The Second Class Passenger | Page 4

she spoke, her motions were

arguments in themselves. She put a case and demolished it with a smile;
presented the alternative, left a final word unspoken, and the thing was
irresistible. Dawson, perched lonely on his chair, experienced a desire
to enter the conversation.
The men were beyond conviction. "Why didn't you"--do this or that?
the tall man kept asking, and his fat comrade exploded, "Yea, vy?"
They seemed to demand of her that she should accept blame without
question; and to her answers, clear and ready, the fat man retorted with
a gross oath.
"Excuse me, sir," began Dawson, shocked. He was aching to be on the
woman's side.
"Vott" demanded the fat man.
"That's hardly the way to speak to a lady," said Dawson gravely.
The tall man burst into a clear laugh, and the fat man glared at Dawson.
He flinched somewhat, but caught the woman's eye and found comfort
and reinforcement there. She, too, was smiling, but gratefully, and she
gave him a courteous little nod of thanks.
"I don't like to hear such language used to a lady," he said, speaking
manfully enough, and giving the fat man eyes as steady as his own.
"No gentleman would do it, I'm sure."
"Vot der hell you got to do mit it?" demanded the other ferociously,
while his companion laughed.
The woman held up a hand. "Do not quarrel," she said. "There is
trouble enough already. Besides, they may be here any moment. Is
there anything to get ready?"
"But vot der hell," cried the fat man again. She turned on him.
"Fool! fool! Will you shout and curse all night, till the algemas are on
you?"

"Yes; an' you put dem on us," the tall man interrupted.
She turned swiftly on him, poising her small head over her bare breasts
with a superb scorn.
"Why do you lie?" she demanded hotly. "Why do you lie? Must you
hide even from your own blame behind my skirts? Mother of God!"--an
outstretched hand called the tawdry Virgin on the wall to witness--
"you are neither man nor good beast--just----"
The tall man interrupted. "Don' go, on!" he said quietly. "Don' go on!"
His eyes were shining, and he carried one hand beneath his coat. "Don'
dare to go on!"
"Dare!" The woman lifted her face insolently, brought up her bare arm
with a slow sweep, and puffed once at an imaginary cigarette. There
was so much of defiance in the action that Dawson, watching her,
breathless, started to his feet with something hard and heavy in his
hand. It was the image.
"Thief!" said the woman slowly, gazing under languorous eyelids at the
white, venomous face of the tall man. "Thief and----" she leaned
forward and said the word, the ultimate and supreme insult of the coast.
It was barely said when there flashed something in the man's hand. He
was poised on his toes, leaning forward a little, his arm swinging beside
him. The woman flung both arms before her face and cried out; then
leaned rapidly aside as a pointed knife whizzed past her head and
struck twanging in the wall behind her. The man sprang forward, and
the next instant the room was chaos, for Dawson, tingling to his
extremities, stepped in and spread him out with a crashing blow on the
head. The "idol" was his weapon.
The stout German thundered an oath and heaved to his feet, fumbling at
his hip and babbling broken profanity.
Dawson swung the image and stepped towards him.

"Keep still," he cried, "or I'll brain you!"
"Der hell!" vociferated the German, and fired swiftly at him. The room
filled with smoke, and Dawson, staggering unhurt, but with his face
stung with powder, did not see the man fall. As the German drew the
revolver clear, the woman knifed him in the neck, and he collapsed on
his face, belching blood upon the boards of the floor. The woman stood
over him, the knife still in her hand, looking at Dawson with a smile.
"My God!" he said as he glanced about him. The tall man was lying at
his feet, huddled hideously on the floor. The room stank of violence
and passion. "My God!" and he stooped to the body.
The woman touched him on the shoulder. "Gome," she said. "It's no
good. It was a grand blow, a king's blow. 'You cannot help him."
"But--but----" he flustered as he rose. The emergency was beyond him.
He had only half a strong man's equipment--the mere brawn. "Two men
killed. I must get back to the ship."
He saw the woman smiling, and caught at his calmness. There was
comprehension in her eyes, and to be understood is so often to be
despised. "You must come too," he added, on an impulse,