The Penalty | Page 4

a pin through a sheet of tissue-paper.
He put himself under obligation--in moments of supreme need--to
dangerous persons, and suffered from the familiarity and perhaps the
contempt of some who were his inferiors in breeding, in heart, and in
soul.
One day, being at his wit's end, he walked rapidly, seeking light,
through a quarter of the city which was not familiar to him. He was in
that mood when a man does not wish to be at the trouble of nodding or
exchanging a word even with his best friend. A voice hailed him, "Mr.
Allen."
He stopped and saw that the voice came from a legless man who sat in
the sun by a hand-organ on which were displayed for sale a few pairs of
shoe-laces and, to excite charity, a battered (and empty) tin cup.
"Have you forgotten me?"
The light of recognition had twinkled instantly in Wilmot's eyes, for he

was wonderful at remembering faces. And he smiled and said:
"Of course not. How are you?"
"Pretty well," said the beggar. "And you?"
"Pretty well."
Wilmot's giving hand had slipped automatically into his trousers pocket.
Then, for once in his charitable life, he hesitated, since the pocket
contained nothing but a ten-dollar bill, and that was all the money he
had in the world with which to meet a pressing note of ten thousand.
His hesitation lasted only a moment. He laughed and stuffed the
ten-dollar bill into the cup, and said:
"For old acquaintance' sake."
The beggar studied the young man's face. Then he said: "Mr. Allen, I
once had the honor to warn you against three things."
"I remember."
"Your face is innocent of wine and women. How about the gambling?"
"My friend," said Wilmot, "you read me like a book. The gambling is
all to the bad. I have just given you all the money I had in the world."
"A few dollars are of no use to me," said the beggar.
"Nor to me. Don't worry."
"I am not worrying. I'm thinking that you and I have something in
common. And for that reason I am tempted to ask if a few thousand
would be of any use to you?"
Wilmot smiled with engaging candor. "Fifteen thousand would."
"You shall have them," said the beggar shortly. He pointed to a glazed
door across which was printed in gilt letters:

BLIZZARD--MFR. HATS
"That," said the beggar, "is my name, and that is my place of business.
Come in."
Wilmot followed the beggar through the glass door, which at opening
and closing caused a bell to clang. The front of the establishment was
occupied by a dust-ridden salesroom, and an office with yellow-pine
partitions. As he followed the beggar into this, Wilmot caught a
glimpse in the distance of fifteen or twenty young girls who sat at a
long table industriously plaiting straw hats. He lifted his own hat a little
mechanically, and thought that he had never seen so many pretty girls
at one time under one roof.

II
Wilmot buttoned his coat over fifteen one-thousand-dollar bills. Only
supreme necessity could have persuaded him to take them, since,
although he had not put his name to a paper of any kind, he felt a little
as if he had sold himself to the devil. But Blizzard had shown him no
deviltry; only kindness and a certain whimsicality of speech and a point
of view that was engaging.
The transaction finished, Wilmot was for leaving, but being under
obligation to the legless man was at pains not to be abrupt. He lingered
then a little, and they talked.
"The first time we met," said the beggar, "you were roller-skating with
a pretty child. She was so pretty that I asked you her name. And I have
never forgotten it."
He did not add that he had watched that pretty child's goings and
comings for many years; that he had lain in wait to see her pass; that he
had bribed servants in her father's house to give him news of her: and
that the day approached when, fearing neither man nor God, he
proposed that she should disappear from the world that knew her, and
go down into the infamous depths of that vengeance which had been

the key-note of his life. Nor did he add that there were but two
contingencies which he felt might thwart his plans: her marriage to
Wilmot Allen, or his own untimely death. And he feared the latter but
little. The former, however, had at times seemed imminent to those
who spied upon the daily life of the heiress for him, and in lending
money to Wilmot he was taking a first step toward making it
impossible. For Barbara herself Blizzard had at this time no more
feeling than for