The superman

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I The Political Boss of Babylon .... 7

II Jean Wallace Wins a Battle and Loses One 17

CHAPTER I The Political Boss of Babylon

Charles Livingston sat in his luxurious private office In the downtown district of Babylon. The office was located in one of the big buildings overlooking the Stock Exchange, and occupied the entire floor. The banking concern of which he was the head used the lower portion of the building for its various departments that came in direct touch with the public. Livingston appeared ill at ease, as he turned and faced a man who sat opposite him.

“Dick,’’ he said, with a defiant air, “I have been giving you money on one pretext or another for a long time. You seem to think that all you need do is to come and ask for it. I am not going to be bled any longer.”

The person addressed, Richard Dinsmore, did not appear in the least disturbed by this ultimatum.

“I must have fifty thousand dollars at once,” he replied with the air of one who feels sure of his point.

“I won’t give it to you.”

“It will be to your interest to let me have it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that if you refuse to let me have the money, 1 will make trouble for you.”

The recollection of several crooked financial deals put through by Livingston’s firm some time previously, in which Dinsmore had participated, made the banker feel uncomfortable. It had already cost him a large sum in blackmail, and there seemed to be no limit to the man’s demands. More than once had Livingston bitterly regretted taking Dinsmore into his confidence.

“You can't hurt me any. Go ahead if you think you can," he said firmly.

“I can have you sent to prison, and I’ll do it if you don’t come across.”

“You will go too, if I do,” replied the banker doggedly.

“Me go to prison! You know I wouldn’t, Charlie. I have influential friends who can protect me. Come, let me have this, and we will say no more about it. I should hate to be the cause of your getting into trouble.”

Livingston was silent for some time. He knew very well that Dinsmore had him in a corner and could fulfill his threat if he chose. As boss of the bi-partisan political machine in Babylon, Dinsmore occupied an impregnable position. He had almost unlimited power, and he knew how to use it. At length the banker took a checkbook from his desk and wrote a check for fifty thousand dollars, payable to Dinsmore, to whom he handed it without a word.

“Thank you, Charlie,” said the boss with a bland smile. “I knew you were too sensible to permit a break in our relations. You know where to come when you want a favor.

“I am sorry that I ever accepted any favors at your hands.”

“Why?”

“They come too high.”

“Don’t say that, Charlie. You have made more off my services in a week than I have received from you in a year. I hope we can still be friends.”

Livingston was plainly disgusted, but he realized that in making himself a party to fraud in business he had given Dinsmore a dangerous advantage. Under the circumstances, he preferred to have the man’s good-will rather than his enmity.

“All right, Dick,” he said, making an effort to smother his feeling of resentment. “Let us be friends.”

“You shall have no cause to regret it, Til promise you that/’

Dinsmore was lying, and the banker knew it. This was one of his stock phrases, and meant absolutely nothing.

Putting the check carefully in his pocket, Dinsmore rose to go. After a moment’s hesitation he resumed his seat.

^TThere is another matter that I wanted to mention.” He spoke this time with a trace of embarrassment, which was unusual for him.

“What is it?”

“Your daughter, Charlie. I — I am thinking of taking a wife.”

“You !” exclaimed the banker hotly. “I cannot imagine such a thing. She is a woman of high ideals. You ate not the sort of a man she would want.”

Livingston was dumbfounded at the proposal. His face showed plainly the powerful emotions that stirred him. He idolized Marion his only child, and the thought of her being married to such a man as Dinsmore, a professional blackmailer, was sickening. At the same time he feared the man. and wished, if possible, to avoid an open rupture.

Dinsmore smiled grimly. He was unmoved by either flattery or abuse. He knew his power, and would not hesitate to use it.

“Think it over, Charlie,” he said quietly. “She may not fancy me at first, but if she finds out that it is going to save you from exposure and disgrace, she may consider it.”

