The Apple of Discord

I balanced my suspicions between the possibility that the fellow was a spy for the tongs, and the chance that he was an agent of the anti-coolie clubs, and then asked for a description of him.

"Well," said Miss Kendrick, "he's a most remarkable-looking creature, and I'm sure you ought to have no difficulty in finding him. I asked three of the servants who saw him, and took down their descriptions, and all you have to do is to look for a tall, short, middle-sized young man, with yellowish, brown, black hair, and black and blue (or possibly green) eyes, with and without a mustache, wearing a slouch derby hat, and dressed in dark, light-colored clothes–and then you'll have the man."

"I'm sure the police ought to be able to lay their hands on him at once," I said. "But it's no matter. I can hardly imagine the tongs hiring a gang of burglars to steal the girl. However, I'll have men enough around here to give them other things to think about if they come near the house."

"Well, then, I shall sleep easier," said Miss Kendrick with a sigh of relief. "It's a comfort to one's mind to know that there's some one looking after your safety. It's not strong-minded, but it's much more satisfying than having the responsibility one's self." She paid this tribute to the protecting hand of man with an infinitely charming condescension, and then at a sound from without changed her tone to earnest admonition: "And now I hear Mercy coming, and you're not to say a word of worriments."

"Mum's the word," I replied, pleased to enter into the bonds of conspiracy; and a moment later Miss Fillmore entered, breathless, followed by Mr. Baldwin clothed in supercilious indignation.

"Why, what's the matter?" cried Miss Kendrick, starting up impulsively, and embracing Miss Fillmore.

"Oh, my dear," returned her friend in a disturbed voice, "it's nothing much, I think–" She hesitated in evident unwillingness to alarm her hostess, but Mr. Baldwin's indignation was repressed by no such consideration.

"It's another demonstration by Mr. Hampden's friends," he said with something of heat in his cold cynical voice. "That blatherskite Kearney has led a crowd of hoodlums up Nob Hill, and it looks as though there would be wild times before the night is over. We passed a gang of the riffraff a few minutes ago, and they were headed up California Street, yelling like wild Indians about burning down the Stanford and Hopkins places. It's a fine pass that this toleration of the worst elements has brought us to. There's just one way to deal with those fellows, and that's to call out the troops and mow them down. If we were under a city government that had the first notion of protecting life and property, it would have had the whole gang in jail without waiting for murder and arson."

With this threat in the air, the Nob Hill meeting became a matter of immediate interest. If a riot should start at that point, it might be followed by an attack on the Van Ness Avenue district, and it evidently behooved me to judge for myself the temper and designs of the crowd.

"If my friends are engaged in any such desperate business, I'm afraid it's my duty to keep them from getting any further into mischief," I said; "so I'll bid you a good evening."

"You don't mean you are going out into that mob, do you?" cried Miss Kendrick.

"That is my present purpose," I replied with some exultation at the anxiety betrayed in her tone and look.

"Well, I'm sure you're old enough to know better, but I see you are an obstinate man-creature, and it's no use to say anything to you. But when you get there, I hope you'll remember that you're not a regiment of soldiers, and leave the business of the police to the police."

"Send word if you're arrested," said Mr. Baldwin scornfully, "and I'll see what can be done about bail."

I bowed my thanks, and went out into the hall where I found Miss Fillmore awaiting me.

"Do you think Mr. Parks is in that mob?" she asked, with a charming air of embarrassment.

"I don't doubt it," I replied.

"He is so impulsive," she said. "I saw him this afternoon, and he was very much excited over something that happened to Mr. Merwin. I am very much afraid he will let his feelings run away with him to-night."

There was a depth of anxiety in her eyes that Parks ought to have been proud to inspire, and even with the call of conflict urging me to be gone, I spoke a few words of comfort, and reflected on the mysteries of attraction that should draw together the gentle Mercy and the impassioned leader of revolt against society.

"If you find him to-night, try to restrain him," she pleaded. "It is his good heart–his sympathy with the suffering–that brings him into these troubles."

"I shall do all I can," I promised.

Outside the house, I stopped for a few minutes to see that my watchmen were on duty, and to learn if they had observed any signs of trouble.

