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Just And The Unjust, The

<h2>CHAPTER THREE</h2> <h3>STRANGE BEDFELLOWS</h3> When North quitted Marshall Langham's office, Gilmore, after a brief instant of irresolution, stepped into the room. He was crudely, handsome, a powerfully-built man of about Langham's own age, swarthy-faced and with ruthless lips showing red under a black waxed mustache. His hat was inclined at a "sporty" angle and the cigar which he held firmly between his strong even teeth was tilted in the same direction, imparting a rakish touch to Mr. Gilmore's otherwise sturdy and aggressive presence. "Howdy, Marsh!" said his new-comer easily. From his seat before his desk Langham scowled across at him. "What the devil brings you here, Andy?" he asked, ungraciously enough. Gilmore buried his hands deep in his trousers pockets and with one eye half closed surveyed the lawyer over the tip of his tilted cigar. "You're a civil cuss, Marsh," he said lightly, "but one wouldn't always know it. Ain't I a client, ain't I a friend,—and damn it all, man, ain't I a creditor? There are three excuses, any one of which is: sufficient to bring me into your esteemed presence!" "We may as well omit the first," growled Langham, wheeling his chair back from the desk and facing Gilmore. "Why?" asked Gilmore, lazily tolerant of the other's mood. "Because there is nothing more that I can do for you," said Langham shortly. "Oh, yes there is, Marsh, there's a whole lot more you can do for me. There's Moxlow, the distinguished prosecuting attorney; without you to talk sense to him he's liable to listen to all sorts of queer people who take more interest in my affairs than is good for them; but as long as he's got you at his elbow he won't forget my little stake in his election." "If you wish him not to forget it, you'd better not be so particular in reminding him of it; he'll get sick of you and your concerns!" retorted Langham. Gilmore laughed. "I ain't going to remind him of it; what have I got you for, Marsh? It's your job." He took a step nearer Langham while his black brows met in a sullen frown. "I know I ain't popular here in Mount Hope, I know there are plenty of people who'd like to see me run out of town; but I'm no quitter, they'll find. It suits me to stay here, and they can't touch me if Moxlow won't have it. That's your job, that's what I hire you for, Marsh; you're Moxlow's partner, you're your father's son, it's up to you to see I ain't interfered with. Don't tell me you can't do anything more for me. I won't have it!" Langham's face was red, and his eyes blazed angrily, but Gilmore met his glance with a look of stern insistence that could not be misunderstood. "I have done what I could for you," the lawyer said at last, choking down his rage. "Oh, go to hell! You know you haven't hurt yourself," said Gilmore insolently. "Well, then, why do you come here?" demanded Langham. "Same old business, Marsh." He lounged across the room and dropped, yawning, into a chair near the window. There was silence between them for a little space. Langham fussed with the papers on his desk, while Gilmore squinted at him over the end of his cigar. "Same old business, Marsh!" Gilmore repeated lazily. "What's the enemy up to, anyhow? Are the good people of Mount Hope worrying Moxlow? Is their sleepless activity going to interfere with my sleepless profession, eh? Can you answer me that?" "Moxlow has cut the office of late," said Langham briefly. "He's happened on a good thing in the prosecuting attorney's office, I suppose? It's a pity you didn't strike out for that, Marsh; you'd have been of some use to your friends if you'd got the job." "Not necessarily," said Langham. "Well, when's Moxlow going after me?" inquired Gilmore. "I, haven't heard him say. He told me he had sufficient evidence for your indictment." "Yes, of course," agreed Gilmore placidly. "I guess yours is a case for the next grand jury!" "So Moxlow's in earnest about wishing to make trouble for me?" said Gilmore, still placidly. "Oh, he's in earnest, all right." Langham shrugged his shoulders petulantly. "He'll go after you, and perhaps by the time he's done with you you'll wish you'd taken my advice and made yourself scarce!" "I'm no quitter!" rejoined Gilmore, chewing thoughtfully at the end of his cigar. "By all means stay in Mount Hope if you think it's worth your while," said Langham indifferently. "Can you give me some definite idea as to when the fun begins?" "No, but it will be soon enough, Andy. He wants the support of the best element. He can't afford to