Mrs. Pascoe very promptly kicked him in the shins. "If my son Nick was here he'd take the buckle-end o' one o' those straps an' spank the life out o' yeh! Yeh wax-face! Yeh--" For once stooping to Italian she shot forth the word, "Ricondoterro!"

It was his calling and he should not have objected to it. None the less, pursing his soft lips he spat a fine spray over her face. She jumped at him in such a fury that Maria threw protecting arms about her playfellow; then they were all parted by the tall Sicilian, Mr. Gumama.

This imposing person had, with dramatic quiet, brought up the wine; and now, holding Beppo by one wrist, he listened to Mrs. Pascoe's angry cluckings. Then he seemed merely to put out one fist. The boy fell on his back without even a cry and lay as he fell. "Why, you beast, you!"

cried Mrs. Pascoe. "Mebbe you've killed him!"

"No. But no matter," said Mr. Gumama. "Go and make your guard. Come not up again till I call you. Take the child."

She went, holding Maria's hand and looking back, with her old mingling of curiosity and reluctance at the p.r.o.ne figure of the pretty ricondoterro, from whose nostrils blood had begun copiously to gush on her clean floor. The tall Mr. Gumama was evidently not one to be defied.

It was half-past four and those who were expected began to come. First a couple of laborers, warm from their work; the next had the proud bearing of a chauffeur; after him came a respectable professional man, probably a dentist, wearing a black suit, a full beard and gla.s.ses; then a plump and coquettish little beau, the owner of a fruit-and-candy stand, who bore a flower in his light, ornamental coat and the scar of a knife across his rosy left cheek. He was followed by his cousin, who had only a fruit cart and sold for him on commission. One and all were obliged to halt before Mrs. Pascoe, who sat on a stool at the foot of the stairs, playing solitaire on a couple of orange boxes.

She bent her tongue Italianwards and asked of each the same question.

"What do you want here?"

"Justice!"

"How can you get it?"

"By the Arm of G.o.d."

"Who is your enemy and mine and your children's children's?"

"A traitor!"

"Y' can g'won up."

As they emerged into the loft they were each greeted by Mr. Gumama and then dropped themselves awkwardly about on stools and window-sills, with the whispering stiffness of people in their best clothes. Beppo, moaning, now lay huddled on his side and, as occasion arose, they stepped about and over him without the slightest interest or even malign amus.e.m.e.nt in his plight. By-and-by he got to his hands and knees and crawled into a corner, where, with the now fatally ruined blue scarf held to his nose, he shivered himself slowly quiet. But his pomatum came into play with the laborers, who sat seriously down by the still bright rear window and beautified their heads with it, cheerfully a.s.sisting each other's toilet as amiable monkeys often do and even smearing themselves a little from the communal mercies of the water-pitcher.

"Enough!" Mr. Gumama sternly rebuked them. "Business alone!"

They looked meekly at him, stricken, and he called one of them by name--"Take the stairs!"

The man crossed to the opening in the floor and seated himself a little back from where it gave into the room; the knife which he drew from inside his clothes seemed a trifle clouded and he sat idly polishing it.

Mr. Gumama looked at his large silver watch and, stepping to the front window, glanced out. A certain anxiety in him began to make itself felt.

More and more men arrived, but evidently not the looked-for men. A strapping youth began unconcernedly to converse with Beppo about a duel they were to fight. "I cannot remain forever a picciotto. If I do not fight the next duel how shall I ever get to be a member?"

"Me they will not yet let fight again." Beppo stopped sniffling and displayed, a bit above his knee, a wound that might have been made with a knife like that in his belt or a short dagger. "In two duels have I lost, and if I lose the third I lose my entry."

