"He asked--me--to--marry--him," she said, faintly. "He was not--what you think.... He was a good--boy."

Suddenly she tried to break from him to go to Bonbright, but he clutched her savagely. "Help!... Help!..." she cried. Then his hand closed over her mouth and he gathered her up in his arms and carried her away.

He did not look behind at Bonbright huddled there with the ribbon of moonlight pointing across the lake at his limp body, but half staggered, half ran to his waiting car.... A snarled word, and the engine started. Ruth, choking, helpless, was carried away, leaving Bonbright alone and still....

CHAPTER XIV

Bonbright was on his hands and knees on the edge of the lake, dizzily slopping water on his head and face. He was struggling toward consciousness, fighting dazedly for the power to act. As one who, in a dream, reviews the events of another half-presented dream, he knew what had happened. Consciousness had not fully deserted him. Dulac had attacked him; Dulac had carried Ruth away.... Somehow he had no fears for her personal safety, but he must follow. He must KNOW that she was safe....

Not many minutes had pa.s.sed since Dulac struck him down. His body was strong, well trained to sustain shocks and to recover from them, thanks to four years of college schooling in the man's game of football. Since he left college he had retained the respect for his body which had been taught him, and with golf and tennis and gymnasium he had kept himself fit... so that now his vital forces marshaled themselves quickly to fight his battle for him. Presently he raised himself to his feet and stood swaying dizzily; with fingers that fumbled he tied his handkerchief about his bruised head and staggered toward his car, for his will urged him on to follow Dulac.

To crank the motor (for the self-starter had not yet arrived) was a task of magnitude, but he accomplished it and pulled himself into the seat. For a moment he lay upon the steering wheel, panting, fighting back his weakness; then he thrust forward his control lever and the car began to move. The motion, the kindly touch of the cool night air against his head, stimulated him; he stepped on the gas pedal and the car leaped forward as though eager for the pursuit.

Out into the main road he lurched, grimly clutching the steering wheel, leaning on it for support, his aching, blurred eyes clinging to the illuminated way before him, and he drove as he had never ventured to drive before. Beating against his numbed brain was his will's sledge-hammer demands for speed, and he obeyed recklessly....

Roadside objects flicked by, mile after mile was dropped behind, the city's outskirts were being s.n.a.t.c.hed closer and closer--and then he saw the other car far ahead. All that remained to be asked of his car he demanded now, and he overhauled the smaller, less speedy machine. Now his lights played on its rear and his horn sounded a warning and a demand. Dulac's car veered to the side to let him pa.s.s, and he lurched by, only turning a brief, wavering glance upon the other machine to a.s.sure himself that Ruth was there. He saw her in a flashing second, in the tonneau, with Dulac by her side.... She was safe, uninjured. Then Bonbright left them behind.

The road narrowed, with deep ditches on either hand. Here was the place he sought. He set his brakes, shut off his power, and swung his car diagonally across the way, so that it would be impossible for Dulac to pa.s.s. Then he alighted, and stood waiting, holding on to his machine for support.

The other car came to a stop and Dulac sprang out. Bonbright saw Ruth rise to follow; heard Dulac say, roughly: "Get back. Stay where you are."

"No," she replied, and stepped to the road.

Bonbright could see how pale she was, how frightened.

"Don't be afraid," he said to her. "Nothing is going to--happen."

He stood erect now, free from the support of the car, waiting for Dulac, who approached menacingly.

"Dulac," he said, "I can't--fight you. I can't even---defend myself--much.... Unless you insist."

The men were facing each other now, almost toe to toe. Dulac's face was stormy with pa.s.sion under scant restraint; Bonbright, though he swayed a bit unsteadily, faced him with level eyes. Ruth saw the decent courage of the boy and her fear for him made her clutch Dulac's sleeve.

The man shook her off.

"I know--why you attacked me," said Bonbright, slowly, "what you thought.... I--stopped you to--be sure Miss Frazer was safe... and to tell you you were--wrong.... Not that you have a--right to question me, but n.o.body must think--ill of Miss Frazer.... No misunderstanding...."

"Get that car out of the way," said Dulac.

Bonbright shook his head. "Not till I'm--through," he said. "Then you may--take Miss Frazer home.... But be kind to her--gentle.... I shall ask her about it--and I sha'n't be--knocked out long."

"You threaten me, you pampered puppy!"

"Yes," said Bonbright, grimly, "exactly."

Dulac started to lift his arm, but Ruth caught it. "No.... No," she said, in a tense whisper. "You mustn't. Can't you see how--hurt he is?

He can hardly stand.... You're not a COWARD...."

"Dulac," said Bonbright, "here's the truth: I took Miss Frazer to the lake to--ask her to--marry me.... No other reason. She was--safe with me--as with you. I want her for--my wife. Do you understand?... You thought--what my father thought."

Ruth uttered a little cry. So THAT was what had happened!

