A Good Samaritan | Page 2

one knew where to find him. The effect of that
was fortunately good--Judge Rush was rather pleased than otherwise
that a young clergyman should be so taken up with his work as to
forget his interests. But Reed was most anxious that this evening's
appointment should go off successfully, while Rex was as light-hearted
as a bird. Any one would have thought it was Reed's own future he was
laboring over instead of that of the youngster who had a gift of making
men care for him and work for him without effort on his own part.
The two walked down Broadway toward the elevated road, Rex's dark
eyes gathering amusement here and there in the crowded way as they
went.
"Look at Billy Strong--why there's Billy Strong across the street. Come
over and I'll present you, Carty. Just the chap you want to meet. He's a

great athlete--on the water-polo team of the New York Athletic Club,
you know--as much of an old sport as you are." And Reed found
himself swung across and standing before a powerful, big figure of a
man, almost before he could answer. There was another man with the
distinguished Billy, and Reed had not regarded the two for more than
one second before he discovered that they were both in a distinct state
of intoxication. In fact, Strong proclaimed the truth at once, false shame
cast to the winds. He threw his arm about Rex's neck with a force of
affection which almost knocked down the quartette.
"Recky," he bubbled, "good old Recky--bes' fren' ev' had--I'm drunk,
Recky--too bad. We're both drunk. Take's home." Rex glanced at his
cousin in dismay, and Strong repeated his invitation cordially. "Take's
home, Recky," he insisted, with the easy air of a man who confers an
honor. "'S up to you, Recky."
Rex looked at his frowning cousin doubtfully, pleadingly.
"It almost seems as if it was, doesn't it, Carty?" he said. "We can't leave
them like this."
"I don't see why we can't--I can," Reed asserted. "It's none of our
business, Rex, and we really haven't time to palaver. Come along."
[Illustration: "Recky," he bubbled, "good old Recky--bes' fren' ev'
had"]
The gentle soul of Rex Fairfax was surprisingly firm. "Carty, they'd be
arrested in five minutes," he reasoned. "It's a wonder they haven't been
already. And Billy's people--it would break their hearts. I know some
of them well, you see. I was with him only last week over in Orange."
"Oh!" Reed groaned. "That Girl from Orange again." He opened his
lips once more to launch nervous English against this quixotism, but
Strong interposed.
"'S all true," he solemnly stated, fixing his eyes rollingly on Reed. "Got
Orange-colored cousin what break Recky's heart if don't take's home.

Y'see--y'see--" The President of these United States in a cabinet council
would have stopped to listen to him, so freighted with great facts
coming was his confidential manner. "Y'see--wouldn't tell
ev'body--only you," and he laid a mighty hand on Reed's shoulder. "I'm
so drunk. Awful pity--too bad," and he sighed deeply. "Now, Recky, ol'
man, take's home."
"Who's your friend, Billy?" Rex inquired, disregarding this appeal.
Billy burst into a shout of laughter which Fairfax promptly clipped by
putting his hand over the big man's mouth. "He's bes' joke yet," Strong
remarked through Rex's fingers. "He's go'n' kill himself," and he kissed
the restraining hand gallantly.
The two sober citizens turned and stared at the gentlemen. He looked it.
He looked as if there could be no step deeper into the gloom which
enveloped him, except suicide. He nodded darkly as the two regarded
him.
"Uh-huh. Life's failure. Lost cuff-button. Won't live to be indecent.
Go'n' kill m'self soon's this dizhiness goesh pasht. Billy's drunk, but I'm
subject to--to dizhiness."
Rex turned to his cousin with a gesture. "You see, Carty, we can't leave
them. I'm just as disappointed as you are, but it would be a beastly
thing to do, to let them get pulled in as common drunks. What's your
friend's name?" he demanded again of Strong.
[Illustration: "Who's your friend, Billy?"]
"Got lovely name," he averred eagerly. "Good ol' moth-eaten name.
Name's Schuyler VanCourtlandt Van de Water--ain't it Schuylie--ain't
that your name--or's that mine? I--I f'rget lil' things," he said in an
explanatory manner.
But the suicide spoke up for himself. "Tha's my name," he said
aggressively. "Knew it in a minute. Tha's my father's name and my
grandfath's name, and my great grandfath's name and my

great-great----"
"Stop," said Rex tersely, and the man stopped. "Now tell me where you
live."
Billy Strong leaned over and punched the man in the ribs. "You lemme
tell 'em. Lives nine-thous-n sixt'-four East West Street," he addressed
Rex, and chuckled.
"Don't be a donkey, Billy--tell me his right address." Rex