“Damn you, you scoundrel!” thundered Livingston, unable longer to control his feelings.

“I see you understand me,” returned Dinsmore with a satisfied grin. “There is no need for harsh words. All you need to do is to speak a few words of advice in the proper way, and everything will be all right — I will give you a few days to consider it.”

And he took his hat, and walked out of the office without further comment.

Livingston realized that he was in a desperate plight. The loss of a million dollars in the stock market would not worry him. The thought, however, of having either to sacrifice his daughter or go to prison was maddening. He had never dreamed that such a situation as this could develop. Dinsmore was equally guilty, but Livingston knew that the law would never reach him. If necessary, the father would gladly take a prison sentence to save Marion ; but there would still be the exposure and disgrace. This he feared would kill the girl.

Richard Dinsmore, the political boss of Babylon, was about thirty-fTve years of age. Originally a lawyer, he had attained quite a reputation throughout the country by reason of his ability to shield corporations from prosecution. He had dabbled some in stocks and bonds, as a sort of “side line.” His chief field of activity, however, was politics. Shrewd, far-sighted, and unscrupulous, he had won his present influential position by whatever means he could command. He was an orator of no small ability, possessed of a strong personality, keen intellect, and more than ordinary executive talent. He had already amassed a considerable fortune, and the larger portion of it could be attributed to political graft. He had his finger in every municipal pie that was handed around and usually managed to get the lion’s share. He was always faultlessly dressed, wore some expensive jewelry, and his appearance in general was such as to command attention.

Livingston, on the other hand, was a thorough gentleman. He was about fifty years old, with a naturally mild disposition. He was easily the richest man in Babylon. Aside from his well-earned reputation as a leader in the business world, he was somewhat of a student in scientific fields. His private suite of offices included a valuable library as well as some instruments and charts for use in his pursuit of astronomical studies. He was not avaricious, and did not often participate in questionable deals. He had, however, yielded to the suggestions of Dinsmore to handle at least one crooked transaction. For the period in which he lived, the noonday of the twentieth century, he was considerably above the average representative of big business. He was liberal in his views and inclined to be generous to his fellows. The larger portion of his great fortune had been inherited from his father. He continued to grow rich more by reason of his position and prestige than by aggressive scheming.

How long Livingston sat pondering over the perplexing problefm that had been so unexpectedly thrust upon him, he did not know. It seemed to him as if the joy of living was gone. The future looked dark and foreboding. He hardly knew whether he would dare to speak to Marion regarding Dinsmore. He felt sure that she would be horrified at the suggestion of such an alliance. He would never urge her unduly in such a matter. It would' be painful to give her up, even to marry some worthy man. With a sigh of bitterness he lifted his head from the desk upon which he had leaned, and looked around. He was startled to see that it had grown quite dark. Instinctively he touched the button that turned on the lights in the office.

“Must be a storm coming,” he said half aloud, as he rang for his secretary.

“What does this mean, Simpkins?” he asked, pointing to the window.

“Must be a terrific storm coming.”

“I have been watching the sky for a few minutes,” replied the young man. “There isn’t a cloud visible. Come to the window.”

Livingston went to the window, and looked out. Overhead he could see the narrow ribbon of sky between the tops of the tall buildings. The stars were twinkling as brightly as he had ever seen them at midnight.

“Astonishing!” he exclaimed, leaning out a second time to make sure that he was not mistaken. “There is no eclipse scheduled for to-day. Our scientific friends must have overlooked something in their calculations.”

“It struck me as being rather unusual,” replied the secretary.

“I must look into this. A total eclipse at 12 :30 p. m. and nothing in the papers about it I So far as I can recall, no mention has been made of it by our astronomers. Come, let’s go up to the top of the building and look around.”

The two men went to the elevator, and made their way to the top of the building. As they emerged from the door of the observation tower, Livingston uttered an exclamation of surprise.

