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torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

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torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

louder

How many times the word 'louder' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

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How many times the word 'snapped' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

seen

How many times the word 'seen' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

international

How many times the word 'international' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

heretics

How many times the word 'heretics' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

arrived

How many times the word 'arrived' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

ask

How many times the word 'ask' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

tight

How many times the word 'tight' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

truth

How many times the word 'truth' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

demand

How many times the word 'demand' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

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torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

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torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

necklace

How many times the word 'necklace' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

fair

How many times the word 'fair' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

are

How many times the word 'are' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

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How many times the word 'america' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

lanterns

How many times the word 'lanterns' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

will

How many times the word 'will' appears in the text?

torture and death; with my companions I have escaped from the hideous clutches of lying fiends. I have come back to the Barsoom that I saved from a painless death to again save her, but this time from death in its most frightful form." "Cease, blasphemer!" cried Zat Arrras. "Hope not to save thy cowardly carcass by inventing horrid lies to--" But he got no further. One does not call John Carter "coward" and "liar" thus lightly, and Zat Arrras should have known it. Before a hand could be raised to stop me, I was at his side and one hand grasped his throat. "Come I from heaven or hell, Zat Arrras, you will find me still the same John Carter that I have always been; nor did ever man call me such names and live--without apologizing." And with that I commenced to bend him back across my knee and tighten my grip upon his throat. "Seize him!" cried Zat Arrras, and a dozen officers sprang forward to assist him. Kantos Kan came close and whispered to me. "Desist, I beg of you. It will but involve us all, for I cannot see these men lay hands upon you without aiding you. My officers and men will join me and we shall have a mutiny then that may lead to the revolution. For the sake of Tardos Mors and Helium, desist." At his words I released Zat Arrras and, turning my back upon him, walked toward the ship's rail. "Come, Kantos Kan," I said, "the Prince of Helium would return to the _Xavarian_." None interfered. Zat Arrras stood white and trembling amidst his officers. Some there were who looked upon him with scorn and drew toward me, while one, a man long in the service and confidence of Tardos Mors, spoke to me in a low tone as I passed him. "You may count my metal among your fighting-men, John Carter," he said. I thanked him and passed on. In silence we embarked, and shortly after stepped once more upon the deck of the _Xavarian_. Fifteen minutes later we received orders from the flagship to proceed toward Helium. Our journey thither was uneventful. Carthoris and I were wrapped in the gloomiest of thoughts. Kantos Kan was sombre in contemplation of the further calamity that might fall upon Helium should Zat Arrras attempt to follow the age-old precedent that allotted a terrible death to fugitives from the Valley Dor. Tars Tarkas grieved for the loss of his daughter. Xodar alone was care-free--a fugitive and outlaw, he could be no worse off in Helium than elsewhere. "Let us hope that we may at least go out with good red blood upon our blades," he said. It was a simple wish and one most likely to be gratified. Among the officers of the _Xavarian_ I thought I could discern division into factions ere we had reached Helium. There were those who gathered about Carthoris and myself whenever the opportunity presented, while about an equal number held aloof from us. They offered us only the most courteous treatment, but were evidently bound by their superstitious belief in the doctrine of Dor and Iss and Korus. I could not blame them, for I knew how strong a hold a creed, however ridiculous it may be, may gain upon an otherwise intelligent people. By returning from Dor we had committed a sacrilege; by recounting our adventures there, and stating the facts as they existed we had outraged the religion of their fathers. We were blasphemers--lying heretics. Even those who still clung to us from personal love and loyalty I think did so in the face of the fact that at heart they questioned our veracity--it is very hard to accept a new religion for an old, no matter how alluring the promises of the new may be; but to reject the old as a tissue of falsehoods without being offered anything in its stead is indeed a most difficult thing to ask of any people. Kantos Kan would not talk of our experiences among the therns and the First Born. "It is enough," he said, "that I jeopardize my life here and hereafter by countenancing you at all--do not ask me to add still further to my sins by listening to what I have always been taught was the rankest heresy." I knew that sooner or later the time must come when our friends and enemies would be forced to declare themselves openly. When we reached Helium there must be an accounting, and if Tardos Mors had not returned I feared that the enmity of Zat Arrras might weigh heavily against us, for he represented the government of Helium. To take sides against him were equivalent to treason. The majority of the troops would doubtless follow the lead of their officers, and I knew that many of the highest and most powerful men of both land and air forces would cleave to John Carter in the face of god, man, or devil. On the other hand, the majority of the populace unquestionably would demand that we pay the penalty of our sacrilege. The outlook seemed dark from whatever angle I viewed it, but my mind was so torn with anguish at the thought of Dejah Thoris that I realize now that I gave the terrible question of Helium's plight but scant attention at that time. There was always before me, day and night, a horrible nightmare of the frightful scenes through which I knew my Princess might even then be passing--the horrid plant men--the ferocious white apes. At times I would cover my face with my hands in a vain effort to shut out the fearful thing from my mind. It was in the forenoon that we arrived above the mile-high scarlet tower which marks greater Helium from her twin city. As we descended in great circles toward the navy docks a mighty multitude could be seen surging in the streets beneath. Helium had been notified by radio-aerogram of our approach. From the deck of the _Xavarian_ we four, Carthoris, Tars Tarkas, Xodar, and I, were transferred to a lesser flier to be transported to quarters within the Temple of Reward. It is here that Martian justice is meted to benefactor and malefactor. Here the hero is decorated. Here the felon is condemned. We were taken into the temple from the landing stage upon the roof, so that we did not pass among the people at all, as is customary. Always before I had seen prisoners of note, or returned wanderers of eminence, paraded from the Gate of Jeddaks to the Temple of Reward up the broad Avenue of Ancestors through dense crowds of jeering or cheering citizens. I knew that Zat Arrras dared not trust the people near to us, for he feared that their love for Carthoris and myself might break into a demonstration which would wipe out their superstitious horror of the crime we were to be charged with. What his plans were I could only guess, but that they were sinister was evidenced by the fact that only his most trusted servitors accompanied us upon the flier to the Temple of Reward. We were lodged in a room upon the south side of the temple, overlooking the Avenue of Ancestors down which we could see the full length to the Gate of Jeddaks, five miles away. The people in the temple plaza and in the streets for a distance of a full mile were standing as close packed as it was possible for them to get. They were very orderly--there were neither scoffs nor plaudits, and when they saw us at the window above them there were many who buried their faces in their arms and wept. Late in the afternoon a messenger arrived from Zat Arrras to inform us that we would be tried by an impartial body of nobles in the great hall of the temple at the 1st zode* on the following day, or about 8:40 A.M. Earth time. *Wherever Captain Carter has used Martian measurements of time, distance, weight, and the like I have translated them into as nearly their equivalent in earthly values as is possible. His notes contain many Martian tables, and a great volume of scientific data, but since the International Astronomic Society is at present engaged in classifying, investigating, and verifying this vast fund of remarkable and valuable information, I have felt that it will add nothing to the interest of Captain Carter's story or to the sum total of human knowledge to maintain a strict adherence to the original manuscript in these matters, while it might readily confuse the reader and detract from the interest of the history. For those who may be interested, however, I will explain that the Martian day is a trifle over 24 hours 37 minutes duration (Earth time). This the Martians divide into ten equal parts, commencing the day at about 6 A.M. Earth time. The zodes are divided into fifty shorter periods, each of which in turn is composed of 200 brief periods of time, about equivalent to the earthly second. The Barsoomian Table of Time as here given is but a part of the full table appearing in Captain Carter's notes. TABLE 200 tals . . . . . . . . . 1 xat 50 xats . . . . . . . . . 1 zode 10 zodes . . . . . . . . 1 revolution of Mars upon its axis. CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH SENTENCE A few moments before the appointed time on the following morning a strong guard of Zat Arrras' officers appeared at our quarters to conduct us to the great hall of the temple. In twos we entered the chamber and marched down the broad Aisle of Hope, as it is called, to the platform in the centre of the hall. Before and behind us marched armed guards, while three solid ranks of Zodangan soldiery lined either side of the aisle from the entrance to the rostrum. As we reached the raised enclosure I saw our judges. As is the custom upon Barsoom there were thirty-one, supposedly selected by lot from men of the noble class, for nobles were on trial. But to my amazement I saw no single friendly face among them. Practically all were Zodangans, and it was I to whom Zodanga owed her defeat at the hands of the green hordes and her subsequent vassalage to Helium. There could be little justice here for John Carter, or his son, or for the great Thark who had commanded the savage tribesmen who overran Zodanga's broad avenues, looting, burning, and murdering. About us the vast circular coliseum was packed to its full capacity. All classes were represented--all ages, and both sexes. As we entered the hall the hum of subdued conversation ceased until as we halted upon the platform, or Throne of Righteousness, the silence of death enveloped the ten thousand spectators. The judges were seated in a great circle about the periphery of the circular platform. We were assigned seats with our backs toward a small platform in the exact centre of the larger one. This placed us facing the judges and the audience. Upon the smaller platform each would take his place while his case was being heard. Zat Arrras himself sat in the golden chair of the presiding magistrate. As we were seated and our guards retired to the foot of the stairway leading to the platform, he arose and called my name. "John Carter," he cried, "take your place upon the Pedestal of Truth to be judged impartially according to your acts and here to know the reward you have earned thereby." Then turning to and fro toward the audience he narrated the acts upon the value of which my reward was to be determined. "Know you, O judges and people of Helium," he said, "that John Carter, one time Prince of Helium, has returned by his own statement from the Valley Dor and even from the Temple of Issus itself. That, in the presence of many men of Helium he has blasphemed against the Sacred Iss, and against the Valley Dor, and the Lost Sea of Korus, and the Holy Therns themselves, and even against Issus, Goddess of Death, and of Life Eternal. And know you further by witness of thine own eyes that see him here now upon the Pedestal of Truth that he has indeed returned from these sacred precincts in the face of our ancient customs, and in violation of the sanctity of our ancient religion. "He who be once dead may not live again. He who attempts it must be made dead for ever. Judges, your duty lies plain before you--here can be no testimony in contravention of truth. What reward shall be meted to John Carter in accordance with the acts he has committed?" "Death!" shouted one of the judges. And then a man sprang to his feet in the audience, and raising his hand on high, cried: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" It was Kantos Kan, and as all eyes turned toward him he leaped past the Zodangan soldiery and sprang upon the platform. "What manner of justice be this?" he cried to Zat Arrras. "The defendant has not been heard, nor has he had an opportunity to call others in his behalf. In the name of the people of Helium I demand fair and impartial treatment for the Prince of Helium." A great cry arose from the audience then: "Justice! Justice! Justice!" and Zat Arrras dared not deny them. "Speak, then," he snarled, turning to me; "but