Within the Law [79]
has the first chance. Get that, all of you?"
As Chicago Red took up his appointed station, Garson turned to Dick.
"Make it quick, remember."
He touched the other two and moved back to the wall by the fireplace, as far as possible from the husband and wife by the couch.
Dick spoke at once, with a hesitancy that betrayed the depth of his emotion.
"Don't you care for me at all?" he asked wistfully.
The girl's answer was uttered with nervous eagerness which revealed her own stress of fear.
"No, no, no!" she exclaimed, rebelliously.
Now, however, the young man had regained some measure of reassurance.
"I know you do, Mary," he asserted, confidently; "a little, anyway. Why, Mary," he went on reproachfully, "can't you see that you're throwing away everything that makes life worth while? Don't you see that?"
There was no word from the girl. Her breast was moving convulsively. She held her face steadfastly averted from the face of her husband.
"Why don't you answer me?" he insisted.
Mary's reply came with all the coldness she could command.
"That was not in the bargain," Mary said, indifferently.
The man's voice grew tenderly winning, persuasive with the longing of a lover, persuasive with the pity of the righteous for the sinner.
"Mary, Mary!" he cried. "You've got to change. Don't be so hard. Give the woman in you a chance."
The girl's form became rigid as she fought for self-control. The plea touched to the bottom of her heart, but she could not, would not yield. Her words rushed forth with a bitterness that was the cover of her distress.
"I am what I am," she said sharply. "I can't change. Keep your promise, now, and let's get out of this."
Her assertion was disregarded as to the inability to change.
"You can change," Dick went on impetuously. "Mary, haven't you ever wanted the things that other women have, shelter, and care, and the big things of life, the things worth while? They're all ready for you, now, Mary.... And what about me?" Reproach leaped in his tone. "After all, you've married me. Now it's up to you to give me my chance to make good. I've never amounted to much. I've never tried much. I shall, now, if you will have it so, Mary; if you'll help me. I will come out all right, I know that--so do you, Mary. Only, you must help me."
"I help you!" The exclamation came from the girl in a note of incredulous astonishment.
"Yes," Dick said, simply. "I need you, and you need me. Come away with me."
"No, no!" was the broken refusal. There was a great grief clutching at the soul of this woman who had brought vengeance to its full flower. She was gasping. "No, no! I married you, not because I loved you, but to repay your father the wrong he had done me. I wouldn't let myself even think of you, and then--I realized that I had spoiled your life."
"No, not spoiled it, Mary! Blessed it! We must prove that yet."
"Yes, spoiled it," the wife went on passionately. "If I had understood, if I could have dreamed that I could ever care---- Oh, Dick, I would never have married you for anything in the world."
"But now you do realize," the young man said quietly. "The thing is done. If we made a mistake, it is for us to bring happiness out of that error."
"Oh, can't you see?" came the stricken lament. "I'm a jail-bird!"
"But you love me--you do love me, I know!" The young man spoke with joyous certainty, for some inflection of her voice had told the truth to his heart. Nothing else mattered. "But now, to come back to this hole we're in here. Don't you understand, at last, that you can't beat the law? If you're caught here to-night, where would you get off--caught here with a gang of burglars? Tell me, dear, why did you do it? Why didn't you protect yourself? Why didn't you go to Chicago as you planned?"
"What?" There was a new quality in Mary's voice. A sudden throb of shock masked in the surface indifference of intonation.
Dick repeated his question, unobservant of its first effect.
"Why didn't you go to Chicago
As Chicago Red took up his appointed station, Garson turned to Dick.
"Make it quick, remember."
He touched the other two and moved back to the wall by the fireplace, as far as possible from the husband and wife by the couch.
Dick spoke at once, with a hesitancy that betrayed the depth of his emotion.
"Don't you care for me at all?" he asked wistfully.
The girl's answer was uttered with nervous eagerness which revealed her own stress of fear.
"No, no, no!" she exclaimed, rebelliously.
Now, however, the young man had regained some measure of reassurance.
"I know you do, Mary," he asserted, confidently; "a little, anyway. Why, Mary," he went on reproachfully, "can't you see that you're throwing away everything that makes life worth while? Don't you see that?"
There was no word from the girl. Her breast was moving convulsively. She held her face steadfastly averted from the face of her husband.
"Why don't you answer me?" he insisted.
Mary's reply came with all the coldness she could command.
"That was not in the bargain," Mary said, indifferently.
The man's voice grew tenderly winning, persuasive with the longing of a lover, persuasive with the pity of the righteous for the sinner.
"Mary, Mary!" he cried. "You've got to change. Don't be so hard. Give the woman in you a chance."
The girl's form became rigid as she fought for self-control. The plea touched to the bottom of her heart, but she could not, would not yield. Her words rushed forth with a bitterness that was the cover of her distress.
"I am what I am," she said sharply. "I can't change. Keep your promise, now, and let's get out of this."
Her assertion was disregarded as to the inability to change.
"You can change," Dick went on impetuously. "Mary, haven't you ever wanted the things that other women have, shelter, and care, and the big things of life, the things worth while? They're all ready for you, now, Mary.... And what about me?" Reproach leaped in his tone. "After all, you've married me. Now it's up to you to give me my chance to make good. I've never amounted to much. I've never tried much. I shall, now, if you will have it so, Mary; if you'll help me. I will come out all right, I know that--so do you, Mary. Only, you must help me."
"I help you!" The exclamation came from the girl in a note of incredulous astonishment.
"Yes," Dick said, simply. "I need you, and you need me. Come away with me."
"No, no!" was the broken refusal. There was a great grief clutching at the soul of this woman who had brought vengeance to its full flower. She was gasping. "No, no! I married you, not because I loved you, but to repay your father the wrong he had done me. I wouldn't let myself even think of you, and then--I realized that I had spoiled your life."
"No, not spoiled it, Mary! Blessed it! We must prove that yet."
"Yes, spoiled it," the wife went on passionately. "If I had understood, if I could have dreamed that I could ever care---- Oh, Dick, I would never have married you for anything in the world."
"But now you do realize," the young man said quietly. "The thing is done. If we made a mistake, it is for us to bring happiness out of that error."
"Oh, can't you see?" came the stricken lament. "I'm a jail-bird!"
"But you love me--you do love me, I know!" The young man spoke with joyous certainty, for some inflection of her voice had told the truth to his heart. Nothing else mattered. "But now, to come back to this hole we're in here. Don't you understand, at last, that you can't beat the law? If you're caught here to-night, where would you get off--caught here with a gang of burglars? Tell me, dear, why did you do it? Why didn't you protect yourself? Why didn't you go to Chicago as you planned?"
"What?" There was a new quality in Mary's voice. A sudden throb of shock masked in the surface indifference of intonation.
Dick repeated his question, unobservant of its first effect.
"Why didn't you go to Chicago