Every Man for Himself

Every Man for Himself, by
Hopkins Moorhouse

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Moorhouse
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Title: Every Man for Himself
Author: Hopkins Moorhouse

Release Date: May 30, 2007 [eBook #21644]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EVERY
MAN FOR HIMSELF***
E-text prepared by Al Haines

EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF

by
HOPKINS MOORHOUSE
Author of "Deep Furrows"

Toronto The Musson Book Company Limited
Copyright, Canada, 1920 by Hopkins Moorehouse
The Musson Book Co., Limited Publishers . . . Toronto

To My Mother

FOREWORD
Although prefaces are not the fashion in these accelerated times, some
word of warning is due those who had the patience to read "Deep
Furrows." It seems but fair to point out that whereas "Deep Furrows"
was historical and its "characters" actual people taking prominent part
in current events, the present pages are purely fictitious and the
characters therein not even composite portraits of living personages.
Similarly the story events are pure invention and as fittingly might have
been staged in any other of the nine provinces. The author humbly
craves indulgence if he has in any way exceeded the license allowed
him in spinning the incidents necessary for a novel of this type while
seeking verisimilitude in settings with which he is familiar.
--H. M.
Winnipeg, February, 1920.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I
FOG II BLIND MAN'S BUFF III "NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS"
IV THE LISTENING STENOGRAPHER V THE TAN SATCHEL VI
AGAIN THE TAN SATCHEL VII CROSS CURRENTS VIII
ABOARD THE PRIVATE CAR, "OBASKA" IX CONSPIRING
EVENTS X THE STENOGRAPHER STILL LISTENING XI
GROWING ANXIETY XII KENDRICK MAKES A TOUCHDOWN
XIII AND CONVERTS A GOAL XIV WHAT HAPPENED ON THE
WINNIPEG EXPRESS XV RAPPROCHEMENT XVI THE TAN
SATCHEL ONCE MORE XVII DISTURBING NEWS XVIII
MCCORQUODALE EXPLAINS XIX FURTHER STRANGE
PROCEEDINGS XX A MAN OF MONEY XXI DOUBLE TROUBLE
XXII LOWERING CLOUDS XXIII THE FIGHT XXIV THE RACE
BEGINS XXV EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF XXVI NIP AND
TUCK XXVII CLOSE QUARTERS XXVIII SOUVENIRS

Every Man For Himself
CHAPTER I
FOG
Except for the lone policeman who paused beneath the arc light at the
Front Street intersection to make an entry in his patrol book, Bay Street
was deserted. The fog which had come crawling in from the lake had
filled the lower streets and was feeling its way steadily through the
sleeping city, blurring the street lights. Its clammy touch darkened the
stone facades of tall, silent buildings and left tiny wet beads on iron
railing and grill work. Down towards the waterfront a yard-engine
coughed and clanked about in the mist somewhere, noisily kicking
together a string of box-cars, while at regular intervals the fog-horn

over at the Eastern Gap bellowed mournfully into the night.
After tucking away his book and rebuttoning his tunic the policeman
lingered on the corner for a moment in the manner of one who has
nothing to do and no place to go. He was preparing to saunter on when
footfalls began to echo in the emptiness of the street and presently the
figure of a young man grew out of the gray vapor--a young man who
was swinging down towards the docks with the easy stride of an athlete.
As he came within the restricted range of the arc light it was to be seen
that his panama hat was tilted to the back of his head and that he was
holding a silk handkerchief to one eye as if a cinder had blown into it.
"Good-night, Officer," he nodded as he passed without halting his
stride. "Some fog, eh?"
"'Mornin', sir," returned the dim sentinel of the Law with a respectful
salute as he grinned recognition. "Faith, an' 't is, sir."
High up in the City Hall tower at the head of the street Big Ben
boomed two ponderous notes which flung eerily across the city.
Already the young man had faded into the thickening fog. He was in no
mood to talk to inquisitive policemen, no matter how friendly or
lonesome. It was his own business entirely if concealed beneath the silk
handkerchief was the most elaborate black eye which had come into his
possession since Varsity won the rugby championship some months
before. If his face ached and his knuckles smarted where the skin had
been knocked off, that was his own business also. And when the
judgment of calmer moments has convinced a respectable young
gentleman of spirit that there is nobody but himself to blame for what
has happened