blaspheme not against the things that are sacred upon Barsoom." "Men of Helium," I cried, turning to the spectators, and speaking over the heads of my judges, "how can John Carter expect justice from the men of Zodanga? He cannot nor does he ask it. It is to the men of Helium that he states his case; nor does he appeal for mercy to any. It is not in his own cause that he speaks now--it is in thine. In the cause of your wives and daughters, and of wives and daughters yet unborn. It is to save them from the unthinkably atrocious indignities that I have seen heaped upon the fair women of Barsoom in the place men call the Temple of Issus. It is to save them from the sucking embrace of the plant men, from the fangs of the great white apes of Dor, from the cruel lust of the Holy Therns, from all that the cold, dead Iss carries them to from homes of love and life and happiness. "Sits there no man here who does not know the history of John Carter. How he came among you from another world and rose from a prisoner among the green men, through torture and persecution, to a place high among the highest of Barsoom. Nor ever did you know John Carter to lie in his own behalf, or to say aught that might harm the people of Barsoom, or to speak lightly of the strange religion which he respected without understanding. "There be no man here, or elsewhere upon Barsoom to-day who does not owe his life directly to a single act of mine, in which I sacrificed myself and the happiness of my Princess that you might live. And so, men of Helium, I think that I have the right to demand that I be heard, that I be believed, and that you let me serve you and save you from the false hereafter of Dor and Issus as I saved you from the real death that other day. "It is to you of Helium that I speak now. When I am done let the men of Zodanga have their will with me. Zat Arrras has taken my sword from me, so the men of Zodanga no longer fear me. Will you listen?" "Speak, John Carter, Prince of Helium," cried a great noble from the audience, and the multitude echoed his permission, until the building rocked with the noise of their demonstration. Zat Arrras knew better than to interfere with such a sentiment as was expressed that day in the Temple of Reward, and so for two hours I talked with the people of Helium. But when I had finished, Zat Arrras arose and, turning to the judges, said in a low tone: "My nobles, you have heard John Carter's plea; every opportunity has been given him to prove his innocence if he be not guilty; but instead he has but utilized the time in further blasphemy. What, gentlemen, is your verdict?" "Death to the blasphemer!" cried one, springing to his feet, and in an instant the entire thirty-one judges were on their feet with upraised swords in token of the unanimity of their verdict. If the people did not hear Zat Arrras' charge, they certainly did hear the verdict of the tribunal. A sullen murmur rose louder and louder about the packed coliseum, and then Kantos Kan, who had not left the platform since first he had taken his place near me, raised his hand for silence. When he could be heard he spoke to the people in a cool and level voice. "You have heard the fate that the men of Zodanga would mete to Helium's noblest hero. It may be the duty of the men of Helium to accept the verdict as final. Let each man act according to his own heart. Here is the answer of Kantos Kan, head of the navy of Helium, to Zat Arrras and his judges," and with that he unbuckled his scabbard and threw his sword at my feet. In an instant soldiers and citizens, officers and nobles were crowding past the soldiers of Zodanga and forcing their way to the Throne of Righteousness. A hundred men surged up on the platform, and a hundred blades rattled and clanked to the floor at my feet. Zat Arrras and his officers were furious, but they were helpless. One by one I raised the swords to my lips and buckled them again upon their owners. "Come," said Kantos Kan, "we will escort John Carter and his party to his own palace," and they formed about us and started toward the stairs leading to the Aisle of Hope. "Stop!" cried Zat Arrras. "Soldiers of Helium, let no prisoner leave the Throne of Righteousness." The soldiery from Zodanga were the only organized body of Heliumetic troops within the temple, so Zat Arrras was confident that his orders would be obeyed, but I do not think that he looked for the opposition that was raised the moment the soldiers advanced toward the throne. From every quarter of the coliseum swords flashed and men rushed threateningly upon the Zodangans. Some one raised a cry: "Tardos Mors is dead--a thousand years to John Carter, Jeddak of Helium." As I heard that and saw the ugly attitude of the men of Helium toward the soldiers of Zat Arrras, I knew that only a miracle could avert a clash that would end in civil war. "Hold!" I cried, leaping to the Pedestal of Truth once more. "Let no man move till I am done. A single sword thrust here to-day may plunge Helium into a bitter and bloody war the results of which none can foresee. It will turn brother against brother and father against son. No man's life is worth that sacrifice. Rather would I submit to the biased judgment of Zat Arrras than be the cause of civil strife in Helium. "Let us each give in a point to the other, and let this entire matter rest until Tardos Mors returns, or Mors Kajak, his son. If neither be back at the end of a year a second trial may be held--the thing has a precedent." And then turning to Zat Arrras, I said in a low voice: "Unless you be a bigger fool than I take you to be, you will grasp the chance I am offering you ere it is too late. Once that multitude of swords below is drawn against your soldiery no man upon Barsoom--not even Tardos Mors himself--can avert the consequences. What say you? Speak quickly." The Jed of Zodangan Helium raised his voice to the angry sea beneath us. "Stay your hands, men of Helium," he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. "The sentence of the court is passed, but the day of retribution has not been set. I, Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, appreciating the royal connections of the prisoner and his past services to Helium and Barsoom, grant a respite of one year, or until the return of Mors Kajak, or Tardos Mors to Helium. Disperse quietly to your houses. Go." No one moved. Instead, they stood in tense silence with their eyes fastened upon me, as though waiting for a signal to attack. "Clear the temple," commanded Zat Arrras, in a low tone to one of his officers. Fearing the result of an attempt to carry out this order by force, I stepped to the edge of the platform and, pointing toward the main entrance, bid them pass out. As one man they turned at my request and filed, silent and threatening, past the soldiers of Zat Arrras, Jed of Zodanga, who stood scowling in impotent rage. Kantos Kan with the others who had sworn allegiance to me still stood upon the Throne of Righteousness with me. "Come," said Kantos Kan to me, "we will escort you to your palace, my Prince. Come, Carthoris and Xodar. Come, Tars Tarkas." And with a haughty sneer for Zat Arrras upon his handsome lips, he turned and strode to the throne steps and up the Aisle of Hope. We four and the hundred loyal ones followed behind him, nor was a hand raised to stay us, though glowering eyes followed our triumphal march through the temple. In the avenues we found a press of people, but they opened a pathway for us, and many were the swords that were flung at my feet as I passed through the city of Helium toward my palace upon the outskirts. Here my old slaves fell upon their knees and kissed my hands as I greeted them. They cared not where I had been. It was enough that I had returned to them. "Ah, master," cried one, "if our divine Princess were but here this would be a day indeed." Tears came to my eyes, so that I was forced to turn away that I might hide my emotions. Carthoris wept openly as the slaves pressed about him with expressions of affection, and words of sorrow for our common loss. It was now that Tars Tarkas for the first time learned that his daughter, Sola, had accompanied Dejah Thoris upon the last long pilgrimage. I had not had the heart to tell him what Kantos Kan had told me. With the stoicism of the green Martian he showed no sign of suffering, yet I knew that his grief was as poignant as my own. In marked contrast to his kind, he had in well-developed form the kindlier human characteristics of love, friendship, and charity. It was a sad and sombre party that sat at the feast of welcome in the great dining hall of the palace of the Prince of Helium that day. We were over a hundred strong, not counting the members of my little court, for Dejah Thoris and I had maintained a household consistent with our royal rank. The board, according to red Martian custom, was triangular, for there were three in our family. Carthoris and I presided in the centre of our sides of the table--midway of the third side Dejah Thoris' high-backed, carven chair stood vacant except for her gorgeous wedding trappings and jewels which were draped upon it. Behind stood a slave as in the days when his mistress had occupied her place at the board, ready to do her bidding. It was the way upon Barsoom, so I endured the anguish of it, though it wrung my heart to see that silent chair where should have been my laughing and vivacious Princess keeping the great hall ringing with her merry gaiety. At my right sat Kantos Kan, while to the right of Dejah Thoris' empty place Tars Tarkas sat in a huge chair before a raised section of the board which years ago I had had constructed to meet the requirements of his mighty bulk. The place of honour at a Martian hoard is always at the hostess's right, and this place was ever reserved by Dejah Thoris for the great Thark upon the occasions that he was in Helium. Hor Vastus sat in the seat of honour upon Carthoris' side of the table. There was little general conversation. It was a quiet and saddened party. The loss of Dejah Thoris was still fresh in the minds of all, and to this was added fear for the safety of Tardos Mors and Mors Kajak, as well as doubt and uncertainty as to the fate of Helium, should it prove true that she was permanently deprived of her great Jeddak. Suddenly our attention was attracted by the sound of distant shouting, as of many people raising their voices at once, but whether in anger or rejoicing, we could not tell. Nearer and nearer came the tumult. A slave rushed into the dining hall to cry that a great concourse of people was swarming through the palace gates. A second burst upon the heels of the first alternately laughing and shrieking as a madman. "Dejah Thoris is found!" he cried. "A messenger from Dejah Thoris!" I waited to hear no more. The great windows of the dining hall overlooked the avenue leading to the main gates--they were upon the opposite side of the hall from me with the table intervening. I did not waste time in circling the great board--with a single leap I cleared table and diners and sprang upon the balcony beyond. Thirty feet below lay the scarlet sward of the lawn and beyond were many people crowding about a great thoat which bore a rider headed toward the palace. I vaulted to the ground below and ran swiftly toward the advancing party. As I came near to them I saw that the figure on the thoat was Sola. "Where is the Princess of Helium?" I cried. The green girl slid from her mighty mount and ran toward me. "O my Prince! My Prince!" she cried. "She is gone for ever. Even now she may be a captive upon the lesser moon. The black pirates of Barsoom have stolen her." CHAPTER XVIII SOLA'S STORY Once within the palace, I drew Sola to the dining hall, and, when she had greeted her father after the formal manner of the green men, she told the story of the pilgrimage and capture of Dejah Thoris. "Seven days ago, after her audience with Zat Arrras, Dejah Thoris attempted to slip from the palace in the dead of night. Although I had not heard the outcome of her interview with Zat Arrras I knew that something had occurred then to cause her the keenest mental agony, and when I discovered her creeping from the palace I did not need to be told her destination. "Hastily arousing a dozen of her most faithful guards, I explained my fears to them, and as one they enlisted with me to follow our beloved Princess in her wanderings, even to the Sacred Iss and the Valley Dor. We came upon her but a short distance from the palace. With her was faithful Woola the hound, but none other. When we overtook her she feigned anger, and ordered us back to the palace, but for once we disobeyed her, and when she found that we would not let her go upon the last long pilgrimage alone, she wept and embraced us, and together we went out into the night toward the south. "The following day we came upon a herd of small thoats, and thereafter we were mounted and made good time. We travelled very fast and very far due south until the morning of the fifth day we sighted a great fleet of battleships sailing north. They saw us before we could seek shelter, and soon we were surrounded by a horde of black men. The Princess's guard fought nobly to the end, but they were soon overcome and slain. Only Dejah Thoris and I were spared. "When she realized that she was in the clutches of the black pirates, she attempted to take her own life, but one of the blacks tore her dagger from her, and then they bound us both so that we could not use our hands. "The fleet continued north after capturing us. There were about twenty large battleships in all, besides a number of small swift cruisers. That evening one of the smaller cruisers that had been far in advance of the fleet returned with a prisoner--a young red woman whom they had picked up in a range of hills under the very noses, they said, of a fleet of three red Martian battleships. "From scraps of conversation which we overheard it was evident that the black pirates were searching for a party of fugitives that had escaped them several days prior. That they considered the capture of the young woman important was evident from the long and earnest interview the commander of the fleet held with her when she was brought to him. Later she was bound and placed in the compartment with Dejah Thoris and myself. "The new captive was a very beautiful girl. She told Dejah Thoris that many years ago she had taken the voluntary pilgrimage from the court of her father, the Jeddak of Ptarth. She was Thuvia, the Princess of Ptarth. And

