University of Virginia Library

50. CHAPTER L.
BOB'S LAST FIGHT.

The careful reader may perhaps remember
that our lastest intelligence of Miss Hattie
Brooks was of an unsatisfactory character. She
was, in fact, represented in that condition of
mind which ardent and volatile natures are subject
to in the absence of the person of the opposite
sex whom they have honored with their regard.

Miss Brooks would doubtless have remained
faithful to Bob Shaw, if Bob Shaw had remained
by her side to assist in the difficult but
noble work of being faithful. But Bob Shaw
was at Red Mountain and Miss Brooks was in
San Francisco. Bob Shaw's occasional letters
were a great comfort, but far less powerful supporters
of good resolutions than Bob Shaw's
presence would have been.

The enemy of mankind is said to be a personage
of great perspicacity in the matter of opportunity.
He attacks most vigorously when
the object of his attack is least prepared for defense.

The enemy appeared to Miss Brooks in the
form of a young man. He appeared in the
form of a young man precisely when the maiden
was vehemently lamenting the absence of another
young man to whom she had given as much of
her heart as her nature would permit her to part
with.

The enemy, therefore choosing this implement of
attack, and selecting his opportunity with so much address,
enjoyed an easy victory. Long before Bob Shaw
returned from Red Mountain, the lively young lady
had given another the right to fight her battles.

In good time—or in bad time, as the case might be
—Bob Shaw returned to San Francisco. His return
created quite a commotion in the free-and-easy club,
and the members looked forward to stirring times.
Bob was not the boy to put with any interference
with his rights, and the conviction was universal that
Bob would make it very lively for his successful rival.

This successful rival was a young man who had seen
life in its roughest phases. He had been a soldier under
Stonewall Jackson, and had his scars to show for
it. His name was Benjamin Root. He stood five feet
eleven inches in his stockings, and six feet one in his
boots. His figure certainly was not symmetrical, but
it presented points that could not fall to strike the eye
of one accustomed to estimate physical strength by
the human form.

To do Miss Brooks justice, we must say that she
was not ambitious of playing the role of Helen. When
she heard that Bob had returned, she proposed to her
new admirer a compromise. She would return to her
allegiance and assume the responsibility of the little
infidelity which threatened such serious results.

Mr. Benjamin Root—or Ben Root, as he was familiarly
called—would not hear to this compromise. He
had his own ideas of honor—ideas which did not permit
him to retreat in the face of an enemy. He commanded
Miss Brooks to remain faithful to her present
relations, and let Bob Shaw and himself settle the
little difficulty in their own way.

The etiquette of these circles compelled Miss Brooks
to acquiesce. She would not be justified by her associates
in “shaking” her admirer until he had failed
to demonstrate his ability to defend himself from the
attack of his rival.

Bob's first interview with his old associates caused
much surprise. He was as frank and hearty as ever,
but he didn't seem the least offended at Miss Brooks's
inconstancy. He first met her in company with a
number of their mutual friends, and, with the impartiality
of a truly noble nature, kissed all the girls, including
Miss Brooks. Then he turned carelessly, and,
recognizing Mr. Raot, nodded pleasantly and held out
his hand. And there, in the presence of at least a
dozen members of the free-and-easy club, the rivals
stood and talked as pleasantly as if there had been no
cause of quarrel between them.

The free-and easy club was terribly scandalized
Their leader had not shown his accustomed spirit. No
one dared to intimate that Bob Shaw was afraid, but
be was certainly less impetuous than formerly. The
air of Red Mountain evidently had not agreed with
him.

Miss Brooks was chagrined. Bob's acceptance of
the situation not only wounded her pride, but it
wounded that other part of herself which from the
forces of custom she called her affections. If she
loved Ben Root at hand better than she loved Bob
Shaw at a distance, her love quickly returned to the
latter when the matter of distances was equalized.

But Bob remained unconscious of the criticisms
which were being freely passed upon his conduct.
He was liberally supplied with money, and he scattered
it with a free hand. Entertainment after entertainment
was gotten up at his expense, but he neither
made love to Hattie Brooks nor quarreled with Hattie
Brooks's admirer.

