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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Odd Numbers, by Sewell Ford, Illustrated by
+F. Vaux Nicholson
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Odd Numbers
+       Being Further Chronicles of Shorty McCabe
+
+
+Author: Sewell Ford
+
+
+
+Release Date: September 4, 2008  [eBook #26528]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ODD NUMBERS***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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+
+
+
+
+
+ODD NUMBERS
+
+Being Further Chronicles of Shorty McCabe
+
+by
+
+SEWELL FORD
+
+Author of
+Trying Out Torchy, Etc.
+
+Illustrations by F. Vaux Wilson
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "'SISTERS? DO WE LOOK IT?' SAYS MAISIE"]
+
+
+
+
+New York
+Grosset & Dunlap
+Publishers
+
+Copyright, 1908, 1909, 1910, 1911, by Sewell Ford
+Copyright, 1912, by Edward J. Clode
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER                               PAGE
+     I.  Goliah and the Purple Lid       1
+    II.  How Maizie Came Through        17
+   III.  Where Spotty Fitted In         35
+    IV.  A Grandmother Who Got Going    50
+     V.  A Long Shot on DeLancey        67
+    VI.  Playing Harold Both Ways       84
+   VII.  Cornelia Shows Some Class     100
+  VIII.  Doping Out an Odd One         116
+    IX.  Handing Bobby a Blank         134
+     X.  Marmaduke Slips One Over      151
+    XI.  A Look In on the Goat Game    167
+   XII.  Mrs. Truckles' Broad Jump     183
+  XIII.  Heiney Takes the Gloom Cure   199
+   XIV.  A Try-Out for Toodleism       214
+    XV.  The Case of the Tiscotts      230
+   XVI.  Classing Tutwater Right       246
+  XVII.  How Hermy Put It Over         262
+ XVIII.  Joy Riding with Aunty         279
+   XIX.  Turning a Trick for Beany     294
+
+
+
+ODD NUMBERS
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+GOLIAH AND THE PURPLE LID
+
+
+One of my highbrow reg'lars at the Physical Culture Studio, a gent that
+mixes up in charity works, like organizin' debatin' societies in the deaf
+and dumb asylums, was tellin' me awhile back of a great scheme of his to
+help out the stranger in our fair village. He wants to open public
+information bureaus, where a jay might go and find out anything he wanted
+to know, from how to locate a New Thought church, to the nearest place
+where he could buy a fresh celluloid collar.
+
+"Get the idea?" says he. "A public bureau where strangers in New York
+would be given courteous attention, friendly advice, and that sort of
+thing."
+
+"What's the use?" says I. "Ain't I here?"
+
+Course, I was just gettin' over a josh. But say, it ain't all a funny
+dream, either. Don't a lot of 'em come my way? Maybe it's because I'm so
+apt to lay myself open to the confidential tackle. But somehow, when I
+see one of these tourist freaks sizin' me up, and lookin' kind of dazed
+and lonesome, I can't chuck him back the frosty stare. I've been a stray
+in a strange town myself. So I gen'rally tries to seem halfway human, and
+if he opens up with some shot on the weather, I let him get in the
+follow-up questions and take the chances.
+
+Here the other day, though, I wa'n't lookin' for anything of the kind. I
+was just joltin' down my luncheon with a little promenade up the sunny
+side of Avenue V, taking in the exhibits--things in the show windows and
+folks on the sidewalks--as keen as if I'd paid in my dollar at some
+ticket office.
+
+And say, where can you beat it? I see it 'most every day in the year, and
+it's always new. There's different flowers in the florists' displays, new
+flags hung out on the big hotels, and even the chorus ladies in the
+limousines are changed now and then.
+
+I can't figure out just what it was landed me in front of this millinery
+window. Gen'rally I hurry by them exhibits with a shudder; for once I got
+gay and told Sadie to take her pick, as this one was on me; and it was
+months before I got over the shock of payin' that bill. But there I finds
+myself, close up to the plate glass, gawpin' at a sample of what can be
+done in the hat line when the Bureau of Obstructions has been bought off
+and nobody's thought of applyin' the statute of limitations.
+
+It's a heliotrope lid, and the foundation must have used up enough straw
+to bed down a circus. It has the dimensions and general outlines of a
+summerhouse. The scheme of decoration is simple enough, though. The top
+of this heliotrope summerhouse has been caught in a heliotrope fog,
+that's all. There's yards and yards of this gauzy stuff draped and puffed
+and looped around it, with only a wide purple ribbon showin' here and
+there and keepin' the fog in place.
+
+Well, all that is restin' careless in a box, the size of a quarter-mile
+runnin' track, with the cover half off. And it's a work of art in itself,
+that box,--all Looey Cans pictures, and a thick purple silk cord to tie
+it up with. Why, one glimpse of that combination was enough to make me
+clap my hand over my roll and back away from the spot!
+
+Just then, though, I notices another gent steppin' up for a squint at the
+monstrosity, and I can't help lingerin' to see if he gets the same kind
+of a shock. He's sort of a queer party, too,--short, stoop shouldered,
+thin faced, wrinkled old chap, with a sandy mustache mixed some with
+gray, and a pair of shrewd little eyes peerin' out under bushy brows.
+Anybody could spot him as a rutabaga delegate by the high crowned soft
+hat and the back number ulster that he's still stickin' to, though the
+thermometer is way up in the eighties.
+
+But he don't seem to shy any at the purple lid. He sticks his head out
+first this way and then that, like a turtle, and then all of a sudden he
+shoots over kind of a quizzin' glance at me. I can't help but give him
+the grin. At that his mouth corners wrinkle up and the little gray eyes
+begin to twinkle.
+
+"Quite a hat, eh?" he chuckles.
+
+"It's goin' some in the lid line," says I.
+
+"I expect that's a mighty stylish article, though," says he.
+
+"That's the bluff the store people are makin'," says I, "and there's no
+law against it."
+
+"What would be your guess on the price of that there, now?" says he,
+edging up.
+
+"Ah, let's leave such harrowin' details to the man that has to pay for
+it," says I. "No use in our gettin' the chilly spine over what's marked
+on the price ticket; that is, unless you're thinking of investin'," and
+as I tips him the humorous wink I starts to move off.
+
+But this wa'n't a case where I was to get out so easy. He comes right
+after me. "Excuse me, neighbor," says he; "but--but that's exactly what I
+was thinking of doing, if it wasn't too infernally expensive."
+
+"What!" says I, gazin' at him; for he ain't the kind of citizen you'd
+expect to find indulgin' in such foolishness. "Oh, well, don't mind my
+remarks. Go ahead and blow yourself. You want it for the missus, eh?"
+
+"Ye-e-es," he drawls; "for--for my wife. Ah--er--would it be asking too
+much of a stranger if I should get you to step in there with me while I
+find out the price?"
+
+"Why," says I, lookin' him over careful,--"why, I don't know as I'd want
+to go as far as---- Well, what's the object?"
+
+"You see," says he, "I'm sort of a bashful person,--always have
+been,--and I don't just like to go in there alone amongst all them women
+folks. But the fact is, I've kind of got my mind set on having that hat,
+and----"
+
+"Wife ain't in town, then?" says I.
+
+"No," says he, "she's--she isn't."
+
+"Ain't you runnin' some risks," says I, "loadin' up with a lid that may
+not fit her partic'lar style of beauty?"
+
+"That's so, that's so," says he. "Ought to be something that would kind
+of jibe with her complexion and the color of her hair, hadn't it?"
+
+"You've surrounded the idea," says I. "Maybe it would be safer to send
+for her to come on."
+
+"No," says he; "couldn't be done. But see here," and he takes my arm and
+steers me up the avenue, "if you don't mind talking this over, I'd like
+to tell you a plan I've just thought out."
+
+Well, he'd got me some int'rested in him by that time. I could see he
+wa'n't no common Rube, and them twinklin' little eyes of his kind of got
+me. So I tells him to reel it off.
+
+"Maybe you never heard of me," he goes on; "but I'm Goliah Daggett, from
+South Forks, Iowy."
+
+"Guess I've missed hearin' of you," says I.
+
+"I suppose so," says he, kind of disappointed, though. "The boys out
+there call me Gol Daggett."
+
+"Sounds most like a cussword," says I.
+
+"Yes," says he; "that's one reason I'm pretty well known in the State.
+And there may be other reasons, too." He lets out a little chuckle at
+that; not loud, you know, but just as though he was swallowin' some joke
+or other. It was a specialty of his, this smothered chuckle business. "Of
+course," he goes on, "you needn't tell me your name, unless----"
+
+"It's a fair swap," says I. "Mine's McCabe; Shorty for short."
+
+"Yes?" says he. "I knew a McCabe once. He--er--well, he----"
+
+"Never mind," says I. "It's a big fam'ly, and there's only a few of us
+that's real credits to the name. But about this scheme of yours, Mr.
+Daggett?"
+
+"Certainly," says he. "It's just this: If I could find a woman who looked
+a good deal like my wife, I could try the hat on her, couldn't I? She'd
+do as well, eh?"
+
+"I don't know why not," says I.
+
+"Well," says he, "I know of just such a woman; saw her this morning in my
+hotel barber shop, where I dropped in for a haircut. She was one of
+these--What do you call 'em now?"
+
+"Manicure artists?" says I.
+
+"That's it," says he. "Asked me if I didn't want my fingers manicured;
+and, by jinks! I let her do it, just to see what it was like. Never felt
+so blamed foolish in my life! Look at them fingernails, will you? Been
+parin' 'em with a jackknife for fifty-seven years; and she soaks 'em out
+in a bowl of perfumery, jabs under 'em with a little stick wrapped in
+cotton, cuts off all the hang nails, files 'em round at the ends, and
+polishes 'em up so they shine as if they were varnished! He, he! Guess
+the boys would laugh if they could have seen me."
+
+"It's one experience you've got on me," says I. "And this manicure lady
+is a ringer for Mrs. Daggett, eh?"
+
+"Well, now," says he, scratchin' his chin, "maybe I ought to put it that
+she looks a good deal as Mrs. Daggett might have looked ten or fifteen
+years ago if she'd been got up that way,--same shade of red hair, only
+not such a thunderin' lot of it; same kind of blue eyes, only not so wide
+open and starry; and a nose and chin that I couldn't help remarking.
+Course, now, you understand this young woman was fixed up considerable
+smarter than Mrs. Daggett ever was in her life."
+
+"If she's a manicure artist in one of them Broadway hotels," says I, "I
+could guess that; specially if Mrs. Daggett's always stuck to Iowa."
+
+"Yes, that's right; she has," says Daggett. "But if she'd had the same
+chance to know what to wear and how to wear it----Well, I wish she'd had
+it, that's all. And she wanted it. My, my! how she did hanker for such
+things, Mr. McCabe!"
+
+"Well, better late than never," says I.
+
+"No, no!" says he, his voice kind of breakin' up. "That's what I want to
+forget, how--how late it is!" and hanged if he don't have to fish out a
+handkerchief and swab off his eyes. "You see," he goes on, "Marthy's
+gone."
+
+"Eh?" says I. "You mean she's----"
+
+He nods. "Four years ago this spring," says he. "Typhoid."
+
+"But," says I, "how about this hat?"
+
+"One of my notions," says he,--"just a foolish idea of mine. I'll tell
+you. When she was lying there, all white and thin, and not caring whether
+she ever got up again or not, a new spring hat was the only thing I could
+get her to take an interest in. She'd never had what you might call a
+real, bang-up, stylish hat. Always wanted one, too. And it wasn't because
+I was such a mean critter that she couldn't have had the money. But you
+know how it is in a little place like South Forks. They don't have 'em in
+stock, not the kind she wanted, and maybe we couldn't have found one
+nearer than Omaha or Chicago; and someway there never was a spring when I
+could seem to fix things so we could take the trip. Looked kind of
+foolish, too, traveling so far just to get a hat. So she went without,
+and put up with what Miss Simmons could trim for her. They looked all
+right, too, and I used to tell Marthy they were mighty becoming; but all
+the time I knew they weren't just--well, you know."
+
+Say, I never saw any specimens of Miss Simmons' art works; but I could
+make a guess. And I nods my head.
+
+"Well," says Daggett, "when I saw that Marthy was kind of giving up, I
+used to coax her to get well. 'You just get on your feet once, Marthy,'
+says I, 'and we'll go down to Chicago and buy you the finest and
+stylishest hat we can find in the whole city. More than that, you shall
+have a new one every spring, the very best.' She'd almost smile at that,
+and half promise she'd try. But it wasn't any use. The fever hadn't left
+her strength enough. And the first thing I knew she'd slipped away."
+
+Odd sort of yarn to be hearin' there on Fifth-ave. on a sunshiny
+afternoon, wa'n't it? And us dodgin' over crossin's, and duckin' under
+awnin's, and sidesteppin' the foot traffic! But he keeps right close to
+my elbow and gives me the whole story, even to how they'd agreed to use
+the little knoll just back of the farmhouse as a burial plot, and how she
+marked the hymns she wanted sung, and how she wanted him to find someone
+else as soon as the year was out.
+
+"Which was the only thing I couldn't say yes to," says Daggett. "'No,
+Marthy,' says I, 'not unless I can find another just like you.'--'You'll
+be mighty lonesome, Goliah,' says she, 'and you'll be wanting to change
+your flannels too early.'--'Maybe so,' says I; 'but I guess I'll worry
+along for the rest of the time alone.' Yes, sir, Mr. McCabe, she was a
+fine woman, and a patient one. No one ever knew how bad she wanted lots
+of things that she might of had, and gave up. You see, I was pretty deep
+in the wheat business, and every dollar I could get hold of went to
+buying more reapers and interests in elevator companies and crop options.
+I was bound to be a rich man, and they say I got there. Yes, I guess I am
+fairly well fixed."
+
+It wa'n't any chesty crow, but more like a sigh, and as we stops on a
+crossing to let a lady plutess roll by in her brougham, Mr. Daggett he
+sizes up the costume she wore and shakes his head kind of regretful.
+
+"That's the way Marthy should have been dressed," says he. "She'd have
+liked it. And she'd liked a hat such as that one we saw back there; that
+is, if it's the right kind. I've been buying 'em kind of careless,
+maybe."
+
+"How's that?" says I.
+
+"Oh!" says he, "I didn't finish telling you about my fool idea. I've been
+getting one every spring, the best I could pick out in Chicago, and
+carrying it up there on the knoll where Marthy is--and just leaving it.
+Go on now, Mr. McCabe; laugh if you want to. I won't mind. I can almost
+laugh at myself. Of course, Marthy's beyond caring for hats now. Still, I
+like to leave 'em there; and I like to think perhaps she does know, after
+all. So--so I want to get that purple one, providing it would be the
+right shade. What do you say?"
+
+Talk about your nutty propositions, eh? But honest, I didn't feel even
+like crackin' a smile.
+
+"Daggett," says I, "you're a true sport, even if you have got a few bats
+in the loft. Let's go back and get quotations on the lid."
+
+"I wish," says he, "I could see it tried on that manicure young woman
+first. Suppose we go down and bring her up?"
+
+"What makes you think she'll come?" says I.
+
+"Oh, I guess she will," says he, quiet and thoughtful. "We'll try,
+anyway."
+
+And say, right there I got a new line on him. I could almost frame up how
+it was he'd started in as a bacon borrowin' homesteader, and got to be
+the John D. of his county. But I could see he was up against a new deal
+this trip. And as it was time for me to be gettin' down towards 42d-st.
+anyway, I goes along. As we strikes the hotel barber shop I hangs up on
+the end of the cigar counter while Daggett looks around for the young
+woman who'd put the chappy polish on his nails.
+
+"That's her," says he, pointing out a heavyweight Titian blonde in the
+far corner, and over he pikes.
+
+I couldn't help admirin' the nerve of him; for of all the l'ongoline
+queens I ever saw, she's about the haughtiest. Maybe you can throw on the
+screen a picture of a female party with a Lillian Russell shape, hair
+like Mrs. Leslie Carter's, and an air like a twelve-dollar cloak model
+showin' off a five hundred-dollar lace dress to a bookmaker's bride.
+
+Just as Daggett tiptoes up she's pattin' down some of the red puffs that
+makes the back of her head look like a burnin' oil tank, and she swings
+around languid and scornful to see who it is that dares butt in on her
+presence. All the way she recognizes him is by a little lift of the
+eyebrows.
+
+I don't need to hear the dialogue. I can tell by her expression what
+Daggett is saying. First there's a kind of condescendin' curiosity as he
+begins, then she looks bored and turns back to the mirror, and pretty
+soon she sings out, "What's that?" so you could hear her all over the
+shop. Then Daggett springs his proposition flat.
+
+"Sir!" says she, jumpin' up and glarin' at him.
+
+Daggett tries to soothe her down; but it's no go.
+
+"Mr. Heinmuller!" she calls out, and the boss barber comes steppin' over,
+leavin' a customer with his face muffled in a hot towel. "This person,"
+she goes on, "is insulting!"
+
+"Hey?" says Heinmuller, puffin' out his cheeks. "Vos iss dot?"
+
+And for a minute it looked like I'd have to jump in and save Daggett from
+being chucked through the window. I was just preparin' to grab the boss
+by the collar, too, when Daggett gets in his fine work. Slippin' a ten
+off his roll, he passes it to Heinmuller, while he explains that all he
+asked of the lady was to try on a hat he was thinkin' of gettin' for his
+wife.
+
+"That's all," says he. "No insult intended. And of course I expect to
+make it worth while for the young lady."
+
+I don't know whether it was the smooth "young lady" business, or the
+sight of the fat roll that turned the trick; but the tragedy is declared
+off. Inside of three minutes the boss tells Daggett that Miss Rooney
+accepts his apology and consents to go if he'll call a cab.
+
+"Why, surely," says he. "You'll come along, too, won't you, McCabe?
+Honest, now, I wouldn't dare do this alone."
+
+"Too bad about that shy, retirin' disposition of yours!" says I. "Afraid
+she'll steal you, eh?"
+
+But he hangs onto my sleeve and coaxes me until I give in. And we sure
+made a fine trio ridin' up Fifth-ave. in a taxi! But you should have seen
+'em in the millinery shop as we sails in with Miss Rooney, and Daggett
+says how he'd like a view of that heliotrope lid in the window. We had
+'em guessin', all right.
+
+Then they gets Miss Rooney in a chair before the mirror, and fits the
+monstrosity on top of her red hair. Well, say, what a diff'rence it does
+make in them freak bonnets whether they're in a box or on the right head!
+For Miss Rooney has got just the right kind of a face that hat was built
+to go with. It's a bit giddy, I'll admit; but she's a stunner in it. And
+does she notice it any herself? Well, some!
+
+"A triumph!" gurgles the saleslady, lookin' from one to the other of us,
+tryin' to figure out who she ought to play to.
+
+"It's a game combination, all right," says I, lookin' wise.
+
+"I only wish----" begins Daggett, and then swallows the rest of it. In a
+minute he steps up and says it'll do, and that the young lady is to pick
+out one for herself now.
+
+"Oh, how perfectly sweet of you!" says Miss Rooney, slippin' him a smile
+that should have had him clear through the ropes. "But if I am to have
+any, why not this?" and she balances the heliotrope lid on her fingers,
+lookin' it over yearnin' and tender. "It just suits me, doesn't it?"
+
+Then there's more of the coy business, aimed straight at Daggett. But
+Miss Rooney don't quite put it across.
+
+"That's going out to Iowy with me," says he, prompt and decided.
+
+"Oh!" says Miss Rooney, and she proceeds to pick out a white straw with a
+green ostrich feather a yard long. She was still lookin' puzzled, though,
+as we put her into the cab and started her back to the barber shop.
+
+"Must have set you back near a hundred, didn't they?" says I, as Daggett
+and I parts on the corner.
+
+"Almost," says he. "But it's worth it. Marthy would have looked mighty
+stylish in that purple one. Yes, yes! And when I get back to South Forks,
+the first thing I do will be to carry it up on the knoll, box and all,
+and leave it there. I wonder if she'll know, eh?"
+
+There wa'n't any use in my tellin' him what I thought, though. He wa'n't
+talkin' to me, anyway. There was a kind of a far off, batty look in his
+eyes as he stood there on the corner, and a drop of brine was tricklin'
+down one side of his nose. So we never says a word, but just shakes
+hands, him goin' his way, and me mine.
+
+"Chee!" says Swifty Joe, when I shows up, along about three o'clock, "you
+must have been puttin' away a hearty lunch!"
+
+"It wa'n't that kept me," says I. "I was helpin' hand a late one to
+Marthy."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+HOW MAIZIE CAME THROUGH
+
+
+Then again, there's other kinds from other States, and no two of 'em
+alike. They float in from all quarters, some on ten-day excursions, and
+some with no return ticket. And, of course, they're all jokes to us at
+first, while we never suspicion that all along we may be jokes to them.
+
+And say, between you and me, we're apt to think, ain't we, that all the
+rapid motion in the world gets its start right here in New York? Well,
+that's the wrong dope. For instance, once I got next to a super-energized
+specimen that come in from the north end of nowhere, and before I was
+through the experience had left me out of breath.
+
+It was while Sadie and me was livin' at the Perzazzer hotel, before we
+moved out to Rockhurst-on-the-Sound. Early one evenin' we was sittin', as
+quiet and domestic as you please, in our twelve by fourteen cabinet
+finished dinin' room on the seventh floor. We was gazin' out of the open
+windows watchin' a thunder storm meander over towards Long Island, and
+Tidson was just servin' the demitasses, when there's a ring on the
+'phone. Tidson, he puts down the tray and answers the call.
+
+"It's from the office, sir," says he. "Some one to see you, sir."
+
+"Me?" says I. "Get a description, Tidson, so I'll know what to expect."
+
+At that he asks the room clerk for details, and reports that it's two
+young ladies by the name of Blickens.
+
+"What!" says Sadie, prickin' up her ears. "You don't know any young women
+of that name; do you, Shorty?"
+
+"Why not?" says I. "How can I tell until I've looked 'em over?"
+
+"Humph!" says she. "Blickens!"
+
+"Sounds nice, don't it?" says I. "Kind of snappy and interestin'. Maybe
+I'd better go down and----"
+
+"Tidson," says Sadie, "tell them to send those young persons up here!"
+
+"That's right, Tidson," says I. "Don't mind anything I say."