divide

How many times the word 'divide' appears in the text?

toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

leaning

How many times the word 'leaning' appears in the text?

toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

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toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

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toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

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toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

faintly

How many times the word 'faintly' appears in the text?

toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

rising

How many times the word 'rising' appears in the text?

toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

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toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

offense

How many times the word 'offense' appears in the text?

toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

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toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

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toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

which

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toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

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How many times the word 'sea' appears in the text?

toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

making

How many times the word 'making' appears in the text?

toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

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How many times the word 'nothing' appears in the text?

toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

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toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

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How many times the word 'yards' appears in the text?

toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

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toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

front

How many times the word 'front' appears in the text?

toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

feeling

How many times the word 'feeling' appears in the text?

toward the front. Before reaching the door, he falls violently forward. His gun skates away from him across the floor. He starts to roll over to look behind him and a crunching blow catches him on the chin, snapping his head the rest of the way around and sending him flat onto his back. Bernie, who has emerged from under the staircase, towers over him. Bernie You make me laugh, Tommy. You're gonna catch cold, then you're no good to me. . . He is walking over to Tom's gun, which he picks up and unloads into his hand. . . . What were you gonna do if you caught me, I'd just squirt a few and then you'd let me go again. He tosses Tom the empty gun and walks out. Tom, white-faced and shivering, pulls himself up to sit leaning against the wall. A first-floor apartment door opens and a sixty-year-old woman emerges, pulling a housecoat tight. She goggles at Tom. Woman Why Mr. Duchaisne! What on earth. . . Tom tries a smile that looks idiotic. Tom They took everything. . . LONG SHOT THE HALL Clucking sympathetically, the old woman is leaning down to help Tom up. As he drapes an arm over her shoulder: Tom . . . I fought like hell but there were too many of 'em . . . FADE OUT 56. CUT TO: CLOSE SHOT PLAQUE Set into an exterior wall, identifying the SHENANDOAH CLUB. 57. INT CLUB Tom, in his overcoat and hat, is walking up to the bar. Tom 'Lo, Tony. How's the club holding up? Behind the bar, Tony looks sour. Tony We're managing to squeak by without you. Got Lazarre's money? Tom No. Tony Well, you're not supposed to be here since you turned rat. Tom Relax, Tony, Leo's not around, is he? Tony Maybe Leo's not the only one doesn't care for you here. Tom works to keep his smile. Tom . . . Fickle, huh Tony? You could almost be a dame. Tony Pal, you read my mind, you sneak my thoughts. Jesus, I hope you know what you're doing. Tom No more than usual. The last couple days, you booked any heavy bets on a long shot at Satur- day's fights? Tony Why the hell should I tell you? Tom shrugs. Tom The truth is Tony, there's no reason on earth. Staring at Tom, Tony blows air through his teeth. He sets up a drink for Tom. Tony . . . Saturday's fights. Yeah. Drop Johnson parked two yards on one yesterday. On Sailor Reese, an undercard bum. Tom downs the drink in a gulp. Tom Drop Johnson? He play your book much? Tony You kidding? I didn't even know he could count. From offscreen there is a loud CRASH and, with that, many of the club patrons start screaming. Tony looks off and Tom swivels to look. Tony Oh Jesus. . . You bring them with you? As he shoves off from the bar: Tom No. Uniformed policemen are pouring into the club, wielding axes. They destroy everything in their path, sweeping the elegantly dressed patrons before them. Tom wades into the sea of blue and nods at Delahanty, the policeman we know from the raid on Caspar's. Tom 'Lo, Brian. Still fighting the good fight? Delahanty 'Lo, Tom. Neither wind nor rain nor snow. . . Tom That's just the mailmen. Is O'Gar here? Delahanty Just look for the long face. 58. EXT THE CLUB It is just cracking dawn. O'Gar is leaning against a car, facing the club, taking in the scene as he glumly chews on a toothpick. The street is clogged with police vehicles. Tom approaches. Tom 'Lo, O'Gar. You don't look happy. O'Gar Look at this mess. Gutting the golden calf again. He shakes his head. . . . I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Tom Yeah, it's awful confusing. You know a yegg named Drop Johnson? O'Gar We've spanked him a couple times. Tom Where does he flop? O'Gar The Terminal Hotel on Bay Street, whenever he's broke--which is one hundred percent of always. Jesus . . . He reacts to gunfire from the second story of the club. . . . Don't nobody ask me, since I'm only the chief around here, but I'll tell you my opinion: Caspar's just as crazy as Leo. And an eye-tie into the bargain. As he heads off: Tom What's the matter, O'Gar, doesn't anything ever suit you? 59. PULLING TOM As he walks along a nearby street; we can still faintly hear the sirens and police activity back at the club. A black touring car is tooling up alongside of him. Tic- Tac leans out the driver's window. He has welts around his mouth and looks like he has been a little roughed up. Tic-Tac Hop in, Tom, we been lookin' for you. Still briskly walking: Tom I'm busy. Tic-Tac Hop in anyway, as in you ain't got no choice. Tom You can't hijack me, Tic-Tac, we're on the same side now--or didn't you get that far in school? The car screeches over to put a wheel on the sidewalk and block Tom's way. The back door swings open and Frankie emerges to help Tom in. Like Tic-Tac, Frankie looks a little worked over. Tom quickly sizes up the situation and decides to comply. 60. INT CAR As Tom sits into the back, next to Bluepoint. Frankie slides in after him. Bluepoint How'd you get the fat lip? The car starts moving. Tom Old war wound. Acts up around morons. Bluepoint Very smart. What were you doing at the club? Talking things over with Leo? Tom Don't think so hard, Bluepoint, you might sprain something. Bluepoint You're so goddamn smart. Except you ain't. I get you, smart guy, I know what you are. Straight as a corkscrew. Mr. Inside-Outsky. Like a goddamn bolshevik, picking up your orders from Yegg Central. You think you're so goddamn smart. He sneers: You joined up with Caspar. You bumped Bernie Bernheim. Down is up. Black is white. Well I think you're half-smart. I think you were straight with your frail and queer with Johnny Caspar. And I think you'd sooner join the Ladies' League then gun a guy down. His eyes narrow at Tom. . . . Then I hear that these two geniuses never even saw this rub-out take place. Defensively: Tic-Tac The boss just said have him do it, he didn't say nothing about-- Bluepoint Shutup, or maybe you still got too many teeth. Tic-Tac sulks. Bluepoint turns and gazes out the window of the car. . . . Everyone's so goddamn smart. Well, we'll go to Miller's Crossing. And we'll see who's smart. 61. EXT WOODS It is morning; the sun is now fully up. Bluepoint and Tom walk side-by-side through the woods. Frankie and Tic-Tac walk several steps ahead of them, each off to one side, searching. Frankie is singing an old Neapolitan song. Bluepoint Y'understand if we don't find a stiff out here, we leave a fresh one. Tom walks a little unsteadily. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are jammed into his overcoat packets. He stares woodenly forward. Bluepoint laughs softly. . . . Where're your friends when you need 'em, huh? Where's Leo now? Tom tramps mechanically on. His eyes drift up. HIS POV Tracking. A canopy of leaves, sprinkled by sunlight. The boughs of the trees sough quietly in the wind. We hear the unearthly groaning of the tree limbs. TOM Looks forward. Bluepoint calls out: Bluepoint Hey Tic-Tac, ever notice how the snappy dialogue dries up once a guy starts soiling his union suit? Tom tramps on. HIS POV The backs of Frankie and Tic-Tac as they walk on ahead. Frankie is still singing. TOM He looks stupidly at Bluepoint. He looks ahead. He stops abruptly. Bluepoint What? Tom is still for a moment, then with jerky movements gets down on his knees, hugs a tree with one arm for support, and vomits. Bluepoint watches him, then calls out to Frankie and Tic- Tac: . . . Okay, there's nothing out here. He grabs Tom's hat off his head and flings it away. Then he plants a foot against Tom's side and shoves him to the ground. CLOSE ON TOM As his face hits the ground. Bluepoint's foot enters; he plants it an the side of Tom's neck to keep him pinned. TOM'S POV Skewed angle, from the ground. Frankie is ambling back, singing. BLUEPOINT Checking the open chamber of his gun. He snaps it shut. As he levels the gun at Tom: Bluepoint Think about this, smart guy. TOM Closing his eyes. From offscreen: Tic-Tac Uh-oh, hankie time! FRANKIE He stops singing and turns to look. TOM The foot comes off his neck. BLUEPOINT Looking towards Tic-Tac. TIC-TAC Taking a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and bringing it to his face as he looks at something on the ground in front of him. BLUEPOINT He hauls Tom to his feet and pushes him towards Tic-Tac. We track behind the two men as they approach Tic-Tac and Frankie enters from the side. We cannot yet see what is on the ground in front of him. Tic-Tac Birds been at him. Frankie is taking out his hankie as he draws near. Frankie Jesus Christ. . . He looks up at Tom as Tom approaches. Over Tom and Bluepoint's shoulders, stretching away from us, face-up, is a body. We cannot see much of its face; what we do see is pulp. Tic-Tac is laughing, incredulously. Tic-Tac . . . I said put one in his brain, not in his stinking face. . . EXTREME LONG SHOT Four very small men in overcoats and fedoras, looking down at the ground; they are dwarfed by the surrounding trees. Very faintly we can hear: Frankie I told you, Bluepoint, we heard two shots. . . QUICK FADE OUT 62. CUT TO: APARTMENT BUILDING DOOR BUZZER A beat-up panel in the building's entryway, listing tenants' names and apartments opposite a row of buttons. A hand coasts along the names and stops at CLARENCE JOHNSON/4C, then moves away and presses two other buzzers on the fifth floor. After a beat, we hear the front door buzz open. 63. FOURTH-FLOOR HALLWAY Tom walks up to 4C, unpocketing a gun. He gently tries the knob, which turns, and enters. 64. DROP'S APARTMENT As Tom enters. Drop Johnson is sitting at a table in the living room, which also serves as kitchen and dining room. He is a large man with a thick neck, a low forehead, and rather vacant eyes. He is looking up at Tom, a spoonful of cereal frozen halfway to his mouth, a folded-back newspaper in his other hand, opened to the funnies. Tom 'Lo, Drop. How're the Katzenjammers? Uncomfortably: Drop 'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus? As he talks, Tom walks casually around the apartment, bumping open doors, sticking his head in each room. Tom Had any visitors? Drop's head swivels to follow Tom around the room; aside from that he does not move. He speaks cautiously: Drop No. Tom Not ever, Drop? Drop . . . Not lately. Tom nods. Tom Then you must be happy to see me. Drop doesn't respond. . . . So you didn't see Bernie Bernheim, before he was shown across? Drop No. Tom . . . Seen him since? Drop maintains a sullen silence. Tom is picking up a hat from a clutter on top of a bureau. Tom One last question, Drop. I hear you've got a lot of money on tomorrow's fight. Is that your bet, or did you place it for a friend? Drop No, uh. . . it's my bet. I just. . . I have a good feeling about that fight. . . Tom's stroll through the apartment has brought him behind where Drop sits. Tom A good feeling, huh. When did the feeling return to your head? Drop . . . Huh? Tom puts the hat on top of Drop's head. Drop's eyes roll up to look at it, but otherwise he still doesn't move. The hat, too small, sits ludicrously atop his head. Tom starts toward the door. Tom You've outgrown that one. Must be all the thinking you've been doing. . . He pauses with his hand on the knob. . . . Tell Bernie something's come up. He has to get in touch. There'll be nothing stirring til I talk to him. He slams the door. 65. CUT TO: A LARGE WINDOW We are looking at the ground-floor window from the street. Letters stencilled on the glass identify the SONS OF ERIN SOCIAL CLUB. A topcoated man scurries into frame, knocks out a pane with the grip of a gun, and tosses a small pipelike device inside. He scurries away and we pan with him across the street to reveal a line of cars, police and civilian, parked along the far curb. No men are visible except the scurrying man, who takes cover behind one of the parked cars. SOCIAL CLUB A beat. From inside we hear a pair of trotting footsteps-- BOOM! The window blows out, spitting glass into the street, along with a large dark form. THE STREET Glass showers the pavement and a charred rag-doll of a body hits hard, face down, and skids a couple feet. Smoke wisps from it. THE CLUB A lick of flame from the bomb is already dying and heavy grey smoke is billowing out. THE STREET Men start cautiously rising from behind the cars. A lot of men. Some wear police uniforms; some are civilians. All are armed. THE CLUB Billowing smoke. THE STREET The men have straightened up. A policeman calls through a bullhorn: Policeman All right. Anyone left in there, come on out, grabbing air. You know the drill. THE CLUB After a beat, the front door swings open. A man emerges, one hand in the air, one holding a handkerchief over his mouth. He walks into the middle of the street. One of the civilians behind the cars fires. The man takes the bullet in the chest and drops to the ground, where he twitches. The man who fired, in the foreground, grins. A ripple of laughter runs down the line of men. THE CLUB WINDOW Smoke still pouring out. With a RAT-A-TAT-TAT muzzle flashes from inside illuminate the smoke. THE STREET Bullet hits chew up the cars and a few of the men; the others drop back down behind the cars and start returning fire. THE WINDOW A forbidding black hole in the exterior wall. A second tommy has joined the first to pour lead out into the street. 