Jack and Susan in 1913 Read Online Free Page A

hurled it down the street as if it were a ball in a game of tenpins.
    All this occurred in a matter of seconds. Susan, still lying in the snow, saw the Russian consul hurry up the stairs of his residence—experience probably having taught him not to wait around in order to satisfy his curiosity about certain altercations in the street.
    At the same time, the chauffeur blew a shrill whistle, and called out imprecations and threats against the bearded anarchist, who had turned and was headed down the avenue at a trot.
    â€œAnarchists!” shouted the chauffeur. “Anarchists!”
    Windows began to be raised along both sides of the street.
    The white terrier stood near Susan’s feet, looking indecisive. He seemed to be trying to decide whether to attack Mr. Austin again or to run after the anarchist.
    He whined.
    Susan threw out an arm and pointed down the block. “That one.”
    The terrier barked happily, and at once dashed off in pursuit. At the corner of Fifty-seventh Street he caught up with the would-be bomb-thrower. Seeing his chance, the dog leapt on to the hood of a Pope Hartford touring car parked in front of the Osborne Apartments and then hurled himself on to the anarchist’s head.
    The man screamed, and tried to shake the animal off.
    The dog clawed and barked and bit, tearing at the anarchist’s face and neck.
    Blinded, the anarchist stumbled to the right, knocking into a streetlamp. Then he stumbled to the left, slipping on a patch of ice.
    Just as the anarchist at last succeeded in clawing the dog loose from his head, a police van approached the corner of Fifty-seventh Street—not with its siren on, but just on a routine middle-of-the-night beat. The anarchist held the dog aloft, screeching imprecations at it in Russian, then flung it into the street, right into the path of the oncoming vehicle.
    Flailing helplessly, the little terrier tumbled end-over-end through the swirling snow and landed a couple of yards in front of the van.
    The driver, seeing what had happened, instantly pulled the brake lever, causing the tires to skid on the snow and the vehicle to spin out of control. The animal tried to scramble to safety, but in another moment was caught beneath one of the turning wheels of the van.
    The dog let out a howling yelp, but that pitiful scream was overridden by another—and a human one at that—as the anarchist, blinded by his own blood that had been scraped out of his forehead and scalp by the dog, was also struck by the out-of-control vehicle. With a terrible grinding, the anarchist’s legs and midsection were crushed against the lamppost; the impact of the collision was so great that the lamppost cracked in two and fell into the street across the roof of a taxicab.
    As the police clambered out of their van and surrounded their unintended victim, Mr. Austin arrived on the scene and ran out into the street and grabbed up the battered but still-breathing dog. He walked back up the avenue to where Susan Bright still lay in the snow.
    The dog whimpered in Jay Austin’s arms, and his attempts to bite the man were pitifully ineffectual.
    â€œI think he’s broken his leg,” said Mr. Austin sadly, and held out a hand to help Susan to her feet.
    But she merely waved away the proffered assistance with a gesture of disgust. “So have I,” she said with dismal certitude.

    Susan Bright, a young actress new to our stage (at least I cannot recall having seen her before), played the part of the heroine’s sister-in-law, and played it extremely well. She is a good, reliable, and interesting actress, with a certain amount of personality, and I should say that she will be a useful addition to our list of leading ladies—or perhaps I should make that “stars.” She lacks the original methods of a great actress, but has all the qualities of a good one. These are nice and comforting things to possess, and Susan Bright will be seen