"Say," he said as they finally dropped back, "I'd offer to buy a drink,
only it sounds flat."
"And it would taste flat after a mighty wine like this," replied Cutty.
"Maybe you've heard of the nectar of the gods. Well, you've just drunk
it, my friend."
"I sure have. Those kids out there, smiling after all that hell; and you
and me on the sidewalk, blubbering over 'em! What's the answer? We're
Americans!"
"You said it. Good-bye."
Cutty pressed on to the flow and went along with it, lighter in the
heart than he had been in many a day. These two million who lined Fifth
Avenue, who cheered, laughed, wept, went silent, cheered again, what
did their presence here signify? That America's day had come; that as a
people they were homogeneous at last; that that which laws had failed to
bring forth had been accomplished by an ideal.
Bolshevism, socialism--call it what you will--would beat itself into
fragments against this Rock of Democracy, which went down to the centre
of the world and whose pinnacle touched the stars. Reincarnation; the
simple ideals of the forefathers restored. And with this knowledge
tingling in his thoughts--and perhaps there was a bit of spring in
his heart--Cutty continued on, without destination, chin jutting, eyes
shining. He was an American!
He might have continued on indefinitely had he not seen obliquely a
window filled with musical instruments.
Hawksley's fiddle! He had all but forgotten. All right. If the poor
beggar wanted to scrape a fiddle, scrape it he should. The least he,
Cutty, could do would be to accede to any and every whim Hawksley
expressed. Wasn't he planning to rob the beggar of the drums, happen
they ever turned up? But how the deuce to pick out a fiddle which would
have a tune in it? Of all the hypercritical duffers the fiddler was the
worst. Beside a fiddler of the first rank the rich old maid with the
poodle was a hail fellow well met.
Of course Gregor had taught the chap. That meant he would know
instantly; just as his host would instantly observe the difference
between green glass and green beryl.
Cutty turned into the shop, infinitely amused. Fiddles! What next?
Having constituted a guardianship over Kitty, he was now playing
impressario to Hawksley. As if he hadn't enough parts to play! Wouldn't
he be risking his life to-night trying to find where Stefani Gregor was?
Fiddles! Fiddles and emeralds! What a choice old hypocrite he was!
Fate has a way of telling you all about it--afterward; conceivably, that
humanity might continue to reproduce its species. Otherwise humanity
would proceed to extinguish itself forthwith. Thus, Cutty was totally
unaware upon entering the shop that he was about to tear off its hinges
the door he was so carefully bolting and latching and padlocking between
Kitty Conover and this duffer who wanted to fiddle his way through
convalescence.