66. CUT TO: RECEPTION AREA Tracking in an a youngish secretary in a severe dress, sitting behind a desk. Faintly, from a distance, we can still hear gunfire. Secretary 'Lo, Tom, where've you been hiding? REVERSE On Tom. Tom Hither and yon. The mayor in? Secretary With Mr. Caspar. Tom is already heading for the door. Tom That's who I'm looking for. Scare up some hootch, will you honey? Secretary Surely. I'll announce you. As he opens the door: Tom Don't bother, I'm well liked. 67. INT MAYOR'S OFFICE A grand, high-ceilinged place. Mayor Levander sits behind his desk sputtering, his face turning purple. Caspar, sitting across from him, is also turning purple. Sitting to one side are two identical thirty-year-old men, appar- ently twins, mustachiced, silent, respectful, mournful, their hands clasped over the hats in their laps, wearing stiff new-looking suits with old-fashioned collars. Mayor I can't do it, Johnny! I'll look ridiculous! Why, it simply isn't done! Assistants, maybe-- Caspar For a mayor, you don't hear so hot! I said head! Head of the assessor's office! Mayor But there's two of 'em! Caspar I can count! Co-heads! Mayor Johnny, needless to say, this office will do anything in its power to assist you and your cousins. We did it for Leo, of course, on countless occasions-- Caspar Damn right--had every potato eater from County Cork an the public tit-- Mayor But there's a way we do things, hallowed by usage and consecrated by time! When we put people on the pad, when Leo was running things, we-- Caspar is furious: Caspar Leo ain't running things! I ain't innarested in ancient history! I'm running things now! Mayor Johnny, no one appreciates that more than I! I can give them jobs! I can give them good jobs! I can even give them jobs where thev won't have to perform any work, where their lack of English will be no impediment! But I cant-- Caspar What is this, the high hat?! The mayor mops his face with a handkerchief and looks beseechingly at Tom. Mayor Tom, can you explain it to him? I can put them in public works but I can't-- Tom You can do whatever the hell Caspar tells you. I don't remember all this double-talk when Leo gave you an order. The mayor looks flabbergasted. Mayor Tom! Jesus! Tom Stop whimpering and do as you're told. Caspar You can start by gettin' outta here. Mayor But Johnny, it's my office! Caspar Get outta here! Take it on the heel and toe, before I whack you one!. . . The mayor retreats and Casmar stares at the two men sitting to the side. . . . You too, beat it! The two men look at each other, then back at Caspar. First Man . . . Partiamo? Caspar Yeah, go keep the mayor company. I'll take care of ya's later. The immigrants rise and leave the room. Caspar takes out a handkerchief and wipes his brow. . . . Runnin' things. It ain't all gravy. The secretary enters the office with a bottle of whiskey, a soda siphon and ice. She places it an the mayor's desk and leaves. We can still hear faint gunfire and an occasional booming explosion that rattles the windows of the office. Tom What's the fireworks? Caspar Knockin' over one of Leo's clubs. Sonofabitch just won't go belly-up. . . I'm sorry, kid. I heard about your little ride this morning. Tom is walking over to pour himself a drink. Tom Yeah, well sorry don't fix things. We could just as easily've missed Bernie's corpse as stumbled over it, and I'd be dead now. Caspar I know, I know. But it don't mean Bluepoint's up to anything. So he heard some rumor Bernie ain't dead, those stories pop up, people seen Dillinger in eight states last week. So he hears a story, and he don't like you much anyway, so he decides to check it out-- Tom Any stories about Bernie being alive, Bluepoint's made up himself. Caspar Aw, you don't know that. It don't even make sense--why would he? Tom stares at Caspar for a beat. Tom . . . There could be a damn good reason. . . Caspar squints at Tom. . . . If you've got a fixed fight coming up. Do you? Caspar . . . Maybe. Okay, yeah, sure. Tomorrow night, the fix is in. What of it? Tom Bluepoint knows about it? Caspar Yeah. . . He gazes off. . . . Okay, I get it. Tom If Bluepoint's been selling you out on these fights, and means to again, he'll have to be able to point the finger at someone else-- Uncomfortably: Caspar Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tom --but with Bernie dead there ain't a hell of a lot of people he can point to. Caspar Yeah. Bluepoint sells me out. Makes pretend Bernie's still doin' it. Ats real pretty. Bernie leaked the fix, and you take the fall for supposedly not killing him. . . . He leans back in the mayor's chair and gazes off, sucking his lips in and out as he thinks. Finally: . . . But I dunno, why would Bluepoint cross me like that? Money, okay, everybody likes money. But somehow it don't seem like him. And I know the Bluepoint. Tom Nobody knows anybody. Not that well. Caspar shakes his head. Caspar Money don't mean that much to him. Tom shrugs. Tom Then it's not just money he's after. He's got a wart on his fanny. Caspar . . . Huh? Tom A wart. On his fanny. Giving him the fidgets. Maybe he's sick of sitting on the couch and maybe behind your desk don't look like a bad place to move to. Maybe he figures the money can help move him there. Caspar studies Tom. Caspar . . . Kid, you got a lip on ya. He looks off again. . . . I don't generally care for it. But you're honest, and that's something we can't get enough of in this business. . . I'll admit, since last we jawed, my stomach's been seazin' up on me. Bluepoint saying we should double-cross you; you double-cross once, where's it all end? An innaresting ethical question. I'll find Blue- point, talk to him, straighten it out-- Tom laughs bitterly. Tom Sure, talk to him. Have a chat. Ask him whether he's selling you out. Don't take care of him before he makes his next move, just sit back and let him make it. You're swimmin' in it. Caspars eyes flash. Tom's tone softens: . . . Johnny, my chin's hanging out right along side yours. Caspar goes slack. Caspar Yeah. Tom stands up. Tom . . . I'd worry a lot less if I thought you were worrying enough. Caspar, miserable, rubs his face. From the distant street, we hear another booming explosion. Caspar . . . But I am, kid. . . Christ. . . running things. . . 68. CUT TO: TOM'S APARTMENT The phone is ringing at the cut. We are looking at the window sill upon which the phone sits, with an empty chair facing. Footsteps approach and Tom sits into frame and takes the phone. Tom Yeah? Through the phone: Voice I got your message. Tom 'Lo, Bernie, I had a dream about you the other day. We hear Bernie laugh. Bernie . . . Yeah? A nightmare? Tom On the contrary; very sweet. I dreamt you were lying out at Miller's Crossing with your face blown off. More laughter. Bernie . . . You get a kick out of that? Tom I was in stitches. It's Mink, isn't it? Bernie I came back and he wasn't happy to see me. Can you beat that, Tom? All he could taik about was how he had to skip, and how much trouble he'd be in if anyone found me at his place. Tom Some friend. Bernie Yeah. And you know what a nervous boy he was. I figured, hell, you're a friend. Maybe you could use some insurance. Tom That's you to the gills, Bernie: thoughtful. You didn't happen to keep his gun, did you? After a moment's hesitation: . . . Didn't Mink have a .22? Bernie Held already ditched it. Why? Another hesitation: Tom . . . After Rug? Bernie Yeah. . . How did you know? Down to business: Tom Doesn't matter. Listen, Bernie, I've been thinking about our little deal and I've decided you can stick it in your ear. Bernie . . . Huh? Tom I figure you don't have anything on me that I don't have on you. As a matter of fact, less, since I've decided to leave town. So I'm calling your bluff. Bernie Wait a minute-- Tom Shutup and let me talk. I'm pulling out of here, tomorrow morning. The only thing for you to decide is whether or not I leave behind a message for Caspar that you're still around. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, it'll cost you some dough. Bernie You can't-- Tom I figure a thousand bucks is reasonable. So I want two thousand. Bernie In a pig's eye-- Tom This isn't a debate, it's instructions. I'm going out for a while; I'll be back here at four this morning. Bring me the money. If you're not at my place, four o'clock, with the dough, Caspar'll be looking for you tomorrow. He hangs up. 69. CUT TO: HALLWAY We are close on Tom as, in overcoat and hat, he emerges from his apartment and looks down at the keys in his hand. WHAP--A fist swings into frame to connect with Tom's cheek. He falls back. Three topcoated men loom over him. First Man Got any money? Tom is massaging his face. Tom . . . No. The first man nods at the other two. First Man Okay. The two men pick Tom off the floor and start to work him over. He doesn't resist. The first man watches dispassionately. . . . Third race tonight. By the finish, Tailor Maid had a view of the field. He lights himself a cigarette. . . . You oughta lay off the ponies, Tom. The two men work in silence for a while. Tom too is silent. Finally: . . . Okay. The two men back away from Tom, breathing heavily. He slides down the wall to the floor. . . . Lazarre said he's sorry about this. It's just getting out of hand. Tom speaks thickly, his head propped against the baseboard: Tom . . . Yeah. First Man He likes you, Tom. He said we didn't have to break anything. Tom Yeah. Okay. . . Tell him no hard feelings. First Man Christ, Tom, he knows that. With a jerk of the head the first man signals the other two and the trio turns to leave. First Man . . . Take care now. 70. CUT TO: DOORWAY: NIGHT We are looking over Tom's shoulder as he waits in the rain in front of a large oak doorway with wrought-iron fretwork. At the cut we hear chimes dying, and the door swings open. There is a grand foyer with a parquet floor, unsittable furniture and a large chandelier. A liveried butler looks inquiringly out at Tom. Tom Tom Duchaisne. Butler Yes sir . . . He steps back. . . . Mr. Caspar is in the great room. Tom is handing the butler his hat. Tom Swell. Can you take this? INT FOYER As Tom starts to shrug out of his coat, Caspar is crossing towards him. Caspar Kid, what's the rumpus? Caspar seems as unhappy as last time we saw him. Tom I got news. Caspar Yeah, news at this end too. My stomach's been seazin' up on me. Tom Mink just told me that he-- This has woken Caspar up: Caspar You talked to Mink?! Tom Yeah, on the phone. Bluepoint wants you to think he's dissappeared, so you can't talk to him, but he's been right here in town. Caspar You're sure it was Mink? Tom shrugs. Tom See for yourself; he's coming to my place, four o'clock this morning. Having handed the butler his coat and hat, Tom lets Caspar lead him towards a pair of double doors. . . . He's afraid of a cross from Bluepoint. He told me about the fix. Says he'll sing for a couple grand skip money, tell us everyone involved. . . 71. Caspar opens one of the double doors, and we continue tracking behind the two men as they enter the trophy room. The room has the low warm light of a men's club. Outside the dark windows the rain sheets down. Caspar sits in behind his desk and swivels away to poke morosely with a fire shovel at the blaze in the fireplace. In the foreground, back to us, Tom rests his knuckles an the desk to lean towards Caspar. . . . But you better take care of Bluepoint right away. Mink says if he comes after us its going to be tonight. As he looks into the fire: Caspar Leo's holed up at Whiskey Nick's dump. Tom is momentarily taken aback. Tom . . . How d'you know? A chuckle comes from behind REVERSE On Tom. In the background, Bluepoint is walking over to the door to the room to close it. Bluepoint That ain't all we know, smart guy. He points with a nod towards the couch. . . . Recognize your playmate? On the couch sits Drop Johnson. Drop's face looks worked on, and is beaded over with sweat. Having shut the door, Bluepoint is sauntering over to Tom. . . . Yeah. You thought I'd quit. He shakes his head. Huh-uh. I followed you this afternoon. And I wondered why Einstein would want to talk to a gorilla. . . He is nose to nose with Tom, smiling at him. . . . So I grabbed the gorilla. . . And I beat it out of him. He shrugs. . . . Give me a big guy, every time. They crack easy. Not like you. Tom holds Bluepoint's look. Tom Is there a point? Or are you just brushing up on your small talk? Bluepoint I like that. Cool under fire. I'm impressed. Very quickly he delivers two slaps--forehand and backhand. Tom's head rocks but he recovers to stare back at Blue- point. . . . The gorilla didn't know whose stiff we found, but I can fill that in. You killed Mink, you sonofabitch. He grabs Tom by the lapels, swings him away from the desk, and lands a punch on his chin. Tom stumbles backs. Caspar has turned from the fireplace, watching the doings across the room. Bluepoint moves towards Tom, breathing hard with antici- pated pleasure. . . . Come here, bum. I'm gonna send you to a deep dark place. And I'm gonna have fun doing it. Bluepoint's hand snakes out and grabs Tom by the front of the coat, hauling him close. He slaps him savagely. . . . It was Mink, and by