"No," said Andrews, the head watchman, "there's been nothing worse than a gang of hoodlums going up toward Nob Hill, and yelling like Comanches. But one of 'em makes me a bit suspicious, for as he passes, he says, 'That's the house.' I says to myself that there's a chance he means this one, so I've cautioned the boys to be wide awake."

"How many are on duty to-night?"

"Four besides myself–Reardon and Selfridge, Hunt and Carr."

"Well, get two more to stand watch with you to-morrow night, and till further orders." And with Andrews' assurance that he knew two trustworthy men for the place, I ran down the steps and hastened up the street toward Nob Hill.

As I reached the plateau, the meeting appeared to have resolved itself into small groups, that now scattered, now coalesced, and then scattered again, with shouts and cries of men. There were roars of anger followed by jeers, and shouted orders, and the elements of disorder circled hither and thither in aimless dispersion. Hoodlums elbowed me from the sidewalk. A policeman caught me by the arm and whirled me around with a curt order to "Git out of this now," and I recognized that the forces of law and order had replied to the challenge of the agitators.

I pressed my way forward, by avoiding the scattered police, and at last reached the corner of Mason and California Streets by the Hopkins mansion. There was still a mob of a thousand or more, struggling about a shouting group, thinning from moment to moment, under the efforts of the police.

I caught a glimpse of Parks, with mouth open and fist raised. Then he disappeared; a company of police appeared in the speaker's place, and the mob melted away with marvelous rapidity. The police formed in company front, swept along the block, and then with a right-about-face returned, and broke up into twos and threes in chase of groups of disorder.

As the upper block was nearly cleared, I caught sight of a policeman with whom I had a nodding acquaintance.

"You've got a handful of trouble to-night," I said, as he paused for breath.

"Throuble by the armful," he said indignantly. "That blatherskite Kearney ought to be in the tanks, with all that gang of fish-horn shouters that follows him. He's making us more throuble than all the haythin divils between Goat Island and Washerwoman's Bay, and that's not sayin' a little."

"I didn't get here in time to hear what he said."

The policeman gave an indignant snort, and paused to order a trio of young men to "git home and out of here now."

"Well," he said, turning to me again, "you needn't lose slape for what you've missed. He told that crowd of howling hoodlums that these houses here was built with the loot squeezed out of their pockets, whin hiven knows that they wouldn't do enough wurruk in tin thousand years to build wan side of that fince. Thin he says to 'em, 'What's the matter wid yez is thot the railroad hires the haythins instead of puttin' youse on the job'–as if those hoods would lave town and lift pick and shovel on the grade to save their sowls from the Ould Wan himself. An' at last he says, 'I give the leprous corporation jist thirty days to fire their haythin shovelers, an' if they don't, I'll lade yez up here to hang Stanford and Crocker out of their own windows, an' burn their houses on top of thim.' Thin some drunken hood yells, 'Hang 'em now!' An' with that we clubs 'em good and hard. Now we've got 'em on the run, an' we've got ordhers to keep 'em on the run till they've had enough."

"Was Kearney arrested?" I asked.

"I think not, sor, but some of the gang with him was."

"Is there any danger of an attack on the houses on Van Ness Avenue?"

"It don't look so, sor. The hoodlums don't seem to be looking above wash-houses now, an' most of thim are ready to hunt their holes. Well, good night to ye, sor. I must head off this gang here." And he ran up Mason Street flourishing his club in chase of a dozen venturesome boys.

CHAPTER XVII

BIG SAM'S WARNING

With the deliquescence of the elements of disorder, I was relieved of the immediate fear of danger to Wharton Kendrick's place, and my thoughts recurred to Parks. From his sudden disappearance at the rush of the police, I could scarce doubt that he was under arrest, and the remembrance of Mercy's anxious face turned my steps toward the Old City Hall to learn the extent of his troubles, and the chances of securing his release.

Kearny Street was thronged with groups of excited men, and I approached the old municipal building through a surging mob that was kept in motion by the police.

"They've got Kearney in there!" cried a frenzied follower of the agitators, pointing to the Old City Hall. "Let's take him out."

"No, they haven't!" called another. "They didn't dare arrest him."

