The After House

We enjoyed the theater, after all, with the pent-up enthusiasm of

long months of work and strain. We laughed at the puerile fun,

encored the prettiest of the girls, and swaggered in the lobby

between acts, with cigarettes. There we ran across the one man I

knew in Philadelphia, and had supper after the play with three or

four fellows who, on hearing my story, persisted in believing that

I had sailed on the Ella as a lark or to follow a girl. My simple

statement that I had done it out of necessity met with roars of

laughter and finally I let it go at that.

It was after one when we got back to the lodging-house, being

escorted there in a racing car by a riotous crowd that stood

outside the door, as I fumbled for my key, and screeched in unison:

"Leslie! Leslie! Leslie! Sic 'em!" before they drove away.

The light in the dingy lodging-house parlor was burning full, but

the hall was dark. I stopped inside and lighted a cigarette.

"Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, Mac!" I said. "I've

got the first two, and the other can be had--for the pursuit."

Mac did not reply: he was staring into the parlor. Elsa Lee was

standing by a table, looking at me.

She was very nervous, and tried to explain her presence in a breath

--with the result that she broke down utterly and had to stop. Mac,

his jovial face rather startled, was making for the stairs; but I

sternly brought him back and presented him. Whereon, being utterly

confounded, he made the tactful remark that he would have to go and

put out the milk-bottles: it was almost morning!

She had been waiting since ten o'clock, she said. A taxicab, with

her maid, was at the door. They were going back to New York in the

morning, and things were terribly wrong.

"Wrong? You need not mind Mr. McWhirter. He is as anxious as I am

to be helpful."

"There are detectives watching Marshall; we saw one to-day at the

hotel. If the jury disagrees--and the lawyers think they will--they

will arrest him."

I thought it probable. There was nothing I could say. McWhirter

made an effort to reassure her.

"It wouldn't be a hanging matter, anyhow," he said. "There's a lot

against him, but hardly a jury in the country would hang a man for

something he did, if he could prove he was delirious the next day."

She paled at this dubious comfort, but it struck her sense of humor,

too, for she threw me a fleeting smile.

"I was to ask you to do something," she said. "None of us can, for

we are being watched. I was probably followed here. The Ella is

still in the river, with only a watchman on board. We want you to

go there to-night, if you can."