pouring

How many times the word 'pouring' appears in the text?

tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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however

How many times the word 'however' appears in the text?

tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.net), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means

ca

How many times the word 'ca' appears in the text?

tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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sometimes

How many times the word 'sometimes' appears in the text?

tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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algar

How many times the word 'algar' appears in the text?

tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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pinna

How many times the word 'pinna' appears in the text?

tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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charmed

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tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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foolscap

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tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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barns

How many times the word 'barns' appears in the text?

tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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loose

How many times the word 'loose' appears in the text?

tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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ribbon

How many times the word 'ribbon' appears in the text?

tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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business

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tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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began

How many times the word 'began' appears in the text?

tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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therefore

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tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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done

How many times the word 'done' appears in the text?

tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me as a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventure of the Cardboard Box, by Arthur Conan Doyle *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURE OF THE CARDBOARD BOX *** ***** This file should be named 2344.txt or 2344.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/4/2344/ Produced by David Brannan. 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trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

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trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

asylum

How many times the word 'asylum' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

certainly

How many times the word 'certainly' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

other

How many times the word 'other' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

quartered

How many times the word 'quartered' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

sure

How many times the word 'sure' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

ladies

How many times the word 'ladies' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

mob

How many times the word 'mob' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

apron

How many times the word 'apron' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

hand

How many times the word 'hand' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

chair

How many times the word 'chair' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

know

How many times the word 'know' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

him

How many times the word 'him' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

backwoods

How many times the word 'backwoods' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

joseph

How many times the word 'joseph' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

jail

How many times the word 'jail' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

writhing

How many times the word 'writhing' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

lately

How many times the word 'lately' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

before

How many times the word 'before' appears in the text?