Ben Root rather plumed himself on Bob's forbearance.
He intimated to his companions that the secret
of that forbearance lay in his own reputation as a
“fighting man.” He intimated, moreover, an intimation
to drive Bob to the wall—to make him fight or admit
a disinclination to engage a man of Mr. Root's
prowess and reputation.

When Bob was told of this boast he laughed pleasantly.
His companions, however, thought they saw
mischief in his eye. Bob had always had on ugly habit
of laughing when he had a serious affair on his hands,
but his laugh could not be relied on as an evidence of
true amiability of disposition. The boys, therefore
came to the conclusion that on some fine day Bob
would redeem his reputation.

The fine day came. The Free-and-Easy Social Club
gave their quarterly social about a month after Bob's
return to the city. Bob could not well decline to attend,
and the etiquette of the club would not permit
him to attend without escorting a lady. It Bob invited
Miss Brooks matters between him and Mr. Root
would be brought to a speedy issue. If he did not invite
Miss Brooks he would abandon all pretentions to
that lady.

The club were in a high state of excitement. The
ladies discussed the chances with as much interest as
the gentlemen. The opinion was universal that Bob
would invite Miss Brooks, and that the young lady
would accept the invitation.

The eventful evening came. The company assembled
early. The first sensation was the appearance of
Miss Brooks with Mr. Root. The second and greater
sensation was the appearance of Bob Shaw with an exceedingly
pretty young girl, who was known to but
few of the members of the club. She was very young
very pretty, very bright, and as audacious as pretty
as California girls usually are.

It was her first ball. She had awakened one morning
recently and found herself a woman. She was impatient
for all the pleasures to which in her new estate
she seemed to be heir. She appreciated the eclat attending
her debut. The circumstances suited her
disposition. She knew that every eye was upon her,
but she had eyes only for her handsome escort.

Bob was in high spirits. He seemed unconscious
of having forfeited his claim to the respect of his fellow
members by his surrender of his former queen to
a rival.

Miss Brooks would have borne his desertion with
some show of equanimity, if he had substituted in her
place a passably pretty girl; but Miss Etta Clark
though only fifteen, was the belle of the ball-room.
She was also the best dancer in an assembly of ladies
who prided themselves on their proficiency in this accomplishment.
She was something of a flirt, also;
despite her attentions to her escort, she continued to be
surrounded by half the young gentlemen in the room.
Miss Brooks, usually the belie, was almost neglected.
What she suffered hat night no one but a woman can
know. The first impulse of her weak heart was to be
angry, and she passed Bob with a freezing bow. Bob
returned the nod, with a nod, and actually went on
with his nonsense as if nothing had happened.

Late in the evening she found an opportunity to
seize upon the delinquent for a promenade. Abandoning
the angry dodge as one not likely to be productive
of pleasing results, she became a suppliant.

“Bob,” she said, “you will break my heart.”

“Break what?”

“My heart! I can't bear this!”

“Come, come, Hattie! don't get spooney in your
old age. You're a nice girl, but a shade too fickle.
You know you always had a leaning that way.”

“Bob, I never cared for a man but you.”

“Well, I can't say as to that. Rootie wouldn't like
to hear you talk that way, I reckon.”

“I don't care for Mr. Root!—you know very well I
don't!”

“That's between you and him. Don't count me
in.”

“Bob.”

“Well.”

“Will you forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive. A girl belongs to herself till
she gets a husband.”

“But we used to be such good friends.”

“True—we stuck together a long time. Always did
the right thing by you until you shook me.”

“But I didn't mean to. Bob—you know I didn't.”

“Don't know—looked like it.”

“Well,” she continued, pressing his arm, “if you
say so, I will never speak to Root again.”

“Can't encourage you in this wholesale shaking
business. Better stick to Rootie, now you've got
him.”

Miss Brooks comprehended that she had attacked
clumsily, and was humiliating herself without producing
an impression upon the object of her affections.
Perhaps it was this feeling of mortification—
perhaps the effects of a real disappointment—that
caused her, as she passed the door of the ladies' retiring
room, to leave Bob's side suddenly, cover her
face with her hands, and dart through the doorway.
When her friends gathered round her, a moment
later, she was weeping bitterly—too bitterly, in fact,
to tell what was the matter.