They were in a good position to observe the phenomenon. The whole sky was dotted with stars. One would have said it was midnight rather than the middle of the day. There were no clouds in sight, and the atmosphere was unusually clear for early June. The sun seemed to have been blotted out of the sky and there was a penetrating chill in the air that was unusual.

“It is very mysterious,” mused Livingston, as he gazed first at the starry heavens and then at the flickering lights below in the offices and streets.

“You are so well versed in astronomy, Mr. Livingston, I hoped you would be able to tell me about it,” ventured the young man.

“I have made a special study of eclipses, but this is different from anything I ever heard of. It came on rather suddenly, did it not?”

“Yes sir. I was at my desk, and noticed it was getting dark. Thinking it was a heavy cloud, I turned on the lights. Then I looked out the window, and discovered my mistake.’*

Below in the streets the trolley cars could be seen creeping along with all lights burning, while stores and offices all around were lighted up.

“What star is that?” asked Simpkins, pointing to a brilliant planet almost overhead.

“That is Venus. The sun is getting further ahead of her each day, and she will soon be the evening star. She is so bright as to be plainly visible in broad daylight at times.”

“It looks like a young moon, it is so large and bright.”

After a few minutes more spent in observation, and some further explanations regarding the various constellations, Livingston led the way back to the office.

“The clerks may as well go home. Send down word to have the offices closed for the day,” he said, as he turned into his library.

Livingston took a volume from the bookcase, then settled himself comfortably to look up the data on eclipses. Nothing to correspond with the present occurrence could be found. He took another volume by a different author, but the search was fruitless. He was scanning the pages closely when a light hand was laid on his arm.

“Why Marion, you startled me!” he exclaimed, turning around quickly.

“Forgive me. Papa dear, if I did,” said the young woman who had so quietly entered the room. Then, as she stooped to kiss him, she added: “You seemed very deeply absorbed in your reading. I thought I would surprise you. I was shopping when the darkness came, so concluded to run in and see you.”

She noted her father’s sad, careworn look. He seemed to have suddenly grown much older.

“I guess I am out of sorts to-day,” he said, noticing her questioning scrutiny.

Marion Livingston was the only child of the noted banker, and he idolized her. She was a little past twenty years of age, but to the casual observer she might appear older or younger, according to her mood. When in a playful humor, she seemed scarcely more than a child. Just now, with the serious expression in her dark, lustrous eyes, she looked older. Not that she was less beautiful, but more of the mature womanly spirit was apparent. She was of medium height, with a form well rounded and graceful. Her hair was dark, almost black, and there was a wealth of it, done up in a manner peculiarly becoming to her. Her features were expressive of a strong, sympathetic character. Her chief attraction, however, lay in her eyes, which revealed a soul of unusual charm. They could sparkle with mirth and gaiety, or show tender sympathy for another’s trials. They could also, if occasion arose, flash with indignation at some act of injustice or wrong.

Marion drew a chair beside her father.

“Tell me about the eclipse. Papa,” she said, caressing his hand gently.

“It is a mystery to me,” he replied frankly. “None of our scientists seem to have made note of it. I am greatly puzzled over it.”

“Perhaps it is an extra one, thrown in for good measure,” she said, laughing.

“Possibly it is,” he agreed, smiling at her artless manner.

The banker assumed a cheerfulness that he was far from feeling. He was mentally comparing this lovely creature, the darling of his heart, with the despicable character who sought her hand in marriage.

“Whatever is the matter with you, Papa?’’ she asked earnestly, suspecting that he was trying to conceal something from her.

“It is nothing, dear,” he replied, making a desperate effort to hide his distress of mind.

“Who has been here to see you to-day?”

“Dinsmore.”

“Oh, that wretch! He always gives you the blues when he comes. I wish he would stay away.” The dark eyes grew very tender in their sympathy.

“I would be glad if he stayed away. He is hard to get rid of. He is a dangerous man to deal with. He could do me great harm if he chose. I must handle him carefully.”