The strapping youth began to get excited. "With whom, then, can I fight? How long do they intend to keep me waiting? See, now, I want my rights--I want to be promoted--"

A man with turned-up red mustaches, sporting a carnation and a pair of highly polished boots, interrupted his complaint that the bootblack under the Elevated had overcharged him and reproved Beppo for kicking his chair. The fruit-vendors also stopped quarreling over the accusation of the huckster that the merchant had supplied him with decayed fruit; the merchant allying himself with the strapping youth and declaring that his wife's brother was right and ought to be promoted. Then, with the one word, "Peace!" Mr. Gumama struck them into abject silence.

"Peace! Ludovisi, your wife's brother may win all three duels and yet endure years of probation. Beppo, let your squeal rise once more and you are suspended for a month.--Have you, then, no wits at all? Let the result of this meeting go a little wrong and promotion it will be no more! At least for us, fellow members of the old-days Arm of Justice, for we shall be no more!"

A number of men cast glances of horror. But after a few lightning-shot growls even this number returned to its knitting, being accustomed to obey and not to ask questions. Again Mr. Gumama looked at his watch.

More and more men arrived till the loft was crowded. The unknown persons who had so long so strangely shadowed the pathway of Christina Hope were beginning to ma.s.s for action and to detach themselves from the background. And still as the loft darkened with the pa.s.sage of each train and relightened less and less when that was gone, another presence seemed to enter and abide; the growing, shadowy presence of suspense. It was in the air, for the ignorant many as well as for the few who understood. There were brief silences so deep that the little vine, spying in at the window, could be heard tapping on the upper pane. Then a cab stopped outside and a startled thrill pa.s.sed through the a.s.sembly.

The man who had been told to take the stairs rose with a soft, business-like precision and drew his knife. He stood, waiting. Something in his att.i.tude defined his duty as preventative not of an entrance, but an exit. Any unwelcome comer who got past Mrs. Pascoe's guard would get farther; he would enter the loft, but he would never leave it. He would not even turn round. Mr. Gumama, watching the cab avidly, opened his fateful mouth. But the men disgorged from its disreputable depths were friends to that house.

The first two tumbled into the garage, glanced round, saluted Mrs.

Pascoe, and returned to the a.s.sistance of those on the sidewalk. These manoeuvered between them a man with his hat pulled down over his eyes and an overcoat hanging about his shoulders whom they supported like a drunkard. A fascinated crowd stopped to wink and advise. As soon as the two men were inside they threw their burden flat on the floor and returned to the cab for another. The man on the floor was gagged, his arms were tied behind him and even his thighs were bound.

Swarthy as was the man's face Mrs. Pascoe was still observing with annoyance these signs of roughness when a second human bundle was brought in from the cab and the cavalcade somehow hoisted itself upstairs. In the loft the human bundles were propped against the wall and the meeting came to attention.

CHAPTER XII

THE COMIC OPERA CHORUS: "AND SAID, 'WHAT A GOOD BOY AM I!'"

"The eighth district, members of the Honorable Society," said Mr.

Gumama, bowing to the a.s.sembly as if he were ascending a throne, "it is my duty to inform you that, for reasons which you shall presently know, Nicola Pascoe is no longer our capo d'intini. Unworthy that I am," he continued with pomp, "be pleased to signify by the vote whether it is your pleasure that I a.s.sume this post of glory."

It was their pleasure and the vote acclaimed it. Instantly Beppo, the merchant's brother-in-law and three or four other lads ranged chairs and barrels in a circle nearly as might be round the kitchen-table and all of the a.s.sembly that could find seats sat quietly down. Mr. Gumama filled the earthen jugs with wine and they were pa.s.sed from hand to hand, each man taking a ceremonial draught; then the man at Mr. Gumama's right rose and, with dramatic gesture and winy mouth, kissed him on the forehead. So, in turn, did each of those to whom, by some mystic precedence, the seats at the table had been spontaneously allotted. All was accomplished with due ceremony, but rapidly and with an undertone of nervous expectation, the weight of some unusual circ.u.mstance. It was another and less flowery version of the festivity which had so amused Herrick that evening, a month ago, when it had frothed round Nicola Pascoe under the sail-cloth of the table d'hote. Almost immediately the meeting proceeded to business.