trampling down the women who sought to bar the entrance with their bodies. Several faint, fall to the ground; others flee in panic. The children scream. Pancracio is about to break the lock of a huge wardrobe when suddenly the doors open and out comes a man with a rifle in his hands. "Senor Don Monico!" they all exclaim in surprise. "Demetrio, please, don't harm me! Please don't harm me! Please don't hurt me! You know, Senor Don Demetrio, I'm your friend!" Demetrio Macias smiles slyly. "Are friends," he asked, "usually welcomed gun in hand?" Don Monico, in consternation, throws himself at Demetrio's feet, clasps his knees, kisses his shoes: "My wife! ... My children! ... Please, Senor Don Demetrio, my friend!" Demetrio with taut hand puts his gun back in the holster. A painful silhouette crosses his mind. He sees a woman with a child in her arms walking over the rocks of the sierra in the moonlight. A house in flames.... "Clear out. Everybody outside!" he orders darkly. His staff obeys. Monico and the ladies kiss his hands, weeping with gratitude. The mob in the street, talking and laughing, stands waiting for the general's permission to ransack the cacique's house. "I know where they've buried their money but I won't tell," says a youngster with a basket in his hands. "Hm! I know the right place, mind you," says an old woman carrying a burlap sack to hold whatever the good Lord will provide. "It's on top of something ... there's a lot of trinkets nearby and then there's a small bag with mother-of-pearl around it. That's the thing to look for!" "You ain't talking sense, woman," puts in a man. "They ain't such fools as to leave silver lying loose like that. I'm thinking they've got it buried in the well, in a leather bag." The mob moves slowly; some carry ropes to tie about their bundles, others wooden trays. The women open out their aprons or shawls calculating their capacity. All give thanks to Divine Providence as they wait for their share of the booty. When Demetrio announces that he will not allow looting and orders them to disband, the mob, disconsolate, obeys him, and soon scatters; but there is a dull rumor among the soldiers and no one moves from his place. Annoyed, Demetrio repeats this order. A young man, a recent recruit, his head turned by drink, laughs and walks boldly toward the door. But before he has reached the threshold, a shot lays him low. He falls like a bull pierced in the neck by the matador's sword. Motionless, his smoking gun in his hand, Demetrio waits for the soldiers to withdraw. "Set fire to the house!" he orders Luis Cervantes when they reach their quarters. With a curious eagerness Luis Cervantes does not transmit the order but undertakes the task in person. Two hours later when the city square was black with smoke and enormous tongues of fire rose from Monico's house, no one could account for the strange behavior of the general. VI They established themselves in a large gloomy house, which likewise belonged to the cacique of Moyahua. The previous occupants had already left strong evidences in the patio, which had been converted into a manure pile. The walls, once whitewashed, were now faded and cracked, revealing the bare unbaked adobe; the floor had been torn up by the hoofs of animals; the orchard was littered with rotted branches and dead leaves. From the entrance one stumbled over broken bits of chairs and other furniture covered with dirt. By ten o'clock, Luis Cervantes yawned with boredom, said good night to Blondie and War Paint, who were downing endless drinks on a bench in the square, and made for the barracks. The drawing room was alone furnished. As he entered, Demetrio, lying on the floor with his eyes wide open, trying to count the beams, gazed at him. "It's you, eh? What's new? Come on, sit down." Luis Cervantes first went over to trim the candle, then drew up a chair without a back, a coarse rag doing the duty of a wicker bottom. The legs of the chair squeaked. War Paint's black horse snorted and whirled its crupper in wide circles. Luis Cervantes sank into his seat. "General, I wish to make my report. Here you have ..." "Look here, man, I didn't really want this done, you know. Moyahua is almost like my native town. They'll say this is why we've been fighting!" Demetrio said, looking at the bulging sack of silver Cervantes was passing to him. Cervantes left his seat to squat down by Demetrio's side. He stretched a blanket over the floor and into it poured the ten-peso pieces, shining, burning gold. "First of all, General, only you and I know about this.... Secondly, you know well enough that if the sun shines, you should open the window. It's shining in our faces now but what about tomorrow? You should always look ahead. A bullet, a bolting horse, even a wretched cold in the head, and then there are a widow and orphans left in absolute want! ... The Government? Ha! Ha! ... Just go see Carranza or Villa or any of the big chiefs and try and tell them about your family.... If they answer with a kick you know where, they'll say they're giving you a handful of jewels. And they're right; we did not rise up in arms to make some Carranza or Villa President of our Republic. No--we fought to defend the sacred rights of the people against the tyranny of some vile cacique. And so, just as Villa or Carranza aren't going to ask our consent to the payment they're getting for the services they're rendering the country, we for our part don't have to ask anybody's permission about anything either." Demetrio half stood up, grasped a bottle that stood nearby, drained it, then spat out the liquor, swelling out his cheeks. "By God, my boy, you've certainly got the gift of gab!" Luis felt dizzy, faint. The spattered beer seemed to intensify the stench of the refuse on which they sat; a carpet of orange and banana peels, fleshlike slices of watermelon, moldy masses of mangoes and sugarcane, all mixed up with cornhusks from tamales and human offal. Demetrio's calloused hands shuffled through the brilliant coins, counting and counting. Recovering from his nausea, Luis Cervantes pulled out a small box of Fallieres phosphate and poured forth rings, brooches, pendants, and countless valuable jewels. "Look here, General, if this mess doesn't blow over (and it doesn't look as though it would), if the revolution keeps on, there's enough here already for us to live on abroad quite comfortably." Demetrio shook his bead. "You wouldn't do that!" "Why not? What are we staying on for? ... What cause are we defending now?" "That's something I can't explain, Tenderfoot. But I'm thinking it wouldn't show much guts." "Take your choice, General," said Luis Cervantes, pointing to the jewels which he had set in a row. "Oh, you keep it all.... Certainly! ... You know, I don't really care for money at all. I'll tell you the truth! I'm the happiest man in the world, so long as there's always something to drink and a nice little wench that catches my eye...." "Ha! Ha! You make the funniest jokes, General. Why do you stand for that snake of a War Paint, then?" "I'll tell you, Tenderfoot, I'm fed up with her. But I'm like that: I just can't tell her so. I'm not brave enough to tell her to go plumb to hell. That's the way I am, see? When I like a woman, I get plain silly; and if she doesn't start something, I've not got the courage to do anything myself." He sighed. "There's Camilla at the ranch for instance.... Now, she's not much on looks, I know, but there's a woman I'd like to have......." "Well, General, we'll go and get her any day you like." Demetrio winked maliciously. "I promise you I'll do it." "Are you sure? Do you really mean it? Look here, if you pull that off for me, I'll give you the watch and chain you're hankering after." Luis Cervantes' eyes shone. He took the phosphate box, heavy with its contents, and stood up smiling. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Good night, General! Sleep well." VII "I don't know any more about it than you do. The General told me, 'Quail, saddle your horse and my black mare and follow Cervantes; he's going on an errand for me.' Well, that's what happened. We left here at noon, and reached the ranch early that evening. One-eyed Maria Antonia took us in.... She asked after you, Pancracio. Next morning Luis Cervantes wakes me up. 'Quail, Quail, saddle the horses. Leave me mine but take the General's mare back to Moyahua. I'll catch up after a bit.' The sun was high when he arrived with Camilla. She got off and we stuck her on the General's mare." "Well, and her? What sort of a face did she make coming back?" one of the men inquired. "Hum! She was so damned happy she was gabbing all the way." "And the tenderfoot?" "Just as quiet as he always is, you know him." "I think," Venancio expressed his opinion with great seriousness, "that if Camilla woke up in the General's bed, it was just a mistake. We drank a lot, remember! That alcohol went to our heads; we must have lost our senses." "What the hell do you mean: alcohol! It was all cooked up between Cervantes and the General." "Certainly! That city dude's nothing but a ..." "I don't like to talk about friends behind their backs," said Blondie, "but I can tell you this: one of the two sweethearts he had, one was mine, and the other was for the General." They burst into guffaws of laughter. When War Paint realized what had happened, she sought out Camilla and spoke with great affection: "Poor little child! Tell me how all this happened." Camilla's eyes were red from weeping. "He lied to me! He lied! He came to the ranch and he told me, 'Camilla, I came just to get you. Do you want to go away with me?' You can be sure I wanted to go with him; when it comes to loving, I adore him. Yes, I adore him. Look how thin I've grown just pining away for him. Mornings I used to loathe to grind corn, Mamma would call me to eat, and anything I put in my mouth had no taste at all." Once more she burst into tears, stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth to drown her sobs. "Look here, I'll help you out of this mess. Don't be silly, child, don't cry. Don't think about the dude any more! Honest to God, he's not worth it. You surely know his game, dear? ... That's the only reason why the General stands for him. What a goose! ... All right, you want to go back home?" "The Holy Virgin protect me. My mother would beat me to death!" "She'll do nothing of the sort. You and I can fix things. Listen! The soldiers are leaving any moment now. When Demetrio tells you to get ready, you tell him you feel pains all over your body as though someone had hit you; then you lie down and start yawning and shivering. Then put your hand on your forehead and say, 'I'm burning up with fever.' I'll tell Demetrio to leave us both here, that I'll stay to take care of you, that as soon as you're feeling all right again, we'll catch up with them. But instead of that, I'll see that you get home safe and sound." VIII The sun had set, the town was lost in the drab melancholy of its ancient streets amid the frightened silence of its inhabitants, who had retired very early, when Luis Cervantes reached Primitivo's general store, his arrival interrupting a party that promised great doings. Demetrio was engaged in getting drunk with his old comrades. The entire space before the bar was occupied. War Paint and Blondie had tied up their horses outside; but the other officers had stormed in brutally, horses and all. Embroidered hats with enormous and concave brims bobbed up and down everywhere. The horses wheeled about, prancing; tossing their restive heads; their fine breed showing in their black eyes, their small ears and dilating nostrils. Over the infernal din of the drunkards, the heavy breathing of the horses, the stamp of their hoofs on the tiled floor, and occasionally a quick, nervous whinny rang out. A trivial episode was being commented upon when Luis Cervantes came in. A man, dressed in civilian clothes, with a round, black, bloody hole in his forehead, lay stretched out in the middle of the street, his mouth gaping. Opinion was at first divided but finally all concurred with Blondie's sound reasoning. The poor dead devil lying out there was the church sexton.... But what an idiot! His own fault, of course! Who in the name of hell could be so foolish as to dress like a city dude, with trousers, coat, cap, and all? Pancracio simply could not bear the sight of a city man in front of him! And that was that! Eight musicians, playing wind instruments, interrupted their labors at Cervantes' command. Their faces were round and red as suns, their eyes popping, for they had been blowing on their brass instruments since dawn. "General," Luis said pushing his way through the men on horseback, "a messenger has arrived with orders to proceed immediately to the pursuit and capture of Orozco and his men." Faces that had been dark and gloomy were now illumined with joy. "To Jalisco, boys!" cried Blondie, pounding on the counter. "Make ready, all you darling Jalisco girls of my heart, for I'm coming along too!" Quail shouted, twisting back the brim of his hat. The enthusiasm and rejoicing were general. Demetrio's friends, in the excitement of drunkenness, offered their services. Demetrio was so happy that he could scarcely speak. They were going to fight Orozco and his men! At last, they would pit themselves against real men! At last they would stop shooting down the Federals like so many rabbits or wild turkeys. "If I could get hold of Orozco alive," Blondie said, "I'd rip off the soles of his feet and make him walk twenty-four hours over the sierra!" "Was that the guy who killed Madero?" asked Meco. "No," Blondie replied solemnly, "but once when I was a waiter at 'El Monico,' up in Chihuahua, he hit me in the face!" "Give Camilla the roan mare," Demetrio ordered Pancracio, who was already saddling the horses. "Camilla can't go!" said War Paint promptly. "Who in hell asked for your opinion?" Demetrio retorted angrily. "It's true, isn't it, Camilla? You were sore all over, weren't you? And you've