A Good Samaritan | Page 2

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 spoke with annoyance--this scene was getting tiresome, and although Reed was laughing hopelessly, he was on his mind.
"Oh! F'got!" Billy's tipsy coyness was elephantine. "Lives six thous'n sev'nty four North S--South Street," and he roared with laughter.
Rex was about to learn how to manage Billy Strong. "Bill," he said, "be decent. You're making me lots of trouble," and