+
+"Blickens, indeed!" says Sadie, eyin' me sharp, to see if I'm blushin' or
+gettin' nervous. "I never heard you mention any such name."
+
+"There's a few points about my past life," says I, "that I've had sense
+enough to keep to myself. Maybe this is one. Course, if your
+curiosity----"
+
+"I'm not a bit curious, Shorty McCabe," she snaps out, "and you know it!
+But when it comes to----"
+
+"The Misses Blickens," says Tidson, holdin' back the draperies with one
+hand, and smotherin' a grin with the other.
+
+Say, you couldn't blame him. What steps in is a couple of drippy females
+that look like they'd just been fished out of a tank. And bein' wet
+wa'n't the worst of it. Even if they'd been dry, they must have looked
+bad enough; but in the soggy state they was the limit.
+
+They wa'n't mates. One is tall and willowy, while the other is short and
+dumpy. And the fat one has the most peaceful face I ever saw outside of a
+pasture, with a reg'lar Holstein-Friesian set of eyes,--the round, calm,
+thoughtless kind. The fact that she's chewin' gum helps out the dairy
+impression, too. It's plain she's been caught in the shower and has
+sopped up her full share of the rainfall; but it don't seem to trouble
+her any.
+
+There ain't anything pastoral about the tall one, though. She's alive all
+the way from her runover heels to the wiggly end of the limp feather that
+flops careless like over one ear. She's the long-waisted, giraffe-necked
+kind; but not such a bad looker if you can forget the depressin' costume.
+It had been a blue cheviot once, I guess; the sort that takes on seven
+shades of purple about the second season. And it fits her like a damp
+tablecloth hung on a chair. Her runnin' mate is all in black, and you
+could tell by the puckered seams and the twisted sleeves that it was an
+outfit the village dressmaker had done her worst on.
+
+Not that they gives us much chance for a close size-up. The lengthy one
+pikes right into the middle of the room, brushes a stringy lock of hair
+off her face, and unlimbers her conversation works.
+
+"Gosh!" says she, openin' her eyes wide and lookin' round at the rugs and
+furniture. "Hope we haven't pulled up at the wrong ranch. Are you Shorty
+McCabe?"
+
+"Among old friends, I am," says I, "Now if you come under----"
+
+"It's all right, Phemey," says she, motionin' to the short one. "Sit
+down."
+
+"Sure!" says I. "Don't mind the furniture. Take a couple of chairs."
+
+"Not for me!" says the tall one. "I'll stand in one spot and drip, and
+then you can mop up afterwards. But Phemey, she's plumb tuckered."
+
+"It's sweet of you to run in," says I. "Been wadin' in the park lake, or
+enjoyin' the shower?"
+
+"Enjoying the shower is good," says she; "but I hadn't thought of
+describing it that way. I reckon, though, you'd like to hear who we
+are."
+
+"Oh, any time when you get to that," says I.
+
+"That's a joke, is it?" says she. "If it is, Ha, ha! Excuse me if I don't
+laugh real hearty. I can do better when I don't feel so much like a
+sponge. Maizie May Blickens is my name, and this is Euphemia Blickens."
+
+"Ah!" says I. "Sisters?"
+
+"Do we look it?" says Maizie. "No! First cousins on the whiskered side.
+Ever hear that name Blickens before?"
+
+"Why--er--why----" says I, scratchin' my head.
+
+"Don't dig too deep," says Maizie. "How about Blickens' skating rink in
+Kansas City?"
+
+"Oh!" says I. "Was it run by a gent they called Sport Blickens?"
+
+"It was," says she.
+
+"Why, sure," I goes on. "And the night I had my match there with the
+Pedlar, when I'd spent my last bean on a month's trainin' expenses, and
+the Pedlar's backer was wavin' a thousand-dollar side bet under my nose,
+this Mr. Blickens chucked me his roll and told me to call the bluff."
+
+"Yes, that was dad, all right," says Maizie.
+
+"It was?" says I. "Well, well! Now if there's anything I can do for----"
+
+"Whoa up!" says Maizie. "This is no grubstake touch. Let's get that off
+our minds first, though I'm just as much obliged. It's come out as dad
+said. Says he, 'If you're ever up against it, and can locate Shorty
+McCabe, you go to him and say who you are.' But this isn't exactly that
+kind of a case. Phemey and I may look a bit rocky and---- Say, how do we
+look, anyway? Have you got such a thing as a----"
+
+"Tidson," says Sadie, breakin' in, "you may roll in the pier glass for
+the young lady." Course, that reminds me I ain't done the honors.
+
+"Excuse me," says I. "Miss Blickens, this is Mrs. McCabe."
+
+"Howdy," says Maizie. "I was wondering if it wasn't about due. Goshety
+gosh! but you're all to the peaches, eh? And me----"
+
+Here she turns and takes a full length view of herself. "Suffering
+scarecrows! Say, why didn't you put up the bars on us? Don't you look,
+Phemey; you'd swallow your gum!"
+
+But Euphemia ain't got any idea of turnin' her head. She has them
+peaceful eyes of hers glued to Sadie's copper hair, and she's contented
+to yank away at her cud. For a consistent and perseverin' masticator, she
+has our friend Fletcher chewed to a standstill. Maizie is soon satisfied
+with her survey.
+
+"That'll do, take it away," says she. "If I ever get real stuck on
+myself, I'll have something to remember. But, as I was sayin', this is no
+case of an escape from the poor farm. We wore these Hetty Green togs when
+we left Dobie."
+
+"Dobie?" says I.
+
+"Go on, laugh!" says Maizie. "Dobie's the biggest joke and the slowest
+four corners in the State of Minnesota, and that's putting it strong.
+Look at Phemey; she's a native."
+
+Well, we looked at Phemey. Couldn't help it. Euphemia don't seem to mind.
+She don't even grin; but just goes on workin' her jaws and lookin'
+placid.
+
+"Out in Dobie that would pass for hysterics," says Maizie. "The only way
+they could account for me was by saying that I was born crazy in another
+State. I've had a good many kinds of hard luck; but being born in Dobie
+wasn't one of the varieties. Now can you stand the story of my life?"
+
+"Miss Blickens," says I, "I'm willin' to pay you by the hour."
+
+"It isn't so bad as all that," says she, "because precious little has
+ever happened to me. It's what's going to happen that I'm living for.
+But, to take a fair start, we'll begin with dad. When they called him
+Sport Blickens, they didn't stretch their imaginations. He was all
+that--and not much else. All I know about maw is that she was one of
+three, and that I was born in the back room of a Denver dance hall. I've
+got a picture of her, wearing tights and a tin helmet, and dad says she
+was a hummer. He ought to know; he was a pretty good judge.
+
+"As I wasn't much over two days old when they had the funeral, I can't
+add anything more about maw. And the history I could write of dad would
+make a mighty slim book. Running roller skating rinks was the most
+genteel business he ever got into, I guess. His regular profession was
+faro. It's an unhealthy game, especially in those gold camps where they
+shoot so impetuous. He got over the effects of two .38's dealt him by a
+halfbreed Sioux; but when a real bad man from Taunton, Massachusetts,
+opened up on him across the table with a .45, he just naturally got
+discouraged. Good old dad! He meant well when he left me in Dobie and had
+me adopted by Uncle Hen. Phemey, you needn't listen to this next
+chapter."
+
+Euphemia, she misses two jaw strokes in succession, rolls her eyes at
+Maizie May for a second, and then strikes her reg'lar gait again.
+
+"Excuse her getting excited like that," says Maizie; "but Uncle Hen--that
+was her old man, of course--hasn't been planted long. He lasted until
+three weeks ago. He was an awful good man, Uncle Hen was--to himself. He
+had the worst case of ingrowing religion you ever saw. Why, he had a
+thumb felon once, and when the doctor came to lance it Uncle Hen made him
+wait until he could call in the minister, so it could be opened with
+prayer.
+
+"Sundays he made us go to church twice, and the rest of the day he talked
+to us about our souls. Between times he ran the Palace Emporium; that is,
+he and I and a half baked Swede by the name of Jens Torkil did. To look
+at Jens you wouldn't have thought he could have been taught the
+difference between a can of salmon and a patent corn planter; but say,
+Uncle Hen had him trained to make short change and weigh his hand with
+every piece of salt pork, almost as slick as he could do it himself.
+
+"All I had to do was to tend the drygoods, candy, and drug counters, look
+after the post-office window, keep the books, and manage the telephone
+exchange. Euphemia had the softest snap, though. She did the housework,
+planted the garden, raised chickens, fed the hogs, and scrubbed the
+floors. Have I got the catalogue right, Phemey?"
+
+Euphemia blinks twice, kind of reminiscent; but nothin' in the shape of
+words gets through the gum.
+
+"She has such an emotional nature!" says Maizie. "Uncle Hen was like that
+too. But let's not linger over him. He's gone. The last thing he did was
+to let go of a dollar fifty in cash that I held him up for so Phemey and
+I could go into Duluth and see a show. The end came early next day, and
+whether it was from shock or enlargement of the heart, no one will ever
+know.
+
+"It was an awful blow to us all. We went around in a daze for nearly a
+week, hardly daring to believe that it could be so. Jens broke the spell
+for us. One morning I caught him helping himself to a cigar out of the
+two-fer box. 'Why not?' says he. Next Phemey walks in, swipes a package
+of wintergreen gum, and feeds it all in at once. She says, 'Why not?'
+too. Then I woke up. 'You're right,' says I. 'Enjoy yourself. It's time.'
+Next I hints to her that there are bigger and brighter spots on this
+earth than Dobie, and asks her what she says to selling the Emporium and
+hunting them up. 'I don't care,' says she, and that was a good deal of a
+speech for her to make. 'Do you leave it to me?' says I. 'Uh-huh,' says
+she. 'We-e-e-ough!' says I," and with that Maizie lets out one of them
+backwoods college cries that brings Tidson up on his toes.
+
+"I take it," says I, "that you did."
+
+"Did I?" says she. "Inside of three days I'd hustled up four different
+parties that wanted to invest in a going concern, and before the week was
+over I'd buncoed one of 'em out of nine thousand in cash. Most of it's in
+a certified check, sewed inside of Phemey, and that's why we walked all
+the way up here in the rain. Do you suppose you could take me to some
+bank to-morrow where I could leave that and get a handful of green bills
+on account? Is that asking too much?"
+
+"Considering the way you've brushed up my memory of Sport Blickens," says
+I, "it's real modest. Couldn't you think of something else?"
+
+"If that had come from Mrs. McCabe," says she, eyin' Sadie kind of
+longin', "I reckon I could."
+
+"Why," says Sadie, "I should be delighted."
+
+"You wouldn't go so far as to lead two such freaks as us around to the
+stores and help us pick out some New York clothes, would you?" says she.
+
+"My dear girl!" says Sadie, grabbin' both her hands. "We'll do it
+to-morrow."
+
+"Honest?" says Maizie, beamin' on her. "Well, that's what I call right
+down decent. Phemey, do you hear that? Oh, swallow it, Phemey, swallow
+it! This is where we bloom out!"
+
+And say, you should have heard them talkin' over the kind of trousseaus
+that would best help a girl to forget she ever came from Dobie.
+
+"You will need a neat cloth street dress, for afternoons," says Sadie.
+
+"Not for me!" says Maizie. "That'll do all right for Phemey; but when it
+comes to me, I'll take something that rustles. I've worn back number
+cast-offs for twenty-two years; now I'm ready for the other kind. I've
+been traveling so far behind the procession I couldn't tell which way it
+was going. Now I'm going to give the drum major a view of my back hair.
+The sort of costumes I want are the kind that are designed this afternoon
+for day after to-morrow. If it's checks, I'll take two to the piece; if
+it's stripes, I want to make a circus zebra look like a clipped mule. And
+I want a change for every day in the week."
+
+"But, my dear girl," says Sadie, "can you afford to----"
+
+"You bet I can!" says Maizie. "My share of Uncle Hen's pile is forty-five
+hundred dollars, and while it lasts I'm going to have the lilies of the
+field looking like the flowers you see on attic wall paper. I don't care
+what I have to eat, or where I stay; but when it comes to clothes, show
+me the limit! But say, I guess it's time we were getting back to our
+boarding-house. Wake up, Phemey!"
+
+Well, I pilots 'em out to Fifth-ave., stows 'em into a motor stage, and
+heads 'em down town.
+
+"Whew!" says Sadie, when I gets back. "I suppose that is a sample of
+Western breeziness."
+
+"It's more'n a sample," says I. "But I can see her finish, though. Inside
+of three months all she'll have left to show for her wad will be a trunk
+full of fancy regalia and a board bill. Then it will be Maizie hunting a
+job in some beanery."
+
+"Oh, I shall talk her out of that nonsense," says Sadie. "What she ought
+to do is to take a course in stenography and shorthand."
+
+Yes, we laid out a full programme for Maizie, and had her earnin' her
+little twenty a week, with Phemey keepin' house for both of 'em in a nice
+little four-room flat. And in the mornin' I helps her deposit the
+certified check, and then turns the pair over to Sadie for an assault on
+the department stores, with a call at a business college as a finish for
+the day, as we'd planned.
+
+When I gets home that night I finds Sadie all fagged out and drinkin'
+bromo seltzer for a headache.
+
+"What's wrong?" says I.
+
+"Nothing," says Sadie; "only I've been having the time of my life."
+
+"Buying tailor made uniforms for the Misses Blickens?" says I.
+
+"Tailor made nothing!" says Sadie. "It was no use, Shorty, I had to give
+in. Maizie wanted the other things so badly. And then Euphemia declared
+she must have the same kind. So I spent the whole day fitting them out."
+
+"Got 'em something sudden and noisy, eh?" says I.
+
+"Just wait until you see them," says Sadie.
+
+"But what's the idea?" says I. "How long do they think they can keep up
+that pace? And when they've blown themselves short of breath, what
+then?"
+
+"Heaven knows!" says Sadie. "But Maizie has plans of her own. When I
+mentioned the business college, she just laughed, and said if she
+couldn't do something better than pound a typewriter, she'd go back to
+Dobie."
+
+"Huh!" says I. "Sentiments like that has got lots of folks into
+trouble."
+
+"And yet," says Sadie, "Maizie's a nice girl in her way. We'll see how
+she comes out."
+
+We did, too. It was a couple of weeks before we heard a word from either
+of 'em, and then the other day Sadie gets a call over the 'phone from a
+perfect stranger. She says she's a Mrs. Herman Zorn, of West End-ave.,
+and that she's givin' a little roof garden theater party that evenin', in
+honor of Miss Maizie Blickens, an old friend of hers that she used to
+know when she lived in St. Paul and spent her summers near Dobie. Also
+she understood we were friends of Miss Blickens too, and she'd be pleased
+to have us join.
+
+"West End-ave.!" says I. "Gee! but it looks like Maizie had been able to
+butt in. Do we go, Sadie?"
+
+"I said we'd be charmed," says she. "I'm dying to see how Maizie will
+look."
+
+I didn't admit it, but I was some curious that way myself; so about
+eight-fifteen we shows up at the roof garden and has an usher lead us to
+the bunch. There's half a dozen of 'em on hand; but the only thing worth
+lookin' at was Maizie May.
+
+And say, I thought I could make a guess as to somewhere near how she
+would frame up. The picture I had in mind was a sort of cross between a
+Grand-st. Rebecca and an Eighth-ave. Lizzie Maud,--you know, one of the
+near style girls, that's got on all the novelties from ten bargain
+counters. But, gee! The view I gets has me gaspin'. Maizie wa'n't near;
+she was two jumps ahead. And it wa'n't any Grand-st. fashion plate that
+she was a livin' model of. It was Fifth-ave. and upper Broadway. Talk
+about your down-to-the-minute costumes! Say, maybe they'll be wearin'
+dresses like that a year from now. And that hat! It wa'n't a dream; it
+was a forecast.
+
+"We saw it unpacked from the Paris case," whispers Sadie.
+
+All I know about it is that it was the widest, featheriest lid I ever saw
+in captivity, and it's balanced on more hair puffs than you could put in
+a barrel. But what added the swell, artistic touch was the collar. It's a
+chin supporter and ear embracer. I thought I'd seen high ones, but this
+twelve-inch picket fence around Maizie's neck was the loftiest choker I
+ever saw anyone survive. To watch her wear it gave you the same
+sensations as bein' a witness at a hanging. How she could do it and keep
+on breathin', I couldn't make out; but it don't seem to interfere with
+her talkin'.
+
+Sittin' close up beside her, and listenin' with both ears stretched and
+his mouth open, was a blond young gent with a bristly Bat Nelson
+pompadour. He's rigged out in a silk faced tuxedo, a smoke colored, open
+face vest, and he has a big yellow orchid in his buttonhole. By the way
+he's gazin' at Maizie, you could tell he approved of her from the ground
+up. She don't hesitate any on droppin' him, though, when we arrives.
+
+"Hello!" says she. "Ripping good of you to come. Well, what do you think?
+I've got some of 'em on, you see. What's the effect?"
+
+"Stunning!" says Sadie.
+
+"Thanks," says Maizie. "I laid out to get somewhere near that. And, gosh!
+but it feels good! These are the kind of togs I was born to wear. Phemey?
+Oh, she's laid up with arnica bandages around her throat. I told her she
+mustn't try to chew gum with one of these collars on."
+
+"Say, Maizie," says I, "who's the Sir Lionel Budweiser, and where did you
+pick him up?"
+
+"Oh, Oscar!" says she. "Why, he found me. He's from St. Paul, nephew of
+Mrs. Zorn, who's visiting her. Brewer's son, you know. Money? They've got
+bales of it. Hey, Oscar!" says she, snappin' her finger. "Come over here
+and show yourself!"
+
+And say, he was trained, all right. He trots right over.
+
+"Would you take him, if you was me?" says Maizie, turnin' him round for
+us to make an inspection. "I told him I wouldn't say positive until I had
+shown him to you, Mrs. McCabe. He's a little under height, and I don't
+like the way his hair grows; but his habits are good, and his allowance
+is thirty thousand a year. How about him? Will he do?"
+
+"Why--why----" says Sadie, and it's one of the few times I ever saw her
+rattled.
+
+"Just flash that ring again, Oscar," says Maizie.
+
+"O-o-oh!" says Sadie, when Oscar has pulled out the white satin box and
+snapped back the cover. "What a beauty! Yes, Maizie, I should say that,
+if you like Oscar, he would do nicely."
+
+"That goes!" says Maizie. "Here, Occie dear, slide it on. But remember:
+Phemey has got to live with us until I can pick out some victim of
+nervous prostration that needs a wife like her. And for goodness' sake,
+Occie, give that waiter an order for something wet!"
+
+"Well!" says Sadie afterwards, lettin' out a long breath. "To think that
+we ever worried about her!"
+
+"She's a little bit of all right, eh?" says I. "But say, I'm glad I ain't
+Occie, the heir to the brewery. I wouldn't know whether I was engaged to
+Maizie, or caught in a belt."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+WHERE SPOTTY FITTED IN
+
+
+Also we have a few home-grown varieties that ain't listed frequent. And
+the pavement products are apt to have most as queer kinks to 'em as those
+from the plowed fields. Now take Spotty.
+
+"Gee! what a merry look!" says I to Pinckney as he floats into the studio
+here the other day. He's holdin' his chin high, and he's got his stick
+tucked up under his arm, and them black eyes of his is just sparklin'.
+"What's it all about?" I goes on. "Is it a good one you've just
+remembered, or has something humorous happened to one of your best
+friends?"
+
+"I have a new idea," says he, "that's all."
+
+"All!" says I. "Why, that's excuse enough for declarin' a gen'ral
+holiday. Did you go after it, or was it delivered by mistake? Can't you
+give us a scenario of it?"
+
+"Why, I've thought of something new for Spotty Cahill," says he,
+beamin'.
+
+"G'wan!" says I. "I might have known it was a false alarm. Spotty Cahill!
+Say, do you want to know what I'd advise you to do for Spotty next?"
+
+No, Pinckney don't want my views on the subject. It's a topic we've
+threshed out between us before; also it's one of the few dozen that we
+could debate from now until there's skatin' on the Panama Canal, without
+gettin' anywhere. I've always held that Spotty Cahill was about the most
+useless and undeservin' human being that ever managed to exist without
+work; but to hear Pinckney talk you'd think that long-legged,
+carroty-haired young loafer was the original party that philanthropy was
+invented for.
+
+Now, doing things for other folks ain't one of Pinckney's strong points,
+as a rule. Not that he wouldn't if he thought of it and could find the
+time; but gen'rally he has too many other things on his schedule to
+indulge much in the little deeds of kindness game. When he does start out
+to do good, though, he makes a job of it. But look who he picks out!
+
+Course, I knew why. He's explained all that to me more'n once. Seems
+there was an old waiter at the club, a quiet, soft-spoken, bald-headed
+relic, who had served him with more lobster Newburg than you could load
+on a scow, and enough highballs to float the _Mauretania_ in. In fact,
+he'd been waitin' there as long as Pinckney had been a member. They'd
+been kind of chummy, in a way, too. It had always been "Good morning,
+Peter," and "Hope I see you well, sir," between them, and Pinckney never
+had to bother about whether he liked a dash of bitters in this, or if
+that ought to be served frappe or plain. Peter knew, and Peter never
+forgot.
+
+Then one day when Pinckney's just squarin' off to his lunch he notices
+that he's been given plain, ordinary salt butter instead of the sweet
+kind he always has; so he puts up a finger to call Peter over and have a
+swap made. When he glances up, though, he finds Peter ain't there at
+all.
+
+"Oh, I say," says he, "but where is Peter?"
+
+"Peter, sir?" says the new man. "Very sorry, sir, but Peter's dead."
+
+"Dead!" says Pinckney. "Why--why--how long has that been?"
+
+"Over a month, sir," says he. "Anything wrong, sir?"
+
+To be sure, Pinckney hadn't been there reg'lar; but he'd been in off and
+on, and when he comes to think how this old chap, that knew all his
+whims, and kept track of 'em so faithful, had dropped out without his
+ever having heard a word about it--why, he felt kind of broke up. You
+see, he'd always meant to do something nice for old Peter; but he'd never
+got round to it, and here the first thing he knows Peter's been under the
+sod for more'n a month.
+
+That's what set Pinckney to inquirin' if Peter hadn't left a fam'ly or
+anything, which results in his diggin' up this Spotty youth. I forgot
+just what his first name was, it being something outlandish that don't go
+with Cahill at all; but it seems he was born over in India, where old
+Peter was soldierin' at the time, and they'd picked up one of the native
+names. Maybe that's what ailed the boy from the start.
