Chapter 8

Barney's brief word of acknowledgment showed his resentment of Bulling's tone and his dislike of the man. It angered Barney to observe the familiar, almost confidential, manner of Dr. Bulling with Iola, but it made him more furious to notice that, instead of resenting, Iola seemed to be pleased with his manner. Just now, however, she was giving herself to Barney. Her pride in him, her joy in him, and her quiet appreciation of him, were evident to all, so evident, indeed, that after a few words Dr. Bulling took himself off.

“Brute!” said Barney as the doctor retired.

“Why, I am sure he seems very nice,” said Iola, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

“Nice!” said Barney contemptuously. “If you knew how the men speak of him about town you wouldn't call him nice. He has money, and he's in the swim, but he's a beast, all the same.”

“Oh, Barney, you mustn't say so!” cried Iola, “for you know he's been a great friend to me. He has been very kind. I am quite devoted to him.” Something in the tone of her voice, and more in the smile which she gave Barney, took the sting out of her words.

Before many minutes had passed the little group was broken up, chiefly because of the fact that Iola was soon surrounded by a circle of her own admiring friends, and among them the most insistent was Dr. Bulling, who finally, with bluff, good-natured but almost rude aggressiveness, carried her off to the tearoom. It took all the joy out of the day for Barney, and on his behalf, for Margaret and Dick, that for the rest of the afternoon Iola's attention was entirely absorbed by Dr. Bulling and his little coterie of friends.

And this feeling of disappointment in Iola and of resentment against Dr. Bulling he carried with him to a little stag dinner by the hospital staff at the Olympic that evening. The dinner was due chiefly to the exertions of Dr. Trent, and was intended by him not only to bring into closer touch with each other the members of the hospital staff, but also to be a kind of introduction of Barney to the inner circle of medical men in the city. For the past year Barney had acted as his clerk, almost as his assistant, and, indeed, Dr. Trent had made the formal proposition of an assistantship to him. Out of compliment to Barney, Dick had been invited, and young Drake also, who owed his parchment that day to Barney's merciless grinding in surgery, and perhaps more to his steadying friendship. Dr. Bulling, who, more for his great wealth and his large social connection than for his professional standing, had been invited, was present with Foxmore, Smead, and others who followed him about applauding his coarse jokes and accepting his favours. The dinner was purely informal in character, the menu well chosen, the wines abundant, and the drinking hard enough with some, with the result that as the dinner neared its end the men, and especially the group about Bulling, became more and more hilarious. Barney, who was drinking water and keeping his hand upon Drake's wineglass, found his attention divided between his conversation with Trent and the talk of Bulling, who, with his friends, sat across the table. As this group became more boisterous, they absorbed to themselves the attention of the whole company. Conscious of the prestige his wealth and social position accorded him, and inflamed by the wine he was drinking, Bulling became increasingly offensive. The talk degenerated. The stories and songs became more and more coarse in tone. It was Barney's first experience of a dinner of this kind, and it filled him with disgust and horror. Even Trent, by no means inexperienced in these matters, was disgusted with Bulling's tone. Following Barney's glances and aware of his wandering attention, he was about to propose a breakup of the party when he was arrested by a look of rigid and eager attention upon the face of his friend.

“Disgusting brute!” said Trent, in a low voice.

But Barney heeded him not. His attention was concentrated upon Bulling. He had his glass in his hand.

“Here's to the Lane!” he was saying, “the sweetest little Lane in all the world!”

“She's divine!” replied Foxmore. “And what a voice! She'll make Canada famous some day. Where did you discover her, Bulling?”

“In church,” replied Bulling solemnly, to the uproarious delight of his followers. “That's right,” he continued, “heard her sing, set things in motion, and now she's the leading voice in the cathedral. Introduced her to a few people, and there she is, the finest thing in her line in the city! Yes, and some day on the continent! A dear, sweet little lane it is,” he continued in a tone of affectionate proprietorship that made Barney grind his teeth in furious rage.

“That she is,” said Smead enthusiastically, “and thoroughly straight, too!”