offend it." "And he knows you are my lawyer?" asked Gilmore still thoughtfully. "Of course." "Ain't that going to cut any figure with him?" "Certainly not." "Is that so, Marsh?" He crossed his legs and nursed an ankle with both hands. "Well, somebody ought to lose Moxlow,—take him out and forget to find him again. He's much too good for this world; it ain't natural. He's about the only man of his age in Mount Hope who ain't drifted into my rooms at one time or another." He paused and took the cigar from between his teeth. "You call him off, Marsh, make him agree to let me alone; ain't there such a thing as friendship in this profession of yours?" Langham shook his head, and again Gilmore's black brows met in a frown. He made a contemptuous gesture. "You're a hell of a lawyer!" he sneered. "Be careful what you say to me!" cried Langham, suddenly giving way to the feeling of rage that until now he had held in check. "Oh, I'm careful enough. I guess if you stop to think a minute you'll understand you got to take what I choose to say as I choose to say it!" Langham sprang to his feet shaking with anger. "No, by—" he began hoarsely. "Sit down," said Gilmore coldly. "You can't afford to row with me; anyhow, I ain't going to row with you. I'll tell you what I think of you and what I expect of you, so sit down!" There was a long pause. Gilmore gazed out the window. He seemed to watch the hurrying snowflakes with no interest in Langham who was still standing by his desk, with one shaking hand resting on the back of his chair. Presently the lawyer resumed his seat and Gilmore turned toward him. "Don't talk about my quitting here, Marsh," he said menacingly. "That's the kind of legal advice I won't have from you or any one else." "You may as well make up your mind first as last to it," said Langham, not regarding what Gilmore had just said. "I can't keep Moxlow quiet any longer; the sentiment of the community is against gamblers. If you are not a gambler, what are you?" "You mean you are going to throw me over, you two?" "With Moxlow it is a case of bread and butter; personally I don't care whom you fleece, but I've got my living to make here in Mount Hope, too, and I can't afford to go counter to public opinion." "You have had some favors out of me, Marsh." "I am not likely to forget them, you give me no chance," rejoined Langham bitterly. "Why should I, eh?" asked Gilmore coolly. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling above his head. "Marsh, what was that North was saying about me when I came down the hall?" and his swarthy cheeks were tinged with red. "I don't recall that he was speaking of you." "You don't? Well, think again. It was about our going up to your house to-night, wasn't it? Your wife's back, eh? Well, don't worry, I came here partly to tell you that I had made other arrangements for the evening." "It's just as well," said Langham. "Do you mean your wife wouldn't receive me?" demanded Gilmore. There was a catch in his voice and a pallor in his face. "I didn't say that." Gilmore's chair resounded noisily on the floor as he came to his feet. He strode to the lawyer's side. "Then what in hell do you say?" he stormed. In spite of himself Langham quailed before the gambler's fury. "Oh, keep still, Andy! What a nasty-tempered beast you are!" he said pacifically. There was a pause, and Gilmore resumed his chair, turning to the window to hide his emotion; then slowly his scowling glance came back to Langham. "He said I was a common card-sharp, eh?" Langham knew that he spoke of North. "Damn him! What does he call himself?" He threw the stub of his cigar from him across the room. "Marsh, what does your wife know about me?" And again there was the catch to his voice. Langham looked at him in astonishment. "Know about you—my wife—nothing," he said slowly. "I suppose she's heard my name?" inquired the gambler. "No doubt." "Thinks I rob you at cards, eh?" But Langham made no answer to this. "Thinks I take your money away from you," continued the gambler. "And it's your game to let her think that! I wonder what she'd think if she knew the account stood the other way about? I've been a handy sort of a friend, haven't I, Marsh? The sort you could use,—and you have used me up to the limit! I've been good enough to borrow money from, but not good enough to take home—" "Oh, come, Andy, what's the use," placated Langham. "I'm sorry if your feelings are hurt." "It's time you and I had a settlement, Marsh. I want you to take up those notes of yours." "I haven't the money!" said Langham. "Well, I can't wait on you any