took the wind out of
some of us who thought we could paint, especially Roscoff, who prided
himself on his pastels, and who has never forgiven Jimmy to this day.

"Well, one night, Auguste, the headwaiter--you remember him, he used to
get smuggled cigarettes for us; that made him suspicious; always thought
everybody was a spy--pointed out a man sitting just outside the room on
one of the leather-covered seats. Auguste said he came every evening and
got as close as he could to our table without attracting attention;
close enough, however, to hear every word that was said. If I knew the
man it was all right; if I didn't know him, he suggested that I keep an
eye on him.

"I looked around, and saw a heavy-featured, dull-looking man about
twenty-five, dressed in a good suit of well-cut clothes, shiny
stove-pipe silk hat, high collar with a good deal of necktie, a big
pearl pin, and a long gold watch-chain which went all around his neck
like an eye-glass ribbon. He had a smooth-shaven face, two keen eyes, a
flat nose, square jaw, and a straight line of a mouth.

"I didn't know the man, didn't want to know him, fellows in silk hate
not being popular with us, and I didn't keep an eye on him except long
enough to satisfy myself that the man was only one of those hungry
travellers who was adding to his stock of information by picking up the
crumbs of conversation which fell from the tables, and not at all the
kind of a person who would hold me or anybody else up in a _sotto
portico_ or chuck me over a bridge. Then again, I was twenty pounds
heavier than he was, and could take care of myself.

"Some nights after this I was dining alone, none of the boys having
shown up owing to a heavy rain, when Auguste nudged me, and there sat
this stranger within ten feet of my table. He dropped his eyes when he
saw me looking at him, and began turning the sheets of a letter he had
in his hand. I was smoking one of Auguste's cigarettes, and checking the
mènu with a lead-pencil, when it slipped from my hand and rolled between
the man's feet. He rose, picked up the pencil, laid it beside my plate,
and without a word returned to his seat, that same curious, inquisitive,
hungry look on his face you saw a moment ago on that fellow's who has
just gone out. Auguste, of course, lost all interest in my dinner. If he
wasn't after me then he was after him; both meant trouble for Auguste.

"I shifted my chair, opened the 'Gazetta' to serve as a screen, and
looked the fellow over. If he were following me around to murder me, as
Auguste concluded--he always had some cock-and-bull story to tell--he
was certainly very polite about it. I could see that he was not an
Italian, neither was he a German nor a Frenchman. He looked more like a
well-to-do Dutchman--like one of those young fellows you and I used to
see at the Harmonie Club in Dordrecht, or on the veranda of the Amstel,
in Amsterdam. They look more like Americans than any other people
in Europe.

"The next night I was telling the fellows some stories, they crowding
about to listen, when Auguste whispered in my ear. I turned, and there
he was again, his eyes watching every mouthful I swallowed, his ears
taking in everything that was said. The other fellows had noticed him
now, and had christened him 'Marny's Shadow.' One of them wanted to ask
him his business, and fire him into the street if it wasn't
satisfactory, but I wouldn't have it. He had said nothing to me or
anybody else, nor had he, so far as I knew, followed me when I went out.
He had a perfect right to dine where he pleased if he paid for it--and
he did--so Auguste admitted, and liberally, too. He could look at whom
he pleased. The fact is, that but for Auguste, who was scared white half
the time, fearing the Government would get on to his cigarette game, no
one would have noticed him. Besides, the fellow might have his own
reasons for remaining incog., and if he did we all knew he wouldn't have
been the first one.

"A few days after this I was painting up the Zattere near San
Rosario--I was making the sketch for that big Giudeeca picture--the one
that went to Munich that year--you remember it?--lot of figures around a
fruit-stand, with the church on the right and the Giudeeca and Lagoon
beyond--and had my gondolier Marco posing some twenty feet away with his
back turned toward me, when my mysterious friend walked out from a
little _calle_ tins side of the church, looked at Marco for a moment
without turning his head--he didn't see me--and stopped at a door next
to old Pietro Varni's wine-shop. He hesitated a moment, looking up and
down the Zattere, opened the door with a key which he took from his
pocket, and disappeared inside. I beckoned to Marco, and sent him to the
wine-shop to find Pietro. When he came (Pietro was agent for the
lodging-rooms above, and let them out to swell painters--we couldn't
afford them--fifty lira a week, some of them more) I said:

"'Pietro, did you see the chap that went upstairs a few moments ago?'

"'Yes, signore.'

"'Do you know who he is?'

"'Yes, he is one of my gentlemen. He has the top floor--the one that
Signore Almadi used to live in. The Signore Almadi is gone away.'

"'How long has he been here?'

"'About a month.'

"'Is he a painter?

"'No, I don't think so.'

"'What is he, then?'

"'Ah, Signore, who can tell? At first his letters were sent to me--now
he gets them himself. The last were from Monte Carlo, from the
Hotel--Hotel--I forget the name. But why does the Signore want to know?
He pays the rent on the day--that is much better.'

"'Where does he come from?'

"Pietro shrugged his shoulders.

"'That will do, Pietro.'

"There was evidently nothing to be gotten out of him.

