xt76ww76tb6p https://exploreuk.uky.edu/dips/xt76ww76tb6p/data/mets.xml Looms, George. 1923  books b92-225-31182899 English Doubleday, Page, : Garden City, New York : Contact the Special Collections Research Center for information regarding rights and use of this collection. John-no-Brawn  / by George Looms. text John-no-Brawn  / by George Looms. 1923 2002 true xt76ww76tb6p section xt76ww76tb6p 












JOHN-NO-BRAWN

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JOHN-NO-BRAWN

          BY
    GEORGE LOOMS



      AUTHOR OF STUBBLE

















 GARDEN CITY  NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY



1 923



7





II



-



i

 































































                 COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY
             DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. INXCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION
INTO FOREIGN LA.NGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN

              PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES
                         AT
         THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y.

                     First Editian

 















       TO
     LAURA
(KATHERINE'S MOTHER)

 
















  ' My third maxim was to endeavour always to
conquer myself rather than fortune and to change
my desires rather than the order of the world and
in general to bring myself to believe that there is
nothing wholly in our power except our thoughts."
                                     -RENE DESCARTES

 












CONTENTS

  BOOK I



DREAM STUFF .



                  BOOK II
ARMAGEDDON

                  BOOK III
PHYLLIDA RETURNS A FEW BOTTLES



PAGE
I



. 53



223

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  BOOK I

DREAM STUFF

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      JOHN-NO-BRAWN


                   CHAPTER I

T       ACHE sun sets on October the third in Louis-
        ville. Kentucky, about forty minutes after five.
        At five minutes after five on October the third,
i916. John Brawn stood at the corner of Second and
Jefferson streets and debated whether or no he would
yield to a peculiar sentimental streak of the moment
and go a couple of blocks out of his way for the mere
purpose of giving some old chords in his memory a
chance to revibrate. There was desultory traffic about
Second and Jefferson streets; an automobile whisked
by, careless of responsibility, for there was no traffic
policeman stationed there; a street car had jumped its
trolley pole on the curve and the conductor w07as strain-
irg at the rope and looking upward, head thrown
back as though angling for some sort of aerial game.
There wvas a mingled aroma of fish and rotting vege-
tables in the air and a gust of wind sent an eddy of
trash,in which was caught an old newspaper or two,
whirling out the centre of Second Street. But a mo-
mentary rift in the clouds allowed . deep gold to
stream through in a w&id bnud, part of which splashed
with its luminance the shiny round 'oald head of an
old Negro who was spasmDd;caiIy raiding in his dis-
                        I

 
JOHN-NO-B RAWN



pirited steed. The latter buckled in his shafts and
vainly tried to shift the irritating bit to a lesr tender
part of his mouth. The Negro turned with the reins
clutched tightly to his breast and regarded the retreat-
ing cloud of trash and newspapers in whose wake was
rolling merrily his hat. And then he painfully clamb-
ered down from his wagon and started after it,
muttering to himself. There was not much of romantic
suggestion in the scene. But there was a softness in
the air and not so far above the blackened chimney
pots there pressed down a blue haze that carried a
touch of Tyrian purple and up to its under side a
goldish mist seemed rising, dust particles merely,
touched with a passing glory. And John Brawn turned
and went eastward along Jefferson Street.
  At the corner he paused again and looked out First
Street. In this direction the scene changed quite ab-
ruptly, though not materially for the better. First
Street, south of Jefferson, was a street devoted to
leisure and the pursuits of pleasure. On each of the
four corners stood, waiting, grog shops with well-worn
thresholds and swinging lattice doors that were grimed
by the touch of countless hands.
  Against the even gray of the eastern sky was a line
of gently sloping roofs that came down to the house
fronts like hat brims pulled down over the eyes. And
there was a dull, listless, waiting air about the dingy
windows that bespoke hopeless old age. The houses
were grimy and battered and they made no pretence
of being other than wh-at they appeared, but in some
magic fashion they seerred to Brawn to be clothed
in a mist of romance. For he looked, not as normal
pedestrians along the nor-nal line of vision, but up-