longer." "I don't see but that you'll have to," retorted Langham. "I'm going to offer a few inducements for haste, Marsh. I'm going to make you see that it's worth your while to find that money for me quick,—understand? You owe me about two thousand dollars; are you fixed to turn it in by the end of the month?" The gambler bit off the end of a fresh cigar and held it a moment between his fingers as he gazed at Langham, waiting for his reply. The latter shook his head but said nothing. "Well, then, by George, I am going to sue you!" "Because I can't protect you longer!" "Oh, to hell with your protection! Go dig up the money for me or I'll raise a fuss here that'll hurt more than one reputation! The notes are good, ain't they?" "They are good when I have the money to meet them." "They are good even if you haven't the money to meet them! I guess Judge Langham's indorsement is worth something, and Linscott's a rich man; even Moxlow's got some property. Those are the three who are on your paper, and the paper's considerably overdue." Langham turned a pale face on the gambler. "You won't do that, Andy!" he said, in a voice which he vainly strove to hold steady. "Won't I? Do you think I'm in business for my health?" And he laughed shortly, then he wheeled on Langham with unexpected fierceness. "I'll give you until the first of the month, Marsh, and then I'm going after you without gloves. I don't care a damn who squares the account; your indorsers' cash will suit me as well as your own." He caught the expression on Langham's face, its deathly pallor, the hunted look in his eyes, and paused suddenly. The shadow of a slow smile fixed itself at the corners of his mouth, he put out a hand and rested it on Langham's shoulder. "You damn fool! Have you tried that trick on me? I'll take those notes to the bank in the morning and see if the signatures are genuine." "Do it!" Langham spoke in a whisper. "Maybe you think I won't!" sneered the gambler. "Maybe you'd rather I didn't, eh? It will hardly suit you to have me show those notes?" "Do what you like; whatever suggests itself to a scurvy whelp like you!" said Langham. Gilmore merely grinned at this. "If you are trying to encourage me to smash you, Marsh, you have got the right idea as to how it is to be done." But his tone was now one of lazy good nature. "Smash me then; I haven't the money to pay you." "Get it!" said Gilmore tersely. "Where?" "You are asking too much of me, Marsh. If I could finance you I'd cut out cards in the future. How about the judge,—no? Well, I just threw that out as a hint, but I suppose you have been there already, for naturally you'd compliment him by giving him the chance to pull you up out of your troubles. Since your own father won't help you, how about Linscott? Is he going to want to see his son-in-law disgraced? I guess he's your best chance, Marsh. Put it on strong and for once tell the truth. Tell him you've dabbled in forgery and that it won't work!" Langham had dropped back in his chair. He was seeking to devise some expedient that would meet his present difficulties. His bondage to the gambler had become intolerable, anything would be better than a continuance of that. The monstrous folly of those forgeries seemed beyond anything he could have perpetrated in his sober senses. He must have been mad! But then he had needed the money desperately. He might go to his, father, but he had been to him only recently, and the judge himself was burdened with debt. He might go to Mr. Linscott, he might even try North. He could tell the latter the whole circumstance and borrow a part of what was left of his small fortune; of course he was in his debt as it was, but North would never think of that; he was a man to share his last dollar with a friend. He passed a shaking hand across his eyes. On every side the nightmare of his obligations confronted him, for who was there that he could owe whom he did not already owe? He was notorious for his inability to pay his debts. This notoriety was hurting his professional standing, and now if Gilmore carried out his threat he must look forward to the shame of a public exposure. His very reputation for common honesty was at stake. He wondered what men did in a crisis such as this. He wondered what happened to them when they could do nothing more. Usually he was fertile in expedients, but to-day his brain seemed wholly inert. He realized only a certain dull terror of the future; the present eluded him utterly. He had never been over-scrupulous perhaps, he had always taken what he pleased to call long chances, and it was