+
+Anyway, Peter had come back from there a widower, drifted to New York
+with the youngster, and got into the waiter business. Meantime the boy
+grows up in East Side boardin'-houses, without much lookin' after, and
+when Pinckney finds him he's an int'restin' product. He's twenty-odd,
+about five feet eleven high, weighs under one hundred and thirty, has a
+shock of wavy, brick-red hair that almost hides his ears, and his chief
+accomplishments are playin' Kelly pool and consumin' cigarettes. By way
+of ornament he has the most complete collection of freckles I ever see on
+a human face, or else it was they stood out more prominent because the
+skin was so white between the splotches. We didn't invent the name Spotty
+for him. He'd already been tagged that.
+
+Well, Pinckney discovers that Spotty has been livin' on the few dollars
+that was left after payin' old Peter's plantin' expenses; that he didn't
+know what he was goin' to do after that was gone, and didn't seem to
+care. So Pinckney jumps in, works his pull with the steward, and has
+Spotty put on reg'lar in the club billiard room as an attendant. All he
+has to do is help with the cleanin', keep the tables brushed, and set up
+the balls when there are games goin' on. He gets his meals free, and six
+dollars a week.
+
+Now that should have been a soft enough snap for anybody, even the born
+tired kind. There wa'n't work enough in it to raise a palm callous on a
+baby. But Spotty, he improves on that. His idea of earnin' wages is to
+curl up in a sunny windowseat and commune with his soul. Wherever you
+found the sun streamin' in, there was a good place to look for Spotty. He
+just seemed to soak it up, like a blotter does ink, and it didn't disturb
+him any who was doin' his work.
+
+Durin' the first six months Spotty was fired eight times, only to have
+Pinckney get him reinstated, and it wa'n't until the steward went to the
+board of governors with the row that Mr. Cahill was given his permanent
+release. You might think Pinckney would have called it quits then; but
+not him! He'd started out to godfather Spotty, and he stays right with
+the game. Everybody he knew was invited to help along the good work of
+givin' Spotty a lift. He got him into brokers' offices, tried him out as
+bellhop in four diff'rent hotels, and even jammed him by main strength
+into a bank; but Spotty's sun absorbin' habits couldn't seem to be made
+useful anywhere.
+
+For one while he got chummy with Swifty Joe and took to sunnin' himself
+in the studio front windows, until I had to veto that.
+
+"I don't mind your friends droppin' in now and then, Swifty," says I;
+"but there ain't any room here for statuary. I don't care how gentle you
+break it to him, only run him out."
+
+So that's why I don't enthuse much when Pinckney says he's thought up
+some new scheme for Spotty. "Goin' to have him probed for hookworms?"
+says I.
+
+No, that ain't it. Pinckney, he's had a talk with Spotty and discovered
+that old Peter had a brother Aloysius, who's settled somewhere up in
+Canada and is superintendent of a big wheat farm. Pinckney's had his
+lawyers trace out this Uncle Aloysius, and then he's written him all
+about Spotty, suggestin' that he send for him by return mail.
+
+"Fine!" says I. "He'd be a lot of use on a wheat farm. What does Aloysius
+have to say to the proposition?"
+
+"Well, the fact is," says Pinckney, "he doesn't appear at all
+enthusiastic. He writes that if the boy is anything like Peter when he
+knew him he's not anxious to see him. However, he says that if Spotty
+comes on he will do what he can for him."
+
+"It'll be a long walk," says I.
+
+"There's where my idea comes in," says Pinckney. "I am going to finance
+the trip."
+
+"If it don't cost too much," says I, "it'll be a good investment."
+
+Pinckney wants to do the thing right away, too. First off, though, he has
+to locate Spotty. The youth has been at large for a week or more now,
+since he was last handed the fresh air, and Pinckney ain't heard a word
+from him.
+
+"Maybe Swifty knows where he roosts," says I.
+
+It was a good guess. Swifty gives us a number on Fourth-ave. where he'd
+seen Spotty hangin' around lately, and he thinks likely he's there yet.
+
+So me and Pinckney starts out on the trail. It leads us to one of them
+Turkish auction joints where they sell genuine silk oriental prayer rugs,
+made in Paterson, N. J., with hammered brass bowls and antique guns as a
+side line. And, sure enough, camped down in front on a sample rug, with
+his hat off and the sun full on him, is our friend Spotty.
+
+"Well, well!" says Pinckney. "Regularly employed here, are you, Spotty?"
+
+"Me? Nah!" says Spotty, lookin' disgusted at the thought. "I'm only
+stayin' around."
+
+"Ain't you afraid the sun will fade them curly locks of yours?" says I.
+
+"Ah, quit your kiddin'!" says Spotty, startin' to roll a fresh
+cigarette.
+
+"Don't mind Shorty," says Pinckney. "I have some good news for you."
+
+That don't excite Spotty a bit. "Not another job!" he groans.
+
+"No, no," says Pinckney, and then he explains about finding Uncle
+Aloysius, windin' up by askin' Spotty how he'd like to go up there and
+live.
+
+"I don't know," says Spotty. "Good ways off, ain't it!"
+
+"It is, rather," admits Pinckney; "but that need not trouble you. What do
+you think I am going to do for you, Spotty?"
+
+"Give it up," says he, calmly lightin' a match and proceedin' with the
+smoke.
+
+"Well," says Pinckney, "because of the long and faithful service of your
+father, and the many little personal attentions he paid me, I am going to
+give you---- Wait! Here it is now," and hanged if Pinckney don't fork
+over ten new twenty-dollar bills. "There!" says he. "That ought to be
+enough to fit you out well and take you there in good shape. Here's the
+address too."
+
+Does Spotty jump up and crack his heels together and sputter out how
+thankful he is? Nothin' so strenuous. He fumbles the bills over curious
+for a minute, then wads 'em up and jams 'em into his pocket. "Much
+obliged," says he.
+
+"Come around to Shorty's with your new clothes on to-morrow afternoon
+about four o'clock," says Pinckney, "and let us see how you look.
+And--er--by the way, Spotty, is that a friend of yours?"
+
+I'd been noticin' her too, standin' just inside the doorway pipin' us
+off. She's a slim, big-eyed, black-haired young woman, dressed in the
+height of Grand-st. fashion, and wearin' a lot of odd, cheap lookin'
+jewelry. If it hadn't been for the straight nose and the thin lips you
+might have guessed that her first name was Rebecca.
+
+"Oh, her?" says Spotty, turnin' languid to see who he meant. "That's
+Mareena. Her father runs the shop."
+
+"Armenian?" says I.
+
+"No, Syrian," says he.
+
+"Quite some of a looker, eh?" says I, tryin' to sound him.
+
+"Not so bad," says Spotty, hunchin' his shoulders.
+
+"But--er--do I understand," says Pinckney, "that there is--ah--some
+attachment between you and--er--the young lady?"
+
+"Blamed if I know," says Spotty. "Better ask her."
+
+Course, we couldn't very well do that, and as Spotty don't seem bubblin'
+over with information he has to chop it off there. Pinckney, though, is
+more or less int'rested in the situation. He wonders if he's done just
+right, handin' over all that money to Spotty in a place like that.
+
+"It wa'n't what you'd call a shrewd move," says I. "Seems to me I'd
+bought his ticket, anyway."
+
+"Yes; but I wanted to get it off my mind, you know," says he. "Odd,
+though, his being there. I wonder what sort of persons those Syrians
+are!"
+
+"You never can tell," says I.
+
+The more Pinckney thinks of it, the more uneasy he gets, and when four
+o'clock comes next day, with no Spotty showin' up, he begins to have
+furrows in his brow. "If he's been done away with, it's my fault," says
+Pinckney.
+
+"Ah, don't start worryin' yet," says I. "Give him time."
+
+By five o'clock, though, Pinckney has imagined all sorts of
+things,--Spotty bein' found carved up and sewed in a sack, and him called
+into court to testify as to where he saw him last. "And all because I
+gave him that money!" he groans.
+
+"Say, can it!" says I. "Them sensation pictures of yours are makin' me
+nervous. Here, I'll go down and see if they've finished wipin' off the
+daggers, while you send Swifty out after something soothin'."
+
+With that off I hikes as a rescue expedition. I finds the red flag still
+out, the sample rug still in place; but there's no Spotty in evidence.
+Neither is there any sign of the girl. So I walks into the store, gazin'
+around sharp for any stains on the floor.
+
+Out from behind a curtain at the far end of the shop comes a fat, wicked
+lookin' old pirate, with a dark greasy face and shiny little eyes like a
+pair of needles. He's wearin' a dinky gold-braided cap, baggy trousers,
+and he carries a long pipe in one hand. If he didn't look like he'd do
+extemporaneous surgery for the sake of a dollar bill, then I'm no judge.
+I've got in too far to look up a cop, so I takes a chance on a strong
+bluff.
+
+"Say, you!" I sings out. "What's happened to Spotty?"
+
+"Spot-tee?" says he. "Spot-tee?" He shrugs his shoulders and pretends to
+look dazed.
+
+"Yes, Spotty," says I, "red-headed, freckle-faced young gent. You know
+him."
+
+"Ah!" says he, tappin' his head. "The golden crowned! El Sareef
+Ka-heel?"
+
+"That's the name, Cahill," says I. "He's a friend of a friend of mine,
+and you might as well get it through your nut right now that if
+anything's happened to him----"
+
+"You are a friend of Sareef Ka-heel?" he breaks in, eyin' me suspicious.
+
+"Once removed," says I; "but it amounts to the same thing. Now where is
+he?"
+
+"For a friend--well, I know not," says the old boy, kind of hesitatin'.
+Then, with another shrug, he makes up his mind. "So it shall be. Come.
+You shall see the Sareef."
+
+At that he beckons me to follow and starts towards the back. I went
+through one dark room, expectin' to feel a knife in my ribs every minute,
+and then we goes through another. Next thing I knew we're out in a little
+back yard, half full of empty cases and crates. In the middle of a clear
+space is a big brown tent, with the flap pinned back.
+
+"Here," says the old gent, "your friend, the Sareef Ka-heel!"
+
+Say, for a minute I thought it was a trap he's springin' on me; but after
+I'd looked long enough I see who he's pointin' at. The party inside is
+squattin' cross-legged on a rug, holdin' the business end of one of these
+water bottle pipes in his mouth. He's wearin' some kind of a long bath
+robe, and most of his red hair is concealed by yards of white cloth
+twisted round his head; but it's Spotty all right, alive, uncarved, and
+lookin' happy and contented.
+
+"Well, for the love of soup!" says I. "What is it, a masquerade?"
+
+"That you, McCabe?" says he. "Come in and--and sit on the floor."
+
+"Say," says I, steppin' inside, "this ain't the costume you're going to
+start for Canada in, is it?"
+
+"Ah, forget Canada!" says he. "I've got that proposition beat a mile.
+Hey, Hazzam," and he calls to the old pirate outside, "tell Mrs. Cahill
+to come down and be introduced!"
+
+"What's that?" says I. "You--you ain't been gettin' married, have you?"
+
+"Yep," says Spotty, grinnin' foolish. "Nine o'clock last night. We're
+goin' to start on our weddin' trip Tuesday, me and Mareena."
+
+"Mareena!" I gasps. "Not the--the one we saw out front? Where you going,
+Niagara?"
+
+"Nah! Syria, wherever that is," says he. "Mareena knows. We're goin' to
+live over there and buy rugs. That two hundred was just what we needed to
+set us up in business."
+
+"Think you'll like it?" says I.
+
+"Sure!" says he. "She says it's fine. There's deserts over there, and you
+travel for days and days, ridin' on bloomin' camels. Here's the tent
+we're goin' to live in. I'm practisin' up. Gee! but this pipe is
+somethin' fierce, though! Oh, here she is! Say, Mareena, this is Mr.
+McCabe, that I was tellin' you about."
+
+Well, honest, I wouldn't have known her for the same girl. She's changed
+that Grand-st. uniform for a native outfit, and while it's a little gaudy
+in color, hanged if it ain't becomin'! For a desert bride I should say
+she had some class.
+
+"Well," says I, "so you and Spotty are goin' to leave us, eh?"
+
+"Ah, yes!" says she, them big black eyes of hers lightin' up. "We go
+where the sky is high and blue and the sun is big and hot. We go back to
+the wide white desert where I was born. All day we shall ride toward the
+purple hills, and sleep at night under the still stars. He knows. I have
+told him."
+
+"That's right," says Spotty. "It'll be all to the good, that. Mareena can
+cook too."
+
+To prove it, she makes coffee and hands it around in little brass cups.
+Also there's cakes, and the old man comes in, smilin' and rubbin' his
+hands, and we has a real sociable time.
+
+And these was the folks I'd suspected of wantin' to carve up Spotty! Why,
+by the looks I saw thrown at him by them two, I knew they thought him the
+finest thing that ever happened. Just by the way Mareena reached out sly
+to pat his hair when she passed, you could see how it was.
+
+So I wished 'em luck and hurried back to report before Pinckney sent a
+squad of reserves after me.
+
+"Well!" says he, the minute I gets in. "Let me know the worst at once."
+
+"I will," says I. "He's married." It was all I could do, too, to make him
+believe the yarn.
+
+"By Jove!" says he. "Think of a chap like Spotty Cahill tumbling into a
+romance like that! And on Fourth-ave!"
+
+"It ain't so well advertised as some other lanes in this town," says I;
+"but it's a great street. Say, what puzzled me most about the whole
+business, though, was the new name they had for Spotty. Sareef! What in
+blazes does that mean?"
+
+"Probably a title of some sort," says Pinckney. "Like sheik, I suppose."
+
+"But what does a Sareef have to do?" says I.
+
+"Do!" says Pinckney. "Why, he's boss of the caravan. He--he sits around
+in the sun and looks picturesque."
+
+"Then that settles it," says I. "Spotty's qualified. I never thought
+there was any place where he'd fit in; but, if your description's
+correct, he's found the job he was born for."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+A GRANDMOTHER WHO GOT GOING
+
+
+Ever go on a grandmother hunt through the Red Ink District? Well, it
+ain't a reg'lar amusement of mine, but it has its good points. Maybe I
+wouldn't have tackled it at all if I hadn't begun by lettin' myself get
+int'rested in Vincent's domestic affairs.
+
+Now what I knew about this Vincent chap before we starts out on the
+grandmother trail wouldn't take long to tell. He wa'n't any special
+friend of mine. For one thing, he wears his hair cut plush. Course, it's
+his hair, and if he wants to train it to stand up on top like a clothes
+brush or a blacking dauber, who am I that should curl the lip of scorn?
+
+Just the same, I never could feel real chummy towards anyone that sported
+one of them self raisin' crests. Vincent wa'n't one of the chummy kind,
+though. He's one of these stiff backed, black haired, brown eyed, quick
+motioned, sharp spoken ducks, that wants what he wants when he wants it.
+You know. He comes to the studio reg'lar, does his forty-five minutes'
+work, and gets out without swappin' any more conversation than is
+strictly necessary.
+
+All the information I had picked up about him was that he hailed from up
+the State somewhere, and that soon after he struck New York he married
+one of the Chetwood girls. And that takes more or less capital to start
+with. Guess Vincent had it; for I hear his old man left him quite a wad
+and that now he's the main guy of a threshin' machine trust, or something
+like that. Anyway, Vincent belongs in the four-cylinder plute class, and
+he's beginnin' to be heard of among the alimony aristocracy.
+
+But this ain't got anything to do with the way he happened to get
+confidential all so sudden. He'd been havin' a kid pillow mix-up with
+Swifty Joe, just as lively as if the thermometer was down to thirty
+instead of up to ninety, and he's just had his rub down and got into his
+featherweight serge, when in drifts this Rodney Kipp that's figurin' so
+strong on the defense side of them pipe line cases.
+
+"Ah, Vincent!" says he.
+
+"Hello, Rodney!" says Vincent as they passes each other in the front
+office, one goin' out and the other comin' in.
+
+I'd never happened to see 'em meet before, and I'm some surprised that
+they're so well acquainted. Don't know why, either, unless it is that
+they're so different. Rodney, you know, is one of these light complected
+heavyweights, and a swell because he was born so. I was wonderin' if
+Rodney was one of Vincent's lawyers, or if they just belonged to the same
+clubs; when Mr. Kipp swings on his heel and says:
+
+"Oh, by the way, Vincent, how is grammy?"
+
+"Why!" says Vincent, "isn't she out with you and Nellie?"
+
+"No," says Rodney, "she stayed with us only for a couple of days. Nellie
+said she hadn't heard from her for nearly two months, and told me to ask
+you about her. So long. I'm due for some medicine ball work," and with
+that he drifts into the gym. and shuts the door.
+
+Vincent, he stands lookin' after him with a kind of worried look on his
+face that was comical to see on such a cocksure chap as him.
+
+"Lost somebody, have you?" says I.
+
+"Why--er--I don't know," says Vincent, runnin' his fingers through the
+bristles that waves above his noble brow. "It's grandmother. I can't
+imagine where she can be."
+
+"You must have grandmothers to burn," says I, "if they're so plenty with
+you that you can mislay one now and then without missin' her."
+
+"Eh?" says he. "No, no! She is really my mother, you know. I've got into
+the way of calling her grammy only during the last three or four years."
+
+"Oh, I see!" says I. "The grandmother habit is something she's contracted
+comparative recent, eh? Ain't gone to her head, has it?"
+
+Vincent couldn't say; but by the time he's quit tryin' to explain what
+has happened I've got the whole story. First off he points out that
+Rodney Kipp, havin' married his sister Nellie, is his brother-in-law,
+and, as they both have a couple of youngsters, it makes Vincent's mother
+a grammy in both families.
+
+"Sure," says I. "I know how that works out. She stays part of the time
+with you, and makes herself mighty popular with your kids; then she takes
+her trunk over to Rodney's and goes through the same performance there.
+And when she goes visitin' other places there's a great howl all round.
+That's it, ain't it?"
+
+It wa'n't, not within a mile, and I'd showed up my low, common breedin'
+by suggesting such a thing. As gently as he could without hurtin' my
+feelin's too much, Vincent explains that while my programme might be
+strictly camel's foot for ordinary people, the domestic arrangements of
+the upper classes was run on different lines. For instance, his little
+Algernon Chetwood could speak nothing but French, that bein' the brand of
+governess he'd always had, and so he naturally couldn't be very thick
+with a grandmother that didn't understand a word of his lingo.
+
+"Besides," says Vincent, "mother and my wife, I regret to say, have never
+found each other very congenial."
+
+I might have guessed it if I'd stopped to think of how an old lady from
+the country would hitch with one of them high flyin' Chetwood girls.
+
+"Then she hangs out with your sister, eh, and does her grandmother act
+there?" says I.
+
+"Well, hardly," says Vincent, colorin' up a little. "You see, Rodney has
+never been very intimate with the rest of our family. He's a Kipp,
+and---- Well, you can't blame him; for mother is rather old-fashioned. Of
+course, she's good and kind-hearted and all that; but--but there isn't
+much style about her."
+
+"Still sticks to the polonaise of '81, and wears a straw lid she bought
+durin' the Centennial, eh?" says I.
+
+Vincent says that about tells the story.
+
+"And where is it she's been livin' all this time that you've been gettin'
+on so well in New York?" says I.
+
+"In our old home, Tonawanda," says he, shudderin' some as he lets go of
+the name. "It's where she should have stayed, too!"
+
+"So-o-o-o?" says I. I'd been listenin' just out of politeness up to that
+point; but from then on I got int'rested, and I don't let up until I've
+pumped out of him all the details about just how much of a nuisance an
+old, back number mother could be to a couple of ambitious young folks
+that had grown up and married into the swell mob.
+
+It was a case that ought to be held up as a warnin' to lots of
+superfluous old mothers that ain't got any better taste than to keep on
+livin' long after there's any use for 'em. Mother Vincent hadn't made
+much trouble at first, for she'd had an old maid sister to take care of;
+but when a bad case of the grip got Aunt Sophrony durin' the previous
+winter, mother was left sort of floatin' around.
+
+She tried visitin' back and forth between Vincent and Nellie just one
+consecutive trip, and the experiment was such a frost that it caused
+ructions in both families. In her Tonawanda regalia mother wa'n't an
+exhibit that any English butler could be expected to pass the soup to and
+still keep a straight face.
+
+So Vincent thinks it's time to anchor her permanent somewhere. Accordin'
+to his notion, he did the handsome thing too. He buys her a nice little
+farm about a mile outside of Tonawanda, a place with a fine view of the
+railroad tracks on the west and a row of brick yards to the east, and he
+lands mother there with a toothless old German housekeeper for company.
+He tells her he's settled a good comfortable income on her for life, and
+leaves her to enjoy herself.
+
+But look at the ingratitude a parent can work up! She ain't been there
+more'n a couple of months before she begins complainin' about bein'
+lonesome. She don't see much of the Tonawanda folks now, the housekeeper
+ain't very sociable, the smoke from the brick yards yellows her Monday
+wash, and the people she sees goin' by in the cars is all strangers.
+Couldn't Vincent swap the farm for one near New York? She liked the looks
+of the place when she was there, and wouldn't mind being closer.
+
+"Of course," says he, "that was out of the question!"
+
+"Oh, sure!" says I. "How absurd! But what's the contents of this late
+bulletin about her being a stray?"
+
+It was nothing more or less than that the old girl had sold up the farm a
+couple of months back, fired the housekeeper, and quietly skipped for New
+York. Vincent had looked for her to show up at his house, and when she
+didn't he figured she must have gone to Nellie's. It was only when Rodney
+Kipp fires the grammy question at him that he sees he's made a wrong
+calculation and begins havin' cold feet.
+
+"If she's here, alone in New York, there's no knowing what may be
+happening to her," says he. "Why, she knows nothing about the city,
+nothing at all! She might get run over, or fall in with disreputable
+people, or----" The other pictures was so horrible he passes 'em up.
+
+"Mothers must be a great care," says I. "I ain't had one for so long I
+can't say on my own hook; but I judge that you and sister has had a hard
+time of it with yours. Excuse me, though, if I don't shed any tears of
+sympathy, Vincent."