2

 JOHN-NO-B RAWVN



ward toward where roofs and sky came together, and
the yeast of imagination was stirring and mixing with
his perceptions. Here had been the Louisville of the
sixties.  Those windows, once curtained with soft
drapes and chintzes, had been the outlook from a
glamorous and highly coloured existence. Very faint-
ly they suggested crinolines and shawls and billowing
skirts anid gallantry and high spirit and danger. Then
had been a more subtle mingling of freedom and con-
vention. Now it was on the outskirt of a metallic, a
machine-made, civilization. The thought of his task
just completed contrasted strongly with the tone of his
mind. lie was a lawyer. Lie had been investigating
the facts of an accident for an insurance company
which he represented. He had come into this other
world with a stereotyped questionnaire and the results
of his investigation were in the leather case in his
hand. Fancy a lawyer of the 'sixties or 'seventies
proceeding in such manner! But then in the 'sixties
produce men did not run motor trucks to the endanger-
mrent of the public, nor was there the complex machin-
ery of defence built up against the natural hazards of
business. Nowadays a young lawyer was nothing but
a glorified clerk. Any one with the ability to read and
write could have done what he had just finished doing.
The sunlight flashed for a moment obliquely across an
opaque pane of glass in a top window like a sulphurous
flarne on a metallic pool and then winked off again, and
the window stared forth as blankly as before. Brawn
started and slowly crossed the street and turned
south.
  Midway in the next block there stood an incongru-
ous structure of yellow pressed brick. It was younger



3

 
JOHN-NO-BRAWN



than its fellows but dingy from the same causes. It
was like a man in a dirty, high white collar standing
in a crowd of workmen in flannel shirts. It boasted of
a cupola of nondescript architecture, new plate-glass
windows, and a pair of double doors flush with the
sidewalk. It was the museum, the last resting place
of the old fire-fighting equipment that had escaped a
ruthless scrap heap. Just what had stood on the site
of this new building Brawn could not for the moment
remember, but then his mind was drifting about in a
maze of uncoordinated sensations. Thither he bent
his steps as though moved by a fixed purpose.
  Ile passed four or five of the old houses, They
were all very much alike. From the pavement to the
front door of each ran a flight of wooden steps, paral-
lel with the street and flanked by a single lattice railing,
to a sort of stoop or balcony whence one entered the
house. This left a recess beneath which, by means of a
couple of steps downwards, one entered the basement
or servants' quarters, now invariably dark and greasy
and very smelly. In the past years these stoops with
their wood railings had doubtless been proud symbols
of high life and on summer evenings in star-light been
linked with the soft rustle of skirts and clinging scents
and light laughter. Now they were empty, all save
the middle one, whose railing supported the full-blown
body of a young Negress with slumbering eyes and full,
red lips and an unspeakably dirty, greasy wrapper that
rather frankly revealed her native, corporeal charms.
She leaned across the railing with her elbows propped
comfortably beneath her and watched her world.
Brawn gave her a passing glance. And then he pulled
up short, with a start.



4

 JOHN-NO-B RAWVN



   In his abstraction he had been walking along with
his head in the clouds and had not noticed where he
was going. And he barely escaped running over a
small black body that was squirming on the pavement.
Brawn stepped over it and then paused and looked
down. An incredibly small Negro baby was sprawled
on top of a wiggling, dirty, woolly dog that was reach-
ing out a pink tongue to lick the baby's face, and with
some success. Two bare, wiry, brown legs curved
behind it in a perfect bow; about its middle was
draped a very dirty rag, and up under its arm pits
the skirt of its smock was rolled, leaving it practically
naked.
  "Sam !" called a rich languorous voice. "Git Up
outen de street. Ain' you know white folks ap' to run
oveh you"
  Brawn glanced toward the voice. The woman had
not moved but was gazing at him, elbows on the rail-
ing, quite inscrutable but with just the trace of a lan-
guid though brazen amusement in the depths of her
eyes. The baby raised its head and stared at him and
then scuttled for the steps, using its hands for propel-
lers, and with its legs dragging out behind like some
mortally wounded animal.
  Brawn turned and proceeded on his way.
  He came to the door of the engine house, paused.
and then pushed it open and went in. For a moment
he stood, an intruder in the silence of the place and
then called out:
  "Lii there, Mr. McBurney. Goin' to work all day "
  Back in a far corner of the narrow room a face
looked up from a desk and then some one got up slowly
and came toward him. It was a little old man with



