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of a broken fiddle。〃
Out of those dark red bits of wood … some of them bearing the
imprints of hobnails … Cutty constructed the scene。 A wave of
bitter rage rolled over him。 The beast！ Karlov had done this
thing； with poor old Gregor looking on； too weak to intervene。
Not so many years ago these bits of wood； under the master's
touch； had entranced the souls of thousands。 Cutty recalled a
fairy tale he had read when a boy about a prince whose soul had
been transformed into a flower which； if plucked or broken； died。
Karlov had murdered Stefani Gregor； perhaps not legally but
actually nevertheless。
Rehabilitated in soul； Cutty left the room。 He had read a
compelling lesson in self…sacrifice。 He was going to pick up his
cross and go on with it； smiling。 After all； Kitty was only an
interlude； the big thing was the game； and shortly he would be in
the thick of great events again。 But Kitty should be happy。
His old analytical philosophy resumed its functions。 The contempt
and jealousy of one race for another； what was God's idea in
implanting that in souls？ Hawksley was at base Russian。 The boy's
English education； his adopted outlook upon life； made it possible
for Cutty to ignore the racial antagonism of the Anglo…Saxon for
all other races。 Stefani Gregor at one end of the world and he at
the other； blindly working out the destinies of Kitty Conover and
Ivan Mikhail Feodorovich and so forth and so on； with the blood
of Catharine in his veins！ Made a chap dizzy to think of it。
Traditions were piling up along with crowns and sceptres in the
abyss。
When he returned to the attic he felt himself fortified against
any inevitability。 Hawksley was sitting up； his back to the wall；
staring groggily but with reckless adoration into Kitty's lovely
face。 Youth will be served。 As if； watching these two； there
could be any doubt of it！ And he had bent part of his energies
toward keeping them separated。
〃Ha！〃 he cried； cheerfully。 〃Back on top again； I see。 How's
the head？〃
〃Haven't any； no legs； I'm nothing at all but a bit of my own
imagination。 How do you feel？〃
〃Like the aftermath of an Irish wake。〃 Then Cutty's battered face
assumed an expression that was meant to typify gravity。 〃John；〃 he
aid； 〃I've bad news for you。〃
John。 A glow went over the young man's aching body。 John。 What
could that signify except that he had passed into the eternal
friendship of this old thoroughbred？ John。
〃About Stefani？〃
〃Stefani is dead。 He died speaking your mother's name。〃
Hawksley's head sank； his chin touched his chest。 He spoke without
looking up。 〃Something told me I would never see him alive again。
Old Stefani！ If there is any good in me it will be his handiwork。
〃I say；〃 he added； his eyes now seeking Cutty's； 〃you called me
John。 Will you carry on？〃
〃Keep an eye on you？ So long as you may need me。〃
〃I come from a lawless race。 Stefani had to fight。 Even now I'm
afraid sometimes。 God knows I want to be all he tried to make me。〃
〃You're all right； John。 You've reached haven； the storms hereafter
will be outside。 Besides； Stefani will always be with you。 You'll
never pick up that old Amati without feeling Stefani near。 Can
you stand？〃
〃Between the two of you； perhaps。〃
With Kitty on one side and Cutty on the other Hawksley managed the
descent tolerably well。 Often a foot dragged。 How strong she was；
this girl！ No hysterics； no confusion； after all that racket； with
death … or something worse … reaching out toward her； calmly telling
him that there was another step； warning him not to bear too heavily
on Cutty！ Holding him up physically and morally； these two； now all
he had in life to care for。 Yesterday； unknown to him； this night；
bound by hoops of steel。 The girl had forgiven him； he knew it by
the touch of her arm。。。。 Old Stefani！ A sob escaped him。 Their
arms tightened。
〃No； I was thinking of Stefani。 Rather hard … to die all alone
… because he loved me。〃
Kitty longed to be alone。 There were still many unshed tears … some
for Cutty； some for Stefani Gregor； some for Johnny Two…Hawks； and
some for herself。
In the limousine Cutty sat in the middle； Kitty on his left and
Hawksley on his right； his arms round them both。 Presently
Hawksley's head touched his shoulder and rested there； a little
later Kitty did likewise。 His children！ Lord； he was going to
have a tremendous interest in life； after all！ He smiled with
kindly irony at the back of the chauffeur。 His children； these
two； and he knew as he planned their future that they were thinking
over and round but not of him； which is the way of youth。
At the apartment Cutty decided to let Hawksley sit in an easy chair
in the living room until Captain Harrison arrived。 Kuroki was
ordered to prepare a supper； which would be served on the tea cart；
set at Hawksley's knees。 Kitty … because it was impossible for her
to remain inactive … set the linen and silver。 She was in and out
of the room； ill at ease； angry； frightened； bitter； avoiding
Hawksley's imploring eyes because she was not sure of her own。
She was sure of one thing； however。 All the nonsense was out of her
head。 To…morrow she would be returning to the regular job。 She
would have a page from the Arabian Nights to look upon in the days
to come。 She understood； though it twisted her heart dreadfully： she
was in the eyes of this man a plaything； a pretty woman he had met
in passing。 If she had saved his life he had in turn saved hers；
they were quits。 She did not blame him for his point of view。 He
had come from the top of the world； where women were either ornaments
or playthings； while she and hers had always struggled to maintain
equilibrium in the middle stratum。 Cutty could give him friendship；
but she could not because she was a woman； young and pretty。
Love him？ Well； she would get over it。 It might be only the glamour
of the adventure they had shared。 Anyhow； she wouldn't die of it。
Cutty hadn't。 Of course it hurt； she was a silly little fool； and
all that。 Once he was in Montana he would be sending for his Olga。
There wasn't the least doubt in her mind that if ever autocracy
returned to power； he'd be casting aside his American citizenship；
his chaps and sombrero； for the old regalia。 Well … truculently to
the world at large … why not？
So she avoided Hawksley's gaze； sensing the sustained persistence
of it。 But； oh； to be alone； alone； alone！
Cutty washed the patient's hands and face and patched up the cut on
the cheek； interlarding his chatter with trench idioms； banter；
jokes。 Underneath； though； he was chuckling。 He was the hero of
this tale； he had done all the thrilling stunts； carried limp bodies
across fire escapes in the rain； climbed roofs； eluded newspaper
reporters； fought with his bare fists； rescued the girl。。。。 All
with one foot in the grave！ Fifty…two； gray haired … with a prospect
of rheumatism on the morrow … and putting it over like a debonair
movie idol！
Hawksley met these pleasantries halfway by grousing about being
babied when there was nothing the matter with him but his head；