A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

In the Midst of Alarms

R >> Robert Barr >> In the Midst of Alarms



Produced by Lee Dawei, William A. Pifer-Foote, and the PG Online
Distributed Proofreaders.






IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS

by

ROBERT BARR

1894



TO E.B.




CHAPTER I.


In the marble-floored vestibule of the Metropolitan Grand Hotel in
Buffalo, Professor Stillson Renmark stood and looked about him with the
anxious manner of a person unused to the gaudy splendor of the modern
American house of entertainment. The professor had paused halfway
between the door and the marble counter, because he began to fear that
he had arrived at an inopportune time, that something unusual was going
on. The hurry and bustle bewildered him.

An omnibus, partly filled with passengers, was standing at the door,
its steps backed over the curbstone, and beside it was a broad, flat
van, on which stalwart porters were heaving great square, iron-bound
trunks belonging to commercial travelers, and the more fragile, but not
less bulky, saratogas, doubtless the property of the ladies who sat
patiently in the omnibus. Another vehicle which had just arrived was
backing up to the curb, and the irate driver used language suitable to
the occasion; for the two restive horses were not behaving exactly in
the way he liked.

A man with a stentorian, but monotonous and mournful, voice was filling
the air with the information that a train was about to depart for
Albany, Saratoga, Troy, Boston, New York, and the East. When he came to
the words "the East," his voice dropped to a sad minor key, as if the
man despaired of the fate of those who took their departure in that
direction. Every now and then a brazen gong sounded sharply; and one of
the negroes who sat in a row on a bench along the marble-paneled wall
sprang forward to the counter, took somebody's handbag, and disappeared
in the direction of the elevator with the newly arrived guest following
him. Groups of men stood here and there conversing, heedless of the
rush of arrival and departure around them.

Before the broad and lofty plate-glass windows sat a row of men, some
talking, some reading, and some gazing outside, but all with their feet
on the brass rail which had been apparently put there for that purpose.
Nearly everybody was smoking a cigar. A lady of dignified mien came
down the hall to the front of the counter, and spoke quietly to the
clerk, who bent his well-groomed head deferentially on one side as he
listened to what she had to say. The men instantly made way for her.
She passed along among them as composedly as if she were in her own
drawing room, inclining her head slightly to one or other of her
acquaintances, which salutation was gravely acknowledged by the raising
of the hat and the temporary removal of the cigar from the lips.

All this was very strange to the professor, and he felt himself in a
new world, with whose customs he was not familiar. Nobody paid the
slightest attention to him as he stood there among it all with his
satchel in his hand. As he timidly edged up to the counter, and tried
to accumulate courage enough to address the clerk, a young man came
forward, flung his handbag on the polished top of the counter,
metaphorically brushed the professor aside, pulled the bulky register
toward him, and inscribed his name on the page with a rapidity equaled
only by the illegibility of the result.

"Hello, Sam!" he said to the clerk. "How's things? Get my telegram?"

"Yes," answered the clerk; "but I can't give you 27. It's been taken
for a week. I reserved 85 for you, and had to hold on with my teeth to
do that."

The reply of the young man was merely a brief mention of the place of
torment.

"It _is_ hot," said the clerk blandly. "In from Cleveland?"

"Yes. Any letters for me?"

"Couple of telegrams. You'll find them up in 85."

"Oh, you were cocksure I'd take that room?"

"I was cocksure you'd have to. It is that or the fifth floor. We're
full. Couldn't give a better room to the President if he came."

"Oh, well, what's good enough for the President I can put up with for a
couple of days."

The hand of the clerk descended on the bell. The negro sprang forward
and took the "grip."

"Eighty-five," said the clerk; and the drummer and the Negro
disappeared.

"Is there any place where I could leave my bag for a while?" the
professor at last said timidly to the clerk.

"Your bag?"

The professor held it up in view.

"Oh, your grip. Certainly. Have a room, sir?" And the clerk's hand
hovered over the bell.

"No. At least, not just yet. You see, I'm----"

"All right. The baggage man there to the left will check it for you."

"Any letters for Bond?" said a man, pushing himself in front of the
professor. The clerk pulled out a fat bunch of letters from the
compartment marked "B," and handed the whole lot to the inquirer, who
went rapidly over them, selected two that appeared to be addressed to
him, and gave the letters a push toward the clerk, who placed them
where they were before.