5

 
JOHN-NO-BRAWN



spectacles and derby hat, coatless and wearing a vest
that hung open, its pockets crammed with pencils and
pen holders, pocket rules and spectacle cases, and a
heavy, pendulous gold watch chain. "Hey" he said.
"Better light up. Hey"
  "Never mind the lights. It's Brawn. John Brawn.
You ought to knock off for the day anyway. Ruin your
eyes and your health." Brawn laughed with patroniz-
ing heartiness and went over and took hold of the old
man's arm. It had been a stock joke with him to twit
the old fellow about his industry, which was of as
tenuous a quality as possible still to deserve the name.
Mr. McBurney was the secretary of the association
and his duty was to keep the minutes and the rolls and
send out the bills for the dues. The association having
dwindled to less than a dozen members gave its secre-
tary a minimum of duties, but in addition to keeping
the records he had the added one of keeping up the
fire in the little stove in the corner on chill days and
locking up the place when the day's business was over.
He looked up into Brawn's face with the eyes that
were very dim and rheumy and then recognition slowly
dawned.
  "Hey John Brawn Sure. John Brawn. Course
I know you. Come set down." And he seized the
young man by the wrist, then peered intently at the
floor to make sure of his footing and then made great
show of dragging his victim back into his lair. "Set
right down. Set right down. I wuz wonderin' what
had become of you."
  Brawn followed him, laughing. "How'd your oil
stock pan out" he called. Mr. McBurney was not
strictly deaf, but his attention being hard to get and



6

 JOHN-NO-B RAWN



still harder to keep made this method seem at least the
most probably effective one.
  The old man turned and grasping the back of a chair
thrust it forward. "Oil stock. H--ley- Set down.
Oil stock-Dunno. They wrote me they had started
to drill a month ago. An' then they wrote as how
they'd struck sand and then another letter that things
were lookin' mighty good. But here lately I ain't
never had a word. 'Pears like it takes a powerful
time to get down to see where they 're at. Powerful
slow.
  John Brawn sat down in the proffered chair.
"Think they're on the level, Mr. McBurney"
  Mr. McBurney looked up. "Hey-On tile level
-Don't know. How'd I know All the boys took
stock. Sam Baron's boy. Know Samn Baron He's
promotin' it. Sam' us always square." He turned to
his desk and fished around in the pigeon holes.
  "Hov much you put in it"
  Mr. McBurney looked back at him reflectively.
"How much.-Hey     Ten dollars. Each of us put
in ten dollars.-All except Jurney Bishop. HIe ain't
seed ten dollars fer fifty years."
  Brawn laughed softly and gazed up at the wall
above the desk. In a plain oak frame was a long
parchment strip with two columns of names-the or-
ganization roll. And after each nane, all save a very
few, there stood a letter "X" in broad tremulous lines,
signifying for the name it stood after the distinction of
having passed faithfully on. It was very quiet-the
noise of the city seemed as remote as though of another
life-and through the window Brawn could see a
high brick wall around a small square of grass, and a



7

 JOHN-NO-BRAWN



gray patch of sky. In the front of the room, out in
the larger hallway, loomed the shadowy bulk of the
old machine with here and there the dull gleam of
polished brass. Life had paused here for a moment
before plunging on.
  "So you haven't heard from them lately," resumed
Brawn at length in a musing tone. "Tell you what,
Mr. MIcBurney. Next time, you see me before you
invest your money." The old man had turned again
to the desk and was still rummaging in the drawers.
  "By the way," said Brawn. "I was wondering if
you folks might want some old things of the gov-
ernor's "
  Mr. McBurney looked up momentarily.
  "There's an old silver trumpet and a helmet and a
couple of red shirts and some papers-rolls and
things."
  "Keep 'em yourself," said Mr. McBurney. "Ain't
they worth nothin' to you"
  "'That isn't it. You see, my aunt Mamie died last
week. And thev're selling the old stuff. Haven't any
place to keep 'em. Had to find me a place to live.
There isn't any room where I'm stopping."
  "Hey" said Mr. MvlcBurney.
  "4I say there isn't any room where I am. Thought
maybe the association might want 'em."
  Mr. McBurney pivoted round in his chair, a look
of finality on his face. "Can't find the blamed thing
anywhere-Say your aunt Mamie died-Too bad.
Too bad." He seemed to be arranging his thoughts in
the back of his head and with some difficulty. 'Maybe
I took it home. Well, never mind.-So you had to
move.



