The Argosy for May — page 70: what you’re looking at

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

THE CRIMSON HARVEST. that inflection on the word ‘‘ American.” For, at his speech, the half-dozen closed around me. A little crowd had already collected in the dim street. The café door had swung shut, and we were almost in dark- ness. = I made as though to draw my sword. Two hands from behind pinioned my arms, I wrenched myself free; but not before another had seized my sword, and pulled it from the scabbard, and out of my reach. | Another patriot, carried away by zeal, threw himself upon me. My fist met his jaw, and he collapsed in the muddy roadway, . -~ But what can one man do against ' six? J am no hero of Drury Lane melo- drama. I struck out in all my strength, and more than one went down before my blows; while others reeled back, bruised and bleeding, into the crowd. Yet the struggle was short. Others had joined the first comers; overpowered by sheer force of numbers, and my arms were pinioned. “So!” exclaimed the man, who had summoned the rest. “ That's settled. Shall we carry him inside for his trial, or dispense wholly with the farce, and march straight to the Seine?” ‘“What does this mean?” I panted, still vainly struggling. ‘If you are pickpockets—”’ ‘ Pickpockets?’”’ echoed the spokes- man in high contempt. ‘“ Citizen Braith, we are as incorruptible as your beloved friend and patron, Maximilien Robes- pierre—whom may the guillotine feed upon!” “Amen!” chorused other voices from the darkness. “A bas Robespierre!” screamed a fishwife in the crowd, The rabble took up the cry. Clearly, the “ Incorruptible” was not popular here. And I, for some reason, was evi- dently supposed to be one of his sup- porters. “Vell ‘A bas Robespierre!? Citizen Braith,” suggested my first acquaintance, ‘“and we may make your end less pain- ful.” The idea appealed to the crowd, and a laugh arose. “© 4 bas Robespierre!’ by all means, 5A Soon I was. 207 if you like,” I retorted as unconcernedly as might be. “It is all one to me!” “See!” commented the man, “his own lieutenants cannot be loyal to the ‘Incorruptible.’ I’ll wager that even Couthon or St. Just would also have—” ‘Be still!”’ ordered a deeper voice, from the other side of the little circle. “That is not Citizen Braith’s voice. I ought to know. Bring a torch, some one.” : A flambeau was brought from a near- by huckster-stall. ‘The deep-voiced man —who was taller and better dressed than his colleagues, and seemed in authority —thrust it in front of my ‘ace, ‘There is some mistake here,” he an- nounced presently. ‘This is not Braith. Duval, you’ve made another of your stupid, absinthe-bred blunders.” ‘It zs Braith,” insisted the man with the knife. ‘“ He—’ “ZL ought to know,” interrupted the other. “It is not he, or any one close to Robespierre.” | “You are right, citizen,” spoke up another. “This is not Braith. I’ve seen him a hundred times.” “Well,” cheerfully observed the man called Duval, “why not kill him, any- how, on general principles? It will be symbolic. Like burning Braith in effigy. What do you say, brothers?” Another laugh went up at the grue- some pleasantry. But the leader inter- vened sharply: ‘“Are we patriots, or are we street- assassins ? ”’ Personally I thought the two might amount to much the same. “A mistake has been made here,’ he added. ‘Turning to me, and offering me my sword, hilt foremost, he cut short the wrangle by saying: “ Citizen, pray accept our apologies. ~ Ho, there! Give the citizen room to pass on his way. Good night!” Dazed, my brain awhirl, I returned his bow, took the proffered sword, and passed through the sullenly parted throng, out into the silence of the night beyond. As a man in a dream, I walked. My wonder is that I did not, in my absorp- tion, fall victim to the first footpad. Within the past thirty hours I had first been saved from a duel, because I MICO@OO S (C©)