Pepper's hand was close on Lane's. He had forgotten his cigar. His eyes were earnest.
“True?” laughed Lane, grimly. “Yes, it's true.... I won't last long, Pepper, according to Doctor Bronson. That's why I want to make hay while the sun shines.”
“Ahuh!” Pepper cleared his throat. “Forgive this, boy.... Is it also true you were engaged to marry that Helen Wrapp—and she threw you down, while you were over there?”
“Yes, that's perfectly true,” replied Lane, soberly.
“God, I guess maybe the soldier wasn't up against it!” ejaculated Pepper, with a gesture of mingled awe and wonder and scorn.
“What was the soldier up against, Pepper?” queried Lane. “Frankly, I don't know.”
“Lane, the government jollied and forced the boys into the army,” replied Pepper. “The country went wild with patriotism. The soldiers were heroes. The women threw themselves away on anything inside a uniform. Make the world safe for democracy—down the Hun—save France and England—ideals, freedom, God's country, and all that! Well, the first few soldiers to return from France got a grand reception, were made heroes of. They were lucky to get back while the sentiment was hot. But that didn't last.... Now, a year and more after the war, where does the soldier get off? Lane, there're over six hundred thousand of you disabled veterans, and for all I can read and find out the government has done next to nothing. New York is full of begging soldiers—on the streets. Think of it! And the poor devils are dying everywhere. My God! think of what's in the mind of one crippled soldier, let alone over half a million. I just have a dim idea of what I'd felt. You must know, or you will know, Lane, for you seem a thoughtful, lofty sort of chap. Just the kind to make a good soldier, because you had ideals and nerve!... Well, a selfish and weak administration could hardly be expected to keep extravagant promises to patriots. But that the American public, as a body, should now be sick of the sight of a crippled soldier—and that his sweetheart should turn him down!—this is the hideous blot, the ineradicable shame, the stinking truth, the damned mystery!”
When Pepper ended his speech, which grew more vehement toward the close, Lane could only stare at him in amaze.
“See here, Lane,” added the other hastily, “pardon me for blowing up. I just couldn't help it. I took a shine to you—and to see you like this—brings back the resentment I've had all along. I'm blunt, but it's just as well for you to be put wise quick. You'll find friends, like me, who will stand by you, if you let them. But you'll also find that most of this rotten world has gone back on you....”
Then Pepper made a sharp, passionate gesture that broke his cigar against the arm of his chair, and he cursed low and deep. Presently he addressed Lane again. “Whatever comes of any disclosures I make—whatever youdo —you'll not give me away?”
“Certainly not. You can trust me, Pepper,” returned Lane.
“Son, I'm a wise old guy. There's not much that goes on in Middleville I don't get on to. And I'll make your hair curl. But I'll confine myself to what comes closest home to you. Iget you, Lane. You're game. You're through. You have come back from war to find a hell of a mess. Your own sister—your sweetheart—your friend's brother and your soldier pard's sister—on the primrose path! And you with your last breath trying to turn them back! I'll say it's a damn fine stunt. I'm an old gambler, Lane. I've lived in many towns and mixed in tough crowds of crooked men and rotten women. But I'm here to confess that this after-the-war stuff of Middleville's better class has knocked out about all the faith I had left in human nature.... Then you came along to teach me a lesson.”
“Well, Pepper, that's strong talk,” returned Lane. “But cut it, and hurry to—to what comes home to me. What's the matter with these Middleville girls?”
“Lane, any intelligent man, whoknows things, and who can think for himself, will tell you this—that to judge from the dress, dance, talk, conduct of these young girls—most of them have apparently gone wrong.”
“You include our nice girls—from what we used to call Middleville's best families?”
“I don't only include them. I throw the emphasis on them. The girls you know best.”
Lane straightened up, to look at his companion. Pepper certainly was not drunk.
“Do you know—anything about Lorna?”
“Nothing specifically to prove anything. She's in the thick of this thing in Middleville. Only a few nights ago I saw her at a roadhouse, out on the State Road, with a crowd of youngsters. They were having a high old time, I'll say. They danced jazz, and I saw Lorna drink lemonade into which liquor had been poured from a hip-pocket flask.”
Lane put his head on his hands, as if to rest it, or still the throbbing there.
“Who took Lorna to this place?” he asked, presently, breathing heavily.
“I don't know. But it was Dick Swann who poured the drink out of the flask. Between you and me, Lane, that young millionaire is going a pace hereabouts. Listen,” he went on, lowering his voice, and glancing round to see there was no one to overhear him, “there's a gambling club in Middleville. I go there. My rooms are in the same building. I've made a peep-hole through the attic floor next to my room. Do I see more things than cards and bottles? Do I! If the fathers of Middleville could see what I've seen they'd go out to the asylum.... I'm not supposed to know it's more than a place to gamble. And nobody knows I know. Dick Swann and Hardy Mackay are at the head of this club. Swann is the genius and the support of it. He's rich, and a high roller if I ever saw one.... Among themselves these young gentlemen call it the Strong Arm Club. Study over that, Lane. Do youget it? I know you do, and that saves me talking until I see red.”
“Pepper, have you seen my sister—there?” queried Lane, tensely.
“Yes.”
“With whom?”
“I'll not say, Lane. There's no need for that. I'll give you a key to my rooms, and you can go there—in the afternoons—and paste yourself to my peep-hole, and watch.... Honest to God, I believe it means bloodshed. But I can't help that. Something must be done. I'm not much good, but I can see that.”
Colonel Pepper wiped his moist face. He was now quite pale and his hands shook.
“I never had a wife, or a sweetheart,” he went on. “But once I had a little sister. Thank Heaven she didn't live her girlhood in times like these.”
Lane again bowed his head on his hands, and wrestled with the might of reality.
“I'm going to take you to these club-rooms to-night,” went on Pepper. “It'll cause a hell of a row. But once you get in, there'll be no help for them. Swann and his chums will have to stand for it.”
“Did you ever take an outsider in?” asked Lane.
“Several times. Traveling men I met here. Good fellows that liked a game of cards. Swann made no kick at that. He's keen to gamble. And when he's drinking the sky's the limit.”
“Wouldn't it be wiser just to show me these rooms, and let me watch from your place—until I find my sister there?” queried Lane.