The next morning Jordan Morse rose after a sleepless night, his face drawn in long, deep-set lines. The hours had been spent in futile planning. To save himself from the dire consequences of his misdeeds, to procure the money which would come to Jinnie when she was eighteen years old, was the one idea that dinned constantly at his brain. She and the cobbler would have to be put out of the way, and this must be done before Theodore announced publicly his intention of marrying the girl. Jordan had no wish to break his friendship with Theodore, so he could do nothing openly. If it were a mere case of filching what little he could from Jinnie’s estate before she became of age, it would be an easy matter, but the girl must disappear. How? Where? There was finality in one of his decisions that moment. He must get possession of her that very day. Theodore would let no grass grow under his feet. He would marry her offhand, and educate her afterwards.

Jordan wondered vaguely if the Jewish cobbler had an enemy among the shortwood gatherers. If so, and the man could be found, it would bring his own salvation.

With this desire uppermost in his mind, Jordan wended his way to the lower part of the town, passed into Paradise Road, and paused a second in front of Lafe Grandoken’s shop to read the sign: 228

“Lafe Grandoken: Cobbler of Folks’ and Children’s Shoes and Boots.”

His lips curled at the crude printing, and he went on past the remaining shanties to the entrance to the marsh. At the path where Jinnie had so many times brought forth her load of wood, he paused again and glanced about. As far north as he could see, the marsh stretched out in misty greenness. The place seemed to be without a human being, until Jordan suddenly heard the crackling of branches, and there appeared before him a young man with deep-set, evil eyes, and large, pouting mouth. Upon his shoulders was a shortwood strap.

At the sight of Mr. Morse, the wood gatherer hesitated, made a sort of obeisance, and proceeded to move on. Jordan stopped him with a motion of his hand.

“In a hurry?” he asked good-naturedly.

“Got to sell my wood,” growled the man.

Morse appraised him with an analytical glance.

“What’s your name?” he demanded.

“Maudlin Bates. What’s yours?”

“Jordan Morse.... Just wait a minute. I want to talk to you.”

Down came the shortwood strap on the ground. Maudlin scented something interesting.

“I got to sell my wood,” he repeated, surly-toned. However, he nodded his head when Jordan explained that it might be to his advantage to tarry a while.

“I’ll pay you for your time,” agreed Morse eagerly.

Side by side they seated themselves on a fallen tree. The young wood gatherer looked wicked enough to do anything that might be requested of him.

“Are you married?” asked Morse.

Maudlin’s face darkened.

“No,” he grunted moodily. 229

“Ha! In love? I see!” laughed the other.

Maudlin turned sheepish eyes on his interrogator; then looked down, flushed, and finished:

“I’d a been married all right if it hadn’t been for a damn bloke along Paradise Road,” he explained.

“Yes? Tell me about it.”

“Oh, what’s the use! Everybody’s stickin’ their noses in my business, and it ain’t nothin’ to do with ’em uther.”

“I might help you,” suggested Jordan, seemingly interested.

“Ain’t anybody c’n help me,” sulked Maudlin. “Got the richest man in town ’gainst me, and money’s what makes the mare go.”

The words “richest man” startled Morse, but he only said, “That’s so! But tell me just the same.”

“Aw, it’s only a wench I wanted! A mutt by the name of King butted in on me.”

Jordan Morse mentally congratulated himself that he had struck the right nail on the head the very first whack.

To gain possession of Jinnie’s money meant finding his boy, and that was the dearest wish of his heart.

“You might tell me about it,” he reiterated slowly. “I ought to be able to help you.”

“Naw, you can’t!” scoffed Maudlin. “My pa and me’s tried for a long time, but there ain’t nothin’ doin’ with Jinnie. She’s a sure devil, Jinnie is.”

Jordan’s blood tingled in anticipation.

“Is that the girl’s name?” he queried.

“Yes, she’s a niece of a cobbler up the track yonder, and as pretty a little minx as walks Paradise Road. If I had ’er I’d fix her. I’d beat her till she minded me, I c’n tell y’ that!”

“I believe beating’s the way to subdue most women,” said Morse, lighting a cigarette. But as he said this, a 230 slight smile passed over his face. He thought of Molly Merriweather in connection with the man’s logic.

“It’s the way pa done to my stepmother,” observed Maudlin presently. “She was a onery woman as ever you see, but pa one day just licked her, and then licked ’er every day till now she don’t dast but mind ’im.... I’d do that with Jinnie if I had ’er.”

Morse watched rings of smoke curl upward in the summer air, breaking among the branches of the trees.

“Why don’t you steal ’er?” he demanded at length.

Bates’ lower jaw fell down, showing discolored teeth. He stared at his inquisitor in consternation. Then he dropped back into his former slovenly attitude.

“I never thought o’ that,” said he.

“I’ll help you,” offered Morse, carelessly, brushing ashes from his coat lapel.

Maudlin turned his eyes slowly from their straight ahead position until they came directly upon the handsome face of the other man. Then the two looked long and steadily at each other.

“What’re you drivin’ at?” blurted Bates.

“Only that I’m also interested in getting Jinnie away from Grandoken. The fact is I hate King, and I think it’s a good way to get even with him.”

He refrained, however, from mentioning he was Jinnie’s relative.

“D’you have me in mind when you come here?” questioned Bates.

“No! But I felt sure there’d be some young buck round here who’d fallen in love with the girl before this. And I found you without asking––”

“I’d make her beg me to marry her after I’d had ’er a week or two,” interrupted Maudlin, with dilating pupils. “How could we steal ’er?” 231

“Just steal ’er, I said,” replied Morse.

“And I said, ‘How?’”

Morse waited a minute until Bates repeated once more, “How, mister?” then he asked:

“Can you run a motor car?”

“No, but my pa can.”

“My God! You musn’t mention this to any one, not even your father. I’ll run the car myself. You go to the cobbler and by some excuse get the girl in the car—after that I’ll see to her.”

Bates narrowed his eyes.

“No, you won’t see to nothin’,” he growled surlily. “I don’t take a step till I know I get ’er. I’ll marry ’er all right, but she’s got to want to marry me first.”

“I don’t care what you do with ’er,” replied Morse morosely. “Marry ’er or not, just get her, that’s all!”

“The cobbler’s got a vixen of a wife,” complained Maudlin at length.

“Persuade her to go somewhere, can’t you?” snapped Morse.

“Yes, that’s easy,” drawled Maudlin, wobbling his head.

For a long time they sat talking and planning, until at length Morse put his hand in his pocket and handed the other man some money. Maudlin tucked it away with a grin.

“Easy cash, eh? What’d you say the dame’s name was?”

“Merriweather—Molly Merriweather. She’s companion to Mr. King’s mother.”

“Jinnie fiddles all the afternoon.... Mebbe she won’t go.”

“Yes, she will. Tell her Miss Merriweather wants her to arrange a surprise for Theodore King. Tell ’er Miss Merriweather wants her to play.” 232

Bates laughed evilly.

“That’ll fix the huzzy. Anything about that damn fiddle’ll fetch ’er every time! When I get ’er I’ll bust it up for kindlin’ wood.”

“Then it’s settled,” said Morse, rising. “You go this afternoon at three o’clock to Grandoken’s, tell Jinnie what I told you to, get the cobbler into an argument, and I’ll do the rest.”

“You’ll be sure to be there?”

“Of course! What’d you think I am? Keep your mouth shut! Be sure of that.”

“Three o’clock, then,” said Maudlin, getting up. “So long!” and lifting his wood, he went on his way rejoicing.