8

 JOHN-NO-BRAWN9



   "Yes," said Brawn.  'I'm at MIrs. NMelton's. Out
on Compton Street."
   "Hey -Out on Compton Street"
   Brawn rose slowly to his feet. "I Just thought I'd
drop in and see if you wanted any of his old trophies.
-For the room, you know. You've got a lot of stuff
like it there on the shelves," looking off indefinitely
into the dim hallway. And then he started toward the
door.
  "Don't be in a hurry," said Mr. McBurney.
  "Have to.-I've an engagement to-night. I thought
I'd drop in on you and see."
  Mr. McBurnev followed him slowly through the
silent room.  They came to the door and Brawn
opened it. Twilight was beginning to settle and it
was warm   and soft and provocative. There was
an odour of frying in the air and to the northwest
above the cornices there peeped the edge of a
rosy cloud.
  '"So you've moved," said Mr. McBurney. "How's
the law "
  The question startled with its definiteness. "Oh,
pretty good.-Little slow at first."
  "Son of Judge Brawn oughtn't to have any trouble
gettin' started."
  Brawn stepped over to the wall and inspected a lurid
print. It was a picture of a large structure engulfed
in flames. Forms could be seen at the windows and
up the ladders firemen swarmed. The sky above the
burning building was glaring red and in the street
in the foreground a number of people were dashing
along madly, women with streaming hair, men waving
arms aloft. And in one corner a little group was op-



9

 
JOHN-NO-B RAWN



erating an old hand engine, hanging on to the sidebars
with both arms and pumping for dear life.
  "Those were the days," said Brawn softly.
  Mr. McBurney warmed to such appreciation and
came and stood beside him.
  "They sure were. And your pappy was there with
the best of 'em." He leaned over and peered into the
picture. "That 's the old Hope Number Five.-I
remember as how Asa Brawn saved her from smashin'
to pieces on the Portland Bridge." His tone became
deep and mellow and reflective and John Brawn, scent-
ing a tale and a delay, turned to the door and looked
furtively out. But the old man was not to be denied.
He came and stood beside him in the doorway and the
noise of passing machines lent a curious background to
his voice.
  "It was in August sixty-nine, I remember," he went
on, "on a Thursday night. It had been awful dry and
hot for a week or so and everybody was settin' out in
front along on their porches in their white dresses
and things.-About nine o'clock the bells began to
ring.-I was settin' in front of Musgrove's paint shop,
up on Market Street then, and three or four of the
boys was with me. Well, we all jumped up and ran to
the engine house and pulled the old machine out onto
the street. That was her-in the picture there-the
old Hope Number Five, and she cost nine hundred
dollars.
  "By the time we got her on the street there was a
crowd; Bill Jordan, Aleck Smith, Asa Brawn-all the
gang. And then somebody called out, 'It's in Port-
land,' and we were off. I'll never forget that run. It
was about two mile, straight down Main Street, and



IO

 JOHN-NO-BRAWN



dusty!-and behind us all the way we could hear the
crowd with the Reindeer yellin' and callin' not fifty
yards behind us. You know it always was a race
between us and the Reindeer and we usually got the
best of it."
  John Brawn looked helplessly off at the dimming
sky.
  "WVhen we come to Twenty-eighth Street where the
road branches off to the right and goes down to the
New Albany Bridge-it's quite a steep hill-some one
calls out, 'There she is!' and we all looked and sure
enough there was the fire all right but it was over
across the river-over in Albany.-\Vell, that lets us
out. And we were all slackin' up when Asa Brawn
yells, 'Let's go to her anvhow, boys.'-And we did,
although it weren't any of our affair, New Albany
havin' a fire department of her own."
  Mr. McBurney paused and drew forth an ancient
quill toothpick from a vest pocket and reflectively
picked his teeth.
  "You ain't ever been down that Twenty-eighth
Street hill, have you"
  Brawn admitted he had not.
  "Well, I reckon that was before your time. It's
all built up now. Well-none of us realized what a
grade that was down to the bridge, that is not till we
got to rollin'. We hadn't got more nor fifty feet be-
fore we realized it. I had a holt on the rope up near
the head and on the right side. And directly the boys
commenced to drop off. The pace was too hot for
'em. There was about thirty with the old Hope that
night. About halfway down the hill I says to myself,
'Reckon yrou can keep up with the machine so's she