“I wouldn’t let him worry me, if I were you. With all your resources and friends, you need not fear him.”

“I guess you are right, Marion. At least, there is no reason for immediate alarm. Still, I must be careful with him. I thought of inviting him to dine with us some evening. Would you object?”

“Why, certainly not, if you wish it.”

Livingston tried to evade his child’s searching look. He already felt like a criminal, to even consider for a moment giving Dinsmore any encouragement. The latter’s threat of exposure, however, grew more formidable as the banker thought it over. If the boss should carry out his threat, it would mean utter ruin for Livingston, both socially and in a business way.

“I think I will have to kidnap you and carry you away, Papa,” Marion said playfully: “You have the blues, and the only way to cure them is to get you home, where I can sing for you. That will drive them away.”

“I suppose I may as well surrender,” he replied, laughing.

‘*Jean is at the door with the car. Will you come now T*

“Yes, I will be ready in a moment.”

Livingston closed his desk, and replaced the volumes in the bookcase. Then he glanced at his watch. It was half - past three o’clock. Apparently the offices were deserted by all except janitors and watchmen.

They went down in the elevator, and passed out into the street, where their car was waiting. Everything around bore the appearance of night. The front and rear lights were burning on the car. Jean Wallace, the chauffeur, stood at the door, holding it open for the banker and his daughter to pass in.

“I am going to take Papa home, Jean,” said Marion, as he helped her into the car.

Jean touched his cap politely, closed the door, and took his place at the wheel. He was a fine specimen of young manhood, considerably above the average in intelligence and strength of character. He was of athletic build, very active, and an expert automobilist. He was a trusted employee, held in high esteem by both Livingston and his daughter.

The engine began to purr, and the handsome car swung out from the curb and started on its journey uptown.

CHAPTER 11.

Jean Wallace Wins a Battle and Loses One.

Livingston's car had gone scarcely a dozen blocks from the office when the Chauffeur found it necessary to turn into a side street, in order to get away from the traffic jam. The darkness that had fallen upon the city at midday had created confusion in all directions. Many of the large downtown business concerns had sent their clerks home early on account of the eclipse. This flood of humanity, turned loose on the transit lines at an unexpected hour, had literally swamped them. Many people were obliged to walk, for there were such crowds at the transit terminals that it was impossible to get home in that way. There was also some excitement on account of the unexpected darkness, which added to the general confusion. In some quarters there was actual panic.

The street into which Jean Wallace turned his car, after leaving the main thoroughfare, was in the retail shopping district. There were stores of the better sort, with their stocks of jewelry, furnishings, and miscellaneous articles. The conditions here were alarming. Armed gangs of thieves were looting the stores with impunity. It seemed that all semblance of law and order had suddenly been swept away. Vicious characters from the resorts of the underworld swarmed the streets, with little or no opposition. Instinctively the occupants of the car drew back to avoid attracting attention.

Wallace was exerting all his skill to maneuver the car so as to keep as far away from these groups of marauders as possible. Scarcely a block was passed in which they did not witness acts of violence and robbery. If a shopkeeper resisted the bandits, he was beaten or killed outright. Some merchants had closed their doors soon after the dark pall had fallen over the city. In such cases the thieves were breaking in the windows. Occasionally a lone policeman was visible, but even the police were powerless to stem the tide of outlawry. It seemed as if all the evil forces in the universe had been turned loose upon the unfortunate city.

At length the car left the side street, and once more turned uptown. Here the crowds were not so dense, and Livingston breathed more freely. If the car could only keep moving now, he and Marion would soon be at home. They were passing a block where there was a vacant lot near the center. A woman was being dragged into this lot by two men. The frightened creature was screaming for help, but no one responded to her cries. People were skurrying along the sidewalk, but apparently no one cared, or dared, to interfere.

