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Updated: June 26, 2025
Heywood clapped him on the shoulder, and gave a queer cough. "If that's all, never you fear! I'll teach you your guard. 'Once in a while we can finish in style. Eh? Rudie, you blooming German, I I think we must have been brothers! We'll pull it off yet." Heywood spoke with a strange alacrity, and tried again to cough. This time, however, there was no mistake he was laughing.
And now she, she of all the world, had spoken words which he feared and longed to believe, and which even said still less than her searching and mysterious look. On the top of his exultation, he reached the nunnery, and entered his big, bare living-room, to find Heywood stretched in a wicker chair. "Hallo, Rudie!
Killed one convert and wounded two, there by the water gate. They can't get the elevation for you chaps here, though." And again he added, cheerfully, "So far, at least." The little band behind the loopholes lay watching through the smoke, listening through the noise. The Black Dog barked again, and sent a shower of money clinking along the wall. "How do you like it, Rudie?" chuckled his friend.
Between shadowy mounds of loose earth flickered the light of a fire, small and distant, round which wavered the inky silhouettes of men, and beyond which dimly shone a yellow face or two, a yellow fist clutched full of boiled rice like a snowball. Beyond these, in turn, gleamed other little fires, where other coolies were squatting at their supper. "Rudie, look!"
"Mornin'," said Rudie, with mock deference, "will yer worships have yer breakfast now, or will ye wait till ye get it?" The pedler looked about him in bewilderment. "I hab kein blam' cent," he said, feeling hopelessly in his pockets. A joyous yell greeted him. "Ikey has more nor you," shouted the boys, showing the quarter which little Abe had held fast to in his sleep. "And see this."
Before she had nibbled her second salted almond, Ivy Keller and Rudie Schlachweiler understood each other. Rudie illustrated certain plays by drawing lines on the table-cloth with his knife and Ivy gazed, wide-eyed, and allowed her soup to grow cold. The first night that Rudie called, Pa Keller thought it a great joke.
Chug Scaritt came home in September. The First National Bank Building seemed, somehow, to have shrunk. And his mother hadn't had all that gray hair when he left. He put eager questions about the garage. Rudie had made out, all right, hadn't he? Good old scout. "The boys down at the garage are giving some kind of a party for you. Old Rudie was telling me about it.
His teacher had been old Rudie, a mechanic who had tinkered around automobiles since their kerosene days, and who knew more about them than their inventor. Soap and water alone were powerless against the grease and carbon and dust that ground themselves into Chug's skin. First, he lathered himself with warm, soapy water.
Dim figures scampered off, up the rising ground. "That's over," panted Heywood. "Thundering good lesson, Here, count noses. Rudie? Right-oh. Sturgeon, Teppich, Padre, Captain? Good! but look sharp, while I go inspect." He whispered to Rudolph. "Come down, won't you, and help me with you know."
An odd little squeak of surprise followed, a strange gurgling, and a succession of rapid shocks, as though some one were pummeling the earthen walls. "Got the beggar," panted Heywood. "Only one of 'em. Roll clear, Rudie, and let us pass. Collar his legs, if you can, and shove."
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