The Trail of 98 (33 page)

"Ain't she great?" said a tall bean-pole of a man on my right, as she
finished off with a round of applause. "There's some class to her work."

He looked at me in a confidential way, and his pale-blue eyes were full of
rapturous appreciation. Then he did something that surprised me. He tugged open
his poke and, dipping into it, he produced a big nugget. Twisting this in a
scrap of paper, he rose up, long, lean and awkward, and with careful aim he
threw it on the stage.

"Here ye are, Lulu," he piped in his shrill voice. The woman, turning in her
exit, picked up the offering, gave her admirer a wide, gold-toothed smile, and
threw him an emphatic kiss. As the man sat down I could see his mouth twisting
with excitement, and his watery blue eyes snapped with pleasure.

"By heck," he said, "she's great, ain't she? Many's the bottle of wine I've
opened for that there girl. Guess she'll be glad when she hears old Henry's in
town again. Henry's my name, Hard-pan Henry they call me, an' I've got a claim
on Hunker. Many's the wallopin' poke have I toted into town an' blowed in on
that there girl. An' I just guess this one'll go the same gait. Well, says I,
what's the odds? I'm
havin' a good time for my money. When it's gone there's lots more in the ground.
It ain't got no legs. It can't run away."

He chuckled and hefted his poke in a horny hand. There was a flutter of the
heliotrope curtains, and the face of Lulu, peeping over the plush edge of a box,
smiled bewitchingly upon him. With another delighted chuckle the old man went to
join her.

"Darned old fool," said a young man on my left. He looked as if his veins
were chuckful of health; his skin was as clear as a girl's, his eye honest and
fearless. He was dressed in mackinaw, and wore a fur cap with drooping
ear-flaps.

"He's the greatest mark in the country," the Youth went on. "He's got no more
brains than God gave geese. All the girls are on to him. Before he can turn
round that old bat up there will have him trimmed to a finish. He'll be doing
flip-flaps, and singing ''Way Down on the Suwanee River' standing on his head.
Then the girl will pry him loose from his poke, and to-morrow he'll start off up
the creek, teetering and swearing he's had a dooce of a good time. He's the
easiest thing on earth."

The Youth paused to look on a new singer. She was a soubrette, trim, dainty
and confident. She wore a blond wig, and her eyes in their pits of black were
alluringly bright. Paint was lavished on her face in violent dabs of rose and
white, and the inevitable gold teeth gleamed in her smile. She wore a black
dress trimmed with sequins, stockings of black, a black velvet band around her
slim neck. She
was
greeted with much applause, and she began to sing in a fairly sweet voice.

"That's Nellie Lestrange," said the Youth. "She's a great
rustlerTouch-the-button-Nell, they call her. They say that when she gets a jay
into a box it's all day with him. She's such a nifty wine-winner the end of her
thumb's calloused pressing the button for fresh bottles."

Touch-the-button-Nell was singing a comic ditty of a convivial order. She put
into it much vivacity, appealing to the audience to join in the chorus with a
pleading, "Now all together, boys." She had tripping steps and dainty kicks that
went well with the melody. When she went off half a dozen men rose in their
places, and aimed nuggets at her. She captured them, then, with a final saucy
flounce of her skirt, made her smiling exit.

"By Gosh!" said the Youth, "I wonder these fellows haven't got more savvy.
You wouldn't catch
me
chucking away an ounce on one of those fairies. No,
sir! Nothing doing! I've got a five-thousand-dollar poke in the bank, and
to-morrow I'll be on my way outside with a draft for every cent of it. A certain
little farm 'way back in Vermont looks pretty good to me, and a little girl that
don't know the use of face powder, bless her. She's waiting for me."

The excitement of the liquor had died away in me, and what with the heat and
smoke of the place, I was becoming very drowsy. I was almost dozing off to sleep
when some one touched me on the arm. It
was a negro waiter I had seen dodging in and out of the boxes,
and known as the Black Prince.

"Dey's a lady up'n de box wants to speak with yuh, sah," he said
politely.

"Who is it?" I asked in surprise.