"The next day we had another rainstorm--regular deluge. This time it
came down in sheets; campos running rivers; gondolas half full of water,
everything soaked. I had a room in the top of the Palazzo da Mula on the
Grand Canal just above the Salute and within a step of the traghetto of
San Giglio. By going out of the rear door and keeping close to the wall
of the houses skirting the Fondamenta San Zorzi, I could reach the
traghetto without getting wet. The Quadri was the nearest caffè, anyhow,
and so I started.

"When I stepped out of the gondola on the other side of the canal and
walked up the wooden steps to the level of the Campo, my mysterious
friend moved out from under the shadow of the traghetto box and stood
where the light from the lantern hanging in front of the Madonna fell
upon his face. His eyes, as usual, were fixed on mine. He had evidently
been waiting for me.

"I thought I might just as well end the thing then as at any other time.
There was no question now in my mind that the fellow meant business.

"I turned on him squarely.

"'You waiting for me?'

"'Yes.'

"'What for?'

"'I want you to go to dinner with me.'

"'Where?'

"'Anywhere you say.'

"'I don't know you.'

"'Yes, that's what I thought you would say.'

"'Do you know me?'

"'No.'

"'Know my name?'

"'Yes, your name's Marny.'

"'What's yours?'

"'Mine's Diffendorfer.'

"'Where do you want to dine?'

"'Anywhere you say. How will the Quadri do?'

"'In a private room?' I said this to see how he would take it. He still
stood in the full glare of the lantern.

"'No, unless you prefer. I would rather dine downstairs--more people
there.'

"'All right--lead the way, I'll follow.'

"It was the worst night that you ever saw. Hardly a soul in the
streets. It had set in for a three days' storm, I knew; we always had
them in Venice during December. My friend kept right on without looking
behind him or speaking to me; over the bridge, through the Campo San
Moisè and so on to the _Piazza_ and the caffè. There were only half a
dozen fellows inside when we entered. These greeted me with the yell of
welcome we always gave each other on entering, and which this time I
didn't return, I knew they would open their eyes when they saw us sit
down together, and I didn't want any complications by which I would be
obliged to introduce him to anybody. I hated not to be decent, but you
see I didn't know but I'd have to hand him over to the police before I
was through with him, and I wanted the responsibility of his
acquaintance to devolve on me alone. Roscoff either wouldn't or didn't
take in the situation, for he came up when we were seated, leaned over
my chair, and put his arm around my neck. I saw a shade of
disappointment cross my companion's face when I didn't present Roscoff
to him, but he said nothing. But I couldn't help it--I didn't see
anything else to do. Then again, Roscoff was one of those fellows who
would never let you hear the end of it if anything went wrong.

"The man looked at the bill of fare steadily for some minutes, pushed it
over to me, and said: 'You order.'

"There was nothing gracious in the way he said it--more like a command
than anything else. It nettled me for a moment. I don't like your
buttoned-up kind of a man that gives you a word now and then as
grudgingly as if he were doling out pennies from a pocket-hook. But I
kept still. Then I was on a voyage of discovery. The tones of his voice
jarred on me, I must admit, and I answered him in the same peremptory
way. Not that I had any animosity toward him, but so as to meet him on
his own ground.

"'Then it will he the regular table d'hôte dinner with a pint of Chianti
for each,' I snapped out. 'Will that suit you?'

"'Yes, if you like Chianti.'

"'I do when it's good.'

"'Do you like anything better?' he asked, as if he were cross
questioning me on the stand.

"'Yes.'

"'What?'

"'Well, Valpocelli of '82.' That was the best wine in their cellar, and
cost ten lire a bottle.

"'Is there anything better than that?' he demanded.

"'Yes, Valpocelli of '71. _Thirty_ lire a bottle. They haven't a drop of
it here or anywhere else.'

"Auguste, who had been half-paralyzed when we sat down, and who, in his
bewilderment, had not heard the conversation, reached over and placed
the ordinary Chianti included in the price of the dinner at my elbow.

"The man raised his eyes, looked at August with a peculiar expression,
amounting almost to disgust, on his face, and said:

"'I didn't order that. Take that stuff away and bring me a bottle of
'82--a quart, mind you--if you haven't the '71.'

"All through the dinner he talked in monosyllables, answering my
questions but offering few topics of his own; and although I did my best
to draw him out, he made no statement of any kind that would give me the
slightest clew as to his antecedents or that would lead up either to his
occupation or his purpose in seeking me out. He didn't seem to wish to
conceal anything about himself, although of course I asked him no
personal questions, nor did he pump me about my affairs. He was just one
of those dull, lifeless conversationalists who must be probed all the
time to get anything out of. Before I was half through the dinner I
wondered why I had bothered about him at all.

"All this time the fellows were off in one corner watching the whole
affair. When Auguste brought the '82, looking like a huge tear bottle
dug up from where it had rusted for two thousand years, Roscoff gave a
gasp and crossed the room to tell Billy Wood that I had struck a
millionnaire who was going to buy everything I had painted, including
my big picture for the Salon, all of which was about as close as that
idiot Roscoff ever got to anything.

"When the bill was brought Diffendorfer turned his back to me, took out
a roll of bills from his hip-pocket, and passed a new bank-note to
Auguste with a contemptuous side wiggle of his forefinger and the remark
in English in a tone intended for Auguste's ear alone: 'No change.'

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