The girls could only attribute her tears to one cause.
That cause was Bob. In the flush of resentment the
loyalty of the sex to each other rose superior to reason.
No one asked what Bob had said or done, but the rumor
went round that the maiden had been insulted.

The rumor reached the ears of Mr. Root. Mr. Root
went in search of the offender. Bob's fault was not
that of shirking a responsibility, and he readily permitted
himself to be found. Those who had thought
that he shrank from an encounter with his rival, were
speedily undeceived. His handsome face wore that
serene smile which was never so expressive as when
about to engage in a personal conflict.

“Well, Rootie,” he said, “some of the boys said
you was looking for me.”

“Mr. Shaw,” replied the other, “you've insulted a
lady who is under my protection.”

“That's a lie!” returned Bob; “but if it will answer
your purpose, just consider it true.”

Bob's readiness to accept the situation delighted his
friends. Mr. Root, pale with anger, began to prepare
for an immediate combat.”

“Keep cool,” said Bob. “We have ladies to take
care of, and the chances are that, after our little settlement,

one of us won't be in a very good condition to
serve as a lady's escort. Let us wait till daylight.
There's a nice place not far off, which all the boys
know as the vacant corner. I'll be there at daybreak.”

So reasonable a position could but commend itself
to the intelligent minds to whom it was addressed.
Mr. Root was admonished, in the classical language of
the club, to restrain his impatience.

“There's no danger about Bob,” said one; “he'll be
there. If anybody's missing, it will be the other
fellow.”

The club reasoned that a combat, preceded by certain
preliminaries, would be regarded as a greater
event than a combat entered upon the spur of the moment.
So Mr. Root was compelled perforce to repress
the ardor which prompted him to avenge an insult
upon a lady who did him the honor to accept his protection.

The bail continued until late in the morning. The
coming fight was the topic of the evening. Ladies
openly regretted that an absurd public opinion would
not permit them to be witnesses to the affair. Bob
was a favorite, both in a sentimental point of view and
as subject for a wager. He had the cleanest record of
any fellow in the club. He had never been whipped
and the girls bet heaps of candy that he would “get
away” with his stalwart antagonist.

The young ladies were escorted home at last, and
parted from their escorts with the injunction to bring
the earliest news from the field of battle. Bed was a
thing no one thought of under such exciting circumstances.

In the gray of dawn about a hundred young fellows
assembled at the vacant corner. The “corner” comprised
a quarter of a block. There were dwelling
houses in the distance, but the adjacent buildings
were otherwise occupied. Isolated as it was, with a
clean turf, it was a favorite resort for the boys when
any serious affair was on hand.

In selecting early dawn as the time for the meeting.
Bob had severely tested his own and his antagonist's
nerve. A man who will fight at five in the morning
must be influenced by a very pressing consideration.
It is an hour when bed seems particularly inviting.
The blood runs low, and the craven in a man's nature
takes that time to urge its scruples. The gravish hue
that pervades earth and sky protests against the sight
of crimson blood.

But Bob had never approached combat with so desperate
a purpose. He resented the conduct of Root
—not in winning Miss Brooks's affections, but in parading
his seeming success. He was glad to be released
from any entangling alliance with that young
lady, but he did not like the manner in which Mr.
Root had volunteered his assistance.

The ring was formed, seconds chosen, and the word
given. Root had the advantage of weight and height;
Bob of superior science and activity. The contest was
fierce, desperate and prolonged. The time came when
Bob's adroitness gave him an advantage he had never
lost. He held the issue in his own hands, punished
his antagonist at his pleasure, and at last laid him insensible
with a terrible blow which would have felled
an ox.

Somewhat battered and disfigured, Bob returned to
town and rung up a physician, who had been
rung up on similar occasions before. A crowd of
his enthusiastic friends accompanied him, but at
the physician's door he bade them good-by. The
door closed between him and his “hoodlam”
associates, and he left the old life behind forever.
He could now withdraw with honor, according to
the “hoodlum” code.