I I

 

JOHN-NO-B RAWN



won't run over you' For we were goin' pretty near
as fast as a horse can run and ganin' every minute.-
And then all of a sudden I saw the lights of the bridge
ahead and I done some quick thinkin'. You see the
bridge was divided in two parts-a right and left-
and in the middle were a stone buttress dividin' the
two sides so's nobody could make a mistake of drivin'
on the wrong side. And over to the right the banks
of the river looked mighty black and mighty deep.
And the space for us to run through was mighty slim-
looked like we would 'a' had a close squeak. And
behind me I heard the boys a-shoutin' and a-yellin' and
the drag rope was a-draggin' on the ground behind
me, and I could hear the old Hope rollin' and bumpin'
along. And I says to myself, 'Here's where you drops
out.' And I gave a run and a jump and lit in the
bushes on the side of the road. And just as I looked
up I see the old Hope go swingin' past, with her
tongue dippin' up and down just like she was a-scoopin'
up sand." The old man paused a moment for breath
and John Brawn waited silently for him to go on.
  Mr. McBurney then looked up into the young man's
face impressively. "There weren't but one man left on
that whole machine.-And that man were-Asa
Brawn.-He had holt of the tongue by the ring, on
the right side and he were runnin' along, leapin' and
slidin' and I could see him watchin' the road. And I
hollers to him to keep to the right as fur as possible,
cause the road just naturally tipped a bit the other way,
and he was gone, a-windin' down the road. And I set
there and I waited. And I waited and I listened but I
didn't hear no crash. And directly some of the boys
came a-runnin' up, breathin' hard and askin' a thousand



I 2

 

JOHN-NO-BRAWN'



excited questions. And when I got my brelth I went
on down the road and out on the bridge. And there
meren't no signs of a wreck, but I tell you it were a
narrer squeak, for the road were mighty narrer and the
old Hope goin' so fast. And by and by we came on
Asa Brawn a-settin' on the edge of the bridge with
his feet hangin' over above the water, and he were a-
breathin' heavy, and when we come up he turned and
grinned at us, like. And down a little further on, the
old Hope stood just as quiet as a wind-broken horse."
  John Brawn smiled. "Well," he said. "That 's a
new one. I never heard that one before."
  "That were just like Asa Brawn. Not afraid of
nothin'. Up to all sorts of deviltry.--He were a good
man." He shook his head slowly.
  They stood there in silence, together, with the twi-
light slipping down into the street, and the wisps of
smoke curling slowly upward into the steely blue-gray
of the sky and the hum of the city about them, and the
years seemed to slip away, roll back and leave the city
misty and glamorous in its youth, waiting, expectant,
for life. A rising eagerness came to John Brawn, a
quickening of pulse, a warming about the heart, a
little flame of high resolve. He turned and laid a hand
on the old man's shoulder.
  "Thank you for telling me that story," he said and
then he turned to go. And there crashed upon his
senses a sudden medley of sounds, dispelling the glam-
our. There was a shout, a great screaking noise, and
then a woman's piercing cry. He turned automatically
to look, at the shout. And it all took place before his
eyes, impersonal, vague, like the action on a movie
screen. He saw a big car come swerving to the curb



1 3

 
JOHN-NO-BRAWN



and stop. He saw a little bunch of something caught up
and rolled like a bundle of rags. He saw a man
clamber out of the car and come around in front of
it and then he saw a woman come running across the
pavement and throw herself upon the man, screaming
hideously.
  Instantly the street seemed swarming with people
and above the excited chatter he could hear the scream-
ing of the woman:
  "Lemme at him. Leemme at him. My Gawd, my
baby!' And directly two men dragged her back out
of the little crowd, and her dress was torn from the
upper half of her body. The smooth brown flesh shone
like silk in the soft evening light. Her eyes were wild
and staring and tears streamed like dry things down
her cheeks and her hands clutched convulsively in the
air as she was drawn away. Brawn saw her face as she
passed.  It was the N egress of the balcony, she of
the languid, impersonal regard.  And then directly
some one came out of the crowd holding out a little
form away from his body like an unclean thing. It
wxas quite limp and one little leg dangled all askew, and
its head hung away. Quite impersonal, too, it seemed.
Sam had got too much tinder foot.
  Then there came a man, it was a youngish man, only
a boy really, with a very white face and wild-eyed and
dishevelled and he asked ceaseless questions in a very
dry, hard, shrill voice.  And a big man   in shirt
sleeves and black linen cap held him tightly by the
arm.-It all passed before his eyes. And then he felt
something tugging away at his arm. As from a great
distance he turned and gave heed. Mr. McBurney
was whispering to him, a sharp gleam in his eyes. "Go