got a fever right now?" "Well--anything Demetrio says." "Don't be a fool! say 'No,' come on, say 'No,"' War Paint whispered nervously into Camilla's ear. "I'll tell you, War Paint.... It's funny, but I'm beginning to fall for him.... Would you believe it!" Camilla whispered back. War Paint turned purple, her cheeks swelled. Without a word she went out to get her horse that Blondie was saddling. IX A whirlwind of dust, scorching down the road, suddenly broke into violent diffuse masses; and Demetrio's army emerged, a chaos of horses, broad chests, tangled manes, dilated nostrils, oval, wide eyes, hoofs flying in the air, legs stiffened from endless galloping; and of men with bronze faces, ivory teeth, and flashing eyes, their rifles in their hands or slung across the saddles. Demetrio and Camilla brought up the rear. She was still nervous, white-lipped and parched; he was angry at their futile maneuver. For there had been battles, no followers of Orozco's to be seen. A handful of Federals, routed. A poor devil of a priest left dangling from a mesquite; a few dead, scattered over the field, who had once been united under the archaic slogan, RIGHTS AND RELIGION, with, on their breasts, the red cloth insignia: Halt! The Sacred Heart of Jesus is with me! "One good thing about it is that I've collected all my back pay," Quail said, exhibiting some gold watches and rings stolen from the priest's house. "It's fun fighting this way," Manteca cried, spicing every other word with an oath. "You know why the hell you're risking your hide." In the same hand with which he held the reins, he clutched a shining ornament that he had torn from one of the holy statues. After Quail, an expert in such matters, had examined Manteca's treasure covetously, he uttered a solemn guffaw. "Hell, Your ornament is nothing but tin!" "Why in hell are you hanging on to that poison?" Pancracio asked Blondie who appeared dragging a prisoner. "Do you want to know why? Because it's a long time since I've had a good look at a man's face when a rope tightens around his neck!" The fat prisoner breathed with difficulty as he followed Blondie on foot; his face was sunburnt, his eyes red; his forehead beaded with sweat, his wrists tightly bound together. "Here, Anastasio, lend me your lasso. Mine's not strong enough; this bird will bust it. No, by God, I've changed my mind, friend Federal: think I'll kill you on the spot, because you are pulling too hard. Look, all the mesquites are still a long way off and there are no telegraph poles to hang you to!" Blondie pulled his gun out, pressed the muzzle against the prisoner's chest and brought his finger against the trigger slowly ... slowly.... The prisoner turned pale as a corpse; his face lengthened; his eyelids were fixed in a glassy stare. He breathed in agony, his whole body shook as with ague. Blondie kept his gun in the same position for a moment long as all eternity. His eyes shone queerly. An expression of supreme pleasure lit up his fat puffy face. "No, friend Federal," he drawled, putting back his gun into the holster; "I'm not going to kill you just yet.... I'll make you my orderly. You'll see that I'm not so hardhearted!" Slyly he winked at his companions. The prisoner had turned into an animal; he gulped, panting, dry-mouthed. Camilla, who had witnessed the scene, spurred her horse and caught up with Demetrio. "What a brute that Blondie is: you ought to see what he did to a wretched prisoner," she said. Then she told Demetrio what had occurred. The latter wrinkled his brow but made no answer. War Paint called Camilla aside. "Hey you ... what are you gobbling about? Blondie's my man, understand? From now on, you know how things are: whatever you've got against him you've got against me too! I'm warning you." Camilla, frightened, hurried back to Demetrio's side. X The men camped in a meadow, near three small lone houses standing in a row, their white walls cutting the purple fringe of the horizon. Demetrio and Camilla rode toward them. Inside the corral a man, clad in shirt and trousers of cheap white cloth, sat greedily puffing at a cornhusk cigarette. Another man sitting beside him on a flat cut stone was shelling corn. Kicking the air with one dry, withered leg, the extremity of which was like a goat's hoof, he frightened the chickens away. "Hurry up, 'Pifanio," said the man who was smoking, "the sun has gone down already and you haven't taken the animals to water." A horse neighed outside the corral; both men glanced up in amazement. Demetrio and Camilla were looking over the corral wall at them. "I just want a place to sleep for my woman and me," Demetrio said reassuringly. As he explained that he was the chief of a small army which was to camp nearby that night, the man smoking, who owned the place, bid them enter with great deference. He ran to fetch a broom and a pail of water to dust and wash the best corner of the hut as decent lodging for his distinguished guests. "Here, 'Pifanio, go out there and unsaddle the horses." The man who was shelling corn stood up with an effort. He was clad in a tattered shirt and vest. His torn trousers, split at the seam, looked like the wings of a cold, stricken bird; two strings of cloth dangled from his waist. As he walked, he described grotesque circles. "Surely you're not fit to do any work!" Demetrio said, refusing to allow him to touch the saddles. "Poor man," the owner cried from within the hut, "he's lost all his strength.... But he surely works for his pay.... He starts working the minute God Almighty himself gets up, and it's after sundown now but he's working still!" Demetrio went out with Camilla for a stroll about the encampment. The meadow, golden, furrowed, stripped even of the smallest bushes, extended limitless in its immense desolation. The three tall ash trees which stood in front of the small house, with dark green crests, round and waving, with rich foliage and branches drooping to the very ground, seemed a veritable miracle. "I don't know why but I feel there's a lot of sadness around here," said Demetrio. "Yes," Camilla answered, "I feel that way too." On the bank of a small stream, 'Pifanio was strenuously tugging at a rope with a large can tied to the end of it. He poured a stream of water over a heap of fresh, cool grass; in the twilight, the water glimmered like crystal. A thin cow, a scrawny nag, and a burro drank noisily together. Demetrio recognized the limping servant and asked him: "How much do you get a day?" "Eight cents a day, boss." He was an insignificant, scrofulous wraith of a man with green eyes and straight, fair hair. He whined complaint of his boss, the ranch, his bad luck, his dog's life. "You certainly earn your pay all right, my lad," Demetrio interrupted kindly. "You complain and complain, but you aren't no loafer, you work and work." Then, aside to Camilla: "There's always more damned fools in the valley than among us folk in the sierra, don't you think?" "Of course!" she replied. They went on. The valley was lost in darkness; stars came out. Demetrio put his arm around Camilla's waist amorously and whispered in her ear. "Yes," she answered in a faint voice. She was indeed beginning to "fall for him" as she had expressed it. Demetrio slept badly. He flung out of the house very early. "Something is going to happen to me," he thought. It was a silent dawn, with faint murmurs of joy. A thrush sang timidly in one of the ash trees. The animals in the corral trampled on the refuse. The pig grunted its somnolence. The orange tints of the sun streaked the sky; the last star flickered out. Demetrio walked slowly to the encampment. He was thinking of his plow, his two black oxen--young beasts they were, who had worked in the fields only two years--of his two acres of well-fertilized corn. The face of his young wife came to his mind, clear and true as life: he saw her strong, soft features, so gracious when she smiled on her husband, so proudly fierce toward strangers. But when he tried to conjure up the image of his son, his efforts were vain; he had forgotten.... He reached the camp. Lying among the farrows, the soldiers slept with the horses, heads bowed, eyes closed. "Our horses are pretty tired, Anastasio. I think we ought to stay here at least another day." "Well, Compadre Demetrio, I'm hankering for the sierra.... If you only knew.... You may not believe me but nothing strikes me right here. I don't know what I miss but I know I miss something. I feel sad ... lost...." "How many hours' ride from here to Limon?" "It's no matter of hours; it's three days' hard riding, Demetrio." "You know," Demetrio said softly, "I feel as though I'd like to see my wife again!" Shortly after, War Paint sought out Camilla. "That's one on you, my dear.... Demetrio's going to leave you flat! He told me so himself; 'I'm going to get my real woman,' he says, and he says, 'Her skin is white and tender ... and her rosy cheeks.... How beautiful she is!' But you don't have to leave him, you know; if you're set on staying, well--they've got a child, you know, and I suppose you could drag it around...." When Demetrio returned, Camilla, weeping, told him everything. "Don't pay no attention to that crazy baggage. It's all lies, lies!" Since Demetrio did not go to Limon or remember his wife again, Camilla grew very happy. War Paint had merely stung herself, like a scorpion. XI Before dawn, they left for Tepatitlan. Their silhouettes wavered indistinctly over the road and the fields that bordered it, rising and falling with the monotonous, rhythmical gait of their horses, then faded away in the nacreous light of the swooning moon that bathed the valley. Dogs barked in the distance. "By noon we'll reach Tepatitlan, Cuquio tomorrow, and then ... on to the sierra!" Demetrio said. "Don't you think it advisable to go to Aguascalientes first, General?" Luis Cervantes asked. "What for?" "Our funds are melting slowly." "Nonsense ... forty thousand pesos in eight days!" "Well, you see, just this week we recruited over five hundred new men; all the money's gone in advance loans and gratuities," Luis Cervantes answered in a low voice. "No! We'll go straight to the sierra. We'll see later on." "Yes, to the sierra!" many of the men shouted. "To the sierra! To the sierra! Hurrah for the mountains!" The plains seemed to torture them; they spoke with enthusiasm, almost with delirium, of the sierra. They thought of the mountains as of a most desirable mistress long since unvisited. Dawn broke behind a cloud of fine reddish dust; the sun rose an immense curtain of fiery purple. Luis Cervantes pulled his reins and waited for Quail. "What's the last word on our deal, Quail?" "I told you, Tenderfoot: two hundred for the watch alone." "No! I'll buy the lot: watches, rings, everything else. How much?" Quail hesitated, turned slightly pale; then he cried spiritedly: "Two thousand in bills, for the whole business!" Luis Cervantes gave himself away. His eyes shone with such an obvious greed that Quail recanted and said: "Oh, I was just fooling you. I won't sell nothing! Just the watch, see? And that's only because I owe Pancracio two hundred. He beat me at cards last night!" Luis Cervantes pulled out four crisp "double-face" bills of Villa's issue and placed them in Quail's hands. "I'd like to buy the lot.... Besides, nobody will offer you more than that!" As the sun began to beat down upon them, Manteca suddenly shouted: "Ho, Blondie, your orderly says he doesn't care to go on living. He says he's too damned tired to walk." The prisoner had fallen in the middle of the road, utterly exhausted. "Well, well!" Blondie shouted, retracing his steps. "So little mama's boy is tired, eh? Poor little fellow. I'll buy a glass case and keep you in a corner of my house just as if you were the Virgin Mary's own little son. You've got to reach home first, see? So I'll help you a little, sonny!" He drew his sword out and struck the prisoner several times. "Let's have a look at your rope, Pancracio," he said. There was a strange gleam in his eyes. Quail observed that the prisoner no longer moved arm or leg. Blondie burst into a loud guffaw: "The Goddamned fool. Just as I was learning him to do without food, too!" "Well, mate, we're almost to Guadalajara," Venancio said, glancing over the smiling row of houses in Tepatitlan nestling against the hillside. They entered joyously. From every window rosy cheeks, dark luminous eyes observed them. The schools were quickly converted into barracks; Demetrio found lodging in the chapel of an abandoned church. The soldiers scattered about as usual pretending to seek arms and horses, but in reality for the sole purpose of looting. In the afternoon some of Demetrio's men lay stretched out on the church steps, scratching their bellies. Venancio, his chest and shoulders bare, was gravely occupied in killing the fleas in his shirt. A man drew near the wall and sought permission to speak to the commander. The soldiers raised their heads; but no one answered. "I'm a widower, gentlemen. I've got nine children and I barely make a living with the sweat of my brow. Don't be hard on a poor widower!" "Don't you worry about women, Uncle," said Meco, who was rubbing his feet with tallow, "we've got War Paint here with us; you can have her for nothing." The man smiled bitterly. "She's only got one fault," Pancracio observed, stretched out on the ground, staring at the blue sky, "she goes mad over any man she sees." They laughed loudly; but Venancio with utmost gravity pointed to the chapel door. The stranger entered timidly and confided his troubles to Demetrio. The soldiers had cleaned him out; they had not left a single grain of corn. "Why did you let them?" Demetrio asked indolently. The man persisted, lamenting and weeping. Luis Cervantes was about to throw him out with an insult. But Camilla intervened. "Come on, Demetrio, don't be harsh, give him an order to get his corn back." Luis Cervantes was obliged to obey; he scrawled a few lines to which Demetrio appended an illegible scratch. "May God