+
+He looks at me kind of sharp at that; but he's too busy with disturbin'
+thoughts to ask what I mean. Maybe he'd found out if he had. It's just as
+well he didn't; for I was some curious to see what would be his next
+move. From his talk it's plain Vincent is most worried about the chances
+of the old lady's doin' something that would get her name into the
+papers, and he says right off that he won't rest easy until he's found
+her and shooed her back to the fields.
+
+"But where am I to look first?" says he. "How am I to begin?"
+
+"It's a big town to haul a dragnet through, that's a fact," says I. "Why
+don't you call in Brother-in-Law Rodney, for a starter?"
+
+"No, no," says Vincent, glancin' uneasy at the gym. door. "I don't care
+to have him know anything about it."
+
+"Maybe sister might have some information," says I. "There's the
+'phone."
+
+"Thanks," says he. "If you don't mind, I will call her up at the Kipp
+country place."
+
+He does; but Nellie ain't heard a word from mother; thought she must be
+with Vincent all this time; and has been too busy givin' house parties to
+find out.
+
+"Have her cross examine the maids," says I. "The old lady may have left
+some orders about forwardin' her mail."
+
+That was the clew. Inside of ten minutes Nellie 'phones back and gives a
+number on West 21st-st.
+
+"Gee!" says I. "A hamfatters' boardin'-house, I'll bet a bag of beans!
+Grandmother has sure picked out a lively lodgin'-place."
+
+"Horrible!" says Vincent. "I must get her away from there at once. But I
+wish there was someone who----Shorty, could I get you to go along with me
+and----"
+
+"Rescuin' grandmothers ain't my long suit," says I; "but I'll admit I'm
+some int'rested in this case. Come on."
+
+By the time our clockwork cab fetches up in front of the prunery it's
+after six o'clock. There's no mistakin' the sort of histrionic asylum it
+was, either. A hungry lookin' bunch of actorets was lined up on the front
+steps, everyone of 'em with an ear stretched out for the dinner bell. In
+the window of the first floor front was a beauty doctor's sign, a bull
+fiddle-artist was sawin' out his soul distress in the hall bedroom above,
+and up under the cornice the Chicini sisters was leanin' on the ledge and
+wishin' the folks back in Saginaw would send on that grubstake letter
+before the landlady got any worse. But maybe you've seen samples of real
+dogday tragedy among the profesh, when the summer snaps have busted and
+the fall rehearsals have just begun. What, Mabel?
+
+"It's a sure enough double-in-brass roost," says I. "Don't say anything
+that sounds like contract, or you'll be mobbed."
+
+But they sizes Vincent up for a real estate broker, and gives him the
+chilly stare, until he mentions the old lady's name. Then they thaws out
+sudden.
+
+"Oh, the Duchess!" squeals a couple in chorus. "Why, she always dines
+out, you know. You'll find her around at Doughretti's, on 27th-st."
+
+"Duchess!" says Vincent. "I--I'm afraid there's some mistake."
+
+"Not at all," says one of the crowd. "We all call her that. She's got
+Little Spring Water with her to-night. Doughretti's, just in from the
+avenue, is the place."
+
+And Vincent is the worst puzzled gent you ever saw as he climbs back into
+the cab.
+
+"It can't be mother they mean," says he. "No one would ever think of
+calling her Duchess."
+
+"There's no accountin' for what them actorines would do," says I.
+"Anyway, all you got to do is take a peek at the party, and if it's a
+wrong steer we can go back and take a fresh start."
+
+You know Doughretti's, if you don't you know a dozen just like it. It's
+one of these sixty-cent table dotty joints, with an electric name sign, a
+striped stoop awnin', and a seven-course menu manifolded in pale purple
+ink. You begin the agony with an imitation soup that looks like Rockaway
+beach water when the tide's comin' in, and you end with a choice of
+petrified cheese rinds that might pass for souvenirs from the Palisades.
+
+If you don't want to taste what you eat, you let 'em hand you a free
+bottle of pure California claret, vatted on East Houston-st. It's a
+mixture of filtered Croton, extra quality aniline dyes, and two kinds of
+wood alcohol, and after you've had a pint of it you don't care whether
+the milk fed Philadelphia chicken was put in cold storage last winter, or
+back in the year of the big wind.
+
+Madam Doughretti had just fed the Punk Lady waltz into the pianola for
+the fourth time as we pulls up at the curb.
+
+"It's no use," says Vincent. "She wouldn't be here. I will wait, though,
+while you take a look around; if you will, Shorty."
+
+On the way over he's given me a description of his missin' parent; so I
+pikes up the steps, pushes past the garlic smells, and proceeds to
+inspect the groups around the little tables. What I'm lookin' for is a
+squatty old party with gray hair pasted down over her ears, and a waist
+like a bag of hay tied in the middle. She's supposed to be wearin' a
+string bonnet about the size of a saucer, with a bunch of faded velvet
+violets on top, a coral brooch at her neck, and either a black alpaca or
+a lavender sprigged grenadine. Most likely, too, she'll be doin' the
+shovel act with her knife.
+
+Well, there was a good many kinds of females scattered around the coffee
+stained tablecloths, but none that answers to these specifications. I was
+just gettin' ready to call off the search, when I gets my eye on a couple
+over in one corner. The gent was one of these studio Indians, with his
+hair tucked inside his collar.
+
+The old girl facin' him didn't have any Tonawanda look about her, though.
+She was what you might call a frosted pippin, a reg'lar dowager dazzler,
+like the pictures you see on fans. Her gray hair has been spliced out
+with store puffs until it looks like a weddin' cake; her hat is one of
+the new wash basin models, covered with pink roses that just matches the
+color of her cheeks; and her peek-a-poo lace dress fits her like it had
+been put onto her with a shoe horn.
+
+Sure, I wa'n't lookin' for any such party as this; but I can't help
+takin' a second squint. I notices what fine, gentle old eyes she has, and
+while I was doin' that I spots something else. Just under her chin is one
+of them antique coral pins. Course, it looked like a long shot, but I
+steps out to the door and motions Vincent to come in.
+
+"I expect we're way off the track," says I; "but I'd like to have you
+take a careless glance at the giddy old party over under the kummel sign
+in the corner; the one facin' this way--there."
+
+Vincent gives a jump at the first look. Then he starts for her full tilt,
+me trailin' along and whisperin' to him not to make any fool break unless
+he's dead sure. But there's no holdin' him back. She's so busy chattin'
+with the reformed Sioux in store clothes that she don't notice Vincent
+until he's right alongside, and just as she looks up he lets loose his
+indignation.
+
+"Why, grandmother!" says he.
+
+She don't seem so much jarred as you might think. She don't even drop the
+fork that she's usin' to twist up a gob of spaghetti on. All she does is
+to lift her eyebrows in a kind of annoyed way, and shoot a quick look at
+the copper tinted gent across the table.
+
+"There, there, Vincent?" says she. "Please don't grandmother me; at
+least, not in public."
+
+"But," says he, "you know that you are a----"
+
+"I admit nothing of the kind," says she. "I may be your mother; but as
+for being anybody's grandmother, that is an experience I know nothing
+about. Now please run along, Vincent, and don't bother."
+
+That leaves Vincent up in the air for keeps. He don't know what to make
+of this reception, or of the change that happened to her; but he feels he
+ought to register some sort of a kick.
+
+"But, mother," says he, "what does this mean? Such clothes! And
+such--such"--here he throws a meanin' look at the Indian gent.
+
+"Allow me," says grandmother, breakin' in real dignified, "to introduce
+Mr. John Little Bear, son of Chief Won-go-plunki. I am very sorry to
+interrupt our talk on art, John; but I suppose I must say a few words to
+Vincent. Would you mind taking your coffee on the back veranda?"
+
+He was a well-trained red man, John was, and he understands the back out
+sign; so inside of a minute the crockery has been pushed away and I'm
+attendin' a family reunion that appears to be cast on new lines. Vincent
+begins again by askin' what it all means.
+
+"It means, Vincent," says she, "that I have caught up with the
+procession. I tried being the old-fashioned kind of grandmother, and I
+wasn't a success. Now I'm learning the new way, and I like it first
+rate."
+
+"But your--your clothes!" gasps Vincent.
+
+"Well, what of them?" says she. "You made fun of the ones I used to wear;
+but these, I would have you know, were selected for me by a committee of
+six chorus ladies who know what is what. I am quite satisfied with my
+clothes, Vincent."
+
+"Possibly they're all right," says he; "but how--how long have you been
+wearing your hair that way?"
+
+"Ever since Madam Montrosini started on my improvement course," says she.
+"I am told it is quite becoming. And have you noticed my new waist line,
+Vincent?"
+
+Vincent hadn't; but he did then, and he had nothin' to say, for she has
+an hourglass lookin' like a hitchin' post. Not bein' able to carry on the
+debate under them headings, he switches and comes out strong on what an
+awful thing it was for her to be livin' among such dreadful people.
+
+"Why," says grandmother, "they're real nice, I'm sure. They have been
+just as good to me as they could be. They take turns going out to dinner
+with me and showing me around the town."
+
+"Good heavens!" says Vincent. "And this--this Bear person, does he----"
+
+"He is an educated, full blooded Sioux," says grandmother. "He has toured
+Europe with Buffalo Bill, and just now he is an artists' model. He is
+very entertaining company, Johnny is."
+
+"Johnny!" gasps Vincent under his breath. That's the last straw. He lays
+down the law then and there to grandmother. If she ever expects him to
+recognize her again, she must shake this whole crowd and come with him.
+
+"Where to, Vincent?" says she.
+
+"Why, to my home, of course," says he.
+
+"And have your wife's maid speak of me as a dumpy old scarecrow? No,
+thank you!" and she calls the waiter to bring a demitasse with cognac.
+
+"But no one could call you that now, mother," says Vincent. "You--you're
+different, quite different."
+
+"Oh, am I?" says she.
+
+"To be sure you are," says he. "Julia and I would be glad to have you
+with us. Really, we would."
+
+She was a good natured old girl, grandmother was. She says she'll try it;
+but only on one condition. It was a corker, too. If she's going to give
+all her good friends at the actors' boardin' house the shake, she thinks
+it ought to be done at a farewell dinner at the swellest place in town.
+Vincent groans; but he has to give in. And that's how it happens the
+other night that about two dozen liberty people walked up from Appetite
+Row and fed themselves off Sherry's gold plates until the waiters was
+weak in the knees watchin' 'em.
+
+"Is the old lady still leadin' the band wagon, Vincent!" says I to him
+yesterday.
+
+"She is," says he, "and it is wonderful how young she has grown."
+
+"New York is a great place for rejuvenatin' grandmothers," says I,
+"specially around in the Red Ink Zone."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+A LONG SHOT ON DELANCEY
+
+
+Well, I've been slummin' up again. It happens like this: I was just
+preparin', here the other noontime, to rush around the corner and destroy
+a plate of lunch counter hash decorated with parsley and a dropped egg,
+when I gets this 'phone call from Duke Borden, who says he wants to see
+me the worst way.
+
+"Well," says I, "the studio's still here on 42d-st., and if your eyesight
+ain't failed you----"
+
+"Oh, chop it, can't you, Shorty?" says he. "This is really important.
+Come right up, can't you!"
+
+"That depends," says I. "Any partic'lar place?"
+
+"Of course," says he. "Here at the club. I'm to meet Chick Sommers here
+in half an hour. We'll have luncheon together and----"
+
+"I'm on," says I. "I don't know Chick; but I'm a mixer, and I'll stand
+for anything in the food line but cold egg. Scratch the chilled hen fruit
+and I'm with you."
+
+Know about Duke, don't you? It ain't much to tell. He's just one of these
+big, handsome, overfed chappies that help the mounted traffic cops to
+make Fifth-ave. look different from other Main-sts. He don't do any
+special good, or any partic'lar harm. Duke's got just enough sense,
+though, to have spasms of thinkin' he wants to do something useful now
+and then, and all I can dope out of this emergency call of his is that
+this is a new thought.
+
+That's the answer, too. He begins tellin' me about it while the head
+waiter's leadin' us over to a corner table. Oh, yes, he's going in for
+business in dead earnest now, y'know,--suite of offices, his name on the
+letterheads, and all that sort of thing, bah Jove!
+
+All of which means that Mr. Chick Sommers, who was a star quarterback in
+'05, when Duke was makin' his college bluff on the Gold Coast, has rung
+him into a South Jersey land boomin' scheme. A few others, friends of
+Chick's, are in it. They're all rippin' good fellows, too, and awfully
+clever at planning out things. Chick himself, of course, is a corker. It
+was him that insisted on Duke's bein' treasurer.
+
+"And really," says Duke, "about all I have to do is drop around once or
+twice a week and sign a few checks."
+
+"I see," says I. "They let you supply the funds, eh?"
+
+"Why, yes," says Duke. "I'm the only one who can, y'know. But they depend
+a great deal on my judgment, too. For instance, take this new deal that's
+on; it has all been left to me. There are one hundred and eighteen acres,
+and we don't buy a foot unless I say so. That's where you come in,
+Shorty."
+
+"Oh, do I?" says I.
+
+"You see," Duke goes on, "I'm supposed to inspect it and make a decision
+before the option expires, which will be day after to-morrow. The fact
+is, I've been putting off going down there, and now I find I've a winter
+house party on, up in Lenox, and---- Well, you see the box I'm in."
+
+"Sure!" says I. "You want me to sub for you at Lenox?"
+
+"Deuce take it, no!" says Duke. "I want you to go down and look at that
+land for me."
+
+"Huh!" says I. "What I know about real estate wouldn't----"
+
+"Oh, that's all right," says Duke. "It's only a matter of form. The boys
+say they want it, and I'm going to buy it for them anyway; but, just to
+have it all straight and businesslike, either I ought to see the land
+myself, or have it inspected by my personal representative. Understand?"
+
+"Duke," says I, "you're a reg'lar real estate Napoleon. I wouldn't have
+believed it was in you."
+
+"I know," says he. "I'm really surprised at myself."
+
+Next he explains how he happened to think of sendin' me, and casually he
+wants to know if a couple of hundred and expenses will be about right for
+spoilin' two days of my valuable time. How could I tell how much it would
+lose me? But I said I'd run the chances.
+
+Then Chick shows up, and they begin to talk over the details of this new
+bungalow boom town that's to be located on the Jersey side.
+
+"I tell you," says Chick, "it'll be a winner from the start. Why, there's
+every advantage anyone could wish for,--ocean breezes mingled with pine
+scented zephyrs, magnificent views, and a railroad running right through
+the property! The nearest station now is Clam Creek; but we'll have one
+of our own, with a new name. Clam Creek! Ugh! How does Pinemere strike
+you?"
+
+"Perfectly ripping, by Jove!" says Duke, so excited over it that he
+lights the cork end of his cigarette. "Shorty, you must go right down
+there for me. Can't you start as soon as you've had your coffee?"
+
+Oh, but it was thrillin', listenin' to them two amateur real estaters
+layin' plans that was to make a seashore wilderness blossom with
+surveyors' stakes and fresh painted signs like Belvidere-ave., Ozone
+Boulevard, and so on.
+
+It struck me, though, that they was discussin' their scheme kind of free
+and public. I spots one white haired, dignified old boy, doing the
+solitaire feed at the table back of Duke, who seems more or less
+int'rested. And I notices that every time Clam Creek is mentioned he
+pricks up his ears. Sure enough, too, just as we're finishing, he steps
+over and taps Duke on the shoulder.
+
+"Why, howdy do, Mr. Cathaway?" says Duke. "Charmed to see you, by Jove!"
+
+And it turns out he's DeLancey Cathaway, the big noise in the
+philanthropy game, him that gets up societies for suppressin' the poor
+and has his name on hospitals and iron drinkin' fountains. After he's
+been introduced all around he admits that he's caught one or two remarks,
+and says he wants to congratulate Duke on givin' up his idle ways and
+breakin' into an active career.
+
+Oh, he's a smooth old party, Mr. Cathaway is! He don't let on to be
+more'n moderately int'rested, and the next thing I know he's sidled away
+from Duke and is walkin' out alongside of me.
+
+"Going down town?" says he. "Then perhaps you will allow me to give you a
+lift?" and he motions to his town car waiting at the curb.
+
+"Gee!" thinks I. "I'm makin' a hit with the nobility, me and my winnin'
+ways!"
+
+That don't exactly state the case, though; for as soon as we're alone
+DeLancey comes right to cases.
+
+"I understand, Mr. McCabe," says he, "that you are to visit Clam Creek."
+
+"Yep," says I. "Sounds enticin', don't it?"
+
+"Doubtless you will spend a day or so there?" he goes on.
+
+"Over night, anyway," says I.
+
+"Hum!" says he. "Then you will hardly fail to meet my brother. He is
+living at Clam Creek."
+
+"What!" says I. "Not Broadway Bob?"
+
+"Yes," says he, "Robert and his wife have been there for nearly two
+years. At least, that is where I have been sending his allowance."
+
+"Mrs. Bob too!" says I. "Why--why, say, you don't mean the one that----"
+
+"The same," he cuts in. "I know they're supposed to be abroad; but
+they're not, they are at Clam Creek."
+
+Maybe you've heard about the Bob Cathaways, and maybe you ain't. There's
+so many new near-plutes nowadays that the old families ain't getting the
+advertisin' they've been used to. Anyway, it's been sometime since
+Broadway Bob had his share of the limelight. You see, Bob sort of had his
+day when he was along in his thirties, and they say he was a real
+old-time sport and rounder, which was why he was let in so bad when old
+man Cathaway's will was probated. All Bob pulls out is a couple of
+thousand a year, even that being handled first by Brother DeLancey, who
+cops all the rest of the pile as a reward for always having gone in
+strong for charity and the perfectly good life.
+
+It's a case where virtue shows up strong from the first tap of the bell.
+Course, Bob can look back on some years of vivid joy, when he was makin'
+a record as a quart opener, buyin' stacks of blues at Daly's, or over at
+Monte Carlo bettin' where the ball would stop. But all this ends mighty
+abrupt.
+
+In the meantime Bob has married a lively young lady that nobody knew much
+about except that she was almost as good a sport as he was, and they were
+doin' some great teamwork in the way of livenin' up society, when the
+crash came.
+
+Then it was the noble hearted DeLancey to the rescue. He don't exactly
+take them right into the fam'ly; but he sends Mr. and Mrs. Bob over to
+his big Long Island country place, assigns 'em quarters in the north
+wing, and advises 'em to be as happy as they can. Now to most folks that
+would look like landin' on Velveteen-st.,--free eats, no room rent, and a
+forty-acre park to roam around in, with the use of a couple of safe
+horses and a libr'y full of improvin' books, such as the Rollo series and
+the works of Dr. Van Dyke.
+
+Brother Bob don't squeal or whine. He starts in to make the best of it by
+riggin' himself out like an English Squire and makin' a stagger at the
+country gentleman act. He takes a real int'rest in keepin' up the grounds
+and managin' the help, which DeLancey had never been able to do himself.
+
+It's as dull as dishwater, though, for Mrs. Robert Cathaway, and as there
+ain't anyone else handy she takes it out on Bob. Accordin' to all
+accounts, they must have done the anvil chorus good and plenty. You can
+just see how it would be, with them two dumped down so far from Broadway
+and only now and then comp'ny to break the monotony. When people did
+come, too, they was DeLancey's kind. I can picture Bob tryin' to get
+chummy with a bunch of prison reformers or delegates to a Sunday school
+union. I don't wonder his disposition curdled up.
+
+If it hadn't been for Mrs. Bob, though, they'd been there yet. She got so
+used to rowin' with Bob that she kept it up even when Brother DeLancey
+and his friends came down. DeLancey stands for it until one morning at
+breakfast, when he was entertainin' an English Bishop he'd corraled at
+some conference. Him and the Bishop was exchangin' views on whether free
+soup and free salvation was a good workin' combination or not, when some
+little thing sets Mr. and Mrs. Bob to naggin' each other on the side. I
+forgot just what it was Bob shot over; but after standin' her jabs for
+quite some time without gettin' real personal he comes back with some
+stage whisper remark that cut in deep.
+
+Mrs. Bob was right in the act of helpin' herself to the jelly omelet,
+usin' a swell silver servin' shovel about half the size of a brick
+layer's trowel. She's so stirred up that she absentmindedly scoops up a
+double portion, and just as Bob springs his remark what does she do but
+up and let fly at him, right across the table. Maybe she'd have winged
+him too,--and served him right for saying what no gentleman should to a
+lady, even if she is his wife,--but, what with her not stoppin' to take
+good aim, and the maid's gettin' her tray against her elbow, she misses
+Bob by about three feet and plasters the English Bishop square between
+the eyes.
+
+Now of course that wa'n't any way to serve hot omelet to a stranger, no
+matter how annoyed you was. DeLancey told her as much while he was
+helpin' swab off the reverend guest. Afterwards he added other
+observations more or less definite. Inside of two hours Mr. and Mrs. Bob
+found their baggage waitin' under the porte cochere, and the wagonette
+ready to take 'em to the noon train. They went. It was given out that
+they was travelin' abroad, and if it hadn't been for the omelet part of
+the incident they'd been forgotten long ago. That was a stunt that stuck,
+though.
+
+As I looks at DeLancey there in the limousine I has to grin. "Say," says
+I, "was it a fact that the Bishop broke loose and cussed?"
+
+"That humiliating affair, Mr. McCabe," says he, "I would much prefer not
+to talk about. I refer to my brother now because, knowing that you are
+going to Clam Creek, you will probably meet him there."
+
+"Oh!" says I. "Like to have me give him your best regards!"
+
+"No," says DeLancey. "I should like, however, to hear how you found
+him."
+
+"Another report, eh!" says I. "All right, Mr. Cathaway, I'll size him up
+for you."
+
+"But chiefly," he goes on, "I shall depend upon your discretion not to
+mention my brother's whereabouts to anyone else. As an aid to that
+discretion," says he, digging up his roll and sortin' out some tens, "I
+am prepared to----"
+
+"Ah, button 'em back!" says I. "Who do you think you're dealin' with,
+anyway?"
+
+"Why," says he, flushin' up, "I merely intended----"
+
+"Well, forget it!" says I. "I ain't runnin' any opposition to the Black
+Hand, and as for whether I leak out where your brother is or not, that's
+something you got to take chances on. Pull up there, Mr. Chauffeur! This
+is where I start to walk."