A policeman brought down a club impartially on the head of the inciter of disorder and the friend of peace, with gruff orders to "Move on!" And through many difficulties I made my way to the door on Merchant Street that opened to the City Prison. The entrance was well guarded by several stout policemen, but my card secured admission. At the inner gate, however, I was halted for a heart-searching catechism as to my profession, standing, and present purposes; but at last the gate swung open, and I stood by the desk sergeant, and questioned him in regard to the arrested.

A dozen men were being searched, and their torn clothing and hard faces testified to the rough treatment they had received–and earned.

"Parks?" said the desk sergeant, running his finger down his list. "He isn't booked under that name. Look at Cell Three, and see if you find him there." He pointed across the passage where a crowd of prisoners was herded behind bars, like wild animals in the cages at a menagerie. In the cage to which he pointed, a score of rough men had been thrust, and were glaring out fiercely or sullenly according to their nature. Parks was not among them, and I was turning away with a sigh of relief, when I heard my name called with unmistakable Chinese intonation.

"Misseh Hampden!" called the voice once more, and I turned to an adjoining cage to see a mixed crowd of Chinese and whites seated on a bench in sullen dejection. Then the Chinaman nearest me rose and came to the bars, and I recognized the smiling Kwan Luey.

"Why, Kwan Luey!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, p'liceman say catch-em play fan-tan my place–bling-em jail–all same fool–bling Kwan Luey."

I recalled that keeping a gambling game was supposed to be a part of Kwan Luey's multifarious activities, and expressed my hope that this would be a warning to him.

"Nev' mind," said Kwan Luey cheerfully. "Plitty soon my cousin him come bling bail–one hund' dollah fo' me–ten dollah piecee fo' them." And Kwan Luey smiled with pride at the distinction recognized in the disparity of the price of freedom. "You catch-em letteh all same I lite-em?"

"I think I kept the letter," I said, remembering the tangled verbiage that had called me to his store to receive Big Sam's money under the disguise of a prize in the lottery, and wondering what he could want with it.

"No–no," he protested, catching the idea in my mind. "I lite-em new letteh. You no get-em?"

"No."

Kwan Luey looked disappointed.

"Maybe you likee see Big Sam, eh?" he said with an insinuating air.

"Oh, Big Sam wants to see me, does he?"

"You likee see Big Sam," repeated Kwan Luey with the air of one stating a recognized fact. "Maybe him show you how pick plenty good ticket, eh?"

"Does he want to see me to-night?"

"I no know–him no say. Too many p'lice–too many hoodlum–maybe you no likee," said Kwan Luey, with a judicial view of the obstacles to an interview with the King of Chinatown.

I decided that I would take the chances, though it was approaching midnight, when my attention was attracted by the voice of Parks, and I turned to see him at the desk. My heart sank with the thought of Mercy's disappointment, when it was buoyed up once more by the discovery that he was not in custody. Instead of standing there a prisoner, he was piling little stacks of gold before the desk sergeant, and I divined that he was producing bail for those followers who had been so unfortunate as to fall into the hands of the police. As he shoved the last of the stacks across the desk and took the receipt that was offered him, he caught sight of me.

"What brings you here?" he cried in surprise.

"I have come, like yourself, on an errand of mercy. But I am the one who has the greater reason to be surprised." I marveled at his rashness in daring to enter the prison, and marveled still more that he was not put under arrest where he stood. Then I reflected that it was most unlikely that the policemen on guard at the prison had seen him at the Nob Hill meeting or at the rescue of Merwin; and if his description was on the books it was not definite enough to serve for identification.

"By heavens! They call this law!" he cried, waving his hand around at the prison. "Do you know, sir, that they have set Baumgartner's bail at five hundred dollars, and threaten to rearrest him as he sets foot out of prison, if I secure his release with that sum!"

"Then I think you had better save your five hundred," I replied.

"You can take it coolly, Hampden, but I can't. It makes my blood boil. If I had my way, I'd be here taking these men out with ax and sledge, instead of with gold. I'd have done it anyhow if they had had the courage to arrest Kearney. They didn't dare!" And he looked threateningly around the prison, and then counted the members of his band for whom the authorities had accepted bail. "Pass out," he said to them, and as he brought up the rear of his party, I followed him. They were of the typical hoodlum class, their insolence curbed for the moment by the shadow of the prison, and they slouched with resentful fear from the watchful eyes of the police. One figure among them stirred a dormant memory, and then, as the band scattered in the street, I recalled to mind the spy whose gift of an overcoat had opened the door of the fates. He was gone before I could speak, and I turned to Parks.

