Outside he found himself in a kind of court. He ran about wildly, like
a rat in a trap. He plumped into the alley, accidentally. Down this
he fled, into the street. A voice called out peremptorily to him to
stop, but he went on all the faster, swift as a hare. He doubled and
circled through this street and that until at last he came out into a
broad, brilliant thoroughfare. An iron-pillared railway reared itself
skyward and trains clamored past. Bloomsbury: millions of years and
miles away! He would wake up presently, with the sunlight (when it
shone) pouring into his room, and the bright geraniums on the outside
window-sill bidding him good morning.
He was on the point of rushing up the station stairway, when he espied
a cab at the far corner. A replica of a London cab, something which
smacked of home; he could have hugged for sheer joy the bleary-eyed
cabby who touched his rusty high hat.
"Free?"
"Free 's th' air, bo. Where to?"
"Pier 60, White Star Line. How much?"--quite his old-time self again.
"Two dollars,"--promptly.
"All right. And hurry!" Thomas climbed in. He was safe.
As the crow flies it was less than a ten-minutes' jog from that corner
to Pier 60. Thomas had not gone far; he had merely covered a good deal
of ground. Cabby drove about for three-quarters of an hour and then
drew up before the pier.
Back to his cabin once more, weak as a swimmer who had breasted a
strong tide. He opened his trunk and rammed the chamois-bag into the
toe of one of his patent-leather boots. In the daytime he would wear
it about his neck, but each night back into the shoe it must go. He
flung himself on the bunk, not to sleep, but to think and wonder.
Meantime there was great excitement in the dive. The waiter was
rocking his body, wailing and holding his jaw. His companion was
sitting on the floor. In the wine-room two policemen and a thick-set,
black-mustached man in a derby hat were asking questions.
"Robbed!" moaned Jameson.
The man in the derby hat shook him roughly. "Robbed o' what, y' soak?"
"Robbed!"
"Mike," said the man in the derby, "put th' darbies on th' Sneak.
We'll get something for our trouble, anyhow. An' tell that waiter t'
put th' brakes on his yawp. Bring him in here. Now, you, what's
happened?"
"Why, the gink in uniform comes in . . ."
The bartender interrupted. "A gink dressed like a ship-steward comes
in an' orders ale. Drinks five glasses. Goes out int' th' wine-room
'cross th' hall an' orders a bottle o' gin. An' next I hears Johnny
howlin' murder. Frame-up, Mr. Haggerty. Nothin' t' do with it, hones'
t' Gawd! Th' boss ain't here."