Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 5, 1921 — page 5: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

PAWNED. 291 Jong time, ever since we knew that Claire ‘could not get: better,” he said. ‘“ We knew you would bring the little one here. There was no other place, except an institution. ‘And so I have been thinking about it. What is the little one’s name?” The cabman shook his head. ‘She has no name,” he said. “ Shall it be Claire, then?” asked the pawnbroker gently. The cabman’s fingers, where they rested on his cheeks, gathered a fold of flesh and tightened until the blood fled, leaving little white spots. He nodded his head. Again the pawnbroker was silent for a little while. -“ My wife and I will take little Cire on one condition,’ he said at last, gravely. ‘“‘ And that condition is that she ts to grow up as our child, and that, though you may come here and see her as often as you like, she is not to know that you are her father.” _ The cabman turned about a haggard face. “Not to know that I am her father— ever,” he said huskily. “TI did not say that,” said Paul Veniza quietly. He smiled now, leaning over the cabman. ‘I am a pawnbroker; this is a pawnshop. There is a way in which you may redeem her.” The cabman pressed a heavy hand over his eyes. “What is that way?” He swallowed hard as he spoke. “ By redeeming yourself.” The pawn- broker’s voice was low and earnest. ‘‘ What have you to offer her to-day, save a past that has brought only ruin and misery? And for the future, my old friend? There is no home. ‘There was no home for the young wife. You said when you married Claire, as you have said to-night, that it was all finished. But it was not finished. And your curse was the stronger. Well, little Claire is only a baby, and ‘there would be years, anyhow, before just a man could take care of her. Do you under- stand, my old friend? If, at. the end of those years, enough of them to make sure that you are sure of yourself, you,have changed your life and overcome your weak- ness, then you shall have little Claire back again, and she shall know you as her fa- ther, and be proud of you. But if you do not do this, then she remains with us, and we are her parents, and you pledge me your word that it shall be so.” There was no answer for a long time. The woman was still crying—but more softly now. The cabman’s chin had sunk into his hands again. The minutes dragged along. Finally the cabman lifted his head, and, pushing back his chair, stumbled to his feet. ‘“God—God bless you both!”’ he whis- pered, ‘“‘ It’s all finished now for good, as I told you, but you are right, Paul. J— I ain’t fit to have her yet. I'll stand by the bargain.” He moved blindly toward the door. The pawnbroker interposed. “Wait, Hawkins, old friend,” he said. ‘Pll go with you. You'll need some help back there in the tenement, some one to look after the things that are to be done.” The cabman shook his head. ‘“Not to-night,” he said in a choked way. ‘‘ Leave me alone to-night.” He moved again toward the door, and this time Paul Veniza stepped aside, but, following, stood bare-headed in the door- way as the other clambered to his perch on the hansom cab. : Hawkins slapped his reins on the roof of the cab. The horse started slowly for- ward. The drizzle had ceased; but the horse, left to his own initiative, was still wary of the wet pavements and moved at no greater pace than a walk. Hawkins drove with his coat collar still turned up, and his chin on his breast. And horse and man went aimlessly from street to street—and the night grew late. And the cabman’s hand reached tenta- tively, hesitantly, a great many times, to- ward a bulge in his coat pocket, and for a great many times was withdrawn as empty as it had set forth. And then, once, his fingers touched a glass bottle neck—and then, not his fingers, but his lips—and for a great many times. It had begun to rain again. The horse, as if conscious of the futility of its own movements, dad-siernedo Prd co nn