"How did you escape arrest?" I asked.

"Escape!" cried Parks. "I courted arrest, but the coward hounds of aristocracy had not the courage to lay hands on any of the leaders. They know as well as I that the wrath of an outraged people would not leave one stone of the jail upon another, if they ventured to seize Kearney, or even so humble a person as I."

"To tell you the truth, I came down here expecting to find you in custody, and to see what I could do toward getting you out. No, you needn't thank me for it. Give your thanks to a young lady who is paying you the compliment of more worry than you are worth. I came to relieve her anxiety–not yours."

Parks halted as we reached the corner of Merchant and Kearny Streets, and I saw the tense and angry lines soften on his face.

"Hampden, I won't pretend to misunderstand you. You're right. I'm not worth her worry–nor is any man. I am grateful; but I tell you, as I tell her, that our private interests, hopes, affections, are nothing compared with the great cause of the people."

"Well, for her sake, I hope you'll keep out of jail."

Parks took off his hat, and shook his mane with an angry nod.

"A few more days," he cried, "and this cowardly set of time-servers will be begging my protection instead of threatening my liberty."

"Are you ready to strike a blow?" I asked with sudden interest.

"Never mind," he said darkly. "We await only the word from our brethren in the East. You can see the crisis approaching there. The railroad strikes have spread from the Atlantic to the Missouri. The frightened bloodsuckers of society are calling out the troops in the desperate hope of prolonging their hold on the labor and productive resources of the country. When the hour strikes–"

Parks had gradually raised his voice in oratorical fervor, despite the nearness of the police headquarters, but at this moment he was interrupted by a tall, strong-faced man, who seized him by the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.

"Hampden," said Parks, "I am called. Will you be kind enough to send word that I am safe? I shall see your friend to-morrow." And with a nod he plunged into the crowd that blocked Kearny Street and disappeared.

At the drug store on the corner I scribbled a note that should set Miss Fillmore's mind at rest, and with some difficulty found a messenger who would deliver it. Then with misgivings I shouldered my way through the crowd, crossed the Plaza, and entered Chinatown.

The echoes of the Nob Hill meeting reverberated here as well as about the Old City Hall, but with a far different note. In place of the illuminated streets, the gay lanterns and the open doors of invitation of other days, there were barred entrances everywhere; the lights, where seen at all, flickered behind closed shutters, and the darkened buildings were surrounded with an atmosphere of sullen watchfulness. There was evident fear that the meeting on the hill was but the prelude to an attack on Chinatown, and Chinatown was prepared.

The entrance to Big Sam'e house was closed and barred, like the other doors of Waverly Place, but lights shone through the chinks in the shutters, and there were sounds of men stirring behind; so without hesitation I gave a resounding rap on the panel. The noises within ceased suddenly, but there was no response to my summons. I rapped again, and then a third time, before a singsong voice cried through the door:

"Wha' fo'? What you wan'?"

"I want to see Big Sam," I explained.

"No catch-em Big Sam," returned the voice harshly.

"You tell Big Sam Mr. Hampden here to see him," I cried. "He send tell me come. You sabby tell him now–right away."

There was a sudden outbreak of Chinese voices in argument and protest, and then silence followed for so long that I was about to rap again, when the same voice called through the door:

"How many you come?"

"One man."

There were sounds of a barricade removed, and the door opened cautiously for a few inches while its guardian reconnoitered. Reassured by my solitary figure, he stood aside for me to pass.

At the last moment my lagging judgment suggested the folly of putting myself as a hostage in the hands of the yellow men in such a time of storm. But it was too late to retreat with honor, and I slipped through the opening with all the boldness and self-possession I could assume, and saw the door bolted and barricaded against other intrusion. I looked narrowly about me.