+
+And say, you could put his name on all the hospitals and orphan asylums
+in the country; but I never could see it again without growin' warm under
+the collar. Bah! Some of these perfectly good folks have a habit of
+gettin' on my nerves. All the way down to Clam Creek I kept tryin' to
+wipe him off the slate, and I'd made up my mind to dodge Brother Bob, if
+I had to sleep in the woods.
+
+So as soon as I hops off the train I gets my directions and starts to
+tramp over this tract that Duke Borden was plannin' on blowin' some of
+his surplus cash against. And say, if anybody wants an imitation desert,
+dotted with scrub pine and fringed with salt marshes, that's the place to
+go lookin' for it. There's hundreds of square miles of it down there that
+nobody's usin', or threatenin' to.
+
+Also I walked up an appetite like a fresh landed hired girl. I was so
+hungry that I pikes straight for the only hotel and begs 'em to lead me
+to a knife and fork. For a wonder, too, they brings on some real food,
+plain and hearty, and I don't worry about the way it's thrown at me.
+
+Yon know how it is out in the kerosene district. I finds myself face to
+face with a hunk of corned beef as big as my two fists, boiled Murphies,
+cabbage and canned corn on the side, bread sliced an inch thick, and
+spring freshet coffee in a cup you couldn't break with an ax. Lizzie, the
+waitress, was chewin' gum and watchin' to see if I was one of them fresh
+travelin' gents that would try any funny cracks on her.
+
+I'd waded through the food programme as far as makin' a choice between
+tapioca puddin' and canned peaches, when in drifts a couple that I knew,
+the minute I gets my eyes on 'em, must be Mr. and Mrs. Bob Cathaway. Who
+else in that little one-horse town would be sportin' a pair of puttee
+leggin's and doeskin ridin' breeches? That was Bob's makeup, includin' a
+flap-pocketed cutaway of Harris tweed and a corduroy vest. They fit him a
+little snug, showin' he's laid on some flesh since he had 'em built. Also
+he's a lot grayer than I expected, knowin' him to be younger than
+DeLancey.
+
+As for Mrs. Bob--well, if you can remember how the women was dressin' as
+far back as two years ago, and can throw on the screen a picture of a
+woman who has only the reminders of her good looks left, you'll have her
+framed up. A pair of seedy thoroughbreds, they was, seedy and down and
+out.
+
+[Illustration: "I knew it must be Mr. and Mrs. Bob Cathaway"]
+
+I was wonderin' if they still indulged in them lively fam'ly debates, and
+how soon I'd have to begin dodgin' dishes; but they sits down across the
+table from me and hardly swaps a word. All I notices is the scornful way
+Lizzie asks if they'll have soup, and the tremble to Bob Cathaway's hand
+as he lifts his water tumbler.
+
+As there was only us three in the room, and as none of us seemed to have
+anything to say, it wa'n't what you might call a boisterous assemblage.
+While I was waitin' for dessert I put in the time gazin' around at the
+scenery, from the moldy pickle jars at either end of the table, over to
+the walnut sideboard where they kept the plated cake basket and the
+ketchup bottles, across to the framed fruit piece that had seen so many
+hard fly seasons, and up to the smoky ceilin'. I looked everywhere except
+at the pair opposite.
+
+Lizzie was balancin' the soup plates on her left arm and singsongin' the
+bill of fare to 'em. "Col'-pork-col'-ham-an'-corn-beef-'n'-cabbage," says
+she.
+
+If Bob Cathaway didn't shudder at that, I did for him. "You may bring
+me--er--some of the latter," says he.
+
+I tested the canned peaches and then took a sneak. On one side of the
+front hall was the hotel parlor, full of plush furniture and stuffed
+birds. The office and bar was on the other. I strolls in where half a
+dozen Clam Creekers was sittin' around a big sawdust box indulgin' in
+target practice; but after a couple of sniffs I concludes that the
+breathin' air is all outside.
+
+After half an hour's stroll I goes in, takes a lamp off the hall table,
+and climbs up to No. 7. It's as warm and cheerful as an underground beer
+vault. Also I finds the window nailed down. Huntin' for someone to fetch
+me a hammer was what sent me roamin' through the hall and took me past
+No. 11, where the door was part way open. And in there, with an oil-stove
+to keep 'em from freezin', I see Mr. and Mrs. Bob Cathaway sittin' at a
+little marble topped table playin' double dummy bridge. Say, do you know,
+that unexpected glimpse of this little private hard luck proposition of
+theirs kind of got me in the short ribs. And next thing I knew I had my
+head in the door.
+
+"For the love of Mike," says I, "how do you stand it?"
+
+"Eh?" says Bob, droppin' his cards and starin' at me. "I--I beg pardon?"
+
+Well, with that I steps in, tells him who I am, and how I'd just had a
+talk with Brother DeLancey. Do I get the glad hand? Why, you'd thought I
+was a blooming he angel come straight from the pearly gates. Bob drags me
+in, pushes me into the only rocker in the room, shoves a cigar box at me,
+and begins to haul decanters from under the washstand. They both asks
+questions at once. How is everybody, and who's married who, and are so
+and so still living together?
+
+I reels off society gossip for an hour before I gets a chance to do some
+pumpin' on my own hook. What I wants to know is why in blazes they're
+hidin' in a hole like Clam Creek.
+
+Bob only shrugs his shoulders. "Why not here as well as anywhere?" says
+he. "When you can't afford to live among your friends, why--you live in
+Clam Creek."
+
+"But two years of it!" says I. "What do you find to do?"
+
+"Oh, we manage," says he, wavin' at the double dummy outfit. "Babe and I
+have our little game. It's only for a dime a point; but it helps pass
+away the time. You see, when our monthly allowance comes in we divide it
+equally and take a fresh start. The winner has the privilege of paying
+our bills."
+
+How was that for excitement? And Bob whispers to me, as we starts out for
+a little walk before turnin' in, "I generally fix it so Babe--er, Mrs.
+Cathaway--can win, you know."
+
+From other little hints I gathers that their stay in Clam Creek has done
+one thing for 'em, anyway. It had put 'em wise to the great fact that the
+best way for two parties to get along together is to cut out the hammer
+music.
+
+"So you had a talk with DeLancey?" says Bob on the way back. "I suppose
+he--er--sent no message?"
+
+It had taken Bob Cathaway all this while to work up to that question, and
+he can't steady down his voice as he puts it. And that quaver tells me
+the whole story of how he's been hoping all along that Brother DeLancey
+would sometime or other get over his grouch. Which puts it up to me to
+tell him what a human iceberg he's related to. Did I? Honest, there's
+times when I ain't got much use for the truth.
+
+"Message?" says I, prompt and cheerful. "Now what in blazes was it he did
+say to tell you? Something about asking how long before you and Mrs.
+Cathaway was goin' to run up and make him a visit, I guess."
+
+"A visit!" gasps Bob. "Did--did DeLancey say that? Then thank Heaven it's
+over! Come on! Hurry!" and he grabs me by the arm, tows me to the hotel,
+and makes a dash up the stairs towards their room.
+
+"What do you think, Babe?" says he, pantin'. "DeLancey wants to know when
+we're coming back!"
+
+For a minute Mrs. Bob don't say a word, but just stands there, her hands
+gripped in Bob's, and the dew startin' out of her eye corners. Then she
+asks, sort of husky, "Isn't there a night train, Bob?"
+
+There wa'n't; but there was one at six-thirty-eight in the mornin'. We
+all caught it, too, both of 'em as chipper as a pair of kids, and me
+wonderin' how it was all goin' to turn out.
+
+For three days after that I never went to the 'phone without expectin' to
+hear from Bob Cathaway, expressin' his opinion about my qualifications
+for the Ananias class. And then here the other afternoon I runs into
+Brother DeLancey on the avenue, not seein' him quick enough to beat it up
+a side street.
+
+"Ah, McCabe," he sings out, "just a moment! That little affair about my
+Brother Robert, you know."
+
+"Sure, I know," says I, bracin' myself. "Where is he now?"
+
+"Why," says DeLancey, with never an eyelash flutterin', "he and his wife
+are living at Green Oaks again. Just returned from an extended trip
+abroad, you know." Then he winks.
+
+Say, who was it sent out that bulletin about how all men was liars? I
+ain't puttin' in any not guilty plea; but I'd like to add that some has
+got it down finer than others.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+PLAYING HAROLD BOTH WAYS
+
+
+Anyway, they came bunched, and that was some comfort. Eh? Well, first off
+there was the lovers, then there was Harold; and it was only the
+combination that saved me from developin' an ingrowin' grouch.
+
+You can guess who it was accumulated the lovers. Why, when Sadie comes
+back from Bar Harbor and begins tellin' me about 'em, you'd thought she'd
+been left something in a will, she's so pleased.
+
+Seems there was these two young ladies, friends of some friends of hers,
+that was bein' just as miserable as they could be up there. One was
+visitin' the other, and, as I made out from Sadie's description, they
+must have been havin' an awful time, livin' in one of them eighteen-room
+cottages built on a point juttin' a mile or so out into the ocean, with
+nothin' but yachts and motor boats and saddle horses and tennis courts
+and so on to amuse themselves with.
+
+I inspected some of them places when I was up that way not long
+ago,--joints where they get their only information about hot waves by
+readin' the papers,--and I can just imagine how I could suffer puttin' in
+a summer there. Say, some folks don't know when they're well off, do
+they?
+
+And what do you suppose the trouble with 'em was? Why, Bobbie and Charlie
+was missin'. Honest, that's all the place lacked to make it a suburb of
+Paradise. But that was enough for the young ladies; for each of 'em was
+sportin' a diamond ring on the proper finger, and, as they confides to
+Sadie, what was the use of havin' summer at all, if one's fiance couldn't
+be there?
+
+Bobbie and Charlie, it appears, was slavin' away in the city; one tryin'
+to convince Papa that he'd be a real addition to Wall Street, and the
+other trainin' with Uncle for a job as vice president of a life insurance
+company. So what did Helen and Marjorie care about sea breezes and
+picture postal scenery? Once a day they climbed out to separate perches
+on the rocks to read letters from Bobbie and Charlie; and the rest of the
+time they put in comparin' notes and helpin' each other be miserable.
+
+"Ah, quit it, Sadie!" says I, interruptin' the sad tale. "Do you want to
+make me cry?"
+
+"Well, they were wretched, even if you don't believe it," says she; "so I
+just told them to come right down here for the rest of the season."
+
+"Wha-a-at!" says I. "Not here?"
+
+"Why not?" says Sadie. "The boys can run up every afternoon and have
+dinner with us and stay over Sunday, and--and it will be just lovely. You
+know how much I like to have young people around. So do you, too."
+
+"Yes, that's all right," says I; "but----"
+
+"Oh, I know," says she. "This isn't matchmaking, though. They're already
+engaged, and it will be just delightful to have them with us. Now won't
+it?"
+
+"Maybe it will," says I. "We ain't ever done this wholesale before; so I
+ain't sure."
+
+Someway, I had a hunch that two pair of lovers knockin' around the
+premises at once might be most too much of a good thing; but, as long as
+I couldn't quote any authorities, I didn't feel like keepin' on with the
+debate.
+
+I couldn't object any to the style of the young ladies when they showed
+up; for they was both in the queen class, tall and willowy and sweet
+faced. One could tease opera airs out of the piano in great shape, and
+the other had quite some of a voice; so the prospects were for a few
+weeks of lively and entertainin' evenin's at the McCabe mansion. I had
+the programme all framed up too,--me out on the veranda with my heels on
+the rail, the windows open, and inside the young folks strikin' up the
+melodies and makin' merry gen'rally.
+
+Bobbie and Charles made more or less of a hit with me too when they first
+called,--good, husky, clean built young gents that passed out the cordial
+grip and remarked real hearty how much they appreciated our great
+kindness askin' 'em up.
+
+"Don't mention it," says I. "It's a fad of mine."
+
+Anyway, it looked like a good game to be in on, seein' there wa'n't any
+objections from any of the fam'lies. Made me feel bright and chirky, just
+to see 'em there, so that night at dinner I cut loose with some real cute
+joshes for the benefit of the young people. You know how easy it is to be
+humorous on them occasions. Honest, I must have come across with some of
+the snappiest I had in stock, and I was watchin' for the girls to pink up
+and accuse me of bein' an awful kidder, when all of a sudden I tumbles to
+the fact that I ain't holdin' my audience.
+
+Say, they'd started up a couple of conversations on their own hook--kind
+of side issue, soft pedal dialogues--and they wa'n't takin' the slightest
+notice of my brilliant efforts. At the other end of the table Sadie is
+havin' more or less the same experience; for every time she tries to cut
+in with some cheerful observation she finds she's addressin' either
+Marjorie's left shoulder or Bobbie's right.
+
+"Eh, Sadie?" says I across the centerpiece. "What was that last of
+yours?"
+
+"It doesn't matter," says she. "Shall we have coffee in the library,
+girls, or outside! I say, Helen, shall we have---- I beg pardon, Helen,
+but would you prefer----"
+
+"What we seem to need most, Sadie," says I as she gives it up, "is a
+table megaphone."
+
+Nobody hears this suggestion, though, not even Sadie. I was lookin' for
+the fun to begin after dinner,--the duets and the solos and the
+quartets,--but the first thing Sadie and I know we are occupyin' the
+libr'y all by ourselves, with nothing doing in the merry music line.
+
+"Of course," says she, "they want a little time by themselves."
+
+"Sure!" says I. "Half-hour out for the reunion."
+
+It lasts some longer, though. At the end of an hour I thinks I'll put in
+the rest of the wait watchin' the moon come up out of Long Island Sound
+from my fav'rite corner of the veranda; but when I gets there I finds
+it's occupied.
+
+"Excuse me," says I, and beats it around to the other side, where there's
+a double rocker that I can gen'rally be comfortable in. Hanged if I
+didn't come near sittin' slam down on the second pair, that was snuggled
+up close there in the dark!
+
+"Aha!" says I in my best comic vein. "So here's where you are, eh? Fine
+night, ain't it?"
+
+There's a snicker from the young lady, a grunt from the young gent; but
+nothing else happens in the way of a glad response. So I chases back into
+the house.
+
+"It's lovely out, isn't it?" says Sadie.
+
+"Yes," says I; "but more or less mushy in spots."
+
+With that we starts in to sit up for 'em. Sadie says we got to because
+we're doin' the chaperon act. And, say, I've seen more excitin' games. I
+read three evenin' papers clear through from the weather forecast to the
+bond quotations, and I finished by goin' sound asleep in my chair. I
+don't know whether Bobbie and Charlie caught the milk train back to town
+or not; but they got away sometime before breakfast.
+
+"Oh, well," says Sadie, chokin' off a yawn as she pours the coffee, "this
+was their first evening together, you know. I suppose they had a lot to
+say to each other."
+
+"Must have had," says I. "I shouldn't think they'd have to repeat that
+performance for a month."
+
+Next night, though, it's the same thing, and the next, and the next.
+"Poor things!" thinks I. "I expect they're afraid of being guyed." So,
+just to show how sociable and friendly I could be, I tries buttin' in on
+these lonely teeter-tates. First I'd hunt up one couple and submit some
+samples of my best chatter--gettin' about as much reply as if I was
+ringin' Central with the wire down. Then I locates the other pair, drags
+a rocker over near 'em, and tries to make the dialogue three handed. They
+stands it for a minute or so before decidin' to move to another spot.
+
+Honest, I never expected to feel lonesome right at home entertainin'
+guests! but I was gettin' acquainted with the sensation. There's no
+musical doings, no happy groups and gay laughter about the house; nothing
+but now and then a whisper from dark corners, or the creak of the porch
+swings.
+
+"Gee! but they're takin' their spoonin' serious, ain't they?" says I to
+Sadie. "And how popular we are with 'em! Makes me feel almost like I
+ought to put on a gag and sit down cellar in the coalbin."
+
+"Pooh!" says Sadie, makin' a bluff she didn't mind. "Do let them enjoy
+themselves in their own way."
+
+"Sure I will," says I. "Only this chaperon business is gettin' on my
+nerves. I don't feel like a host here; I feel more like a second story
+man dodgin' the night watchman."
+
+There wa'n't any signs of a change, either. When they had to be around
+where we was they had hardly a word to say and acted bored to death; and
+it must have taxed their brains, workin' up all them cute little schemes
+for leavin' us on a siding so they could pair off. Course, I've seen
+engaged couples before; but I never met any that had the disease quite so
+hard. And this bein' shunned like I had somethin' catchin' was new to me.
+I begun to feel like I was about ninety years old and in the way.
+
+Sunday forenoon was the limit, though. Sadie had planned to take 'em all
+for a motor trip; but they declines with thanks. Would they rather go out
+on the water? No, they didn't care for that, either. All they seems to
+want to do is wander round, two by two, where we ain't. And at that Sadie
+loses some of her enthusiasm for havin' bunches of lovers around.
+
+"Humph!" I hears her remark as she watches Bobbie and Marjorie sidestep
+her and go meanderin' off down a path to the rocks.
+
+A little while later I happens to stroll down to the summerhouse with the
+Sunday paper, and as I steps in one door Charlie and Helen slip out by
+the other. They'd seen me first.
+
+"Well, well!" says I. "I never knew before how unentertainin' I could
+be."
+
+And I was just wonderin' how I could relieve my feelin's without eatin' a
+fuzzy worm, like the small boy that nobody loved, when I hears footsteps
+approachin' through the shrubb'ry. I looks up, to find myself bein'
+inspected by a weedy, long legged youth. He's an odd lookin' kid, with
+dull reddish hair, so many freckles that his face looks rusty, and a pair
+of big purple black eyes that gazes at me serious.
+
+"Well, son," says I, "where did you drop from?"
+
+"My name is Harold Burbank Fitzmorris," says he, "and I am visiting with
+my mother on the adjoining estate."
+
+"That sounds like a full description, Harold," says I. "Did you stray
+off, or was you sent?"
+
+"I trust you don't mind," says he; "but I am exploring."
+
+"Explore away then," says I, "so long as you don't tramp through the
+flowerbeds."
+
+"Oh, I wouldn't think of injuring them," says he. "I am passionately fond
+of flowers."
+
+"You don't say!" says I.
+
+"Yes," says Harold, droppin' down easy on the bench alongside of me. "I
+love Nature in all her moods. I am a poet, you know."
+
+"Eh!" says I. "Ain't you beginning sort of young?"
+
+"Nearly all the really great men of literature," comes back Harold as
+prompt as if he was speakin' a piece, "have begun their careers by
+writing verse. I presume mine might be considered somewhat immature; but
+I am impelled from within to do it. All that will pass, however, when I
+enter on my serious work."
+
+"Oh, then you've got a job on the hook, have you!" says I.
+
+"I expect," says Harold, smilin' sort of indulgent and runnin' his
+fingers careless through his thick coppery hair, "to produce my first
+novel when I am twenty. It will have a somber theme, something after the
+manner of Turgenieff. Do you not find Turgenieff very stimulating?"
+
+"Harold," says I, "all them Hungarian wines are more or less heady, and a
+kid like you shouldn't monkey with any of 'em."
+
+He looks almost pained at that. "You're chaffing me now, I suppose," says
+he. "That sort of thing, though, I never indulge in. Humor, you know, is
+but froth on the deep seas of thought. It has never seemed to me quite
+worth one's while. You will pardon my frankness, I know."
+
+"Harold," says I, "you're a wizard. So it's nix on the josh, eh?"
+
+"What singular metaphors you employ!" says he. "Do you know, I can hardly
+follow you. However, colloquial language does not offend my ear. It is
+only when I see it in print that I shudder."
+
+"Me too," says I. "I'm just as sore on these foreign languages as anyone.
+So you're visitin' next door, eh? Enjoyin' yourself?"
+
+That was a plain cue for Harold Burbank to launch out on the story of his
+life; but, say, he didn't need any such encouragement. He was a willin'
+and ready converser, Harold was; and--my!--what a lot of classy words he
+did have on tap! First off I wondered how it was a youngster like him
+could dig up so many; but when I'd heard a little more about him I could
+account for it all.
+
+He'd cut his teeth, as you might say, on the encyclopedia. Harold's
+father had been a professor of dead languages, and I guess he must have
+died of it. Anyway, Mother was a widow, and from things Harold dropped I
+judged she was more or less frisky, spendin' her time at bridge and
+chasin' teas and dinner parties. It was clear she wa'n't any highbrow,
+such as Father must have been. All of which was disappointin' to Harold.
+He made no bones of sayin' so.
+
+"Why pretend to approve of one's parent," says he, "when approval is
+undeserved?"
+
+There was a lot of other folks that Harold disapproved of too. In fact,
+he was a mighty critical youth, only bein' able to entertain a good
+opinion of but one certain party. At any other time I expect he'd have
+given me an earache; but I'd been handed so much silence by our double
+Romeo-Juliet bunch that most any kind of conversation was welcome just
+then. So I lets him spiel away.
+
+And, say, he acts like he was hungry for the chance. Why, he gives me his
+ideas on every subject you could think of, from the way Napoleon got
+himself started on the toboggan, to the folly of eatin' fried ham for
+breakfast. He sure was a wonder, that kid! Two solid hours we chinned
+there in the summerhouse, and it was almost by main strength I broke away
+for a one o'clock dinner.
+
+Then, just as I'd got settled comf'table on the veranda in the afternoon,
+he shows up and begins again. There was nothin' diffident or backward
+about Harold. He didn't have any doubts about whether he was welcome or
+not, and his confidence about bein' able to entertain was amazin'.
+
+It didn't do any good to throw out hints that perhaps he was bein' missed
+at home, or to yawn and pretend you was sleepy. He was as persistent as a
+mosquito singin' its evenin' song, and most as irritatin'. Twice I gets
+up and pikes off, tryin' to shake him; but Harold trails right along too.
+Maybe I'd yearned for conversation. Well, I was gettin' it.
+
+At last I grows desp'rate, and in about two minutes more he would have
+been led home to Mother with the request that she tether him on her side
+of the fence, when I sees two of the lovers strollin' off to find a nook
+that wa'n't preempted by the other pair. And all of a sudden I has this
+rosy thought.
+
+"Harold," says I, "it's most too bad, your wastin' all this flossy talk
+on me, who can't appreciate its fine points as I should, when there go
+some young people who might be tickled to death to have you join 'em.
+Suppose you try cheerin' 'em up?"
+
+"Why," says Harold, "I had not observed them before. Thank you for the
+suggestion. I will join them at once."