The professor paused a moment, then, realizing that the clerk had
forgotten him, sought the baggage man, whom he found in a room filled
with trunks and valises. The room communicated with the great hall by
means of a square opening whose lower ledge was breast high. The
professor stood before it, and handed the valise to the man behind this
opening, who rapidly attached one brass check to the handle with a
leather thong, and flung the other piece of brass to the professor. The
latter was not sure but there was something to pay, still he quite
correctly assumed that if there had been the somewhat brusque man would
have had no hesitation in mentioning the fact; in which surmise his
natural common sense proved a sure guide among strange surroundings.
There was no false delicacy about the baggage man.

Although the professor was to a certain extent bewildered by the
condition of things, there was still in his nature a certain dogged
persistence that had before now stood him in good stead, and which had
enabled him to distance, in the long run, much more brilliant men. He
was not at all satisfied with his brief interview with the clerk. He
resolved to approach that busy individual again, if he could arrest his
attention. It was some time before he caught the speaker's eye, as it
were, but when he did so, he said:

"I was about to say to you that I am waiting for a friend from New York
who may not yet have arrived. His name is Mr. Richard Yates of the----"

"Oh, Dick Yates! Certainly. He's here." Turning to the negro, he said:
"Go down to the billiard room and see if Mr. Yates is there. If he is
not, look for him at the bar."

The clerk evidently knew Mr. Dick Yates. Apparently not noticing the
look of amazement that had stolen over the professor's face, the clerk
said:

"If you wait in the reading room, I'll send Yates to you when he comes.
The boy will find him if he's in the house; but he may be uptown."

The professor, disliking to trouble the obliging clerk further, did not
ask him where the reading room was. He inquired, instead, of a hurrying
porter, and received the curt but comprehensive answer:

"Dining room next floor. Reading, smoking, and writing rooms up the
hall. Billiard room, bar, and lavatory downstairs."

The professor, after getting into the barber shop and the cigar store,
finally found his way into the reading room. Numerous daily papers were
scattered around on the table, each attached to a long, clumsy cleft
holder made of wood; while other journals, similarly encumbered, hung
from racks against the wall. The professor sat down in one of the easy
leather-covered chairs, but, instead of taking up a paper, drew a thin
book from his pocket, in which he was soon so absorbed that he became
entirely unconscious of his strange surroundings. A light touch on the
shoulder brought him up from his book into the world again, and he saw,
looking down on him, the stern face of a heavily mustached stranger.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but may I ask if you are a guest of this
house?"

A shade of apprehension crossed the professor's face as he slipped the
book into his pocket. He had vaguely felt that he was trespassing when
he first entered the hotel, and now his doubts were confirmed.

"I--I am not exactly a guest," he stammered.

"What do you mean by not exactly a guest?" continued the other,
regarding the professor with a cold and scrutinizing gaze. "A man is
either a guest or he is not, I take it. Which is it in your case?"

"I presume, technically speaking, I am not."

"Technically speaking! More evasions. Let me ask you, sir, as an
ostensibly honest man, if you imagine that all this luxury--this--this
elegance--is maintained for nothing? Do you think, sir, that it is
provided for any man who has cheek enough to step out of the street and
enjoy it? Is it kept up, I ask, for people who are, technically
speaking, not guests?"

The expression of conscious guilt deepened on the face of the
unfortunate professor. He had nothing to say. He realized that his
conduct was too flagrant to admit of defense, so he attempted none.
Suddenly the countenance of his questioner lit up with a smile, and
he smote the professor on the shoulder.

"Well, old stick-in-the-mud, you haven't changed a particle in fifteen
years! You don't mean to pretend you don't know me?"

"You can't--you can't be Richard Yates?"

"I not only can, but I can't be anybody else. I know, because I have
often tried. Well, well, well, well! Stilly we used to call you; don't
you remember? I'll never forget that time we sang 'Oft in the stilly
night' in front of your window when you were studying for the exams.
You always _were_ a quiet fellow, Stilly. I've been waiting for
you nearly a whole day. I was up just now with a party of friends when
the boy brought me your card--a little philanthropic gathering--sort of
mutual benefit arrangement, you know: each of us contributed what we
could spare to a general fund, which was given to some deserving person
in the crowd."

"Yes," said the professor dryly. "I heard the clerk telling the boy
where he would be most likely to find you."

