Jimmie lay still. His fists were doubled. They beat the earth. His face was flat-pressed upon it. His shoulders stirred with the torment of strong muscles. For a long time the two men stayed that way—together and alone, behind the blistering extravaganza. Biff slowly stirred into himself an understanding of what he had seen. A man, he thought crazily, does have a greater love than to lay down his life for a friend. Jimmie had a greater love—even than that.
So Biff waited till Jimmie was through with it, till he went slack and silent. The fire was jumping less prodigiously and the engines were moving around the ends of it.
Biff bent over and tapped Jimmie. “Cigarette, old man?”
Jimmie sat up. He gave his kid brother a long look. “Thanks!”
CHAPTER XIII
MR. BAILEY PARKED his car and walked down to the bonfire burning at the river side. He pulled off his mittens and held out his hands so they would warm faster. He stamped his feet on the frozen ground and searched the skaters with eyes that were tired but alert. He didn’t see Jimmie at first. The people went whizzing around and back and forth and through each other, like confetti on a miscellaneous breeze. Then Jimmie came shooting along from way up the river, skating like a hockey player; he dodged men and women and children with bird-flight motions, turned, showered crystals, and started to walk up the wooden ramp.
“Hey, Jimmie!”
“Hello, Dad.”
“They, said over at the paint works I’d find you here.”
Jimmie smiled a little. “Yeah. Nothing more I could help with today. We’ve got everything we can, going again. It’ll be six months before they get the shops rebuilt. And eight, or ten, for a new lab.”
“I know. I—want to talk to you. D’you mind?”
“Not at all.” Jimmie picked up a wood bench, tucked it under his arm, walked clumsily closer to the fire, and put down the bench. The men sat side by side. “Going to snow—about tomorrow. Snow hard. For a long while. What’s on your mind?”
Mr. Bailey seemed hesitant about getting to the point. “A lot of things. A hell of a lot of ’em. You seen Biff?”
“Not lately. Not in the last few days.” HI didn’t know you were taking care of the family of the colored man that got killed in the wreck.”
Jimmie shrugged. His face was bright with color. Underneath were the gray tones of fatigue and the sharp lines of strain. “What of it? Who told you?”
“Heiffler. I’ll—take over—that family.”
“Heiffler? Who the hell is Heiffler?”
“That intern. Came to the bank. He told me a lot of things.” Mr. Bailey sighed heavily. “Explained all about the psychology of Biff’s accident. I must say, I had to admit that I’d thought of it. Remember that evening at dinner? When Sarah accused us both?”
He took out a cigar. “I can see you do. Well, that night I didn’t want to be branded for having such an idea—before the whole family. Made me mad. But Heiffler explained it.
Maybe he’s right. And he told me that you had kept him from sending in a report to the army that Biff was—er—”
“Psychotic. Yeah. I did. He isn’t—any more.”
Mr. Bailey felt for matches and found he had none. He picked a board from the fire and used the hot end. “You know, if I’d discovered, at the time, that you’d done something to spoil Biff’s chances of honorably staying out of the service—I’d have been wild!”
“Wouldn’t have been honorable.”
Mr. Bailey nodded. “I can see the point. You’re a terrific stickler for basic facts.
But you were right. Biff’s put in for training, and if he got blackballed now I don’t know what he’d do.”
“‘Put in’? What do you mean?”
“Oh, volunteered. Enlisted. In another month he’ll be in shape again. Maybe less.
He was dawdling around the house there, just the fool with that nurse. That—what’s-her-name.”
“Genevieve. What happened to her?” Mr. Bailey looked at his son with an air of remote amusement that surprised Jimmie. “What always happens—to those girls. Some other man. A new case, professionally—and romantically. She got sick of Biff when Biff got well.”
Jimmie frowned. “It’s a pity, Dad, you never talked like that around home.”
“I act like a prig? All right. I believe in it—when you have growing kids. Trouble is, I learned just recently you three were grown up. Sarah getting married. Biff going around corrupting morals, and enlisting to fight. Jimmie, it seems to me that you’ve done a whole lot for Biff and your sister.” He spoke wistfully.
“Nothing much. Played older brother. I am one, after all. They are nice kids—in their ways. Needed schooling, like animals.”
“Why don’t you ask me what Biff enlisted in? Seems as if you would.” Jimmie cleaned slush from the runner of a skate. “Oh, I knew. Air Force.”
“You knew! Did he tell you?”
“No. I haven’t seen him, as I said. But I know Biff. Even in his most extreme mood of heroism Biff would do his best to maintain a glamorous background. Something the ladies would like.”
“Is there anything wrong with that?”
Jimmie turned toward his father. “Well, it’s flashy. Still, he’d make a peach of a flier.”
“You’re just a damned puritan,” Mr. Bailey said. Jimmie looked at him and suddenly laughed. His laugh was almost merry. “Gee! That I should live to see the day you called me a puritan! Maybe I am, though.”
The older man grunted. “You damn’ well are. Say, Jimmie. What really happened—the night of the fire? That was the thing that changed Biff. He won’t ever be the same again. But he wouldn’t tell me. I asked him, and he said never to ask him again. He said you had more insides than a herd of elephants. But that’s all. I—I’m your father, Jimmie—sort of, after all.”
Jimmie felt the touch of compassion. Mercy, in Jimmie’s present state of mind, was cheap enough. He wanted only to avoid all signs of drama. “I’ll tell you—if you’ll never repeat it. Somehow I think you won’t. And I think you’ll understand too. Other people would fail to. You know, I loved old Willie Corinth like a father.” His eyes lifted gravely. “Sorry. Willie was the greatest man Muskogewan ever had—maybe ever will have. Biff and I were scouting around behind the fire and we saw the old boy trapped in there. He could have jumped out the window, and we could have run fast and grabbed him—and I was set to try that. But he spent a lot of time burning the stuff in his safe. Took him forever to open it. I suppose—it was hot in there.” Jimmie halted. “Never thought about that!”
He was grimmer when he went on. “There was a chance of hauling him out—a ladder on a vat, a short jump to the roof, a flock of skylights. Biff saw that chance—and tried to get me to go. He was too rocky or he’d have tried. I realized that. I wouldn’t.
“I knew that if I tried Willie and I might both be lost. I knew what was in the papers that Willie was burning. It was the beginning of a very great idea. A new idea.
Something that would go a long way toward winning the war. I knew that Willie was scared the fire might not cook the stuff in the safe; scared that the idea—the principle—might become public. It was one of those things that, once conceived, any good chemist can develop.”
Jimmie spat. “It’s a beastly business, Dad, to let a good man die to keep a secret that may kill thousands of other men. Or—not even to try to save him. That’s what I did.
You see, since Willie was in there I had to stay out. He was burning the papers. And I’m the only other one who knew the idea. Not now, though. It’s gone to Washington. We were crazy to take on so much responsibility—even for a few weeks.”