“Oh,” said Foxmore, “there's no lane but has a turning. And trust Bulling,” he added coarsely, “for finding it out.”

“Well,” said Bulling, with a knowing smile, “this little Lane is straight. Of course there may be a slight deflection. Nature's lines run in curves, you know.” And again his wit provoked applauding laughter. But before the laughter had quite faded out a voice was heard, clear and cutting.

“Dr. Bulling, you are a base liar!” The words were plainly audible to every man in the room. A dead silence fell upon the company.

“What?” said the doctor, sitting up straight, as if he had not heard aright.

“I say you are a cowardly liar!”

“What the deuce do you mean?”

“You have just made an insinuation against the honour of a young lady. I say again you are a mean and cowardly liar. I want you to say so.”

For a moment or two Bulling's surprise kept him silent.

“Quite right,” said Trent. “Beastly cad!”

Then Dr. Bulling broke forth. “You impertinent young cub! What do you mean?”

For answer, Barney seized Drake's wineglass, half full of wine, and flung glass and contents full in Bulling's face. In an instant every man was on his feet. Above the din rose Foxmore's voice.

“Give it to him Bulling! Give it to the young prig!”

“No hurry about this, boys,” said Bulling quietly; “I'll make him eat his words before he's half an hour older.”

Meantime Dick was entreating his brother. “Let me at him. He's a great knocker. Held the 'varsity championship. You don't know anything about it. Let me at him, Barney. I can do him up.” Dick had been 'varsity champion in his own time. But Barney put Dick aside with quiet, stern words.

“Don't interfere, Dick. No matter what happens, don't interfere to-night. I won't have it, Dick, remember. It may take us an hour or it may take all night, but he'll say he lied before I'm through with him.”

Meantime the men, and chief among them Trent, were seeking to appease the doctor and to patch up the peace.

“If he apologizes I shall let the young cub off,” were the doctor's terms.

“If he says he lied,” was Barney's condition.

“Don't disturb yourselves, gentlemen,” said Bulling; “it will not take more than two minutes, and then we can finish our smoke.”

The moment they stood facing each other Barney rushed, only to receive a heavy blow which hurled him backward. It was plain he knew nothing of the game. It was equally plain that the doctor was entirely master of it. Again and again Barney rushed in wildly, the doctor easily blocking, avoiding and sending in killing blows, till at length bloody, dazed, panting, Barney had to lean against his friends to recover his wind and strength. Opposite him, cool, smiling, and untouched, stood his adversary.

“This is easy, boys,” he smiled. “Now, you young whipper-snapper,” he continued, addressing Barney, “perhaps you've had enough. Let me tell you, it's time for you to quit fooling, or, by the Eternal, I'll send you to sleep!” As he spoke he closed his teeth with a savage snap.

“Will you say you're a liar?” said Barney, facing his opponent again, and disregarding Dick's entreaties and warnings.

“Ah, quit it!” said the doctor contemptuously, “Come along, you fool, if you must have it!”

Once more Barney rushed. As he did so Bulling stopped him with a heavy left-hander on the face which sent him reeling backward, quickly following with his right and again with a last terrific blow upon the jaw of his dazed and reeling victim. Barney fell with a crash upon the floor, and lay quiet. With a cry Dick sprang at Bulling, but half a dozen men pulled him off.

“Let him come,” said Bulling, with a laugh, “I've a very fine assortment of the same kind. Families supplied on reasonable terms.”

Meantime, while the men were struggling with Dick, Dr. Trent and Drake were trying to revive poor Barney, bathing his face and hands.

“Stand back! Don't crowd about, men! Bring me a little brandy, someone,” said Dr. Trent. “A more cowardly brute I've never seen. You're a disgrace to the profession, Bulling.”

“Oh, thanks. I don't need your credentials, Trent,” said Bulling cynically.

But Trent, ignoring him, devoted himself to Barney, who showed signs of reviving. It was some minutes, however, before he could sit up. Meanwhile Bulling with his friends retired to the lavatory.

“Here, Boyle,” said Treat, holding a glass to his lips as Barney sat up, “a little more brandy and water.”