+
+Does he? Say, for the next couple of hours I had the time of my life
+watchin' the maneuvers. First off I expect they must have thought him
+kind of cute, same as I did; but it wa'n't long before they begun tryin'
+to lose him. If they shifted positions once, they did a dozen times, from
+the summerhouse to the rocks, then up to the veranda and back again, with
+Harold Burbank taggin' right along and spoutin' his best. He tackles
+first one pair, and then the other, until fin'lly they all retreats into
+the house. Harold hesitates a little about walkin' through the door after
+'em, until I waves my hand cordial.
+
+"Make yourself right to home, Harold," says I. "Keep 'em cheered up."
+
+Not until he drives the girls off to their rooms and has Bobbie and
+Charles glarin' murderous at him, does he quit the sport and retire for
+supper.
+
+"Come over again this evenin'," says I. "You're makin' a hit."
+
+Harold thanks me some more and says he will. He's a great one to keep his
+word too. Bobbie and Marjorie have hardly snuggled up in one end of a
+hammock to watch the moon do things to the wavelets before here is
+Harold, with a fresh line of talk that he's bent on deliverin' while the
+mood is on.
+
+Gettin' no answer from his audience didn't bother him a bit; for passin'
+out the monologue is his strong suit. Not to seem partial, he trails down
+Charlie and Helen and converses with them too. Course, all this occurrin'
+outside, I couldn't watch everything that took place; but I sits in the
+lib'ry with Sadie a lot more contented than I'd been before that week.
+
+And when Marjorie drifts in alone, along about nine o'clock, and goes to
+drummin' on the piano, I smiles. Ten minutes later Helen appears too; and
+it's only when neither of the boys show up that I begins wonderin'. I
+asks no questions; but goes out on a scoutin' trip. There's nobody on the
+veranda at all. Down by the waterfront, though, I could hear voices, and
+I goes sleuthin' in that direction.
+
+"Yes," I could hear Harold sayin' as I got most to the boat landin', "the
+phosphorescence that ignorant sailors attribute to electricity in the air
+is really a minute marine animal which----"
+
+I expect I'll never know the rest; for just then there's a break in the
+lecture.
+
+"One, two, three--now!" comes from Bobbie, and before Harold can let out
+a single squeal they've grabbed him firm and secure, one by the heels and
+the other by the collar, and they've begun sousin' him up and down off
+the edge of the float. It was high tide too.
+
+"Uggle-guggle! Wow!" remarks Harold between splashes.
+
+"That's right," observes Charles through, his teeth. "Swallow a lot of
+it, you windbag! It'll do you good."
+
+Course, these young gents was guests of mine, and I hadn't interfered
+before with their partic'lar way of enjoyin' themselves; so I couldn't
+begin now. But after they was through, and a draggled, chokin',
+splutterin' youth had gone beatin' it up the path and over towards the
+next place, I strolls down to meet 'em as they are comin' up to the
+house.
+
+"Hope you didn't see what happened down there just now, Professor," says
+Bobbie.
+
+"Me?" says I. "Well, if I did I can forget it quick."
+
+"Thanks, old man!" says both of 'em, pattin' me friendly on the
+shoulder.
+
+"The little beast!" adds Charles. "He had the nerve to say you had put
+him up to it. That's what finally earned him his ducking, you know."
+
+"Well, well!" says I. "Such a nice spoken youngster too!"
+
+"Huh!" says Bobbie. "I suppose there'll be no end of a row about this
+when he gets home with his tale; but we'll stand for it. Meanwhile let's
+go up and get the girls to give us some music."
+
+Say, I don't believe Harold ever mentioned it to a soul. It's a funny
+thing too, but he hasn't been over here since. And someway, gettin'
+better acquainted with the boys in that fashion, made it pleasanter all
+round.
+
+But no more entertainin' lovers for us! Harolds ain't common enough.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+CORNELIA SHOWS SOME CLASS
+
+
+"Oh, by the way, Shorty," says Sadie to me the other mornin', just as I'm
+makin' an early get-away for town.
+
+"Another postscript, eh?" says I. "Well, let it come over speedy."
+
+"It's something for Mrs. Purdy-Pell," says she. "I'd almost forgotten."
+
+"Is it orderin' some fancy groceries, or sendin' out a new laundry
+artist?" says I. "If it is, why I guess I can----"
+
+"No, no," says Sadie, givin' my tie an extra pat and brushin' some
+imaginary dust off my coat collar; "it's about Cousin Cornelia. She's in
+town, you know, and neither of the Purdy-Pells can get in to see her
+before next week on account of their garden party, and Cornelia is
+staying at a hotel alone, and they're a little anxious about her. So look
+her up, won't you? I told them you would. You don't mind, do you?"
+
+"Me?" says I. "Why, I've been waitin' for this. Makin' afternoon calls on
+weepy old maids is my specialty."
+
+"There, there!" says Sadie, followin' me out on the veranda. "Don't play
+the martyr! Perhaps Cornelia isn't the most entertaining person in the
+world, for she certainly has had her share of trouble; but it isn't going
+to hurt you merely to find out how she is situated and ask if you can be
+of any help to her. You know, if there was anything she could do for us,
+she would----"
+
+"Oh, sure!" says I. "If I'm ever brought home on a shutter, I shall look
+for Cornelia to be waitin' on the mat with a needle and thread, ready to
+sew mournin' bands on the help."
+
+That seems to be Cousin Cornelia's steady job in life, tendin' out on the
+sick and being in at the obsequies. Anyway, she's been at it ever since
+we knew her. She's a cousin of Mr. Purdy-Pell's, and his branch of the
+fam'ly, being composed mainly of antiques and chronic invalids, has been
+shufflin' off in one way or another for the last three or four years at
+the rate of about one every six months.
+
+Course, it was kind of sad to see a fam'ly peter out that way; but, as a
+matter of fact, most of 'em was better off. At first the Purdy-Pells
+started in to chop all their social dates for three months after each
+sorrowful event; but when they saw they was being let in for a continuous
+performance, they sort of detailed Cousin Cornelia to do their heavy
+mournin' and had a black edge put on their stationery.
+
+Maybe Cornelia didn't exactly yearn for the portfolio; but she didn't
+have much choice about taking it. She was kind of a hanger-on, Cornelia
+was, you see, and she was used to going where she was sent. So when word
+would come that Aunt Mehitabel's rheumatism was worse and was threatenin'
+her heart, that meant a hurry call for Cousin Cornelia. She'd pack a
+couple of suit cases full of black skirts and white shirtwaists, and off
+she'd go, not showin' up again at the Purdy-Pells' town house until Aunty
+had been safely planted and the headstone ordered.
+
+You couldn't say but what she did it thorough, too; for she'd come back
+wearin' a long crape veil and lookin' pasty faced and wore out. Don't
+know as I ever saw her when she wa'n't either just comin' from where
+there'd been a funeral, or just startin' for where there was likely to be
+one.
+
+So she didn't cut much of a figure in all the gay doin's the Purdy-Pells
+was always mixed up in. And yet she wasn't such a kiln dried prune as you
+might expect, after all. Rather a well built party, Cornelia was, with a
+face that would pass in a crowd, and a sort of longin' twist to her mouth
+corners as if she wanted to crack a smile now and then, providin' the
+chance would only come her way.
+
+And it wa'n't hardly a square deal to list her with the U.B.'s as soon as
+we did; for all this time she was doing the chief mourner act she was
+engaged to young Durgin. First off it was understood that she was waitin'
+for him to settle on whether he was goin' to be a minister or a doctor,
+him fiddlin' round at college, now takin' one course and then another;
+but at last he makes up his mind to chuck both propositions and take a
+hack at the law.
+
+Durgin got there, too, which was more or less of a surprise to all hands,
+and actually broke in as partner in a good firm. Then it was a case of
+Durgin waitin' for Cornelia; for about that time the relations got to
+droppin' off in one-two-three order, and she seemed to think that so long
+as she'd started in on the job of ridin' in the first carriage, she ought
+to see it through.
+
+Whether it was foolish of her or not, ain't worth while debatin' now.
+Anyhow, she stuck to it until the last one had cashed in, puttin' Durgin
+off from month to month and year to year. Then it turns out that the last
+of the bunch, Uncle Theodore, had left her a good-sized wad that
+Purdy-Pell had always supposed was comin' to him, but which he didn't
+grudge to Cornelia a bit.
+
+So there she was, all the lingerin' ones off her hands, and her sportin'
+a bank account of her own. She's some tired out, though; so, after
+sendin' Durgin word that they might as well wait until fall now, she
+hikes off to some little place in New Hampshire and spends the summer
+restin' up. Next she comes down unexpected and hits New York.
+
+In the meantime, though, Durgin has suddenly decided to scratch his entry
+for that partic'lar Matrimonial Handicap. Not that he's seriously
+int'rested in somebody else, but he's kind of got weary hangin' around,
+and he's seen a few livelier ones than Cornelia, and he feels that
+somehow him and her have made a great mistake. You know how they're apt
+to talk when they get chilly below the ankles? He don't hand this
+straight out to Cornelia, mind you, but goes to Mrs. Purdy-Pell and Sadie
+with the tale, wantin' to know what he'd better do.
+
+Now I ain't got any grouch against Durgin. He's all right, I expect, in
+his way, more or less of a stiff necked, mealy mouthed chump, I always
+thought; but they say he's nice to his old mother, and he's makin' good
+in the law business, and he ain't bad to look at. The women folks takes
+his side right off. They say they don't blame him a bit, and, without
+stoppin' to think how Cousin Cornelia is going to feel left alone there
+on the siding, they get busy pickin' out new candidates for Durgin to
+choose from.
+
+Well, that's the situation when I'm handed this assignment to go and
+inspect the head of the Purdy-Pells' obituary department and see if she's
+all comfy. Couldn't have weighed very heavy on my mind; for I don't think
+of it until late afternoon, just as I'm startin' to pull out for home.
+Then I says to myself that maybe it'll do just as well if I ring her up
+on the 'phone at her hotel. She's in, all right, and I explains over the
+wire how anxious I am to know if she's all right, and hopes nobody has
+tried to kidnap her yet, and asks if there's anything I can do.
+
+"Why, how kind of you, Mr. McCabe!" says Cornelia. "Yes, I am perfectly
+well and quite safe here."
+
+"Good!" says I. And then, seein' how easy I was gettin' out of it, I has
+to pile on the agony a little by addin', "Ain't there some way I can be
+useful, though? No errands you want done, or any place you'd like to be
+towed around to, eh?"
+
+"Why--why----" says she, hesitatin'. "Oh, but I couldn't think of
+troubling you, you know."
+
+"Why not?" says I, gettin' reckless. "Just remember that I'd be tickled
+to death, any time you push the button."
+
+"We-e-ell," says she, "we were just wishing, Miss Stover and I, that we
+did have some gentleman friend who would----"
+
+"Count me in," says I. "What's the game? Trip to Woodlawn Cemetery some
+day, or do you want to be piloted up to Grant's Tomb?"
+
+No, it wa'n't either of them festive splurges she had in mind. They
+wanted a dinner escort for that evenin', she and Miss Stover. The other
+lady, she goes on to say, is a school teacher from up Boston way, that
+she'd made friends with durin' the summer. Miss Stover was takin' a year
+off, for the benefit of her nerves, and before she sailed on her Cook's
+trip abroad she thought she'd like to see a little of New York. They'd
+been tryin' to knock around some alone, and had got along all right
+daytimes, but hadn't dared venture out much at night. So if I wanted to
+be real generous, and it wouldn't be too much of a bore, they'd be very
+thankful if I would----
+
+"In a minute," says I and, seein' I was up against it anyhow, I thought I
+might as well do it cheerful. "I'll be up about six, eh?"
+
+"Chee!" says Swifty Joe, who always has his ear stretched out on such
+occasions, "you make a noise like you was fixin' up a date."
+
+"What good hearin' you have, Swifty!" says I. "Some day, though, you'll
+strain one of them side flaps of yours. Yes, this is a date, and it's
+with two of the sportiest female parties that ever dodged an old ladies'
+home."
+
+Excitin' proposition, wa'n't it? I spends the next half-hour battin' my
+head to think of some first class food parlor where I could cart a couple
+like this Boston schoolma'am and Cousin Cornelia without shockin' 'em.
+There was the Martha Washington; but I knew I'd be barred there. Also
+there was some quiet fam'ly hotels I'd heard of up town; but I couldn't
+remember exactly what street any of 'em was on.
+
+"Maybe Cornelia will have some plans of her own," thinks I, as I gets
+into my silk faced dinner jacket and V-cut vest. "And I hope she ain't
+wearin' more'n two thicknesses of crape veil now."
+
+Well, soon after six I slides out, hops on one of these shed-as-you-enter
+surface cars, and rides up to the hotel. I'd been holdin' down one of the
+velvet chairs in the ladies' parlor for near half an hour, and was
+wonderin' if Cornelia had run out of black headed pins, or what, when I
+pipes off a giddy specimen in wistaria costume that drifts in and begins
+squintin' around like she was huntin' for some one. Next thing I knew
+she'd spotted me and was sailin' right over.
+
+"Oh, there you are!" she gurgles, holdin' out her hand.
+
+"Excuse me, lady," says I, sidesteppin' behind the chair, "but ain't you
+tryin' to tag the wrong party?"
+
+"Why," says she, lettin' out a chuckle, "don't you know me, Mr. McCabe?"
+
+"Not yet," says I; "but it looks like I would if----Great snakes!"
+
+And honest, you could hardly have covered my face cavity with a waffle
+iron when I drops to the fact that it's Cousin Cornelia. In place of the
+dismal female I'd been expectin', here's a chirky party in vivid regalia
+that shows class in every line. Oh, it's a happy days uniform, all right,
+from the wide brimmed gauze lid with the long heliotrope feather trailin'
+over one side, to the lavender kid pumps.
+
+"Gee!" I gasps. "The round is on me, Miss Cornelia. But I wa'n't lookin'
+for you in--in----"
+
+"I know," says she. "This is the first time I've worn colors for years,
+and I feel so odd. I hope I don't look too----"
+
+"You look all to the skookum," says I.
+
+It wa'n't any jolly, either. There never was any real sharp angles to
+Cornelia, and now I come to reckon up I couldn't place her as more'n
+twenty-six or twenty-seven at the outside. So why shouldn't she show up
+fairly well in a Gibson model?
+
+"It's so good of you to come to our rescue," says she. "Miss Stover will
+be down presently. Now, where shall we go to dinner?"
+
+Well, I see in a minute I've got to revise my plans; so I begins namin'
+over some of the swell grillrooms and cafes.
+
+"Oh, we have been to most of those, all by ourselves," says Cornelia.
+"What we would like to see to-night is some real--well, a place where we
+couldn't go alone, out somewhere--an automobile resort, for instance."
+
+"Whe-e-ew!" says I through my front teeth. "Say, Miss Cornie, but you are
+gettin' out of the bereft class for fair! I guess it's comin' to you,
+though. Now jest let me get an idea of how far you want to go."
+
+"Why," says she, shruggin' her shoulders,--"how is it you put such
+things?--the limit, I suppose?"
+
+"Honest?" says I. "Then how about Clover Blossom Inn?"
+
+Heard about that joint, haven't you? Of course. There's a lot of joy-ride
+tank stations strung along Jerome-ave. and the Yonkers road; but when it
+comes to a genuine tabasco flavored chorus girls' rest, the Clover
+Blossom has most of the others lookin' like playgrounds for little
+mothers. But Cornie don't do any dodgin'.
+
+"Fine!" says she. "I've read about that inn." Then she hurries on to plan
+out the details. I must go over to Times Square and hire a nice looking
+touring car for the evening. And I mustn't let Miss Stover know how much
+it costs; for Cornelia wants to do that part of it by her lonely.
+
+"The dinner we are to go shares on," says she.
+
+"Couldn't think of it," says I. "Let that stand as my blow."
+
+"No, indeed," says Cornelia. "We have the money all put aside, and I
+sha'n't like it. Here it is, and I want you to be sure you spend the
+whole of it," and with that she shoves over a couple of fives.
+
+I couldn't help grinnin' as I takes it. Maybe you've settled a dinner
+bill for three and a feed for the shofer at the Clover Blossom; but not
+with a ten-spot, eh?
+
+And while Cornelia is goin' back in the elevator after the schoolma'am, I
+scoots over to get a machine. After convincin' two or three of them
+leather capped pirates that I didn't want to buy their blamed outfits, I
+fin'lly beats one down to twenty-five and goes back after the ladies.
+
+[Illustration: "Cornelia whispered about the peroxide puffed girl"]
+
+Miss Stover don't turn out to be any such star as Cornelia; but she don't
+look so much like a suffragette as I expected. She's plump, and middle
+aged, and plain dressed; but there's more or less style to the way she
+carries herself. Also she has just a suspicion of eye twinkle behind the
+glasses, which suggests that perhaps some of this programme is due to
+her.
+
+"All aboard for the Clover Blossom!" says I, handin' 'em into the
+tonneau; "that is, as soon as I run in here to the telephone booth."
+
+It had come to me only at that minute what a shame it was this stunt of
+Cornelia's was goin' to be wasted on an audience that couldn't appreciate
+the fine points, and I'd thought of a scheme that might supply the gap.
+So I calls up an old friend of mine and has a little confab.
+
+By the time we'd crossed the Harlem and had got straightened out on the
+parkway with our gas lamps lighted, and the moon comin' up over the
+trees, and hundreds of other cars whizzin' along in both directions,
+Cornelia and her schoolma'am friend was chatterin' away like a couple of
+boardin' school girls. There's no denyin' that it does get into your
+blood, that sort of ridin'. Why, even I begun to feel some frisky!
+
+And look at Cornelia! For years she'd been givin' directions about where
+to put the floral wreaths, and listenin' to wills being read, and all
+summer long she'd been buried in a little backwoods boardin' house, where
+the most excitin' event of the day was watchin' the cows come home, or
+going down for the mail. Can you blame her for workin' up a cheek flush
+and rattlin' off nonsense?
+
+Clover Blossom Inn does look fine and fancy at night, too, with all the
+colored lights strung around, and the verandas crowded with tables, and
+the Gypsy orchestra sawin' away, and new parties landin' from the
+limousines every few minutes. Course, I knew they'd run against perfect
+ladies hittin' up cocktails and cigarettes in the cloak room, and hear
+more or less high spiced remarks; but this was what they'd picked out to
+view.
+
+So I orders the brand of dinner the waiter hints I ought to have,--little
+necks, okra soup, broiled lobster, guinea hen, and so on, with a large
+bottle of fizz decoratin' the silver tub on the side and some sporty
+lookin' mineral for me. It don't make any diff'rence whether you've got a
+wealthy water thirst or not, when you go to one of them tootsy palaces
+you might just as well name your vintage first as last; for any cheap
+skates of suds consumers is apt to find that the waiter's made a mistake
+and their table has been reserved for someone else.
+
+But if you don't mind payin' four prices, and can stand the comp'ny at
+the adjoinin' tables, just being part of the picture and seeing it from
+the inside is almost worth the admission. If there's any livelier purple
+spots on the map than these gasolene road houses from eight-thirty P. M.
+to two-thirty in the mornin', I'll let you name 'em.
+
+Cornelia rather shies at the sight of the fat bottle peekin' out of the
+cracked ice; but she gets over that feelin' after Miss Stover has
+expressed her sentiments.
+
+"Champagne!" says the schoolma'am. "Oh, how perfectly delightful! Do you
+know, I always have wanted to know how it tasted."
+
+Say, she knows all about it now. Not that she put away any more'n a lady
+should,--at the Clover Blossom,--but she had tackled a dry Martini first,
+and then she kept on tastin' and tastin' her glass of fizz, and the
+waiter keeps fillin' it up, and that twinkle in her eye develops more and
+more, and her conversation gets livelier and livelier. So does
+Cornelia's. They gets off some real bright things, too. You'd never guess
+there was so much fun in Cornie, or that she could look so much like a
+stunner.
+
+She was just leanin' over to whisper something to me about the peroxide
+puffed girl at the next table, and I was tryin' to stand bein' tickled in
+the neck by that long feather of hers while I listens, and Miss Stover
+was snuggled up real chummy on the other side, when I looks up the aisle
+and sees a little group watchin' us with their mouths open and their
+eyebrows up.
+
+Leadin' the way is Pinckney. Oh, he'd done his part, all right, just as
+I'd told him over the wire; for right behind him is Durgin, starin' at
+Cornelia until he was pop eyed.
+
+But that wa'n't all. Trust Pinckney to add something. Beyond Durgin is
+Mrs. Purdy-Pell--and Sadie. Now, I've seen Mrs. McCabe when she's been
+some jarred; but I don't know as I ever watched the effect of such a jolt
+as this. You see, Cornelia's back was to her, and all Sadie can see is
+that wistaria lid with the feather danglin' down my neck.
+
+Sadie don't indulge in any preliminaries. She marches right along, with
+her chin in the air, and glues them Irish blue eyes of hers on me in a
+way I can feel yet. "Well, I must say!" says she.
+
+"Eh?" says I, tryin' hard to put on a pleased grin. "So Pinckney brought
+you along too, did he? Lovely evenin', ain't it?"
+
+"Why, Sadie?" says Cornelia, jumpin' up and givin' 'em a full face view.
+And you should have seen how that knocks the wind out of Sadie.
+
+"Wha-a-at!" says she. "You?"
+
+"Of course," says Cornie. "And we're just having the grandest lark,
+and----Oh! Why, Durgin! Where in the world did you come from? How
+jolly!"
+
+"Ain't it?" says I. "You see, Sadie, I'm carryin' out instructions."
+
+Well, the minute she gets wise that it's all a job that Pinckney and I
+have put up between us, and discovers that my giddy lookin' friend is
+only Cousin Cornelia doin' the butterfly act, the thunder storm is all
+over. The waiter shoves up another table, and they plants Durgin next to
+Cornie, and the festivities takes a new start.
+
+Did Durgin boy forget all about them chilly feet of his? Why, you could
+almost see the frost startin' out before he'd said a dozen words, and by
+the time he'd let the whole effect sink in, he was no nearer contractin'
+chilblains than a Zulu with his heels in the campfire.
+
+What pleases me most, though, was the scientific duck I made in the last
+round. We'd gone clear through the menu, and they was finishin' up their
+cordials, when I spots the waiter comin' with a slip of paper on his tray
+as long as a pianola roll.