14

 
JOHN-NO-BRAWN



give 'em your name," he was saying. "Go give 'em
your name.
  He vaguely heard and understood not at all.
Rather impatiently he shook off the hand.
  "You're the first on the ground. It 11 make a good
case. 'We saw it with our own eves.--Go on in there
and take holt." The old man was tremulously eager.
  BrawNn's throat went dry and there was a hard, cold
lump in his chest. The excited stir of the crowd, the
straining, eager faces, the buzz of voices and back in
the hollow of the grimy house the muffled, staccato
screaming of a woman-became suddenly revoltfng.
"It's not in my line," he said at length and his voice
sounded very thin and without conviction.- 'Weli-
I'lI bring you those things some day next week.-l
must be off."  He shouldered his way through the
crowd and started off briskly southward along First
Street.
  Mr. McBurney watched his retreating figure with
an odd look of question on his face.



I 5

 






CHAPTER II



B Y THE time Brawn had reached Compton
      Street the fogs of depression had pretty well
      scattered.  It had likewise got pretty late.
Ordinarily he was the sort to take a street car even
for short distances, but to-night his perceptions which
had been slow to respond persisted in continuing to
vibrate and received frequent stimuli from his imagin-
ation. On First Street, about two blocks south of
Green where the accident had occurred, it had come to
him that to make a fight on reckless driving, dangerous
traffic of any sort, would be worthy of the most starved
ambition. And the raw edge of his nerves lent vigour
to that dawning determination, in an excess of mobile
feeling. Hie was working himself up. At Broadway
he was vacillating between high resolve and practical
discomfort. If it had not been five long blocks back
to the scene which would not be dispelled from his
memory; if it had not been so late-too late perhaps
to find any of the chief actors still upon the scene; if
it had not been that such action would have stamped
him as a procrastinator with decision, especially in the
eyes of his friend Mr. McBurney, he would have
turned back and hurled himself relentlessly into the
struggle on the side of justice. It was this last reason.
really, that held him. Hlis was not a procrastinat-
ing nature. On the contrary it responded facilely to
                         x6

 

JOHN-NO-BRAWNN'



the impulse of the moment. And so when he came
to Broadway, he turned west instead of back. And
just then a woman waved to him from a stealthv elec-
tric that slipped past, around a corner and out of sight.
It was just the shadow of a wave, a mere raising of
the hand. But then there was the interesting outline
of a small head and a small hat, momentarily visible
against an uncertain background, a suggestion of ele-
gance, refinement, charm and mystery. For he had not
lecognized the woman nor the car. And he caught
himself standing hat in hand and staring after a
shadow, in a quick flash of pleasure.  The traffic
crusade was forgotten. Traffic presented such a
multitude of phases. He continued west on Broadi-
way.
  XWhen he opened the door at 1 7 Compton Street
the clock struck the half hour. A woman's figure
glided across the orange oblong of an open door, and
a draught of air, sucked outward as he closed the door
behind him, carried a blend of subtle odours of unfami-
liar cookery. "You're pretty late," came in a thin,
tremulous voice.
  Brawn went to the door, hat and brief case in hand,
and stood smiling. "Smells mighty good. Something
smells mighty good. Ummmm !-What is it, Mrs.
Melton "
  Mrs. Melton looked up over her shoulder from
where she stooped before the sideboard and peered at
him over her glasses. "If you don't hurry, supper will
be all cold, and you can't eat just the smell."
  A touch of sharpness in the adjuration checked the
light in Brawn's face and he turned to go. ' I'l be
right down. I'll be right down. Won't take me five