For a few moments after he drank the liquor Barney sat gazing stupidly about. Then, as full consciousness returned, cried out, “Where is he? He's not gone?” He seized the glass of brandy and water from Dr. Treat's hands and drank it off. “Get me another,” he said. “Is he gone?” he repeated, making an effort to rise.

“Never mind, Boyle, he's gone.”

“Wait till another day, Barney,” entreated Dick. “Never mind to-night.”

At this moment the sound of Dr. Bulling's voice, followed by loud laughter, came from the lavatory. At once Barney stood up, walked to the table, poured out a glass of brandy and drank it raw. For a minute he stood stretching his arms.

“Ah, that's better,” he said, and started toward the lavatory, but Dick clung to him.

“Barney, listen to me,” he entreated, his voice coming in broken sobs. “He'll kill you. Let me take your place.”

“Dick, keep out of it,” said Barney. “Don't worry. He'll hurt me no more, but he'll say it before I'm done.” And, throwing off the restraining hands, he made his way into the lavatory. Dr. Bulling was arranging his collar before a glass. As Barney entered he turned around.

“I'm sorry, Boyle,” he began, “but you brought it on yourself, you know.”

Barney walked straight up to him.

“I didn't hear you say you are a liar.”

“Look here,” cried Bulling, “haven't you got enough. Be thankful you're not killed. Go on! Get home! I don't run a butcher shop!”

“Will you say you're a liar and a cowardly liar?”

Barney's voice had in it the ring of cold steel.

“I say, boys,” said Bulling, appealing to the crowd, “keep this fool off. I don't want to kill him.”

Foxmore, with some of the others, approached Barney.

“Now, Boyle, quit it,” said Foxmore. “There's no use, you see.” He laid his hand on Barney's arm.

Barney put his hand against his breast, appearing to brush him aside, but Foxmore touched nothing till he struck the wall ten feet away.

“Get back!” cried Barney, springing away from the men approaching him. As he spoke, he seized a small oak dressing table by one of its legs, swung it round his head, dashed it to pieces on the marble floor, and, putting his foot upon the wreckage, with one mighty wrench had the leg free in his hand.

“You men stand back,” he said in a low voice, “and don't any of you interfere.”

Amazed at this exhibition of furious strength, the men started back to their places, leaving a wide space about him.

“Good heavens!” said Bulling, his face turning a shade pale, “the man is mad! Call a policeman, some of you.”

“Drake, lock that door and bring me the key,” said Barney.

As Barney put the key in his pocket and turned again toward Bulling, the latter's pallor increased. “I take you men to witness,” he said, appealing to the company, “if murder is done I'm not responsible. I'm defending my life. Remember, I'll strike to kill.”

“No, Dr. Bulling,” said Barney, handing his club to Drake, “you won't strike at all. I've had my lesson. You'll strike me no more. The boxing exhibition is over. This is a fight till you can fight no more.”

The doctor's nerve was fast going. Barney stood cool, quiet, and terrible.

“I'll give you your chance once again,” he said. “Will you say you are a cowardly liar?”

Dr. Bulling glanced at the group back of him, read pain in their faces, hesitated a moment, then, pulling himself together, said, with an evident effort at bluster, “Not by a ---- sight! Come on! Take your medicine!” But the lesson of the last half hour had not been lost on Barney. Up and down the long room, circling about his man, feinting to draw his attack, eluding, and again feinting, Barney kept his antagonist in such rapid motion and so intensely on the alert that his wind began to fail him, and it soon became evident that he could not stand the pace for very long.

“You've got him!” cried Dick, in an ecstasy of expectation. “Keep it up, Barney! That's the game! You'll have him in five minutes more!”

“Quite evident,” echoed Dr. Trent quietly, hugely enjoying the change in the situation.