+
+"Hey, Pinckney," says I, "see what's comin' now!"
+
+And when Pinckney reached around and discovers what it is, he digs down
+for his roll like a true sport, never battin' an eyelash.
+
+"You would ring in the fam'ly on me, would you," says I, "when I'm
+showin' lady friends the sights?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+DOPING OUT AN ODD ONE
+
+
+Say, notice any deep sea roll about my walk? No? Well, maybe you can get
+the tarry perfume as I pass by? Funny you don't; for I've been a Vice
+Commodore for most three weeks now. Yes, that's on the level--belay my
+spinnaker taffrail if it ain't!
+
+That's what I get for bein' one of the charter members of the Rockhurst
+Yacht Club. You didn't, eh? Well, say, I'm one of the yachtiest yachters
+that ever jibbed a gangway. Not that I do any sailin' exactly; but I
+guess Sadie and me each paid good money for our shares of club stock, and
+if that ain't as foolish an act as you can find in the nautical calendar,
+then I'll eat the binnacle boom.
+
+Course, this Vice Commodore stunt was sort of sprung on me; for I'd been
+such an active member I didn't even know the bloomin' clubhouse was
+finished until here the other day I gets this bulletin from the annual
+meetin', along with the programme for the openin' exercises.
+
+"Gee!" says I. "Vice Commodore! Say, there must be some mistake about
+this."
+
+"Not at all," says Sadie.
+
+"Sure there is," says I. "Why, I hardly know one end of a boat from the
+other; and besides I ain't got any clubby habits. They've been let in
+wrong, that's all. I'll resign."
+
+"You'll do nothing of the sort!" says Sadie. "When I took all that
+trouble to have you win over that ridiculous Bronson-Smith!"
+
+"Eh?" says I. "Been playin' the Mrs. Taft, have you? In that case, I
+expect I'll have to stay with it. But, honest, you can look for a season
+of perfectly punk Vice Commodorin'."
+
+As it turns out, though, there ain't one in ten members that knows much
+more about yachtin' than I do. Navigatin' porch rockers, orderin' all
+hands up for fancy drinks, and conductin' bridge whist regattas was their
+chief sea-goin' accomplishments; and when it come to makin' myself
+useful, who was it, I'd like to know, that chucked the boozy steward off
+the float when he had two of the house committee treed up the signal
+mast?
+
+I suspect that's how it is I'm played up so prominent for this house
+warmin' episode. Anyway, when I arrives there on the great night--me all
+got up fancy in a double breasted serge coat, white flannel pants, and
+cork soled canvas shoes--I finds they've put me on the reception
+committee; and that, besides welcomin' invited guests, I'm expected to
+keep one eye peeled for outsiders, to see that nobody starts nothin'.
+
+So I'm on deck, as you might say, and more or less conspicuous, when this
+Larchmont delegation is landed and comes stringin' up. It was "Ahoy
+there, Captain This!" and "How are you, Captain That?" from the rest of
+the committee, who was some acquainted; and me buttin' around earnest
+tryin' to find someone to shake hands with, when I runs across this thick
+set party in the open front Tuxedo regalia, with his opera hat down over
+one eye and a long cigar raked up coquettish from the sou'west corner of
+his face.
+
+Know him? I guess! It's Peter K. Tracey; yes, the one that has his name
+on so many four-sheet posters. Noticed how he always has 'em read, ain't
+you? "Mr. Peter K. Tracey presents Booth Keene, the sterling young
+actor." Never forgets that "Mr."; but, say, I knew him when he signed it
+just "P. Tracey," and chewed his tongue some at gettin' that down.
+
+Them was the days when he'd have jumped at the chance of managin' my ring
+exhibits, and he was known in sportin' circles as Chunk Tracey. I ain't
+followed all his moves since then; but I know he got to handlin' the big
+heavyweights on exhibition tours, broke into the theatrical game with an
+animal show that was a winner, and has stuck to the boxoffice end ever
+since.
+
+Why shouldn't he, with a half ownership in a mascot Rube drama that never
+has less than six road companies playin' it, and at least one hit on
+Broadway every season? I admit I was some surprised, though, to hear of
+him buyin' a house on Fifth-ave. and makin' a stab at mixin' in society.
+That last I could hardly believe; but here he was, and lookin' as much
+jarred at findin' me as I was to see him.
+
+"Well, I'll be hanged!" says I. "Chunk Tracey!"
+
+"Why, hello, Shorty!" says he, and neither one of us remembers the
+"Charmed to see yuh, old chappy" lines we should have been shootin' off.
+Seems he'd been towed along with a bunch of near-swells that didn't dare
+treat him as if he really belonged, and he was almost frothin' at the
+mouth.
+
+"Talk about your society folks!" says he. "Why,--blankety blank 'em!--I
+can go down the Rialto any afternoon, pick up a dozen people at
+twenty-five a week, drill 'em four days, and give a better imitation than
+this crowd ever thought of putting up!"
+
+"Yes; but look who you are, Chunk," says I.
+
+"I know," says he.
+
+And he meant it too. He always was about the cockiest little rooster in
+the business; but I'd rather expected eight or ten years of ups and downs
+in the theatrical game, bein' thrown out of the trust and crawlin' back
+on his knees would have tempered him down some.
+
+You couldn't notice it, though. In fact, this chesty, cocksure attitude
+seemed to have grown on him, and it was plain that most of his soreness
+just now come from findin' himself in with a lot of folks that didn't
+take any special pains to admit what a great man he was. So, as him and
+me was sort of left to flock by ourselves, I undertook the job of
+supplyin' a few soothin' remarks, just for old time's sake. And that's
+how it was he got rung in on this little mix-up with Cap'n Spiller.
+
+You see, the way the committee had mapped it out, part of the doin's was
+a grand illumination of the fleet. Anyway, they had all the craft they
+could muster anchored in a semicircle off the end of the float and
+trimmed up with Japanese lanterns. Well, just about time for lightin' up,
+into the middle of the fleet comes driftin' a punk lookin' old sloop with
+dirty, patched sails, some shirts and things hangin' from the riggin',
+and a length of stovepipe stickin' through the cabin roof. When the
+skipper has struck the exact center, he throws over his mud hook and lets
+his sail run.
+
+Not bein' posted on the details, I didn't know but that was part of the
+show, until the chairman of my committee comes rushin' up to me all
+excited, and points it out.
+
+"Oh, I say, McCabe!" says he. "Do you see that?"
+
+"If I didn't," says I, "I could almost smell it from here. Some new
+member, is it?"
+
+"Member!" he gasps. "Why, it's some dashed old fisherman! We--we cawn't
+have him stay there, you know."
+
+"Well," says I, "he seems to be gettin' plenty of advice on that point."
+And he was; for they was shoutin' things at him through a dozen
+megaphones.
+
+"But you know, McCabe," goes on the chairman, "you ought to go out and
+send him away. That's one of your duties."
+
+"Eh?" says I. "How long since I've been official marine bouncer for this
+organization? G'wan! Go tell him yourself!"
+
+We had quite an argument over it too, with Peter K. chimin' in on my
+side; but, while the chappy insists that it's my job to fire the old
+hooker off the anchorage, I draws the line at interferin' with anything
+beyond the shore. Course, it might spoil the effect; but the way it
+struck me was that we didn't own any more of Long Island Sound than
+anyone else, and I says so flat.
+
+That must have been how the boss of the old sloop felt about it too; for
+he don't pay any attention to the howls or threats. He just makes things
+snug and then goes below and starts pokin' about in his dinky little
+cabin. Judgin' by the motions, he was gettin' a late supper.
+
+Anyway, they couldn't budge him, even though half the club was stewin'
+about it. And, someway, that seemed to tickle Chunk and me a lot. We
+watched him spread his grub out on the cabin table, roll up his sleeves,
+and square away like he had a good appetite, just as if he'd been all by
+himself, instead of right here in the midst of so many flossy yachtsmen.
+
+He even had music to eat by; for part of the programme was the turnin'
+loose of one of these high priced cabinet disk machines, that was on the
+Commodore's big schooner, and feedin' it with Caruso and Melba records.
+There was so much chatterin' goin' on around us on the verandas, and so
+many corks poppin' and glasses clinkin', that the skipper must have got
+more benefit from the concert than anyone else. At last he wipes his
+mouth on his sleeve careful, fills his pipe, and crawls out on deck to
+enjoy the view.
+
+It was well worth lookin' at too; for, although there was most too many
+clouds for the moon to do much execution, here was all the yachts lighted
+up, and the clubhouse blazin' and gay, and the water lappin' gentle in
+between. He gazes out at it placid for a minute or so, and then we see
+him dive down into the cabin. He comes back with something or other that
+we couldn't make out, and the next thing I knows I finds myself keepin'
+time with my foot to one of them lively, swingin' old tunes which might
+have been "The Campbells Are Coming" or might not; but anyway it was
+enough to give you that tingly sensation in your toes. And it was
+proceedin' from the after deck of that old hulk.
+
+"Well, well!" says I. "Bagpipes!"
+
+"Bagpipes be blowed!" says Chunk. "That's an accordion he's playing.
+Listen!"
+
+Say, I was listenin', and with both ears. Also other folks was beginnin'
+to do the same. Inside of five minutes, too, all the chatter has died
+down, and as I glanced around at the tables I could see that whole crowd
+of fancy dressed folks noddin' and beatin' time with their fans and
+cigars and fizz glasses. Even the waiters was standin' still, or tiptoin'
+so's to take it in.
+
+Ever hear one of them out-of-date music bellows handled by a natural born
+artist? Say, I've always been partial to accordions myself, though I
+never had the courage to own up to it in public; but this was the first
+time I'd ever heard one pumped in that classy fashion.
+
+Music! Why, as he switches off onto "The Old Folks at Home," you'd
+thought there was a church organ and a full orchestra out there! Maybe
+comin' across the water had something to do with it; but hanged if it
+wa'n't great! And of all the fine old tunes he gave us--"Nellie Gray,"
+"Comin' Through the Rye," "Annie Laurie," and half a dozen more.
+
+"Chunk," says I, as the concert ends and the folks begin to applaud,
+"there's only one thing to be done in a case like this. Lemme take that
+lid of yours."
+
+"Certainly," says he, and drops a fiver into it before he passes it over.
+That wa'n't the only green money I collects, either, and by the time I've
+made the entire round I must have gathered up more'n a quart of spendin'
+currency.
+
+"Hold on there, Shorty," says Chunk, as I starts out to deliver the
+collection. "I'd like to go with you."
+
+"Come along, then," says I. "I guess some of these sailormen will row us
+out."
+
+What we had framed up was one of these husky, rugged, old hearts of oak,
+who would choke up some on receivin' the tribute and give us his blessin'
+in a sort of "Shore Acres" curtain speech. Part of that description he
+lives up to. He's some old, all right; but he ain't handsome or rugged.
+He's a lean, dyspeptic lookin' old party, with a wrinkled face colored up
+like a pair of yellow shoes at the end of a hard season. His hair is long
+and matted, and he ain't overly clean in any detail. He don't receive us
+real hearty, either.
+
+"Hey, keep your hands off that rail!" he sings out, reachin' for a
+boathook as we come alongside.
+
+"It's all right, Cap," says I. "We're friends."
+
+"Git out!" says he. "I ain't got any friends."
+
+"Sure you have, old scout," says I. "Anyway, there's a lot of people
+ashore that was mighty pleased with the way you tickled that accordion.
+Here's proof of it too," and I holds up the hat.
+
+"Huh!" says he, gettin' his eye on the contents. "Come aboard, then.
+Here, I guess you can stow that stuff in there," and blamed if he don't
+shove out an empty lard pail for me to dump the money in. That's as
+excited as he gets about it too.
+
+Say, I'd have indulged in about two more minutes of dialogue with that
+ugly faced old pirate, and then I'd beat it for shore good and disgusted,
+if it hadn't been for Chunk Tracey. But he jumps in, as enthusiastic as
+if he was interviewin' some foreign Prince, presses a twenty-five-cent
+perfecto on the Cap'n, and begins pumpin' out of him the story of his
+life.
+
+And when Chunk really enthuses it's got to be a mighty cold proposition
+that don't thaw some. Ten to one, too, if this had been a nice, easy
+talkin', gentle old party, willin' to tell all he knew in the first five
+minutes, Chunk wouldn't have bothered with him; but, because he don't
+show any gratitude, mushy or otherwise, and acts like he had a permanent,
+ingrowin' grouch, Chunk is right there with the persistence. He drags out
+of him that he's Cap'n Todd Spiller, hailin' originally from Castine,
+Maine, and that the name of his old tub is the Queen of the Seas. He says
+his chief business is clammin'; but he does a little fishin' and
+freightin' on the side. He don't work much, though, because it don't take
+a lot to keep him.
+
+"But you have a wife somewhere ashore, I suppose," suggests Chunk, "a
+dear old soul who waits anxiously for you to come back?"
+
+"Bah!" grunts Cap'n Spiller, knockin' the heel out of his corncob
+vicious. "I ain't got any use for women."
+
+"I see," says Chunk, gazin' up sentimental at the moon. "A blighted
+romance of youth; some fair, fickle maid who fled with another and left
+you alone?"
+
+"No such luck," says Spiller. "My trouble was havin' too many to once.
+Drat 'em!"
+
+And you'd most thought Chunk would have let it go at that; but not him!
+He only tackles Spiller along another line. "What I want to know,
+Captain," says he, "is where you learned to play the accordion so well."
+
+"Never learned 'tall," growls Spiller. "Just picked it up from a Portugee
+that tried to knife me afterwards."
+
+"You don't say!" says Chunk. "But there's the musician's soul in you. You
+love it, don't you? You use it to express your deep, unsatisfied
+longings?"
+
+"Guess so," says the Captain. "I allus plays most when my dyspepshy is
+worst. It's kind of a relief."
+
+"Um-m-m--ah!" says Chunk. "Many geniuses are that way. You must come into
+town, though, and let me take you to hear some real, bang up, classical
+music."
+
+"Not me!" grunts Spiller. "I can make all the music I want myself."
+
+"How about plays, then?" says Chunk. "Now, wouldn't you like to see the
+best show on Broadway?"
+
+"No, sir," says he, prompt and vigorous. "I ain't never seen any shows,
+and don't want to seen one, either."
+
+And, say, along about that time, what with the stale cookin' and bilge
+water scents that was comin' from the stuffy cabin, and this charmin'
+mood that old Spiller was in, I was gettin' restless. "Say, Chunk," I
+breaks in, "you may be enjoyin' this, all right; but I've got enough.
+It's me for shore! Goin' along?"
+
+"Not yet," says he. "Have the boat come back for me in about an hour."
+
+It was nearer two, though, before he shows up again, and his face is
+fairly beamin'.
+
+"Well," says I, "did you adopt the old pirate, or did he adopt you?"
+
+"Wait and see," says he, noddin' his head cocky. "Anyway, he's promised
+to show up at my office to-morrow afternoon."
+
+"You must be stuck on entertaining a grouchy old lemon like that," says
+I.
+
+"But he's a genius," says Chunk. "Just what I've been looking for as a
+head liner in a new vaudeville house I'm opening next month."
+
+"What!" says I. "You ain't thinkin' of puttin' that old sour face on the
+stage, are you? Say, you're batty!"
+
+"Batty, am I?" says Chunk, kind of swellin' up. "All right, I'll show
+you. I've made half a million, my boy, by just such batty moves as that.
+It's because I know people, know 'em through and through, from what
+they'll pay to hear, to the ones who can give 'em what they want. I'm a
+discoverer of talent, Shorty. Where do I get my stars from? Pick 'em up
+anywhere. I don't go to London and Paris and pay fancy salaries. I find
+my attractions first hand, sign' em up on long contracts, and take the
+velvet that comes in myself. That's my way, and I guess I've made good."
+
+"Maybe you have," says I; "but I'm guessin' this is where you stub your
+toe. Hot line that'll be for the head of a bill, won't it--an accordion
+player? Think you can get that across?"
+
+"Think!" says Chunk, gettin' indignant as usual, because someone suggests
+he can fall down on anything. "Why, I'm going to put that over twice a
+day, to twelve hundred-dollar houses! No, I don't think; I know!"
+
+And just for that it wouldn't have taken much urgin' for me to have put
+up a few yellow ones that he was makin' a wrong forecast.
+
+But, say, you didn't happen to be up to the openin' of Peter K.'s new
+Alcazar the other night, did you? Well, Sadie and I was, on account of
+being included in one of Chunk's complimentary box parties. And, honest,
+when they sprung that clouded moonlight water view, with the Long Island
+lights in the distance, and the Sound steamers passin' back and forth at
+the back, and the rocks in front, hanged if I didn't feel like I was on
+the veranda of our yacht club, watchin' it all over again, the same as it
+was that night!
+
+Then in from one side comes this boat; no ordinary property piece faked
+up from something in stock; but a life sized model that's a dead ringer
+for the old Queen of the Seas, even to the stovepipe and the shirts hung
+from the forestay. It comes floatin' in lazy and natural, and when Cap
+Spiller goes forward to heave over the anchor he drops it with a splash
+into real water. He's wearin' the same old costume,--shirt sleeves, cob
+pipe, and all,--and when he begins to putter around in the cabin, blamed
+if you couldn't smell the onions fryin' and the coffee boilin'. Yes, sir,
+Chunk had put it all on!
+
+Did the act get 'em interested? Say, there was fifteen straight minutes
+of this scenic business, with not a word said; but the house was so still
+I could hear my watch tickin'. But when he drags out that old accordion,
+plants himself on the cabin roof with one leg swingin' careless over the
+side, and opens up with them old tunes of his--well, he had 'em all with
+him, from the messenger boys in the twenty-five-cent gallery to the
+brokers in the fifteen-dollar boxes. He takes five curtain calls, and the
+orchestra circle was still demandin' more when they rung down the front
+drop.
+
+"Chunk," says I, as he shows up at our box, "I take it back. You sure
+have picked another winner."
+
+"Looks like it, don't it?" says he. "And whisper! A fifty-minute act for
+a hundred a week! That's the best of it. Up at the Columbus their top
+liner is costing them a thousand a day."
+
+"It's a cinch if you can hold onto him, eh?" says I.
+
+"Oh, I can hold him all right," says Chunk, waggin' his head confident.
+"I know enough about human nature to be sure of that. Of course, he's an
+odd freak; but this sort of thing will grow on him. The oftener he gets a
+hand like that, the more he'll want it, and inside of a fortnight that'll
+be what he lives for. Oh, I know people, from the ground up, inside and
+outside!"
+
+Well, I was beginnin' to think he did. And, havin' been on the inside of
+his deal, I got to takin' a sort of pride in this hit, almost as much as
+if I'd discovered the Captain myself. I used to go up about every
+afternoon to see old Spiller do his stunt and get 'em goin'. Gen'rally
+I'd lug along two or three friends, so I could tell 'em how it happened.
+
+Last Friday I was a little late for the act, and was just rushin' by the
+boxoffice, when I hears language floatin' out that I recognizes as a
+brand that only Chunk Tracey could deliver when he was good and warm
+under the collar. Peekin' in through the window, I sees him standin'
+there, fairly tearin' his hair.
+
+"What's up, Chunk?" says I. "You seem peeved."
+
+"Peeved!" he yells. "Why, blankety blank the scousy universe, I'm stark,
+raving mad! What do you think? Spiller has quit!"
+
+"Somebody overbid that hundred a week?" says I.
+
+"I wish they had; then I could get out an injunction and hold him on his
+contract," says Peter K. "But he's skipped, skipped for good. Read
+that."
+
+It's only a scrawly note he'd left pinned up in his dressin' room, and,
+while it ain't much as a specimen of flowery writin', it states his case
+more or less clear. Here's what it said:
+
+Mister P. K. Tracey;
+
+Sir:--I'm through being a fool actor. The money's all right if I needed
+it, which I doant, but I doant like makin' a fool of myself twict a day
+to please a lot of citty foalks I doant give a dam about annie way, I
+doant like livin' in a blamed hotel either, for there aint annie wheres
+to set and smoak and see the sun come up. I'd ruther be on my old bote,
+and that's whare I'm goin'. You needn't try to find me and git me to come
+back for I wont. You couldn't git me to act on that staige agin, ever.
+It's foolish.
+
+Yours, TODD SPILLER.
+
+"Now what in the name of all that's woolly," says Chunk, "would you say
+to a thing like that?"
+
+"Me?" says I. "I don't know. Maybe I'd start in by admittin' that to card
+index the minds of the whole human race was a good deal of a job for one
+party to tackle, even with a mighty intellect like yours. Also, if it was
+put up to me flat, I might agree with Spiller."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+HANDING BOBBY A BLANK
+
+
+Say, what do you make out of this plute huntin' business, anyway? Has the
+big money bunch got us down on the mat with our wind shut off and our
+pockets inside out; or is it just campaign piffle? Are we ghost dancin',
+or waltz dreamin', or what? It sure has me twisted up for fair, and I
+don't know whether I stand with the criminal rich or the predatory poor.
+
+That's all on account of a little mix-up I was rung into at the hotel
+Perzazzer the other day. No, we ain't livin' there reg'lar again. This
+was just a little fall vacation we was takin' in town, so Sadie can catch
+up with her shoppin', and of course the Perzazzer seems more or less like
+home to us.
+
+But it ain't often I've ever run against anything like this there. I've
+been thinkin' it over since, and it's left me with my feet in the air.
+No, you didn't read anything about it in the papers. But say, there's
+more goes on in one of them big joints every week than would fill a whole
+issue.
+
+Look at the population the Perzazzer's got,--over two thousand, countin'
+the help! Why, drop us down somewhere out in Iowa, and spread us around
+in separate houses, and there'd be enough to call for a third-class
+postmaster, a police force, and a board of trade. Bunched the way we are,
+all up and down seventeen stories, with every cubic foot accounted for,
+we don't cut much of a figure except on the checkbooks. You hear about
+the Perzazzer only when some swell gives a fancy blow-out, or a guest
+gets frisky in the public dining room.
+
+And anything in the shape of noise soon has the muffler put on it. We've
+got a whole squad of husky, two-handed, soft spoken gents who don't have
+anything else to do, and our champeen ruction extinguisher is Danny
+Reardon. To see him strollin' through the cafe, you might think he was a
+corporation lawyer studyin' how to spend his next fee; but let some
+ambitious wine opener put on the loud pedal, or have Danny get his eye on
+some Bridgeport dressmaker drawin' designs of the latest Paris fashions
+in the tea room, and you'll see him wake up. Nothing seems to get by
+him.
