VI
MESSRS. SMELLEMOUT AND KETCHEM
Night came, all stars. The old St. Charles Theatre filled to overflowingwith the city's best, the hours melted away while Maggie Mitchell played_Fanchon_, and now, in the bright gas-light of the narrow thoroughfare,here were Adolphe and Hilary helping their three ladies into a carriage.All about them the feasted audience was pouring forth into the mildFebruary night.
The smallest of the three women was aged. That the other two were youngand beautiful we know already. At eighteen the old lady, theBohemian-glass one, had been one of those royalist refugees of theFrench Revolution whose butterfly endeavors to colonize in Alabama andbecome bees make so pathetic a chapter in history. When one knew that,he could hardly resent her being heavily enamelled. Irby pressed intothe coach after the three and shut the door, Kincaid uncovered, and thecarriage sped off.
Hilary turned, glanced easily over the heads of the throng, and espiedGreenleaf beckoning with a slender cane. Together they crossed the wayand entered the office of a public stable.
"Our nags again," said Kincaid to one of a seated group, and passed intoa room beyond. Thence he re-issued with his dress modified for thesaddle, and the two friends awaited their mounts under an arch. "Dostperceive, Frederic," said the facetious Hilary, "yon modestly arrayedpair of palpable gents hieing hitherward yet pretending not to descryus? They be detectives. Oh--eh--gentlemen!"
The strangers halted inquiringly and then came forward. The hair of onewas black, of the other gray. Hilary brightened upon them: "I was justtelling my friend who you are. You know me, don't you?" A challengingglint came into his eye.
But the gray man showed a twinkle to match it: "Why--by sight--yes--whatthere is of you."
Hilary smiled again: "I saw you this morning in the office of theCommittee of Public Safety, where I was giving my word that this friendof mine should leave the city within twenty-four hours." He introducedhim: "Lieutenant Greenleaf, gentleman, United States Army. Fred, theseare Messrs. Smellemout and Ketchem, a leading firm in the bottlingbusiness."
Greenleaf and the firm expressed their pleasure. "We hang out at thecorner of Poet and Good-Children Streets," said the black-haired man,but made his eyes big to imply that this was romance.
Greenleaf lifted his brows: "Streets named for yourselves, I judge."
"Aye. Poet for each, Good-Children for both."
Kincaid laughed out. "The Lieutenant and I," he said as he moved towardtheir approaching horses, "live on Love street exactly half-way betweenPiety and Desire." His eyes widened, too. Suddenly he stepped betweenGreenleaf and the others: "See here, let's begin to tell the truth! Youknow Kincaid's Foundry? It was my father's--"
"And his father's before him," said the gray man.
"And I've come home to go into this war," Hilary went on.
"And just at present," said Gray, "you're casting shot and shell and nowand then a cannon; good for you! You want to give us your guarantee--?"
"That my friend and I will be together every moment till he leavesto-morrow morning on the Jackson Railroad, bound for the North without astop."
"To go into this war on the other side!"
"Why, of course!" said the smiling Kincaid. "Now, that's all, isn't it?I fear we're keeping you."
"Oh, no." The gray man's crow's-feet deepened playfully. "If you thinkyou need us we'll stick by you all night."
"No," laughed Kincaid, "there's no call for you to be so sticky as allthat." The horsemen mounted.
"Better us than the Patriots' League," said the younger detective toHilary as Greenleaf moved off. "They've got your friend down in theirSend-'em-to-hell book and are after him now. That's how come we to be--"
"I perceive," replied Hilary, and smiled in meditation. "Why--thank you,both!"
"Oh, you go right along, Mr. Kincaid. We'll be at the depot to-morrowourselves, and to-night we'll see that they don't touch neither one ofyou."
Hilary's smile grew: "Why--thank you again! That will make it morecomfortable for them. Good-night."
The two friends rode to a corner, turned into Poydras Street, crossedMagazine and Tchoupitoulas and presently, out from among the echoingfronts of unlighted warehouses, issued upon the wide, white Levee.
Kincaid's Battery Page 6