"Miss Labelle, sah, Miss Birdie Labelle."

I started. Who in the Klondike had not heard of Birdie Labelle, the eldest of
the three sisters, who married Stillwater Willie? A thought flashed through me
that she could tell me something of Berna.

"All right," I said; "I'll come."

I followed him upstairs, and in a moment I was ushered into the presence of
the famous soubrette.

"Hullo, kid!" she exclaimed, "sit down. I saw you in the audience and kind-a
took a notion to your face. How d'ye do?"

She extended a heavily bejewelled hand. She was plump, pleasant-looking, with
a piquant smile and flaxen hair. I ordered the waiter to bring her a bottle of
wine.

"I've heard a lot about you," I said tentatively.

"Yes, I guess so," she answered. "Most folks have up here. It's a sort of
reflected glory. I guess if it hadn't been for Bill I'd never have got into the
limelight at all."

She sipped her champagne thoughtfully.

"I came in here in '97, and it was then I met Bill. He was there with the
coin all right. We got hitched up pretty quick, but he was such a mut I soon got
sick of him. Then I got skating round with another guy. Well, an egg famine came
along.
There was only
nine hundred samples of hen fruit in town, and one store had a corner on them. I
went down to buy some. Lord! how I wanted them eggs. I kept thinking how I'd
have them done, shipwrecked, two on a raft or sunny side up, when who should
come along but Bill. He sees what I want, and quick as a flash what does he do
but buy up the whole bunch at a dollar apiece! 'Now,' says he to me, 'if you
want eggs for breakfast just come home where you belong.'

"Well, say, I was just dying for them eggs, so I comes to my milk like a
lady. I goes home with Bill."

She shook her head sadly, and once more I filled up her glass.

She prattled on with many a gracious smile, and I ordered another bottle of
wine. In the next box I could hear the squeaky laugh of Hard-pan Henry and the
teasing tones of his inamorata. The visits of the Black Prince to this box with
fresh bottles had been fast and furious, and at last I heard the woman cry in a
querulous voice: "Say, that black man coming in so often gives me a pain. Why
don't you order a case?"

Then the man broke in with his senile laugh:

"All right, Lulu, whatever you say goes. Say, Prince, tote along a case, will
you?"

Surely, thought I, there's no fool like an old fool.

A little girl was singing, a little, winsome girl with a sweet childish voice
and an innocent face. How terribly out of place she looked in that palace of
sin.
She sang a simple,
old-world song full of homely pathos and gentle feeling. As she sang she looked
down on those furrowed faces, and I saw that many eyes were dimmed with tears.
The rough men listened in rapt silence as the childish treble rang out:

Then from behind the scenes a pure alto joined in and the two voices,
blending in exquisite harmony, went on:

As the last echo died away the audience rose as one man, and a shower of
nuggets pelted on the stage. Here was something that touched their hearts,
stirred in them strange memories of tenderness, brought before them
half-forgotten scenes of fireside happiness.

"It's a shame to let that kid work in the halls," said Miss Labelle. There
were tears in her eyes, too, and she hurriedly blinked them away.

Then the curtain fell. Men were clearing the floor for the dance, so, bidding
the lady adieu, I went downstairs.

I found the Youth awaiting me.

"Say, pardner," said he, "I was just getting a bit anxious about you. I
thought sure that fairy had you in tow for a sucker. I'm going to stay right
with you, and you're not going to shake me. See!"

"All right," I said; "come on and we'll watch the dance."

So we got in the front row of spectators, while behind us the crowd packed as
closely as matches in a box. The champagne I had taken had again aroused in me
that vivid sense of joy and strength and colour. Again the lights were
effulgent, the music witching, the women divine. As I swayed a little I clutched
unsteadily at the Youth. He looked at me curiously.

"Brace up, old man," he said. "Guess you're not often in town. You're not
much used to the dance-hall racket."

"No," I assured him.

"Well," he continued, "it's the rottenest game ever. I've seen more poor
beggars put plumb out of business by the dance-halls than by all the saloons and
gambling-joints put together. It's the game of catching the sucker brought to
the point of perfection, and there's very few cases where it fails."