"Oh, you did, eh?" cried Yates, with a laugh. "Yes, Sam generally knows
where to send for me; but he needn't have been so darned public about it.
Being a newspaper man, I know what ought to go in print and what should
have the blue pencil run through it. Sam is very discreet, as a general
thing; but then he knew, of course, the moment he set eyes on you, that
you were an old pal of mine."

Again Yates laughed, a very bright and cheery laugh for so evidently
wicked a man.

"Come along," he said, taking the professor by the arm. "We must get
you located."

They passed out into the hall, and drew up at the clerk's counter.

"I say, Sam," cried Yates, "can't you do something better for us than
the fifth floor? I didn't come to Buffalo to engage in ballooning. No
sky parlors for me, if I can help it."

"I'm sorry, Dick," said the clerk; "but I expect the fifth floor will
be gone when the Chicago express gets in."

"Well, what can you do for us, anyhow?"

"I can let you have 518. That's the next room to yours. Really, they're
the most comfortable rooms in the house this weather. Fine lookout over
the lake. I wouldn't mind having a sight of the lake myself, if I could
leave the desk."

"All right. But I didn't come to look at the lake, nor yet at the
railroad tracks this side, nor at Buffalo Creek either, beautiful and
romantic as it is, nor to listen to the clanging of the ten thousand
locomotives that pass within hearing distance for the delight of your
guests. The fact is that, always excepting Chicago, Buffalo is more
like--for the professor's sake I'll say Hades, than any other place in
America."

"Oh, Buffalo's all right," said the clerk, with that feeling of local
loyalty which all Americans possess. "Say, are you here on this Fenian
snap?"

"What Fenian snap?" asked the newspaper man.

"Oh! don't you know about it? I thought, the moment I saw you, that you
were here for this affair. Well, don't say I told you, but I can put
you on to one of the big guns if you want the particulars. They say
they're going to take Canada. I told 'em that I wouldn't take Canada as
a gift, let alone fight for it. I've _been_ there."

Yates' newspaper instinct thrilled him as he thought of the possible
sensation. Then the light slowly died out of his eyes when he looked at
the professor, who had flushed somewhat and compressed his lips as he
listened to the slighting remarks on his country.

"Well, Sam," said the newspaper man at last, "it isn't more than once
in a lifetime that you'll find me give the go-by to a piece of news,
but the fact is I'm on my vacation just now. About the first I've had
for fifteen years; so, you see, I must take care of it. No, let the
_Argus_ get scooped, if it wants to. They'll value my services all
the more when I get back. No. 518, I think you said?"

The clerk handed over the key, and the professor gave the boy the check
for his valise at Yates' suggestion.

"Now, get a move on you," said Yates to the elevator boy. "We're going
right through with you."

And so the two friends were shot up together to the fifth floor.




CHAPTER II.


The sky parlor, as Yates had termed it, certainly commanded a very
extensive view. Immediately underneath was a wilderness of roofs.
Farther along were the railway tracks that Yates objected to; and a
line of masts and propeller funnels marked the windings of Buffalo
Creek, along whose banks arose numerous huge elevators, each marked by
some tremendous letter of the alphabet, done in white paint against the
somber brown of the big building. Still farther to the west was a more
grateful and comforting sight for a hot day. The blue lake, dotted with
white sails and an occasional trail of smoke, lay shimmering under the
broiling sun. Over the water, through the distant summer haze, there
could be seen the dim line of the Canadian shore.

"Sit you down," cried Yates, putting both hands on the other's
shoulders, and pushing him into a chair near the window. Then, placing
his finger on the electric button, he added: "What will you drink?"

"I'll take a glass of water, if it can be had without trouble," said
Renmark.

Yates' hand dropped from the electric button hopelessly to his side,
and he looked reproachfully at the professor.

"Great Heavens!" he cried, "have something mild. Don't go rashly in for
Buffalo water before you realize what it is made of. Work up to it
gradually. Try a sherry cobbler or a milk shake as a starter."

"Thank you, no. A glass of water will do very well for me. Order what
you like for yourself."