Wallace took in the situation at a glance, and looked inquiringly at his employer. The banker nodded approval, and the car was brought to a stop at the curb. Wallace sprang to the pavement, and with two or three bounds was upon the two ruffians. He threw himself upon the man nearest him and bore him to the ground, where they grappled. The other fellow still held to the woman’s arm, apparently undecided to let her go or help his partner. Wallace and the bandit were evenly matched, and they fought like tigers. First one was on top and then the other, but the cool, steady nerve of the chauffeur began to tell. With a sudden twist, he turned his antagonist’s arm back until it snapped. Springing to his feet, Wallace faced the other fellow.

The second man was much larger than the chauffeur, and promised a harder fight. He let go of the woman, as he squared him^self to receive the attack.

“Run for your life, girl!” said Wallace, as he let go a savage blow at the bandit’s jaw. The fellow parried the thrust and landed a stinging right-hander on the chauffeur’s neck. Then they clinched and went at it. The bandit’s weight was in his favor, but, try as he would, he could neither throw the chauffeur nor break his viselike grip. The two combatants swayed back and forth like trees in a storm, with but slight advantage apparent on either side. At length, by a dexterous movement, Wallace tripped his antagonist, and the two went down together. The bandit’s weight was again in his favor, and he succeeded in rolling over on top of the chauffeur, almost squeezing the breath out of him. Wallace was at a serious disadvantage, and Marion, who had watched the battle with bated breath, gave a little cry of dismay as she saw the bandit straighten up and draw back for the knockout blow. Wallace saw that he had but one chance, and with lightning rapidity he drew up his knees with such force that it threw his antagonist clean over his head. There lay the bandit, sprawling on his face, dazed by the sudden fall. Wallace was up in an instant, and had reached the car before the fellow could scramble to his feet. The woman had disappeared into a nearby house, so there was nothing to do but proceed homeward.

“That was very well done, Wallace,” said Livingston, as he leaned forward, while the car sped onward at a good clip.

“I am real proud of you, Jean,” whispered Marion, as she, too, leaned forward. Then she continued in a frightened tone: “Why, Jean, there is blood on your collar! I fear you are injured.”

“It is only a scratch,” he replied, smiling back at her, as he gave the car a little more speed.

He was thinking how sweet it was to hear Marion speak in that anxious way, and show her concern for him. There is perhaps nothing that is more coveted by a man than the opportunity to do some worthy act in the presence of the woman he loves. So it was quite natural for Wallace to feel that he could whip half-a-dozen such fellows, if he could win the approval of Marion Livingston. Her daintily-gloved hand had rested on his shoulder for a moment, as she spoke to hin^, and she had wiped the blood from his neck with her own handkerchief. Somehow, it set his heart beating like a trip hammer.

Jean was not given to sentimental ideas, as a rule, but there was something in Marion’s look and touch that stirred his very soul. What if he could win the love of such a woman. But he was merely a servant in the household, and his practical common-sense told him there was a great obstacle in the way of such a realization.

Marion, on h^r part, was thinking how brave and chivalrous he was. She had admired his polite, gentlemanly behavior as he drove her about the city. Now she had seen him in a somewhat ditferent role. He had rescued a helpless girl from two ruffians, and beaten them both into submission. His extreme modesty about the matter, also, was impressive. How could she help feeling a thrill of pride?

The car was detained several minutes at a crossing, by the traffic rush. As it waited for the signal to proceed, Marion noticed a man standing at the side of the street a few yards distant who was speaking to a small crowd of people. Her curiosity was aroused by hearing the words “darkening of the sun,” “judgement day,” as the speaker endeavored to make himself heard amid the clatter of vehicles. She gathered from fragments of the address that the man was a street preacher. It was evident from his words and manner that he in some way connected the darkening of the sun with fulfillment of prophecies in the Bible. This idea interested her, for she was a devout believer in the Bible. It had not occurred to her, however, that anything in that book dealt with present-day events. A moment later the car moved forward, and the crowd and speaker were left behind.

