Carmen Ariza Part 162

He straightened up, and a sneer curled his lips. "I suppose," he coa.r.s.ely insinuated, "that you think you now have material for an illuminating essay on my conversation."

"No," she said gently. "It is too dark to be illuminating."

The man's facial muscles twitched slightly under the sting, but he retained his outward composure. "My dear girl," he said, "it probably has not occurred to you that the world regards the Express as utterly without excuse for existence. It says, and truly, that a wishy-washy sheet such as it, with its devitalized, strained, and bolted reports of the world's vivid happenings, deserves to go under from sheer lack of interest. The experiment has been tried before, and has signally failed. Money alone can keep your paper alive. But, say the word, and--"

"And your money, as well as your business ideals, will be ours?" she concluded for him.

He smiled and nodded.

"Mr. Ames," she said, "you have no ideals. No man who ama.s.ses millions by taking advantage of the world's inhuman and pernicious social system can have ideals worthy of the name. To apply your methods, your thought, to the Express would result in sinking its moral tone into the dust. As for your money--"

"Commit suicide, then!" cried the man, yielding to his rising anger.

"Let the Express go down, carrying you and your spineless a.s.sociates with it! But, remember, you will be the sole cause of its ruin, and theirs!"

Carmen rose quietly and opened the office door. "Your half hour is up, Mr. Ames," she said, glancing at the little clock on her desk; "and I must return to my work."

For a moment the huge man stood looking down darkling upon the girl.

He would have given his soul if he could have clasped that slender form in his arms! A sudden impulse a.s.sailed him, and bade him fall upon his knees before her, and ask her forgiveness and guidance. She stood waiting--perhaps just for that, and always with that same smile into which no one had ever yet read aught but limitless love.

The telephone bell rang sharply. Carmen hastened to answer the call.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Hitt. Yes--yes--the cotton schedule was reported out quite changed--yes, an hour ago!"

When she looked up, she was alone.

"Dearie," said the Beaubien at evening, as Carmen seated herself in that woman's lap and wound her arms about her neck, "I am afraid for you."

"Well, mother dearest," replied the girl, giving her a tighter squeeze, "that is a sheer waste of time. If you haven't anything more to occupy you than fear, you'd better come down to the office, and I'll set you to work."

"But--you have defied him--as he says, declared war--"

"No, dearest, not that. It is the carnal mind, using him as a channel, that has declared war against good. But evil is not power; nor has it been given power by G.o.d. My one thought is this: Am I doing that which will result in the greatest good to the greatest number? Am I loving my neighbor as myself? Serving as I would be served? Not as evil would want to be served, but as good. If my mental att.i.tude is right, then G.o.d's law becomes operative in all that I do, and I am protected.

Don't you see?"

"I know, dearie, but--there's the telephone! Oh, I do hope they don't want you!"

Carmen answered the call, and returned with the announcement that Haynerd was in distress. "Sidney Ames is--not there," she said. "He was to report a meeting. Mr. Haynerd wanted Lewis. Now don't worry, dearest; I--I won't go alone."

The girl had taken her coat and hat. A moment later she gave the Beaubien a kiss, and hurried out into the night. In half an hour she stood at Haynerd's desk.

"What are we going to do?" moaned that perturbed individual. "Here I am, tied down, depending on Sid, and he's drunk!"

"Well, I'm here. What's the a.s.signment?"

Haynerd looked up at her, and hesitated. "Ma.s.s meeting, over on the East Side. Here's the address," taking up a slip of paper. "Open meeting, I'm told; but I suspect it's an I. W. W. affair. h.e.l.lo!" he said, replying to a telephone call. "What's that? The Ames mills at Avon closed down this afternoon? What's reason? Oh, all right. Call me in an hour."

He hung up the receiver and turned to Carmen. "That's what this meeting is about," he said significantly. "Four thousand hands suddenly thrown out at the Avon mills. Dead of winter, too!"

Sidney Ames slouched into the editor's office and sank heavily into a chair. Haynerd gave a despairing gesture. "Look here," he said, in sudden desperation, "that fellow's got to be sobered up, now! Or else--"

Another call came, this time from the Beaubien. Father Waite had just come in. Could he take the a.s.signment? Haynerd eagerly gave the address over the 'phone, and bade him start at once.

"Now," he said, nodding at Carmen, and jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the intoxicated reporter, "it's up to you."

Carmen rose at once and went to the lad. "Come, Sidney," she said, taking his hand.

The boy roused dully, and shuffled stupidly after the girl into her own little office.

Carmen switched on the lights and closed the door. Then she went to the limp, emaciated form crumpled up in a chair, and sat down beside it.

"Sidney," she said, taking his hand, "there is but one habit--the habit of righteousness. That is the habit that you are going to wear now."

Outside, the typewriters clicked, the telephones tinkled, and the linotypes snapped. There were quick orders; men came and went hurriedly; but there was no noise, no confusion. Haynerd toiled like a beaver; but his whole heart was in his work. He had found his niche.

Carmen's little room voiced the sole discordant note that night. And as the girl sat there, holding the damp hand of the poor victim, she thanked her G.o.d that the lad's true individuality was His pure thought of him.

At dawn Sidney Ames awoke. A rosy-tinted glow lay over the little room, and the quiet form at his side seemed an ethereal presence. A gentle pressure from the hand that still clasped his brought a return of his earthly sense, and he roused up.

"Miss Carmen! You--?"

"Yes, Sidney." The gentle voice sounded to him like distant music.

"I--you--you brought me in here last night--but--" His hands closed about the little one that lay in his grasp. "You--haven't sat here--with me--all night?"

"Yes, Sidney, all night."

With a low moan the boy buried his face in her arms, and burst into a flood of bitter tears.

"It isn't real, Sidney," she whispered, twining an arm about his neck.

"It isn't real."

For some moments the lad sobbed out his shame and misery. Carmen stroked his fair hair, and drew him closer to her, while tears of love and pity coursed down her own cheeks.

Then, suddenly, the boy started up. "Don't touch me!" he cried, struggling to his feet, while his eyes shone with a wild light.

He started for the door, but Carmen darted past him and stood with her back against it, facing him. "Stop, Sidney!" she cried, holding her hands against him. "It can't drive you! It is powerless! _G.o.d reigns here!_"

She turned the lock as he hesitated; then took his arm and led him, trembling and s.h.i.+vering, back to his chair.

"We are going to meet this, Sidney, you and I," she whispered, bending over the shaking form.

The suffering lad shook his head and buried his face in his hands.

"You can't," he moaned; "you can't--I'm _gone!_" His voice died into a tremble of hopeless despair, of utter surrender.

Carmen bit her lip. She had faced many trying situations in her brief life-experience; but, though she met it with dauntless courage and knew its source, the insidious suggestion now persisted that the eyes of her people were upon her, and that by this would stand or fall their faith. Aye, the world was watching her now, keen-eyed and critical. Would she give it cause to say she could not prove her faith by her works?