Dr. Bulling heard the words. His pallor deepened. Red blotches began to appear on his cheek. The sweat stood out upon his forehead. His breath came in short gasps. He knew he could not last much longer. His only hope lay in immediate attack. He must finish off his man within the next minute or accept defeat. Nature was now taking revenge upon him for his long outraging of her laws. Barney, on the other hand, though bruised and battered about the face, was stepping about easily and lightly, without any sign of the terrible punishment he had suffered. Reading his opponent's face he knew that the moment for a supreme effort had arrived, and waited for his plan to develop. There was only one thing for Bulling to do. Edging his opponent toward the corner and summoning his fast failing strength for a final attack, he forced him hard back into the angle of the wall. He had him now. One clean blow and all would be over.

“Look out, Barney!” yelled Dick.

Suddenly, as if shot from a steel spring, Barney crouched low and leaped at his man, and disregarding two heavy blows, thrust one long arm forward and with his sinewy fingers gripped his enemy's throat. “Ha!” he cried with savage exultation, holding off his foe at arm's length. “Now! Now! Now!” As he uttered each word between his clenched teeth he shook the gasping, choking wretch as a dog shakes a rat. In vain his victim struggled to get free, now striking wild and futile blows, now clutching and clawing at those terrible gripping fingers. His face grew purple; his tongue protruded; his breath came in rasping gasps; his hands fell to his side. “Keep your hands so,” hissed Barney, loosening his grip to give him air. “Ha! would you? Don't you move!” gripping him hard again. “There!” loosening once more, “now, are you a liar? Speak quick!” The blue lips made an attempt at the affirmation of which the head made the sign. “Say it again. Are you a liar?” Once more the head nodded and the lips attempted to speak. “Yes,” said Barney, still through his clenched teeth, “you are a cowardly liar!” The words came forth with terrible deliberation. “I could kill you with my hands as you stand. But I won't, you cur! I'll just do this.” As he spoke he once more tightened his grip upon the throat and swung his open hand on the livid cheek.

“For God's sake, Boyle,” cried Foxmore, “let up! That's enough!”

“Yes, it's enough,” said Barney, flinging the semi-conscious man on the floor, “it's enough for him. Foxmore, you laughed, I think, when he uttered that lie,” he said in a voice smooth, almost sweet, but that chilled the hearts of the hearers, “you laughed. You were a beastly cad, weren't you? Speak!”

“What? I--I--” gasped Foxmore, backing into the corner.

“Quick, quick!” cried Barney, stepping lightly toward him on his toes, “say it quick!” His fingers were working convulsively.

“Yes, yes, I was!” cried Foxmore, backing further away behind the others.

“Yes,” cried Barney, his voice rising hoarse, “you would all of you laugh at that brute ruin the name and honour of a lonely girl!” He walked up and down before the group which stood huddled in the corner in abject terror, more like a wild beast than a man. “You're not fit to live! You're beasts of prey! No decent girl is safe from you!” His voice rose loud and thin and harsh. He was fast losing hold of himself. His ghastly face, bloody and horribly disfigured, made an appalling setting for his blazing eyes. Nearer and nearer the crowd he walked, gnashing and grinding his teeth till the foam fell from his lips. The wild fury of his Highland ancestors was turning him into a wild beast with a wild beast's lust of blood. Further and further back cowered the group without a word, so utterly panic-stricken were they.

“Barney,” said Dick quietly, “come home.” He stopped short, with a mighty effort recalling his reason. For a few moments he stood silent looking at the floor, then, raising his eyes, he let them rest upon the doctor, who was leaning against the wall, and, without a word, turned and slowly passed out of the room.

“Gad!” said Foxmore, with a horrible gasp of relief, “if the devil looks like that I never want to see him.”