I '7

 
JOHN-NO-BRAWN



minutes. Won't take me three minutes." He bounded
up the steps two at a time, went back along a narrow
hall to a rear chamber, opened the door and threw
on the light.
   On a little table just inside the door was a pile of
mail. He picked it up, tucking his hat and portman-
teau under his arm.  He ran through it cursorily.
Then he broke open the first envelope. It contained
a bill from a florist. Fle let it fall upon the floor. He
opened the second. It disclosed an engraved announce-
ment of the coming marriage of a Miss Elise Bain-
bridge to a Mr. Baker of Toledo. He let it fall after
the first. Then came a statement from a haberdasher
with the epigram, "To account rendered"; then a bill
from a candy shop, another from the Louisville Taxi-
cab Company which followed its predecessors with an
impatient fluttering, and finally a more serious-looking
document of much greater promise.  Brawn opened
it reflectively. It was a brief statement from his club
advising him that he had been posted.
  Brawn walked slowly over to a desk, laid his hat
upon it carefully, and then stepped over to a far wall
and hung his brief case on a hook there. Trouble
darkened his face.  "Wonder what they sent that
for" he said aloud and then stared at the ceiling with
knitted brows. "Twenty-four fifty, twelve, and five
-that makes-only forty-one-they're wrong," he
added with decision. And then he walked over to his
dresser and stared at himself in the glass.
  "NIr. Brawn !-Mr. Brawn !-Your five minutes
are up," came a voice from below.
  Brawn started. "Be right down," he called. And
then he walked slowly to the bathroom and directly



I 8

 

JOHN-NO-B RAWN



there came the sound of water running and a vigorous
sloshing and splashing.
  When finally he entered the dining room with shin-
ing face and sleekly brushed hair the clock struck seven
arid Mrs. Melton looked up at himl reproachfully.
"You men are all alike," she said.
  "Aw now, Mrs. Melton. You mustn't put us all in
a class like that. Some of us are quite distinctive."
  "Some of you are later than others.-What will
you have-the outside piece or do you like it a little
more rare -This was a good roast, but I'm afraid
it's all dried out standing in the oven so long."
  "How   are you, Mrs. Hlocker   You're looking
perter to-night, seems to me.-Oh, any part will do,
Mrs. Melton.-The heel looks pretty good," said
Brawn. Mrs. Hocker went primly on with the business
of eating as though that operation were a matter of
reflection rather than brazen enjoyment.
  "I just witnessed another bit of wasteful careless-
ness," said Brawn at length, to his plate. 'Automobile
ran over a little nigger down on First Street.-Tried
to pass a wagon on the wrong side."
  The two ladies looked up, their repose broken.
  "Terrible thing," said Brawn.
  "I'm afraid to go in town any more," Mrs. Ho1cker
put in. She was an unobtrusive woman in her fifties,
with mild gray eyes, a soft fluff of graying hair piled
high on her head with a roll in front, and fingers that
plucked.
  "But you're willing to take a chance, aren't you-
every now and then" interjected Brawn. his mouth
full of roast and potatoes and with a wink at MIrs.
Melton.



I 9

 
JOHN-N O-BRAWN



  '"Not any more than I can help," replied Mrs.
Hocker severely, and then the door bell rang.
  For a moment there was silence and then Mrs.
Melton's voice from the hall:
  "Did you order a taxicab, Mr. Brawn"
  Brawn laid his napkin down. He looked at the wall
and scowled. "Tell him to wait.-Why, it isn't time
vet. I told him to come at seven forty-five and," look-
ing at his watch, "it isn't but seven fifteen-seven
twenty." He rose to his feet and with his napkin
trailing went to the door.  "Say," he said to the
dim shadow of the driver, "you're early. Not till a
quarter to eight. Come back in about-but wait a
minute.-I'll be ready in a minute.-Just wait." And
he turned and started up the steps, calling over his
shoulder as he went:
  "Excuse me, Mrs. Melton. Excuse me, Mrs. Hock-
er. I forgot all about  5"  His voice trailed oft in
the depths of the upstairs and then a door banged.
Mrs. Melton faced about and had a few words with
the figure on the door step. There was a rumble of a
low, protesting voice and then Mrs. Melton closed
the door.
  She came back in the dining room and sat down.
And then she looked at Mrs. Hocker at the other end
of the table and Mrs. Hocker looked at her-in silence.
And the clock's ticking began again. The boarder's
napkin hung on the back of his chair.
  At eight o'clock John Brawn came down the stairs
once mo