“Mama, in heaven’s name —” Helen began furiously.
At this moment Gant strode in out of the dusk, carrying a mottled package of pork chops, and muttering rhetorically to himself.
There was another long peal of laughter above.
He halted abruptly, startled, and lifted his head.
Luke, listening attentively at the foot of the stairs, exploded in a loud boisterous guffaw, and the girl, her annoyance changing at once to angry amusement, walked toward her father’s inquiring face, and prodded him several times in the ribs.
“Hey?” he said startled.
“What is it?”
“Miss Eliza’s got a crazy man upstairs,” she sniggered, enjoying his amazement.
“Jesus God!” Gant yelled frantically, wetting his big thumb swiftly on his tongue, and glancing up toward his Maker with an attitude of exaggerated supplication in his small gray eyes and the thrust of his huge bladelike nose.
Then, letting his arms slap heavily at his sides, in a gesture of defeat, he began to walk rapidly back and forth, clucking his deprecation loudly.
Eliza stood solidly, looking from one to another, her lips working rapidly, her white face hurt and bitter.
There was another long howl of mirth above.
Gant paused, caught Helen’s eye, and began to grin suddenly in an unwilling sheepish manner.
“God have mercy on us,” he chuckled.
“She’ll have the place filled with all of Barnum’s freaks the next thing you know.”
At this moment, Simon, self-contained, distinguished and grave in his manner, descended the steps with Mr. Gilroy and Mr. Flannagan, his companions.
The two guards were red in the face, and breathed stertorously as if from some recent exertion.
Simon, however, preserved his habitual appearance of immaculate and well-washed urbanity.
“Good evening,” he remarked suavely.
“I hope I have not kept you waiting long.”
He caught sight of Eugene.
“Come here, my boy,” he said very kindly.
“It’s all right,” remarked Mr. Gilroy, encouragingly.
“He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Eugene moved into the presence.
“And what is your name, young man?” said Simon with his beautiful devil’s smile.
“Eugene.”
“That’s a very fine name,” said Simon.
“Always try to live up to it.”
He thrust his hand carelessly and magnificently into his coat pocket, drawing out under the boy’s astonished eyes, a handful of shining five — and ten-cent pieces.
“Always be good to the birds, my boy,” said Simon, and he poured the money into Eugene’s cupped hands.
Every one looked doubtfully at Mr. Gilroy.
“Oh, that’s all right!” said Mr. Gilroy cheerfully.
“He’ll never miss it.
There’s lots more where that came from.”
“He’s a mul-tye-millionaire,” Mr. Flannagan explained proudly.
“We give him four or five dollars in small change every morning just to throw away.”
Simon caught sight of Gant for the first time.
“Look out for the Stingaree,” he cried.
“Remember the Maine.”
“I tell you what,” said Eliza laughing. “He’s not so crazy as you think.”
‘That’s right,” said Mr. Gilroy, noting Gant’s grin.
“The Stingaree’s a fish.
They have them in Florida.”
“Don’t forget the birds, my friends,” said Simon, going out with his companions.
“Be good to the birds.”
They became very fond of him.
Somehow he fitted into the pattern of their life.
None of them was uncomfortable in the presence of madness.
In the flowering darkness of Spring, prisoned in a room, his satanic laughter burst suddenly out: Eugene listened, thrilled, and slept, unable to forget the smile of dark flowering evil, the loose pocket chinking heavily with coins.