Within the store that formed the entrance to Big Sam's establishment were twenty or thirty Chinese, and in the smoky light of the lamps I could distinguish the expression of suspicion and hatred that had escaped from behind the "no-sabby" mask of the coolie. The passions of the meeting on the hill had stirred an answering passion in the breasts of the yellow man, and I saw that in this place, at least, he was armed and ready for battle. The band pretended to take no notice of me, but the running fire of conversation that followed my entrance told me by its unmistakable accents that my coming had roused the instincts of combat, as the sight of the prey rouses the hunting instincts of the tiger.

Without a word a Chinaman beckoned me to follow him, and with some trepidation I stumbled up the stair in his footsteps. He stood aside at the entrance to Big Sam's room of state, motioned me to enter, and as I stepped in, he closed the door behind me.

For a moment I was disturbed to find that I was the only person in the room, and looked about with curiosity to know whether I was spied upon from some hidden post of observation. After my experience on the previous visit, I could not doubt that more than one hidden entrance led to the room, and I suspected that more than one pair of eyes watched me from hidden peep-holes. The dark carved wood of the furniture and walls, and the figures in the intricately embroidered hangings glowered at me with something of the repressed hostility of the guards down-stairs. The life and turmoil of the city from which I had just come seemed already at a vast distance from that oriental hall, and I could not but reflect how easy it would be to make certain that I never returned to the modern San Francisco that seemed now to lie so far away.

With a discretion that would recommend me in the eyes of any watcher, I took a chair far enough from the desk to avoid the suspicion of a wish to pry into Big Sam's papers, and surveyed the apartment as I impatiently awaited the coming of its owner.

Suddenly the voice of Big Sam sounded behind me.

"I am always glad to welcome Mr. Hampden–even when he is the bearer of bad news."

I had heard no sound of his entry, and turned with a start at his voice. Then I exclaimed in surprise. Instead of Big Sam, in his Chinese costume, I saw an American gentleman regarding me with an impassive face. His light plaid suit was of fashionable cut, and no detail of costume was wanting. But for the voice, I should have supposed, at first glance, that another visitor had followed me into Big Sam's reception-room, and it was only a closer look that revealed the features of Big Sam himself. A touch of art had lightened the color of his skin, and only the eyes and cheek-bones suggested his Asiatic origin.

"I hope it is no bad news that brings me," I said, as Big Sam advanced to shake my hand. "I think I bring none myself."

Big Sam seated himself behind his desk, looking incongruously out of place–a modern American as master of an oriental domain.

"In this time of broils and alarms, one's first thought must be of sudden evil," he said gravely. "You may guess, by my disguise, I have been observing how your people comport themselves when they assemble to consider the interests of their race. I have been much edified."

In his American dress, and with his perfect command of English, I had no doubt that he might have brushed shoulders with Kearney himself without rousing suspicion of his nationality.

"It has been an inspiring evening," I replied with a gravity equal to his own. "I see you have prepared for trouble."

"I am not insensible to the advantages or rights of self-defense," he said dryly. "But I trust that you have found nothing incorrect in our attitude–if I may borrow a phrase from your diplomats. I would be unwilling to take any course objectionable to the country that is my host–possibly a somewhat unwilling host, if I may judge by the words I have heard to-night." Big Sam looked at me with the inscrutable irony of the Orient.

"I can see no ground for complaint," I replied. "I have come to learn, not to reprove or to warn."

"I am, as ever, at your service."

"I was happy enough to meet our estimable friend Kwan Luey–under somewhat difficult and depressing circumstances, I may add–and he was so insistent in his assumption that I wished to see you that I thought it wise to test his theory before I went to sleep."

The shadow of a smile swept across Big Sam's face.

"Kwan Luey has his moments of divination," he said, and then fell silent.

"May I inquire what particularly I wished to see you about?" I asked at last.

Big Sam's eyes studied me keenly.

"I warned you–not so long ago, Mr. Hampden–that strange events were preparing in your city. May I ask what is now your opinion on them? I am interested to hear."

"I must congratulate you on the accuracy of your information, though I am still at a loss to surmise why you should have been selected for the confidence. And as for the disorders, they are but a temporary effervescence, which will die away, or be suppressed. But there is one thing permanent about them. They are a crude expression of the resolve of our race to hold the continent for itself."