University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

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THE REDWOOD. IS GREATER LOVE THAN THIS— RODNEY A. YOELL It was cold, so cold that the police- man on the beat huddled himself up to the box-stove in Heggarty ' s, and in company with several maudlin indi- viduals, told stories that at best were left unmentioned. He dared not go further than the door, which he approached on several occasions and opened, only to be driven back by the drizzle and biting cold wind which shook the murky window panes and howled wierdly through the telegraph wires. Now and then a cab could be heard rattling over the cobblestones, and once in a great while some deep- throated whistle warned boats on the bay that this was the night of all nights for a collision. But the bloated reprejsentative of law and order cared neither for the rain, or wind, or boats on the bay, for with plenty of whisky and such genial companions his time of duty would pass rapidly, and therefore laughter waxed louder and jests coarser. The building in which Heggarty had his establishment was a story-and a-half affair, and from the dingy warped window of the room enclosed therein, a sign swung creakingly in the wind. Had there been light sufficient for the purpose, you could have read inscribed in faded gold let- tess the words Dr. P. B. Haverhill, Physician Surgeon. And while in the room below Offi- cer Swane laughed and joked uproar- iously, Dr. Haverhill vainly tried to concentrate his mind on a worn copy of Turndoffsho ' s Surgical Pathology. But the thin, cheap boards of the flooring ill prevented the sounds of revelry from below entering his room, and therefore tlie Doctor studied in vain. Finally, unable to withstand the bedlam any longer, he closed the book, and laying his head on his arms flung himself on a miserable pallet and mused on the brevity of life. The Doctor was a young man and out of college some two years. In those two years he had lived a life of constant deterioration. Futily endeav- oring to uphold the ethics of his pro- fession he had rejected those precar- ious cases of malpractice which are so frequently offered to young physi- cians, and in spite of all his pressing financial needs, he remained firm, and so sank lower and low er until we find him flung hopelessly on his pallet, a man open to temptation and blasted in hope even at the dawn of his career. While the Doctor was musing the babble below ceased suddenly ; a voice could be heard talking in tones of in- tense excitement, to be followed pres- ently by a rush of feet up the stairs

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14 THE REDWOOD. Of course they were not slow in perceiving that this cell had been the home of the maniac. Gabelle, some- what curious to know something of his victim, searched the cell most thoroughly. Nothing beyond the or- dinary scant articles of the prison cell at first, revealed itself. But Monsieur Gabelle was not content. He exam- ined the walls, — not a crack or crevice in all four sides. Then looking care- fully around for several seconds, he suddenly started, — then stooped and picked up a small scrap of thin brown paper upon which there was the faint scribbling of a trembling hand. He lifted it up and read aloud : It is my only chance. They have been fighting now for hours. If the mob wins, this twenty years of hell, then, Pompadour and all your fiendish slaves, shall be at an end. I am almost crazy now, and if the guards win I shall certainly lose . Gabelle stopped ab- ruptly as the writing ended thus and slowly supplied the words, my mind. At this very juncture, the prisoner faithful to his diary, had gone insane. Instead of satisfying him this little note only whetted his curiosity. He continued his search for writing and after hunting assiduously for several minutes, the idea of the chimney sud- denly presented itself. Stepping across the cell, he examined it closely. In a moment he discovered that he could insert his hand through the narrow bars that enclosed the opening to the roof. He thrust his hand between them. His face, the evil face of Mon- sieur Gabelle, lighted up as he with- drew it and held out tightly a packet of papers bound by a string. He brought them to the light of the little square window, and drawing the diary close to his face began to read. But the voice of the cruel Gabelle choked on the very first word. His ruddy cheeks turned ashen white and the courageous rioter fell forward in a swoon. The event had been so strange that the other members of his party stood dazed. No one uttered a sound nor changed his position for a brief few seconds. Finally one of them ner- vously lifted the papers from the floor and read the cause of Monsieur ' s dis- may. But two words, carefully writ- ten on the outside of the diary, re- vealed the maniac: Leon Gabelle.

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16 THE REDWOOD. to the office and a pounding on the physician ' s door. Doctor, O Doctor, for God ' s sake open quick. Springing to his feet Dr. Haverhill rushed to his door, unbolted it, and admitted the officer, Heggarty, and a scared youth who continued his bawl- ing: Come quickly — Mrs. Lathrop, she ' s dying, sir. Come quickly — 238 Weber street. The Doctor having flung on his frayed and shabby overcoat, seized his satchel and rushed down the stairs, followed by the group. Across Gar- field Square they fled, passed the granite sides of the Hall of Records, through two blocks of Chinatown, and at last up Weber street to 238, where a creaking flight of stairs led to a dark, gas-lighted hall, at the end of which clustered a scared group of women. The Doctor took in the situation at a glance, saw what he had expected and hastily inspecting the group of women, singled out the most capable looking, and ordered : All the warm water and towe)ls you can bring me. You (indicating a second), come with me. They were fools to wait so long. Plunging into the room he banged the door behind him and commenced the struggle which was to endure for hours. All that night he labored, and at last in the early quiet of the morn- ing a plaintive, pathetic little wail went up, and even as the rising sun streaked pink the eastern sky, a new life was added to the world. Per- chance that plaintive utterance was the first protest of the newly born. The Doctor left while still the street lamps burned, tired in body, tired in mind. Thus amid dingy, sordid sur- rovmdings was Margaret born. Let me now draw a veil before the reader ' s eyes. Two years will have elapsed ere it will be cast aside and in two years many things may have transpired. Lives may have been lived, deaths may have been died, and in the life-stream of one of our char- acters a change has taken place in which the handiwork of God is at its greatest. Ascend with me, dear reader, a flight of rickety, creaky stairs and en- ter a hall which does not seem unfa- miliar. It is gas-lit, dim and murky, and if you tap a bell hung for that purpose, a woman will appear who is the landlady, and about her clings an air of familiarity even as about the hallway. Upon close scrutiny and if you vv ere observant the first time, you will now recognize her as the woman whom Dr. Haverhill signaled out from the clustered group in the same hallway at the opening of our story. This is Mrs. Murdock, proprietress of the rooming-house conducted at 238 Weber Street. She is a large woman, tall and broad, rather dis- heveled and somewhat untidy. Her mouth is puckered in a perpetual smile, owing to a peculiar burn. Her eyes are large and heavily-lidded;