"Thanks, I can be depended on for doing that." He pushed the button,
and, when the boy appeared, said: "Bring up an iced cobbler, and charge
it to Professor Renmark, No. 518. Bring also a pitcher of ice water for
Yates, No. 520. There," he continued gleefully, "I'm going to have all
the drinks, except the ice water, charged to you. I'll pay the bill,
but I'll keep the account to hold over your head in the future.
Professor Stillson Renmark, debtor to Metropolitan Grand--one sherry
cobbler, one gin sling, one whisky cocktail, and so on. Now, then,
Stilly, let's talk business. You're not married, I take it, or you
wouldn't have responded to my invitation so promptly." The professor
shook his head. "Neither am I. You never had the courage to propose to
a girl; and I never had the time."

"Lack of self-conceit was not your failing in the old days, Richard,"
said Renmark quietly.

Yates laughed. "Well, it didn't hold me back any, to my knowledge. Now
I'll tell you how I've got along since we attended old Scragmore's
academy together, fifteen years ago. How time does fly! When I left, I
tried teaching for one short month. I had some theories on the
education of our youth which did not seem to chime in with the
prejudices the school trustees had already formed on the subject."

The professor was at once all attention. Touch a man on his business,
and he generally responds by being interested.

"And what were your theories?" he asked.

"Well, I thought a teacher should look after the physical as well as
the mental welfare of his pupils. It did not seem to me that his duty
to those under his charge ended with mere book learning."

"I quite agree with you," said the professor cordially.

"Thanks. Well, the trustees didn't. I joined the boys at their games,
hoping my example would have an influence on their conduct on the
playground as well as in the schoolroom. We got up a rattling good
cricket club. You may not remember that I stood rather better in
cricket at the academy than I did in mathematics or grammar. By
handicapping me with several poor players, and having the best players
among the boys in opposition, we made a pretty evenly matched team at
school section No. 12. One day, at noon, we began a game. The grounds
were in excellent condition, and the opposition boys were at their
best. My side was getting the worst of it. I was very much interested;
and, when one o'clock came, I thought it a pity to call school and
spoil so good and interesting a contest. The boys were unanimously of
the same opinion. The girls were happy, picnicking under the trees.
So we played cricket all the afternoon."

"I think that was carrying your theory a little too far," said the
professor dubiously.

"Just what the trustees thought when they came to hear of it. So they
dismissed me; and I think my leaving was the only case on record where
the pupils genuinely mourned a teacher's departure. I shook the dust of
Canada from my feet, and have never regretted it. I tramped to Buffalo,
continuing to shake the dust off at every step. (Hello! here's your
drinks at last, Stilly. I had forgotten about them--an unusual thing
with me. That's all right, boy; charge it to room 518. Ah! that hits
the spot on a hot day.) Well, where was I? Oh, yes, at Buffalo. I got a
place on a paper here, at just enough to keep life in me; but I liked
the work. Then I drifted to Rochester at a bigger salary, afterward to
Albany at a still bigger salary, and of course Albany is only a few
hours from New York, and that is where all newspaper men ultimately
land, if they are worth their salt. I saw a small section of the war as
special correspondent, got hurt, and rounded up in the hospital. Since
then, although only a reporter, I am about the top of the tree in that
line, and make enough money to pay my poker debts and purchase iced
drinks to soothe the asperities of the game. When there is anything big
going on anywhere in the country, I am there, with other fellows to do
the drudgery; I writing the picturesque descriptions and interviewing
the big men. My stuff goes red-hot over the telegraph wire, and the
humble postage stamp knows my envelopes no more. I am acquainted with
every hotel clerk that amounts to anything from New York to San
Francisco. If I could save money, I should be rich, for I make plenty;
but the hole at the top of my trousers pocket has lost me a lot of
cash, and I don't seem to be able to get it mended. Now, you've
listened with your customary patience in order to give my self-esteem,
as you called it, full sway. I am grateful. I will reciprocate. How
about yourself?"

The professor spoke slowly. "I have had no such adventurous career," he
began. "I have not shaken Canadian dust from my feet, and have not made
any great success. I have simply plodded; and am in no danger of
becoming rich, although I suppose I spend as little as any man. After
you were expel--after you left the aca----"

"Don't mutilate the good old English language, Stilly. You were right
in the first place. I am not thin-skinned. You were saying after I was
expelled. Go on."

"I thought perhaps it might be a sore subject. You remember, you were
very indignant at the time, and----"

"Of course I was--and am still, for that matter. It was an outrage!"

"I thought it was proved that you helped to put the pony in the
principal's room."