XI

IOLA'S CHOICE

Iola was undoubtedly pleased; her lips parting in a half smile, her eyes shining through half-closed lids, her whole face glowing with a warm light proclaimed the joy in her heart. The morning letters lay on her table. She sat some moments holding one which she had opened, while she gazed dreamily out through the branches of the big elms that overshadowed her window. She would not move lest the dream should break and vanish. As she lay back in her chair looking out upon the moving leaves and waving boughs, she allowed the past to come back to her. How far away seemed the golden days of her Southern childhood. Almost her first recollection of sorrow, certainly the first that made any deep impression upon her heart, was when the men carried out her father in a black box and when, leaving the big house with the wide pillared veranda, she was taken to the chilly North. How terribly vivid was the memory of her miserable girlhood, poverty pressed and loveless, her soul beating like a caged bird against the bars of the cold and rigid discipline of her aunt's well-ordered home. Then came the first glad freedom from dependence when first she undertook to earn her own bread as a teacher. Freedom and love came to her together, freedom and love and friendship in the Manse and the Old Stone Mill. With the memory of the Mill, there rose before her, clear-limned and vividly real, one face, rugged, strong, and passionate, and the thought of him brought a warmer light to her eyes and a stronger beat to her heart. Every feature of the moonlight scene on the night of the barn-raising when first she saw him stood out with startling distinctness, the new skeleton of the barn gleaming bony and bare against the sky, the dusky forms crowding about, and, sitting upon a barrel across the open moonlit space of the barn floor, the dark-faced lad playing his violin and listening while she sang. At that point it was that life for her began.

A new scene passed before her eyes. It was the Manse parlour, the music professor with dirty, claw-like fingers but face alight with rapturous delight playing for her while she sang her first great oratorio aria. She could feel to-day that mysterious thrill in the dawning sense of new powers as the old man, with his hands upon her shoulders, cried in his trembling, broken voice, “My dear young lady, the world will listen to you some day!” That was the beginning of her great ambition. That day she began to look for the time when the world would come to listen. Then followed weary days and weeks and months and years, weary with self-denials new to her and with painful struggling with unmusical pupils, for she needed bread; weary with heart-breaking strivings and failings in the practice of her art, but, worst of all, weary to heart-break with the patronage of the rich and flattering friends--how she loathed it--of whom Dr. Bulling was the most insistent and the most objectionable. And then this last campaign, with its plans and schemes for a place in the great Philharmonic which would at once insure not only her standing in the city, but a New York engagement as well. And now the moment of triumph had arrived. The letter she held in her hand was proof of it. She glanced once more at the written page, her eye falling upon a phrase here and there, “We have succeeded at last--the Duff Charringtons have surrendered--you only want a chance--here it is--you can do the part well.” She smiled a little. Yes, she knew she could do the part. “And now let nothing or nobody prevent you from accepting Mrs. Duff Charrington's invitation for next Saturday. It is a beautiful yacht and well found, and I am confident the great lady will be gracious--bring your guitar with you, and if you will only be kind, I foresee two golden days in store for me.” She allowed a smile slightly sarcastic to curl her lips.

“The doctor is inclined to be poetical. Well, we shall see. Saturday? That means Sunday spent on board the yacht. I wish they had it made another day. Margaret won't like it, and Barney won't either.”

For a moment or two she allowed her mind to go back to the Sundays spent in the Manse. She had never known the meaning of the day before. The utter difference in feeling, in atmosphere, between that day and the other days of the week, the subduing quiet, the soothing peace, and the sense of sacredness that pervaded life on that day, made the Sabbaths in the Manse like blessed isles of rest in the sea of time. Never, since her two years spent there, had she been able to get quite away from the sense of obligation to make the day differ from the ordinary days of the week. No, she was sure Barney would not like it. Still, she could spend its hours quietly enough upon the yacht.

She picked up another letter in a large square envelope, the address written in bold characters. “This is the Duff Charrington invitation, I suppose,” she said, opening the letter. “Well, she does it nicely, at any rate, even if, as Dr. Bulling suggests, somewhat against her inclination.”

Again she sat back in silent dreaming, her eyes looking far away down the coming years of triumph. Surely enough, the big world was drawing near to listen. All she had read of the great queens of song, Patti, Nilsson, Rosa, Trebelli, Sterling, crowded in upon her mind, their regal courts thronged by the great and rich of every land, their country seats, their luxurious lives. At last her foot was in the path. It only remained for her to press forward. Work? She well knew how hard must be her daily lot. Yes, but that lesson she had learned, and thoroughly well, during these past years, how to work long hours, to deny herself the things her luxurious soul longed for, and, hardest of all, to bear with and smile at those she detested. All these she would endure a little longer. The days were coming when she would have her desire and do her will.