"All the decency in the world," Bonbright said, "isn't in--union men, workingmen.... Because I have more money than you--you want to believe--anything of me.... You're even willing to--believe it of her.... I can--love as well as if I were poor.... I can--honor and respect the girl I want to marry as well as if I--carried a union card.... That is TRUE."

Dulac laughed shortly; then, even in his rage, he became oratorical, theatrical.

"We know the honor and respect of your kind.... We know what our sisters and daughters have to expect from you. We've learned it. You talk fair--you dangle your filthy money under their eyes--you promise this and you promise that.... And then you throw away your toys....

They come back to us covered with disgrace, heart-broken, marked forever, and fit to be no man's wife.... That's your respect and honor.

That's your decency.... Leave our women alone.... Go to your bridge-playing, silly, husband-swapping society women. They know you.

They know what to expect from you--and get what they deserve. Leave our women alone.... Leave this girl alone. We men have to endure enough at your hands, but we won't endure this.... We'll do as I did to-night. I thrashed you--"

"Like a coward, in the dark, from behind," said Bonbright, boyish pride insisting upon offering its excuse. "I didn't stop you to argue about capital and labor. I stopped you--to tell you the truth about to-night.

I've told it."

"You've lied the way your kind always lies."

Bonbright's lips straightened, his eyes hardened, and he leaned forward. "I promised Miss Frazer nothing--should happen. It sha'n't.

... But you're a fool, Dulac. You know I'm telling the truth--but you won't admit it--because you don't want to. Because I'm not on your side, you won't admit it.... And that makes you a fool.... Be still.

You haven't hesitated to tell me I lied. I've taken that--and you'll take what I have to say. It isn't much. I don't know much about the--differences between your kind and my kind.... But your side gets more harm than good from men like you. You're a blind fanatic. You cram your men on lies and stir them up to hate us.... Maybe there's cause, but you magnify it.... You won't see the truth. You won't see reason.... You hold us apart. Maybe you're honest--fanatics usually are, but fanatics are fools. It does no good to tell you so. I'm wasting my breath.... Now take Miss Frazer home--and be careful how you treat her."

He turned his back squarely and pulled himself into his car. Then he turned to Ruth. "Good night, Miss Frazer," he said. "I am sorry--for all this.... May I come for--your answer to-morrow?"

"No...." she said, tremulously. "Yes...."

Bonbright straightened his car in the road and drove on. He was at the end of his strength. He wanted the aid of a physician, and then he wanted to lie down and sleep, and sleep. The day that had preceded the attack upon him had been wearing enough to exhaust the st.u.r.diest. The tension of waiting, the anxiety, the mental disturbance, had demanded their usual wages of mind and body. Sudden shock had done the rest.

He drove to the private hospital of a doctor of his acquaintance, a member of his club, and gained admission. The doctor himself was there, by good fortune, and saw Bonbright at once, and examined the wounds in his scalp.

"Strikers get you?" he asked.

"Automobile mix-up," said Bonbright, weakly.

"Uh-huh!" said the doctor. "I suppose somebody picked up a light roadster and struck you over the head with it.... Not cut much. No st.i.tches. A little adhesive'll do the trick--and then.... Sort of excited, eh? Been under a bit of a strain?... None of my business, of course.... Get into bed and I'll send up something to tone you down and make you sleep. You've been playing in too high a key--your fiddle strings are too tight."

Getting into that cool, soft bed was one of the pleasantest experiences of Bonbright's life. He was almost instantly asleep--and he still slept, even at the deliberate hour that saw his father enter the office at the mills.

Mr. Foote was disturbed. He had not seen his son since the boy flung out of the office the morning before; had had no word of him. He had expected Bonbright to come home in the evening and had waited for him in the library to have a word with him. He had come to the conclusion that it would be best to throw some sort of sop to Bonbright in the way of apparent authority, of mock responsibility. It would occupy the boy's mind, he thought, while in no way altering the conditions, not affecting the end to be arrived at. Bonbright must be held.... If it were necessary to administer an anaesthetic while the operation of remaking him into a true Foote was performed, why, the anaesthetic would be forthcoming.

But Bonbright did not come, even with twelve strokes of the clock. His father retired, but in no refreshing sleep.... On that day no progress had been made with the Marquis Lafayette. That work required a calm that Mr. Foote could not master.

His first act after seating himself at his desk was to summon Rangar.

"My son was not at home last night," he said. "I have not seen him since yesterday morning. I hope you can give me an account of him."

"Not home last night, Mr. Foote!" Manifestly Rangar was startled. He had not been at ease before, for he had been unable to pick up any trace of the boy this morning; had not seen him return home the night before.... It might be that he had gone too far when he sent his anonymous note to Dulac. Dulac had gone in pursuit, of that he had made sure. But what had happened? Had the matter gone farther than the mere thrashing he had hoped for?... He was frightened.