The man with the carnation and the resplendent shoes rose ponderously and began to hurry through a fortnightly financial report. This report was starred with t.i.tles--capos of various departments, first voters, senior members, cashiers, secretaries--and with references to local districts, twelve or fourteen of them, into which that blundering mammoth baby, New York City, would have been surprised to find itself divided. The administrative looting of these departments was again crossed off into eight sub-divisions--paranze, the treasurer called them, each of which had, apparently, its own committee and procedure; for each paranza had turned over its earnings to its capo d'intini, these capos in turn had pa.s.sed them to the capo in testa who had turned them into the treasurer in exchange for a receipt. One of these receipts Mr. Gumama now produced. The fortnightly gains were deposited upon the table in two cigar-boxes; in one the baratolo, won at games and swindling; the other held the sbruffo, more heroically acquired from extortion or theft. Every one began to praise what he had himself contributed, and it became evident that the apprentices, like Beppo, were expected to do most of this light work. However, save for a gla.s.s of wine to each, which they were told to drink thankfully, they did not share in the spoils they had so largely produced. These were apportioned by Mr. Gumama without the protestation of a single voice. Percentages for three funds were set aside; one for what was politely called "social expenses," which, to a gross mind, might have suggested corruption; one for legal defense; the other for pensioners--retired members, families of those unfortunately detained in jail, and widows of members deceased while in good standing. Not till then was the remainder paid equally into each individual hand, in a model of just and scrupulous dealing.--As, in various dialects, a foam of pent-up exclamations now rose, Mr. Gumama again looked at his watch and, with an awe-inspiring contraction of his beautiful brows, once more betook himself to the window.

A slick, sleek oily youth in a gray derby began to deliver some mail which he had just collected from the branch post-office in Marco Morello's drug-store down the street; among the innocent pleasantries of indecent post cards there seemed to be at least two enigmatic warnings in dirty envelopes and a happy suggestion of workable scandal about a rich jeweler; one postal, demanding in scarcely legible and very illiterate Neapolitan slang the "suppression" of a woman who had turned the writer out of his job in her fake employment agency, was frowned upon by Mr. Gumama as unnecessarily careless. Directly the meeting had formed itself into a rough semblance of a court, the writer of the careless postal was condemned to be suspended for six months, so that his earnings were cut off from both sources.

One of the laborers rose to complain that the capo of his paranza had sentenced him to a week's suspension for quarreling with a companion; the evidence showed injustice and the complaint was sustained. A saloon-keeper broke into pa.s.sionate appeal against another sentence of suspension, this time for a year, because he had shed a tear of pity for the child of a wine-merchant which had died while held for ransom. But his capo d'intini, the head of a whole district, had seen the tear and the punishment was confirmed. A picciotto di sgarro, a novice, who had pa.s.sed two duels with credit, was found to have hesitated in obedience and was expelled from possible membership for all time. Now popped up a red, bushy stub of a man, with a full tuck under his chin and a certain unshaven dinginess, to declare that something outrageous was going on in his neighborhood: there were rowdies who hung about the street corners and offended the female foundlings of the good sisters, making remarks when these took exercise! The gentle ladies had appealed to the police in vain, but to the Honorable Society they could now in tranquillity trust. The Honorable Society, shocked and indignant, a.s.sumed the future immunity of the female foundlings for a slight consideration. Finally amidst an ominous silence Balbo the Wolf, a chauffeur, a full member, was convicted of having practised extortion without orders and on his own account.

"Lupo Balbo," said Mr. Gumama, in the profound chest notes of an outraged parent, "you deserve to sleep forever. You have broken your oath of humility, you have rebelled against your father and scandalized your mother, you have taken food from the mouth of your family, for the Society is your family and your father and your mother.--Tommaso Antonelli--" He spoke low and quick to a man near him, who sprang forward, there was an instant's sharp, half-voluntary struggle and then Antonelli drew back with a dripping razor in his hand. Lupo, the chauffeur, covered a face marked forever with a double slash. And Mr.

