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Updated: July 9, 2025
"Guessed? ... She has told me everything." A shade of bitter malice crept into her face the malice of a woman who has learned truths and is no longer shocked by them. Fred Starratt put his hat aside and he went up close to her. "I lied to get in here," he said, quickly. "I am looking for Sylvia Molineaux myself." "Why don't you try the streets, then?" she flung out, venomously.
There was something pathetic about the figures bending with childlike faith over their labor of love attempting to make nature smile upon them. Without the vision of the bull pen Fred Starratt would have found much that afternoon that was revolting. But one glimpse into the horrible inferno of the morning had made him less sensitive to milder impressions.
But as he had gone on developing it, suddenly a new character had appeared to change the final figures a wrench thrown into the wheel of continuity ... a wrench that bore the name of Axel Hilmer... He felt no bitterness now for the man. Had he ever felt it? Axel Hilmer had long ceased to be a living personality to Fred Starratt.
They went through a narrow passageway, separating the Hall of Justice from the jails, and rang a bell for the elevator. In stepping into the cage Fred Starratt tripped and lurched forward. He was rewarded by a stinging slap upon the face. He drew himself up, clenching his fists. He had often wondered how it felt to be seized with a desire to shoot a man down in cold blood. Now he knew.
Somehow, nothing in either Ford's argument or his sleek presence irritated Starratt so much as these golf sticks. For, in this particular instance, they became the symbol of a self-sufficient prosperity whose first moves toward economy were directed at those who serve... If all this were so, why didn't Ford begin by cutting down his own allowance, by trimming his own expenses to the bone?
She had left none. Thus dismissed, he turned his steps toward the Hilmers'. He had expected to come upon the vision of his wife wheeling Mrs. Hilmer up and down the sidewalk, and yet, when these expectations were realized, he experienced a shock. There she was, Helen Starratt, in a black dress and a black hat, pacing with drab patience the full length of the block and back again.
"You got twenty-five dollars a couple of days ago!" he bawled out suddenly. Starratt was surprised into silence. Old Wetherbee was sometimes given to half-audible and impersonal grumblings, but this was the first time he had ever gone so far as to voice a specific objection to an appeal for funds. "What do you think this is?"
He couldn't kick her out... He heard a chair scraped back noisily upon the hardwood floor of the living room. Presently Hilmer stood at his side. "Let me handle her!" Hilmer said, quietly. Starratt gave a gesture of assent. His guest took one stride toward the obstreperous female. "Get out! Understand?" She stopped the defiant seesawing of her head.
"North ... a mile or two!" he muttered. "If I can once cross the bridge!" On a certain evening in February Fred Starratt, from the upper deck of a ferryboat, again saw the dusky outlines of San Francisco stretch themselves in faint allurement pricked with glittering splendor. It was a mild night the skies clear, the air tinged with pleasant chill, the bay stilled to nocturnal quiet.
Hilmer been plotting this together?" Storch's eyes widened in surprise. "You're getting keener every moment... Well, you've asked a fair question. I planted that maid in the house soon after I knew the story." "After the fever set me to prattling?" "Precisely." Fred Starratt stood motionless for a moment, but presently he began to laugh. Storch looked annoyed, then rather puzzled.
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