The car had apparently passed the danger zone, for the streets above Grand Avenue were not so crowded, and there w'as less disturbance. The Livingstons were approaching another crossing, where stood a lone “traffic cop,” apparently intent upon directing vehicles one way or the other. As the Livingston car drew up to the corner, the officer signalled it to stop. He then walked deliberately up and stepped on the running board. Leaning over toward Wallace, he suddenly drew a pistol, which had been concealed, and pressed it against the chauffeur's side.

“Turn and go east. No fooling, or Fll blow your head off,” he said with a dark scowl.

Wallace was taken completely by surprise. The clever crook had somehow obtained a police helmet and disguised himself as an officer, in order to get the drop on his victims. There were other vehicles dodging here and there in the darkness, but their occupants could not tell that there was anything wrong. A single false move might mean death to all in his care, so Wallace yielded obedience, meanwhile grinding his teeth at being caught in such a trap. All that could be done at that moment was to obey orders. Wallace was on the alert for an opportunity to escape, or divert the attention of the bandit. He would have wrecked the car against a trolley pole, had it not been for fear of injuring Marion. He would face death in a moment if he could feel that it meant deliverance to the occupants of the car. He was, however, too sensible to throw his life away in a foolhardy effort.

In less than five minutes the car and its passengers had passed from the fashionable boulevard, where they had been driving homeward, to a rough neighborhood bordering on the river. Here the streets were full of men and boys, some of whom were the worse for liquor. A prolonged strike of the workers in Babylon had created ugly feelings among them and a splendid-looking car such as Livingston's Elicited comments that were anything but pleasant.

Livingston saw that they were in a serious predicament. The bandit ordered Wallace to drive alongside the curb and stop. They were in front of a four-story building, an apartment house of the lower class. Here the bandit was joined by several men, who were evidently waiting for him. As they crowded around the car, Marion gave a cry of dismay and shrank back, clinging to her father.

“Get out of /the car!" was the peremptory order of one ruffian, as he seized Livingston by the arm, at the same time brandishing a pistol.

Livingston stepped out to the sidewalk.

“What does this mean? What do you want?" he demanded of the man who held his arm.

“We want some of your cash, boss,” answered another rough-looking fellow as he thrust his hands into the banker's pockets.

Jean Wallace had been ordered from his seat in the car, and was standing near Livingston. His pockets had been searched, too, but the booty was small, and a growl of disappointment came from the crowd.

“We'll take the girl, then, and hold her until we get the dough," suggested another ruffian, with a brutal leer toward the car where Marion sat.

“I'll give you money, if that is what you want," said Livingston, hoping to get away from the gang. “Name the price."

“Fifty thousand bucks," replied one, with a greedy look.

“Checks ain't no good without security," bawled another, in a tone of disgust.

“He can stop payment on a check as soon as he gets away," suggested a third.

“Give us the check, and leave the girl until we get our cash, then we’ll let her go,” said the leader.

Marion’s heart almost stopped beating at the thought of being delivered up to such a crowd. A reassuring look from Wallace relieved her fears somewhat. Wallace and Livingston exchanged significant glances, which meant that they would fight to the death before they would leave Marion. The chauffeur looked hurriedly around, then at the car, as if meditating a geita'way; but it seemed hopeless to try. One bandit was at the wheel, and all the assailants were armed with pistols. Apparently there was nothing left for Livingston and his party but to fight their way through. The semi-darkness of the street gave little hope of attracting any outsiders to help them. Livingston took out a check-book.

“Fifty thousand, and no questions asked. I’ll give you my word for it,” he said, determined to make one more desperate effort to escape.

“Give us the check,” muttered the leader sullenly.

Livingston wrote out the check and signed it. It was payable to bearer and irrevocable. The leader snatched it greedily, placing it hurriedly in his pocket.