The Breaking Point - Page 198/275

For the first time his courage began to fail him. He went to the

lakeside that night and stood looking at the water. He meant to fight

that impulse of cowardice at the source.

Up to that time he had given no thought whatever to his estate, beyond

the fact that he had been undoubtedly adjudged legally dead and his

property divided. But that day as he turned away from the lake front, he

began to wonder about it. After all, since he meant to surrender himself

before long, why not telegraph collect to the old offices of the estate

in New York and have them wire him money? But even granting that they

were still in existence, he knew with what lengthy caution, following

stunned surprise, they would go about investigating the message. And

there were leaks in the telegraph. He would have a pack of newspaper

hounds at his heels within a few hours. The police, too. No, it wouldn't

do.

The next day he got a job as a taxicab driver, and that night and every

night thereafter he went back to West Madison Street and picked up one

or more of the derelicts there and bought them food. He developed

quite a system about it. He waited until he saw a man stop outside an

eating-house look in and then pass on. But one night he got rather

a shock. For the young fellow he accosted looked at him first with

suspicion, which was not unusual, and later with amazement.

"Captain Livingstone!" he said, and checked his hand as it was about to

rise to the salute. His face broke into a smile, and he whipped off his

cap. "You've forgotten me, sir," he said. "But I've got your visiting

card on the top of my head all right. Can you see it?"

He bent his head and waited, but on no immediate reply being

forthcoming, for Dick was hastily determining on a course of action, he

looked up. It was then that he saw Dick's cheap and shabby clothes, and

his grin faded.

"I say," he said. "You are Livingstone, aren't you? I'd have known--"

"I think you've made a mistake, old man," Dick said, feeling for his

words carefully. "That's not my name, anyhow. I thought, when I saw you

staring in at that window--How about it?"

The boy looked at him again, and then glanced away.

"I was looking, all right," he said. "I've been having a run of hard

luck."

It had been Dick's custom to eat with his finds, and thus remove from

the meal the quality of detached charity. Men who would not take money

would join him in a meal. But he could not face the lights with this

keen-eyed youngster. He offered him money instead.