defending

How many times the word 'defending' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

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trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

resting

How many times the word 'resting' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

talk

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trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

kissed

How many times the word 'kissed' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

five

How many times the word 'five' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

cat

How many times the word 'cat' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

nor

How many times the word 'nor' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

hulot

How many times the word 'hulot' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

engineer

How many times the word 'engineer' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

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trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

count

How many times the word 'count' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

dinner

How many times the word 'dinner' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

english

How many times the word 'english' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

jewess

How many times the word 'jewess' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

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trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

either

How many times the word 'either' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

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trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

ben

How many times the word 'ben' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

must

How many times the word 'must' appears in the text?

trifles in that style, and that is the fruit of four years' study and toil. He has served as apprentice to founders, metal-casters, and goldsmiths.--There he has paid away thousands and hundreds of francs. And my gentleman tells me that in a few months now he will be famous and rich----" "Then you often see him?" "Bless me, do you think it is all a fable? I told you truth in jest." "And he is in love with you?" asked Hortense eagerly. "He adores me," replied Lisbeth very seriously. "You see, child, he had never seen any women but the washed out, pale things they all are in the north, and a slender, brown, youthful thing like me warmed his heart.--But, mum; you promised, you know!" "And he will fare like the five others," said the girl ironically, as she looked at the seal. "Six others, miss. I left one in Lorraine, who, to this day, would fetch the moon down for me." "This one does better than that," said Hortense; "he has brought down the sun." "Where can that be turned into money?" asked her cousin. "It takes wide lands to benefit by the sunshine." These witticisms, fired in quick retort, and leading to the sort of giddy play that may be imagined, had given cause for the laughter which had added to the Baroness' troubles by making her compare her daughter's future lot with the present, when she was free to indulge the light-heartedness of youth. "But to give you a gem which cost him six months of work, he must be under some great obligations to you?" said Hortense, in whom the silver seal had suggested very serious reflections. "Oh, you want to know too much at once!" said her cousin. "But, listen, I will let you into a little plot." "Is your lover in it too?" "Oh, ho! you want so much to see him! But, as you may suppose, an old maid like Cousin Betty, who had managed to keep a lover for five years, keeps him well hidden.--Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat nor canary, neither dog nor a parrot, and the old Nanny Goat wanted something to pet and tease--so I treated myself to a Polish Count." "Has he a moustache?" "As long as that," said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with gold thread. She always took her lace-work with her, and worked till dinner was served. "If you ask too many questions, you will be told nothing," she went on. "You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I am forty-two--not to say forty-three." "I am listening; I am a wooden image," said Hortense. "My lover has finished a bronze group ten inches high," Lisbeth went on. "It represents Samson slaying a lion, and he has kept it buried till it is so rusty that you might believe it to be as old as Samson himself. This fine piece is shown at the shop of one of the old curiosity sellers on the Place du Carrousel, near my lodgings. Now, your father knows Monsieur Popinot, the Minister of Commerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he would mention the group to them as a fine antique he had seen by chance! It seems that such things take the fancy of your grand folks, who don't care so much about gold lace, and that my man's fortune would be made if one of them would buy or even look at the wretched piece of metal. The poor fellow is sure that it might be mistaken for old work, and that the rubbish is worth a great deal of money. And then, if one of the ministers should purchase the group, he would go to pay his respects, and prove that he was the maker, and be almost carried in triumph! Oh! he believes he has reached the pinnacle; poor young man, and he is as proud as two newly-made Counts." "Michael Angelo over again; but, for a lover, he has kept his head on his shoulders!" said Hortense. "And how much does he want for it?" "Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer will not let it go for less, since he must take his commission." "Papa is in the King's household just now," said Hortense. "He sees those two ministers every day at the Chamber, and he will do the thing--I undertake that. You will be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." "No, the boy is too lazy; for whole weeks he sits twiddling with bits of red wax, and nothing comes of it. Why, he spends all his days at the Louvre and the Library, looking at prints and sketching things. He is an idler!" The cousins chatted and giggled; Hortense laughing a forced laugh, for she was invaded by a kind of love which every girl has gone through--the love of the unknown, love in its vaguest form, when every thought is accreted round some form which is suggested by a chance word, as the efflorescence of hoar-frost gathers about a straw that the wind has blown against the window-sill. For the past ten months she had made a reality of her cousin's imaginary romance, believing, like her mother, that Lisbeth would never marry; and now, within a week, this visionary being had become Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, the dream had a certificate of birth, the wraith had solidified into a young man of thirty. The seal she held in her hand--a sort of Annunciation in which genius shone like an immanent light--had the powers of a talisman. Hortense felt such a surge of happiness, that she almost doubted whether the tale were true; there was a ferment in her blood, and she laughed wildly to deceive her cousin. "But I think the drawing-room door is open," said Lisbeth; "let us go and see if Monsieur Crevel is gone." "Mamma has been very much out of spirits these two days. I suppose the marriage under discussion has come to nothing!" "Oh, it may come on again. He is--I may tell you so much--a Councillor of the Supreme Court. How would you like to be Madame la Presidente? If Monsieur Crevel has a finger in it, he will tell me about it if I ask him. I shall know by to-morrow if there is any hope." "Leave the seal with me," said Hortense; "I will not show it--mamma's birthday is not for a month yet; I will give it to you that morning." "No, no. Give it back to me; it must have a case." "But I will let papa see it, that he may know what he is talking about to the ministers, for men in authority must be careful what they say," urged the girl. "Well, do not show it to your mother--that is all I ask; for if she believed I had a lover, she would make game of me." "I promise." The cousins reached the drawing-room just as the Baroness turned faint. Her daughter's cry of alarm recalled her to herself. Lisbeth went off to fetch some salts. When she came back, she found the mother and daughter in each other's arms, the Baroness soothing her daughter's fears, and saying: "It was nothing; a little nervous attack.--There is your father," she added, recognizing the Baron's way of ringing the bell. "Say not a word to him." Adeline rose and went to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden and talk to him till dinner should be served of the difficulties about the proposed match, getting him to come to some decision as to the future, and trying to hint at some warning advice. Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like and Napoleonic, for Imperial men--men who had been attached to the Emperor--were easily distinguishable by their military deportment, their blue coats with gilt buttons, buttoned to the chin, their black silk stock, and an authoritative demeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiring despotic rapidity. There was nothing of the old man in the Baron, it must be admitted; his sight was still so good, that he could read without spectacles; his handsome oval face, framed in whiskers that were indeed too black, showed a brilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguine temperament; and his stomach, kept in order by a belt, had not exceeded the limits of "the majestic," as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air and great affability served to conceal the libertine with whom Crevel had had such high times. He was one of those men whose eyes always light up at the sight of a pretty woman, even of such as merely pass by, never to be seen again. "Have you been speaking, my dear?" asked Adeline, seeing him with an anxious brow. "No," replied Hector, "but I am worn out with hearing others speak for two hours without coming to a vote. They carry on a war of words, in which their speeches are like a cavalry charge which has no effect on the enemy. Talk has taken the place of action, which goes very much against the grain with men who are accustomed to marching orders, as I said to the Marshal when I left him. However, I have enough of being bored on the ministers' bench; here I may play.--How do, la Chevre!--Good morning, little kid," and he took his daughter round the neck, kissed her, and made her sit on his knee, resting her head on his shoulder, that he might feel her soft golden hair against his cheek. "He is tired and worried," said his wife to herself. "I shall only worry him more.--I will wait.--Are you going to be at home this evening?" she asked him. "No, children. After dinner I must go out. If it had not been the day when Lisbeth and the children and my brother come to dinner, you would not have seen me at all." The Baroness took up the newspaper, looked down the list of theatres, and laid it down again when she had seen that Robert _le Diable_ was to be given at the Opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian Opera six months since for the French Opera, was to take the part of Alice. This little pantomime did not escape the Baron, who looked hard at his wife. Adeline cast down her eyes and went out into the garden; her husband followed her. "Come, what is it, Adeline?" said he, putting his arm round her waist and pressing her to his side. "Do not you know that I love you more than----" "More than Jenny Cadine or Josepha!" said she, boldly interrupting him. "Who put that into your head?" exclaimed the Baron, releasing his wife, and starting back a step or two. "I got an anonymous letter, which I burnt at once, in which I was told, my dear, that the reason Hortense's marriage was broken off was the poverty of our circumstances. Your wife, my dear Hector, would never have said a word; she knew of your connection with Jenny Cadine, and did she ever complain?--But as the mother of Hortense, I am bound to speak the truth." Hulot, after a short silence, which was terrible to his wife, whose heart beat loud enough to be heard, opened his arms, clasped her to his heart, kissed her forehead, and said with the vehemence of enthusiasm: "Adeline, you are an angel, and I am a wretch----" "No, no," cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips to hinder him from speaking evil of himself. "Yes, for I have not at this moment a sou to give to Hortense, and I am most unhappy. But since you open your heart to me, I may pour into it the trouble that is crushing me.--Your Uncle Fischer is in difficulties, and it is I who dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount of twenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, who laughs at me behind my back, and calls me an old dyed Tom. It is frightful! A vice which costs me more than it would to maintain a family!--And I cannot resist!--I would promise you here and now never to see that abominable Jewess again; but if she wrote me two lines, I should go to her, as we marched into fire under the Emperor." "Do not be so distressed," cried the poor woman in despair, but forgetting her daughter as she saw the tears in her husband's eyes. "There are my diamonds; whatever happens, save my uncle." "Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays. That would not be enough for old Fischer, so keep them for Hortense; I will see the Marshal to-morrow." "My poor dear!" said the Baroness, taking her Hector's hands and kissing them. This was all the scolding he got. Adeline sacrificed her jewels, the father made them a present to Hortense, she regarded this as a sublime action, and she was helpless. "He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me my diamonds; he is divine!" This was the current of her thoughts; and indeed the wife had gained more by her sweetness than another perhaps could have achieved by a fit of angry jealousy. The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wicked men are far more attractive and lovable than virtuous men; having crimes to atone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to the shortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind. Though there are no doubt some charming people among the virtuous, Virtue considers itself fair enough, unadorned, to be at no pains to please; and then all really virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slight doubts as to their position; they believe that they are cheated in the bargain of life on the whole, and they indulge in acid comments after the fashion of those who think themselves unappreciated. Hence the Baron, who accused himself of ruining his family, displayed all his charm of wit and his most seductive graces for the benefit of his wife, for his children, and his Cousin Lisbeth. Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel's daughter, who was nursing the infant Hulot, he was delightful to his daughter-in-law, loading her with compliments--a treat to which Celestine's vanity was little accustomed for no moneyed bride more commonplace or more utterly insignificant was ever seen. The grandfather took the baby from her, kissed it, declared it was a beauty and a darling; he spoke to it in baby language, prophesied that it would grow to be taller than himself, insinuated compliments for his son's benefit, and restored the child to the Normandy nurse who had charge of it. Celestine, on her part, gave the Baroness a look, as much as to say, "What a delightful man!" and she naturally took her father-in-law's part against her father. After thus playing the charming father-in-law and the indulgent grandpapa, the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety of observations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by the Chamber on a certain ticklish question which had that morning come under discussion. The young lawyer was struck with admiration for the depth of his father's insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferential tone which seemed to place the two men on a footing of equality. Monsieur Hulot _junior_ was in every respect the young Frenchman, as he has been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated with politics, respectful of his own hopes, and concealing them under an affectation of gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do the duty of witty rejoinders--the gems of the French language--with a high sense of importance, and mistaking arrogance for dignity. Such men are walking coffins, each containing a Frenchman of the past; now and again the Frenchman wakes up and kicks against his English-made casing; but ambition stifles him, and he submits to be smothered. The coffin is always covered with black cloth. "Ah, here is my brother!" said Baron Hulot, going to meet the Count at the drawing-room door. Having greeted the probable successor of the late Marshal Montcornet, he led him forward by the arm with every show of affection and respect. The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused from attendance on account of his deafness, had a handsome head, chilled by age, but with enough gray hair still to be marked in a circle by the pressure of his hat. He was short, square, and shrunken, but carried his hale old age with a free-and-easy air; and as he was full of excessive activity, which had now no purpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In a drawing-room he devoted his attention to waiting on the wishes of the ladies. "You are very merry here," said he, seeing that the Baron shed a spirit of animation on the little family gathering. "And yet Hortense is not married," he added, noticing a trace of melancholy on his sister-in-law's countenance. "That will come all in good time," Lisbeth shouted in his ear in a formidable voice. "So there you are, you wretched seedling that could never blossom," said he, laughing. The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certain points of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without any education, his courage had been the sole mainspring of his military promotion, and sound sense had taken the place of brilliancy. Of the highest honor and clean-handed, he was ending a noble life in full contentment in the centre of his family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of his brother's still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he the pleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallest disagreement, for the brothers and sisters were all equally attached, Celestine having been at once accepted as one of the family. But the worthy little Count wondered now and then why Monsieur Crevel never joined the party. "Papa is in the country," Celestine shouted, and it was explained to him that the ex-perfumer was away from home. This perfect union of all her family made Madame Hulot say to herself, "This, after all, is the best kind of happiness, and who can deprive us of it?" The General, on seeing his favorite Adeline the object of her husband's attentions, laughed so much about it that the Baron, fearing to seem ridiculous, transferred his gallantries to his daughter-in-law, who at these family dinners was always the object of his flattery and kind care, for he hoped to win Crevel back through her, and make him forego his resentment. Any one seeing this domestic scene would have found it hard to believe that the father was at his wits' end, the mother in despair, the son anxious beyond words as to his father's future fate, and the daughter on the point of robbing her cousin of her lover. At seven o'clock the Baron, seeing his brother, his son, the Baroness, and Hortense all engaged at whist, went off to applaud his mistress at the Opera, taking with him Lisbeth Fischer, who lived in the Rue du Doyenne, and who always made an excuse of the solitude of that deserted quarter to take herself off as soon as dinner was over. Parisians will all admit that the old maid's prudence was but rational. The existence of the maze of houses under the wing of the old Louvre is one of those protests against obvious good sense which Frenchmen love, that Europe may reassure itself as to the quantum of brains they are known to have, and not be too much alarmed. Perhaps without knowing it, this reveals some profound political idea. It will surely not be a work of supererogation to describe this part of Paris as it is even now, when we could hardly expect its survival; and our grandsons, who will no doubt see the Louvre finished, may refuse to believe that such a relic of barbarism should have survived for six-and-thirty years in the heart of Paris and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings have received, during those thirty-six years, the elite of France and of Europe. Between the little gate leading to the Bridge of the Carrousel and the Rue du Musee, every one having come to Paris, were it but for a few days, must have seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejected owners have attempted no repairs, the remains of an old block of buildings of which the destruction was begun at the time when Napoleon determined to complete the Louvre. This street, and the blind alley known as the Impasse du Doyenne, are the only passages into this gloomy and forsaken block, inhabited perhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement is much below the footway of the Rue du Musee, on a level with that of the Rue Froidmanteau. Thus, half sunken by the raising of the soil, these houses are also wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of the Louvre, darkened on that side by the northern blast. Darkness, silence, an icy chill, and the cavernous depth of the soil combine to make these houses a kind of crypt, tombs of the living. As we drive in a hackney cab past this dead-alive spot, and chance to look down the little Rue du Doyenne, a shudder freezes the soul, and we wonder who can lie there, and what things may be done there at night, at an hour when the alley is a cut-throat pit, and the vices of Paris run riot there under the cloak of night. This question, frightful in itself, becomes appalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the side towards the Rue de Richelieu by marshy ground, by a sea of tumbled paving-stones between them and the Tuileries, by little garden-plots and suspicious-looking hovels on the side of the great galleries, and by a desert of building-stone and old rubbish on the side towards the old Louvre. Henri III. and his favorites in search of their trunk-hose, and Marguerite's lovers in search of their heads, must dance sarabands by moonlight in this wilderness overlooked by the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholic religion--so deeply rooted in France--survives all else. For forty years now has the Louvre been crying out by every gap in these damaged walls, by every yawning window, "Rid me of these warts upon my face!" This cutthroat lane has no doubt been regarded as useful, and has been thought necessary as symbolizing in the heart of Paris the intimate connection between poverty and the splendor that is characteristic of the queen of cities. And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspaper contracted the disease it is dying of--the abominable hovels of the Rue du Musee, and the hoarding appropriated by the shop stalls that flourish there--will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successive dynasties. In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had tempted Lisbeth Fischer to settle there, notwithstanding the necessity imposed upon her by the state of the neighborhood to get home before nightfall. This necessity, however, was in accordance with the country habits she retained, of rising and going to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folk considerable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houses which, since the demolition of the famous Hotel Cambaceres, command a view of the square. Just as Baron Hulot set his wife's cousin down at the door of this house, saying, "Good-night, Cousin," an elegant-looking woman, young, small, slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume, passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without any premeditation, glanced up at the Baron merely to see the lodger's cousin, and the libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know on meeting a pretty woman, realizing, as entomologists have it, their _desiderata_; so he waited to put on one of his gloves with judicious deliberation before getting into the carriage again, to give himself an excuse for allowing his eye to follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out by something else than these odious and delusive crinoline bustles. "That," said he to himself, "is a nice little person whose happiness I should like to provide for, as she would certainly secure mine." When the unknown fair had gone into the hall at the foot of the stairs going up to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eye without precisely looking round, and she could see the Baron riveted to the spot in admiration, consumed by curiosity and desire. This is to every Parisian woman a sort of flower which she smells at with delight, if she meets it on her way. Nay, certain women, though faithful to their duties, pretty, and virtuous, come home much put out if they have failed to cull such a posy in the course of their walk. The lady ran upstairs, and in a moment a window on the second floor was thrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whose baldhead and somewhat scowling looks announced him as her husband. "If they aren't sharp and ingenious, the cunning jades!" thought the Baron. "She does that to show me where she lives. But this is getting rather warm, especially for this part of Paris. We must mind what we are at." As he got into the _milord_, he looked up, and the lady and the husband hastily vanished, as though the Baron's face had affected them like the mythological head of Medusa. "It would seem that they know me," thought the Baron. "That would account for everything." As the carriage went up the Rue du Musee, he leaned forward to see the lady again, and in fact she was again at the window. Ashamed of being caught gazing at the hood under which her admirer was sitting, the unknown started back at once. "Nanny shall tell me who it is," said the Baron to himself. The sight of the Government official had, as will be seen, made a deep impression on this couple. "Why, it is Baron Hulot, the chief of the department to which my office belongs!" exclaimed the husband as he left the window. "Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of the courtyard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. Is it not odd that we should never have known that till to-day, and now find it out by chance?" "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man?" repeated the husband. "That is porter's gossip; do not speak so lightly of the cousin of a Councillor of State who can blow hot and cold in the office as he pleases. Now, come to dinner; I have been waiting for you since four o'clock." Pretty--very pretty--Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of Comte Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous officers, had, on the strength of a marriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferior official at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general--made marshal of France six months before his death--this quill-driver had risen to unhoped-for dignity as head-clerk of his office; but just as he was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal's death had cut off Marneffe's ambitions and his wife's at the root. The very small salary enjoyed by Sieur Marneffe had compelled the couple to economize in the matter of rent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin's fortune had already melted away--partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase of necessaries for furnishing a house, but chiefly in gratifying the requirements of a pretty young wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she did not choose to dispense with. The situation of the Rue du Doyenne, within easy distance of the War Office, and the gay part of Paris, smiled on Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, and for the last four years they had dwelt under the same roof as Lisbeth Fischer. Monsieur Jean-Paul-Stanislas Marneffe was one of the class of employes who escape sheer brutishness by the kind of power that comes of depravity. The small, lean creature, with thin hair and a starved beard, an unwholesome pasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed with spectacles, shuffling in his gait, and yet meaner in his appearance, realized the type of man that any one would conceive of as likely to be placed in the dock for an offence against decency. The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearance of sham luxury seen in many Paris homes, and typical of a certain class of household. In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, the plaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy cast chandelier merely lacquered, with cheap glass saucers, the carpet, whose small cost was accounted for in advancing life by the quality of cotton used in the manufacture, now visible to the naked eye,--everything, down to the curtains, which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime, proclaimed poverty as loudly as a beggar in rags at a church door. The dining-room, badly kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of a

shoulders

How many times the word 'shoulders' appears in the text?