"Oh, certainly. _That_. Of course. But what I detested was the way
the principal worked the thing. He allowed that villain Spink to turn
evidence against us, and Spink stated I originated the affair, whereas
I could claim no such honor. It was Spink's own project, which I fell
in with, as I did with every disreputable thing proposed. Of course the
principal believed at once that I was the chief criminal. Do you happen
to know if Spink has been hanged yet?"

"I believe he is a very reputable business man in Montreal, and much
respected."

"I might have suspected that. Well, you keep your eye on the respected
Spink. If he doesn't fail some day, and make a lot of money, I'm a
Dutchman. But go on. This is digression. By the way, just push that
electric button. You're nearest, and it is too hot to move. Thanks.
After I was expelled----"

"After your departure I took a diploma, and for a year or two taught a
class in the academy. Then, as I studied during my spare time, I got a
chance as master of a grammar school near Toronto, chiefly, as I think,
though the recommendation of Principal Scragmore. I had my degree by
this time. Then----"

There was a gentle tap at the door.

"Come in!" shouted Yates. "Oh, it's you. Just bring up another cooling
cobbler, will you? and charge it, as before, to Professor Renmark, room
518. Yes; and then----"

"And then there came the opening in University College, Toronto. I had
the good fortune to be appointed. There I am still, and there I suppose
I shall stay. I know very few people, and am better acquainted with
books than with men. Those whom I have the privilege of knowing are
mostly studious persons, who have made, or will make, their mark in the
world of learning. I have not had your advantage, of meeting statesmen
who guide the destinies of a great empire.

"No; you always were lucky, Stilly. My experience is that the chaps who
do the guiding are more anxious about their own pockets, or their own
political advancement, than they are of the destinies. Still, the
empire seems to take its course westward just the same. So old
Scragmore's been your friend, has he?"

"He has, indeed."

"Well, he insulted me only the other day."

"You astonish me. I cannot imagine so gentlemanly and scholarly a man
as Principal Scragmore insulting anybody."

"Oh, you don't know him as I do. It was like this: I wanted to find out
where you were, for reasons that I shall state hereafter. I cudgeled my
brains, and then thought of old Scrag. I wrote him, and enclosed a
stamped and addressed envelope, as all unsought contributors should do.
He answered--But I have his reply somewhere. You shall read it for
yourself."

Yates pulled from his inside pocket a bundle of letters, which he
hurriedly fingered over, commenting in a low voice as he did so: "I
thought I answered that. Still, no matter. Jingo! haven't I paid that
bill yet? This pass is run out. Must get another." Then he smiled and
sighed as he looked at a letter in dainty handwriting; but apparently
he could not find the document he sought.

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. I have it somewhere. He returned me the
prepaid envelope, and reminded me that United States stamps were of no
use in Canada, which of course I should have remembered. But he didn't
pay the postage on his own letter, so that I had to fork out double.
Still, I don't mind that, only as an indication of his meanness. He
went on to say that, of all the members of our class, you--_you_!
--were the only one who had reflected credit on it. That was the
insult. The idea of his making such a statement, when I had told him I
was on the New York _Argus_! Credit to the class, indeed! I wonder
if he ever heard of Brown after he was expelled. You know, of course.
No? Well, Brown, by his own exertions, became president of the Alum
Bank in New York, wrecked it, and got off to Canada with a clear half
million. _Yes_, sir. I saw him in Quebec not six months ago. Keeps
the finest span and carriage in the city, and lives in a palace. Could
buy out old Scragmore a thousand times, and never feel it. Most liberal
contributor to the cause of education that there is in Canada. He says
education made him, and he's not a man to go back on education. And yet
Scragmore has the cheek to say that _you_ were the only man in the
class who reflects credit on it!"

The professor smiled quietly as the excited journalist took a cooling
sip of the cobbler.

"You see, Yates, people's opinions differ. A man like Brown may not be
Principal Scragmore's ideal. The principal may be local in his ideals
of a successful man, or of one who reflects credit on his teaching."

"Local? You bet he's local. Too darned local for me. It would do that
man good to live in New York for a year. But I'm going to get even with
him. I'm going to write him up. I'll give him a column and a half; see
if I don't. I'll get his photograph, and publish a newspaper portrait
of him. If that doesn't make him quake, he's a cast-iron man. Say, you
haven't a photograph of old Scrag that you can lend me, have you?"

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.