Gumama somewhat unnecessarily added, "The spreggio is for you the punishment, you wolf Balbo. Bathe your face, there in the pitcher by the innocent vine, and leave the council." Lupo Balbo, no more than his predecessors, winced, argued, nor rebelled. Against the decree of the capo no appeal was possible.

All this time--so much shorter a time than any agreeable social club would have taken to despatch a single item of business--the human bundles had remained propped against the wall; silent perforce and wrapped in the indifference of their own doom. Mr. Gumama now turned an attentive eye upon these lumps of misery, and a kind of brightening glimmered through the a.s.semblage; the duller preliminaries were disposed of at last.

The poor souls being brought forward the capo p.r.o.nounced their names with scorn. "Luigi Pachotto and Carlo Firenzi, you deserve no trial.

But the Society honors its strict laws and does not condemn without justice. Beppo, Chigi, remove those gags." The eyes of the human bundles goggled avidly forward; their mouths puffed moistly in physical relief.

Still, they made no complaint.

"Full members of the Society, alas!" Mr. Gumama tragically continued, "members, also, of our Arm of Justice, ere the Society accepted that Arm as part of its own body, we have received demands for your suppression and, from our camorrista scelto, proof of your guilt. Luigi Pachotto, of the eight crimes against the Society which incur the penalty of death you are charged with the first--Number one, to reveal the secrets of the Society. And you, Carlo Firenzi, with the second,--spying on behalf of the police. It is true that Lupo Balbo was guilty of the sixth, and I made his penalty little. But of such crimes, like disobedience, the punishment at its worst is death. Yours are the crimes of treachery, for which the death is slow. Most for you, Carlo Firenzi, there can be no excuse. When you began to suspect the news which I am about to break to the paranza you turned police operative and betrayed the system by which our unfortunate friends communicate in horrible prisons and become properly organized. And when, last night, you were set by the paranza to do a service this morning to your basista you gave notice to the police.

So that they came and took back the friend of our basista and now guard the nest of our social gatherings. Did you think the Arm of Justice had grown too weak to punish? Carlo Firenzi, what have you to say?"

He had nothing to say; only, hanging his head, he ground his teeth. Yet the form--the form? the very core and gist--of a trial was put through; the evidence heard and questioned, the witnesses confronted with the mute despair of a guilt taken red handed and making no denial; fifteen minutes of the truth pa.s.sionately sought and no law-game played.

The conclusion, however, was foregone and Firenzi was soon stood back out of the way. "Luigi Pachotto, you have, I believe, affirmed good intention. You knew that the old-days' Arm of Justice, now the fifth paranza of this eighth district of the Honorable Society, had long sheltered in its midst, all unknowing, a traitor to the Honorable Society." He had touched a spring that vibrated through the whole room.

Unable to proceed he waited till the murmur of incredulous horror that had risen to a growl should die away. "You betook yourself to the capo in testa of the Honorable Society rather than to your old friends of the Arm or even to this district, and to him pointed out the whereabouts of the traitor. Did you dare to insinuate that the Arm itself would not have punished had it known? What good to it or to the Society did you expect of this?"

It was more a slur than a question and he answered it in a hopeless mumble. "I did it for the good of the Arm and to make our peace with the Honorable Society. I say it, who am about to die--I thought to resign the traitor, to give him into its hand who sullies ours, to be done with him and at peace."

"Luigi Pachotto, you took too much upon yourself! It is for the Arm to make its own terms. I think it was your private peace you wished to make, thus to save your own throat. But you have cut it." Mr. Gumama paused and sententiously expanded his beautiful brows. "Nevertheless, it may be that you are to be shown strange mercy!"

The murmur rose again, humming with amazement.

"The Society can be merciful for its own just ends. There is a service to be rendered, a deed to be done, beyond the skill of any garzione di mala vita, its apprentice, or yet of its novice, the picciotto di sgarro, the young one. It should be done by one who is past life.