in almost imperceptible gradations that he had descended in the scale of honesty to the point that had at last made possible these forgeries. Until now he had always felt certain of himself and of his future; time was to bring him into the presence of his dear desires, when he should have money to lift the burden of debt, money to waste, money to scatter, money to spend for the good things of life. But he had made the fatal mistake of anticipating the success in which he so firmly believed. Those notes—he dashed his hand before his face; suddenly the air of the room seemed to stifle him, courage and cunning had left him; there was only North to whom he could turn for a few hundreds with which to quiet Gilmore. Let him but escape the consequences of his folly this time and he promised himself he would retrench; he would live within his income, he would apply himself to his profession as he had never yet applied himself. He scowled heavily at Gilmore, who met his scowl with a cynical smile. "Well, what are you going to do?" he queried. But Langham did not answer at once. He had turned and was looking from the window. It was snowing now very hard, and twilight, under the edges of torn gray clouds was creeping over the Square; he could barely see the flickering lights in Archibald McBride's dingy shop-windows. "Give me a chance, Andy!" he said at last appealingly. "To the end of the month, not a day more," asserted Gilmore. "Where am I to get such a sum in that time? You know I can't do it!" "Don't ask me, but turn to and get it, Marsh. That's your only hope." "By the first of the year perhaps," urged Langham. "No, get rid of the notion that I am going to let up on you, for I ain't! I'm going to squat on your trail until the money's in my hand; otherwise I know damn well I won't ever see a cent of it! I ain't your only creditor, but the one who hounds you hardest will see his money first, and I got you where I want you." "I can't raise the money; what will you gain by ruining me?" demanded Langham. He wished to impress this on Gilmore, and then he would propose as a compromise the few hundreds it would be possible to borrow from North. "To get square with you, Marsh, will be worth something, and frankly, I ain't sure that I ever expected to see any of that money, but as long as you stood my friend I was disposed to be easy on you." "I am still your friend." "Just about so-so, but you won't keep Moxlow—" "I can't!" "Then I can't see where your friendship comes in." Gilmore quitted his chair. "Wait, Andy!" said Langham hastily. "No use of any more talk, Marsh, I want my money! Go dig it up." "Suppose, by straining every nerve, I can raise five hundred dollars by the end of the month—" "Oh, pay your grocer with that!" Langham choked down his rage. "You haven't always been so contemptuous of such sums." "I'm feeling proud to-day, Marsh. I'm going to treat myself to a few airs, and you can pat yourself on the back when you've dug up the money by the end of the month! You'll have done something to feel proud of, too." "Suppose we say a thousand," urged Langham. "Good old Marsh! If you keep on raising yourself like this you'll soon get to a figure where we can talk business!" Gilmore laughed. "Perhaps I can raise a thousand dollars. I don't know why I should think I can, but I'm willing to try; I'm willing to say I'll try—" Gilmore shook his head. "I've told you what you got to do, Marsh, and I mean every damn word I say,—understand that? I'm going to have my money or I'm going to have the fun of smashing you." "Listen to me, Andy!" began Langham desperately. "Why take me into your confidence?" asked the gambler coldly. "What will you gain by ruining me?" repeated Langham fiercely. The gambler only grinned. "I am always willing to spend money on my pleasures; and besides when those notes turn up, your father or some one else will have to come across." Langham was silent. He was staring out across the empty snow-strewn Square at the lights in Archibald McBride's windows. "Remember," said Gilmore, moving toward the door. "I'll talk to you when you got two thousand dollars." "Damn you, where do you think I'll get it?" cried Langham. "I'm not good at guessing," laughed Gilmore. He turned without another word or look and left the room. His footsteps echoed loudly in the hall and on the stairs, and then there was silence in the building. Langham was again looking out across the Square at the lights in Archibald McBride's windows. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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