He perceived I was
listening earnestly, and he warmed up to his subject.

"You see, the boys get in after they've been out on the claim for six months
at a stretch, and town looks mighty good to them. The music sounds awful nice,
and the women, well, they look just like angels. The boys are all right, but
they've got that mad craving for the sight of a woman a man gets after he's been
off out in the Wild, and these women have got the captivation of men down to a
fine art. Once one of them gets to looking at you with eyes that eat right into
you, and soft white hands, and pretty coaxing ways, well, it's mighty hard to
hold back. A man's a fool to come near these places if he's got a poke'cept,
like me, he knows the ropes and he's right onto himself."

The Youth said this with quite a complacent air. He went on:

"These girls work on a percentage basis. You'll notice every time you buy
them a drink the waiter gives them a check. That means that when the night's
over they cash in and get twenty-five per cent, of the money you've spent on
them. That's how they're so keen on ordering fresh bottles. Sometimes they'll
say a bottle's gone flat before it's empty, and have you order another. Or else
they'll pour half of it into the cuspidor when you're not looking. Then, when
you get too full to notice the difference, they'll run in ginger ale on you. Or
else they'll get you ordering by the case, and have half a dozen dummy bottles
in it. Oh, there's all kinds of schemes
these box rustlers are on to. When you pay for a drink you
toss over your poke, and they take the price out. Do you think they're
particular to a quarter ounce or so? No, sir! and you always get the short end
of it. It's a bad game to go up against."

The Youth looked at me as though proud of his superior sophistication.

The floor was cleared. Girls were now coming from behind the stage, preening
themselves and chaffing with the crowd. The orchestra struck up some jubilant
ragtime that set the heart dancing and the heels tapping in tune. Brighter than
ever seemed the lights; more dazzling the white and gilt of the walls. Some of
the girls were balancing lightly to a waltz rhythm. There was a witching grace
in their movements, and the Youth watched them intently. He looked down at his
feet clad in old moccasins.

"Gee, I'd like just to have one spin," he said; "just one before I leave the
darned old country for good. I was always crazy about dancing. I'd ride thirty
miles to attend a dance back home."

His eyes grew very wistful. Suddenly the music stopped and the floor-master
came forward. He was a tall, dark man with a rich and vibrant baritone
voice.

"That's the best spieler in the Yukon," said the Youth.

"Come on, boys," boomed the spieler. "Look alive there. Don't keep the ladies
waiting. Take your hands out of your pockets and get in the game. Just going to
begin, a dreamy waltz or a nice juicy
two-step, whichever you prefer. Hey, professor, strike up that
waltz!"

Once more the music swelled out.

"How's that, boys? Doesn't that make your feet like feathers? Come on, boys!
Here you are for the nice, glossy floor and the nice, flossy girls. Here you
are! Here you are! That's right, select your partners! Swing your honeys! Hurry
up there! Just a-goin' to begin. What's the matter with you fellows? Wake up! a
dance won't break you. Come on! don't be a cheap skate. The girls are fine, fit
and fairy-like, the music's swell and the floor's elegant. Come on, boys!"

There was a compelling power in his voice, and already a number of couples
were waltzing round. The women were exquisite in their grace and springy
lightness. They talked as they danced, gazing with languishing eyes and siren
smiles at the man of the moment.

Some of them, who had not got partners, were picking out individuals from the
crowd and coaxing them to come forward. A drunken fellow staggered onto the
floor and grabbed a girl. She was young, dainty and pretty, but she showed no
repugnance for him. Round and round he cavorted, singing and whooping, a wild,
weird object; when, suddenly, he tripped and fell, bringing her down with him.
The crowd roared; but the girl good-naturedly picked him up, and led him off to
the bar.

A man in a greasy canvas suit with mucklucks on his feet had gone onto the
floor. His hair was long
and matted, his beard wild and rank. He was dancing
vehemently, and there was the glitter of wild excitement in his eyes. He looked
as if he had not bathed for years, but again I could see no repulsion in the
face of the handsome brunette with whom he was waltzing. Dance after dance they
had together, locked in each other's arms.