+
+So I was some surprised to find him havin' an argument with a couple of
+parties away up on our floor. Anyone could see with one eye that they was
+a pair of butt-ins. The tall, smooth faced gent in the black frock coat
+and the white tie had sky pilot wrote all over him; and the Perzazzer
+ain't just the place an out of town minister would pick out to stop at,
+unless he wanted to blow a year's salary into a week's board.
+
+Anyway, his runnin' mate was a dead give away. He looked like he might
+have just left a bench in the Oriental lodgin' house down at Chatham
+Square. He's a thin, gawky, pale haired youth, with tired eyes and a limp
+lower jaw that leaves his mouth half open all the time; and his costume
+looks like it had been made up from back door contributions,--a faded
+coat three sizes too small, a forty fat vest, and a pair of shiny black
+whipcord pants that someone had been married in about twenty years back.
+
+What gets me is why such a specimen should be trailin' around with a
+clean, decent lookin' chap like this minister. Maybe that's why I come to
+take any notice of their little debate. There's some men, though, that
+you always give a second look at, and this minister gent was one of that
+kind. It wa'n't until I see how he tops Danny by a head that I notices
+how well built he is; and I figures that if he was only in condition, and
+knew how to handle himself, he could put up a good lively scrap.
+Something about his jaw hints that to me; but of course, him bein' a
+Bible pounder, I don't expect anything of the kind.
+
+"Yes, I understand all that," Danny was tellin' him; "but you'd better
+come down to the office, just the same."
+
+"My dear man," says the minister, "I have been to the office, as I told
+you before, and I could get no satisfaction there. The person I wish to
+see is on the ninth floor. They say he is out. I doubt it, and, as I have
+come six hundred miles just to have a word with him, I insist on a chance
+to----"
+
+"Sure!" says Danny. "You'll get your chance, only it's against the rules
+to allow strangers above the ground floor. Now, you come along with me
+and you'll be all right." With that Danny gets a grip on the gent's arm
+and starts to walk him to the elevator. But he don't go far. The next
+thing Danny knows he's been sent spinnin' against the other wall. Course,
+he wa'n't lookin' for any such move; but it was done slick and prompt.
+
+"Sorry," says the minister, shovin' his cuffs back in place; "but I must
+ask you to keep your hands off."
+
+I see what Danny was up to then. He looks as cool as a soda fountain; but
+he's red behind his ears, and he's fishin' the chain nippers out of his
+side pocket. I knows that in about a minute the gent in the frock coat
+will have both hands out of business. Even at that, it looks like an even
+bet, with somebody gettin' hurt more or less. And blamed if I didn't hate
+to see that spunky minister get mussed up, just for objectin' to takin'
+the quiet run out. So I pushes to the front.
+
+"Well, well!" says I, shovin' out a hand to the parson, as though he was
+someone I'd been lookin' for. "So you showed up, eh?"
+
+"Why," says he,--"why--er----"
+
+"Yes, I know," says I, headin' him off. "You can tell me about that
+later. Bring your friend right in; this is my door. It's all right,
+Danny; mistakes will happen."
+
+And before any of 'em knows what's up, Danny is left outside with his
+mouth open, while I've towed the pair of strays into our sittin' room,
+and shooed Sadie out of the way. The minister looks kind of dazed; but he
+keeps his head well.
+
+"Really," says he, gazin' around, "I am sure there must be some
+misunderstanding."
+
+"You bet," says I, "and it was gettin' worse every minute. About two
+shakes more, and you'd been the center of a local disturbance that would
+have landed you before the police sergeant."
+
+"Do you mean," says he, "that I cannot communicate with a guest in this
+hotel without being liable to arrest?"
+
+"That's the size of it," says I. "Danny had the bracelets all out. The
+conundrum is, though, Why I should do the goat act, instead of lettin'
+you two mix it up? But that's what happened, and now I guess it's up to
+you to give an account."
+
+"H'm!" says he. "It isn't quite clear; but I infer that you have, in a
+way, made yourself responsible for me. May I ask whom I have to thank
+for----"
+
+"I'm Shorty McCabe," says I.
+
+"Oh!" says he. "It seems to me I've heard----"
+
+"Nothing like bein' well advertised," says I. "Now, how about you--and
+this?" With that I points to the specimen in the cast offs, that was
+givin' an imitation of a flytrap. It was a little crisp, I admit; but I'm
+gettin' anxious to know where I stand.
+
+The minister lifts his eyebrows some, but proceeds to hand out the
+information. "My name is Hooker," says he,--"Samuel Hooker."
+
+"Preacher?" says I.
+
+"Ye-es, a poor one," says he. "Where? Well, in the neighborhood of Mossy
+Dell, Pennsylvania."
+
+"Out in the celluloid collar belt, eh?" says I. "This ain't a deacon, is
+it?" and I jerks my thumb at the fish eyed one.
+
+"This unfortunate fellow," says he, droppin' a hand on the object's
+shoulder, "is one of our industrial products. His name is Kronacher,
+commonly called Dummy."
+
+"I can guess why," says I. "But now let's get down to how you two happen
+to be loose on the seventh floor of the Perzazzer and so far from Mossy
+Dell."
+
+The Reverend Sam says there ain't any great mystery about that. He come
+on here special to have a talk with a party by the name of Rankin, that
+he understood was stoppin' here.
+
+"You don't mean Bobby Brut, do you?" says I.
+
+"Robert K. Rankin is the young man's name, I believe," says he,--"son of
+the late Loring Rankin, president of the Consolidated----"
+
+"That's Bobby Brut," says I. "Don't catch onto the Brut, eh? You would if
+you read the champagne labels. Friend of yours, is he?"
+
+But right there the Rev. Mr. Hooker turns balky. He hints that his
+business with Bobby is private and personal, and he ain't anxious to lay
+it before a third party. He'd told 'em the same at the desk, when someone
+from Bobbie's rooms had 'phoned for details about the card, and then he'd
+got the turn down. But he wa'n't the kind that stayed down. He's goin' to
+see Mr. Rankin or bu'st. Not wantin' to ask for the elevator, he blazes
+ahead up the stairs; and Danny, it seems, hadn't got on his track until
+he was well started.
+
+"All I ask," says he, "is five minutes of Mr. Rankin's time. That is not
+an unreasonable request, I hope?"
+
+"Excuse me," says I; "but you're missin' the point by a mile. It ain't
+how long you want to stay, but what you're here for. You got to remember
+that things is run different on Fifth-ave. from what they are on
+Penrose-st., Mossy Dell. You might be a book agent, or a bomb thrower,
+for all the folks at the desk know. So the only way to get next to anyone
+here is to show your hand and take the decision. Now if you want to try
+runnin' the outside guard again, I'll call Danny back. But you'll make a
+mess of it."
+
+He thinks that over for a minute, lookin' me square in the eye all the
+time, and all of a sudden he puts out his hand. "You're right," says he.
+"I was hot headed, and let my zeal get the better of my commonsense.
+Thank you, Mr. McCabe."
+
+"That's all right," says I. "You go down to the office and put your case
+to 'em straight."
+
+"No," says he, shruggin' his shoulders, "that wouldn't do at all. I
+suppose I've come on a fool's errand. Kronacher, we'll go back."
+
+"That's too bad," says I, "if you had business with Bobby that was on the
+level."
+
+"Since you've been so kind," says he, "perhaps you would give me your
+opinion--if I am not detaining you?"
+
+"Spiel away!" says I. "I'll own up you've got me some interested."
+
+Well, say, when he'd described his visit as a dippy excursion, he wa'n't
+far off. Seems that this Rev. Sam Hooker ain't a reg'lar preacher, with a
+stained glass window church, a steam heated parsonage, and a settled job.
+He's sort of a Gospel promoter, that goes around plantin' churches here
+and there,--home missionary, he calls it, though I always thought a home
+missionary was one that was home from China on a half-pay visit.
+
+Mainly he says he drifts around through the coke oven and glass works
+district, where all the Polackers and other dagoes work. He don't let it
+go with preachin' to 'em, though. He pokes around among their shacks,
+seein' how they live, sendin' doctors for sick babies, givin' the women
+folks hints on the use of fresh air and hard soap, an' advisin' 'em to
+keep their kids in school. He's one of them strenuous chaps, too, that
+believes in stirrin' up a fuss whenever he runs across anything he thinks
+is wrong. One of the fights he's been making is something about the boys
+in the glass works.
+
+"Perhaps you have heard of our efforts to have a child labor bill passed
+in our State?" says he.
+
+"No," says I; "but I'm against it. There's enough kids has to answer the
+mill whistle, without passin' laws to make 'em."
+
+Then he explains how the bill is to keep 'em from goin' at it too young,
+or workin' too many hours on a stretch. Course, I'm with him on that, and
+says so.
+
+"Ah!" says he. "Then you may be interested to learn that young Mr. Rankin
+is the most extensive employer of child labor in our State. That is what
+I want to talk to him about."
+
+"Ever see Bobby?" says I.
+
+He says he hasn't.
+
+"Know anything of his habits, and so on?" I asks.
+
+"Not a thing," says the Rev. Sam.
+
+"Then you take it from me," says I, "that you ain't missed much."
+
+See? I couldn't go all over that record of Bobby Brut's, specially to a
+preacher. Not that Bobby was the worst that ever cruised around the Milky
+Way in a sea goin' cab with his feet over the dasher; but he was
+something of a torrid proposition while he lasted. You remember some of
+his stunts, maybe? I hadn't kept strict tabs on him; but I'd heard that
+after they chucked him out of the sanatorium his mother planted him here,
+with a man nurse and a private doctor, and slid off to Europe to stay
+with her son-in-law Count until folks forgot about Bobby.
+
+And this was the youth the Rev. Mr. Hooker had come to have a heart to
+heart talk with!
+
+"Ain't you takin' a lot of trouble, just for a few Polackers?" says I.
+
+"They are my brothers," says he, quiet like.
+
+"What!" says I. "You don't look it."
+
+His mouth corners flickers a little at that, and there comes a glimmer in
+them solemn gray eyes of his; but he goes on to say that it's part of his
+belief that every man is his brother.
+
+"Gee!" says I. "You've adopted a big fam'ly."
+
+But say, he's so dead in earnest about it, and he talks so sensible about
+other things, besides appearin' so white clear through, that I can't help
+likin' the cuss.
+
+"Look here!" says I. "This is way out of my line, and it strikes me as a
+batty proposition anyway; but if you're still anxious to have a chin with
+Bobby, maybe I can fix it."
+
+"Thank you, thank you!" says he, givin' me the grateful grip.
+
+It's a good deal easier than I'd thought. All I does is get one of
+Bobby's retinue on the house 'phone, tell who I am, and say I was
+thinkin' of droppin' up with a couple of friends for a short call, if
+Bobby's agreeable. Seems he was, for inside of two minutes we're on our
+way up in the elevator.
+
+Got any idea of the simple way a half baked young plute can live in a
+place like the Perzazzer? He has one floor of a whole wing cut off for
+his special use,--about twenty rooms, I should judge,--and there was
+hired hands standin' around in every corner. We're piloted in over the
+Persian rugs, with the preacher blinkin' his eyes to keep from seein'
+some of the statuary and oil paintin's.
+
+At last we comes to a big room with an eastern exposure, furnished like a
+show window. Sittin' at a big mahogany table in the middle is a narrow
+browed, pop eyed, bat eared young chap in a padded silk dressin' gown,
+and I remembers him for the Bobby Brut I used to see floatin' around with
+the Trixy-Madges at the lobster palaces. He has a couple of decks of
+cards laid out in front of him, and I guesses he's havin' a go at
+Canfield solitaire. Behind his chair stands a sour faced lackey who holds
+up his hand for us to wait.
+
+Bobby don't look up at all. He's shiftin' the cards around, tryin' to
+make 'em come out right, doin' it quick and nervous. All of a sudden the
+lackey claps his hand down on a pile and says, "Beg pardon, sir, but you
+can't do that."
+
+"Blast you!" snarls Bobby. "And I was just getting it! Why didn't you
+look the other way? Bah!" and he sends the whole lot flyin' on the floor.
+Do you catch on? He has the lackey there to see that he don't cheat
+himself.
+
+But while the help was pickin' up the cards Bobby gets a glimpse of our
+trio, ranged up against the door draperies.
+
+"Hello, Shorty McCabe!" he sings out. "It's bully of you to drop in.
+Nobody comes to see me any more--hardly a soul. Say, do you think there's
+anything the matter with my head?"
+
+"Can't say your nut shows any cracks from here," says I. "Who's been
+tellin' you it did?"
+
+"Why, all those blasted doctors," says he. "They won't even let me go out
+alone. But say," here he beckons me up and whispers mysterious, "I'll fix
+'em yet! You just wait till I get my animals trained. You wait!" Then he
+claps his hands and hollers, "Atkins! Set 'em going!"
+
+Atkins, he stops scrabblin' after the cards and starts around the room.
+And say, would you believe it, on all the tables and mantelpieces was a
+lot of those toy animals, such as they sell durin' the holidays. There
+was lions and tigers and elephants, little and big, and every last one of
+'em has its head balanced so it'll move up and down when you touch it.
+Atkins' job was to go from one to the other and set 'em bobbin'. Them on
+the mantels wa'n't more'n a few inches long; but on the floor, hid behind
+chairs, was some that was life size. One was a tiger, made out of a real
+skin, and when his head goes his jaws open and shut, and his tail lashes
+from side to side, as natural as life. Say, it was weird to watch that
+collection, all noddin' away together--almost gave you the willies!
+
+"Are they all going?" says Bobby.
+
+"Yes, sir," says Atkins, standin' attention.
+
+"What do you think, eh?" says Bobbie, half shuttin' his pop eyes and
+starin' at me, real foxy.
+
+"Great scheme!" says I. "Didn't know you had a private zoo up here. But
+say, I brought along someone that wants to have a little chin with you."
+
+With that I hauls the Rev. Sam to the front and gives him the nudge to
+fire away. And say, he's all primed! He begins by givin' Bobbie a word
+picture of the Rankin glass works at night, when the helpers are carryin'
+the trays from the hot room, where the blowers work three-hour shifts,
+with the mercury at one hundred and twenty, to the coolin' room, where
+it's like a cellar. He tells him how many helpers there are, how many
+hours they work a day, and what they get for it. It didn't make me yearn
+for a job.
+
+"And here," says the Rev. Mr. Hooker, pullin' the Dummy up by the sleeve,
+"is what happens. This boy went to work in your glass factory when he was
+thirteen. He was red cheeked, clear eyed, then, and he had a normal
+brain. He held his job six years. Then he was discharged. Why? Because he
+wasn't of any more use. He was all in, the juice sapped out of him, as
+dry as a last year's cornhusk. Look at him! Any doubt about his being
+used up? And what happened to him is happening to thousands of other
+boys. So I have come here to ask you, Mr. Rankin, if you are proud of
+turning out such products? Aren't you ready to stop hiring
+thirteen-year-old boys for your works?"
+
+Say, it was straight from the shoulder, that talk,--no flourishes, no
+fine words! And what do you guess Bobby Brut has to say? Not a blamed
+thing! I doubt if he heard more'n half of it, anyway; for he's got his
+eyes set on that pasty face of Dummy Kronacher, and is followin' his
+motions.
+
+The Dummy ain't payin' any attention to the speech, either. He's got
+sight of all them animals with their heads bobbin', and a silly grin
+spreads over his face. First he sidles over to the mantel and touches up
+one that was about stopped. Then he sees another, and starts that off
+again, and by the time Hooker is through the Dummy is as busy and
+contented as you please, keepin' them tigers and things movin'.
+
+"Well?" says the Rev. Sam.
+
+"Eh?" says Bobby, tearin' his eyes off the Dummy. "Were you saying
+something about the glass works? Beastly bore! I never go near them. But
+say! I want that chap over there. I want to hire him. What's his name?"
+
+"Dummy Kronacher," says the Rev. Sam, comin' out strong on the first
+word.
+
+"Good!" says Bobbie. "Hey, Dummy? What will you take to stay here with me
+and do that right along?"
+
+Dummy has just discovered a stuffed alligator that can snap its jaws and
+wiggle its tail. He only looks up and grins.
+
+"I'll make it a hundred a month," says Bobbie. "Well, that's settled.
+Atkins, you're fired! And say, McCabe, I must show this new man how I
+want this business done. You and your friend run in some other time, will
+you?"
+
+"But," says Hooker, "can't you do something about those helpers? Won't
+you promise to----"
+
+"No!" snaps Bobby. "I've no time to bother with such things. Atkins, show
+'em out!"
+
+Well, we went. We goes so sudden the Rev. Sam forgets about leavin' the
+Dummy until we're outside, and then he's for goin' back after him.
+
+"What for?" says I. "That pair'll get along fine; they're two of a
+kind."
+
+"I guess you're right," says he. "And it's something to have brought
+those two together. Perhaps someone will see the significance of it, some
+day."
+
+Now what was he drivin' at then? You can search me. All I've been able to
+make out of it is that what ails the poor is poverty, and the trouble
+with the plutes is that they've got too much. Eh? Barney Shaw said
+something like that too? Well, don't let on I agree with him. He might
+get chesty.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+MARMADUKE SLIPS ONE OVER
+
+
+And you'd almost think I could accumulate enough freaks, all by myself,
+without havin' my friends pass theirs along, wouldn't you? Yet lemme tell
+you what Pinckney rung up on me.
+
+He comes into the Studio one day towin' a party who wears brown spats and
+a brown ribbon to his shell rimmed eyeglasses, and leaves him planted in
+a chair over by the window, where he goes to rubbin' his chin with a
+silver-handled stick while we dive into the gym. for one of our little
+half-hour sessions. Leaves him there without sayin' a word, mind you,
+like you'd stand an umbrella in the corner!
+
+"Who's the silent gazooks you run on the siding out front?" says I.
+
+"Why," says Pinckney, "that's only Marmaduke."
+
+"Only!" says I. "I should say Marmaduke was quite some of a name.
+Anything behind it? He ain't a blank, is he?"
+
+"Who, Marmaduke?" says he. "Far from it! In fact, he has a most
+individual personality."
+
+"That sounds good," says I; "but does it mean anything? Who is he,
+anyway?"
+
+"Ask him, Shorty, ask him," says Pinckney, and as he turns to put his
+coat on the hanger I gets a glimpse of that merry eye-twinkle of his.
+
+"Go on--I'm easy," says I. "I'd look nice, wouldn't I, holdin' a perfect
+stranger up for his pedigree?"
+
+"But I assure you he'd be pleased to give it," says Pinckney, "and, more
+than that, I want to be there to hear it myself."
+
+"Well, you're apt to strain your ears some listenin'," says I. "This
+ain't my day for askin' fool questions."
+
+You never can tell, though. We hadn't much more'n got through our mitt
+exercise, and Pinckney was only half into his afternoon tea uniform, when
+there's a 'phone call for him. And the next thing I know he's hustled
+into his frock coat and rushed out.
+
+Must have been five minutes later when I fin'lly strolls into the front
+office, to find that mysterious Marmaduke is still holdin' down the chair
+and gazin' placid out onto 42d-st. It looks like he'd been forgotten and
+hadn't noticed the fact.
+
+One of these long, loose jointed, languid actin' gents, Marmaduke is; the
+kind that can drape themselves careless and comf'table over almost any
+kind of furniture. He's a little pop eyed, his hair is sort of a faded
+tan color, and he's whopper jawed on the left side; but beyond that he
+didn't have any striking points of facial beauty. It's what you might
+call an interestin' mug, though, and it's so full of repose that it seems
+almost a shame to disturb him.
+
+Someone had to notify him, though, that he'd overslept. I tried clearin'
+my throat and shufflin' my feet to bring him to; but that gets no action
+at all. So there was nothing for it but to go over and tap him on the
+shoulder.
+
+"Excuse me," says I, "but your friend has gone."
+
+"Ah, quite so," says he, still starin' out of the window and rubbin' his
+chin. "'Tis a way friends have. They come, and they go. Quite so."
+
+"Nobody's debatin' that point," says I; "but just now I wa'n't speakin'
+of friends in gen'ral. I was referrin' to Pinckney. He didn't leave any
+word; but I suspicion he was called up by----"
+
+"Thanks," breaks in Marmaduke. "I know. Mrs. Purdy-Pell consults him
+about dinner favors--tremendous trifles, to be coped with only by a
+trained intelligence. We meet at the club later."
+
+"Oh, that's it, is it?" says I. "In that case, make yourself to home.
+Have an evening paper?"
+
+"Please take it away," says he. "I might be tempted to read about the
+beastly stock market."
+
+"Been taking a little flyer, eh?" says I.
+
+"What, I?" says he. "Why, I haven't enough cash to buy a decent dinner.
+But everybody you meet follows the market, you know. It's a contagious
+disease."
+
+"So?" says I. "Now I've been exposed a lot and haven't caught it very
+hard."
+
+"Gifted of the gods!" says he.
+
+"Eh?" says I.
+
+"I'm Marmaduke, you know," says he.
+
+"I've heard that much," says I.
+
+"To him that hath ears--mufflers," says he.
+
+"Mufflers?" says I. "I guess I must be missin' some of my cues, Mister."
+
+"Never care," says he. "Why cry over spilt milk when one can keep a
+cat?"
+
+"Look here!" says I. "Are you stringin' me, or am I stringin' you?"
+
+"Of what use to fret the oracle?" says he. "They say silence is
+golden--well, I've spent mine."
+
+And, say, he had me doin' the spiral dip at that. I don't mind indulgin'
+in a little foolish conversation now and then; but I hate to have it so
+one sided. And, honest, so far as I figured, he might have been readin'
+the label off a tea chest. So with that I counters with one of my rough
+and ready comebacks.
+
+"Marmaduke--did you say it was?" says I. "If you did, where's the can?"
+
+"By Jove! That's rather good, though!" says he, rappin' the floor with
+his stick. "A little crude; but the element is there. Brava!
+Bravissimo!"
+
+"Stirred up the pigeons, anyway," says I.
+
+"Pigeons?" says he, lookin' puzzled.
+
+"Well, well!" says I. "And he wants a diagram for that mossy one! Loft,
+you know," and I taps my forehead.
+
+"Almost worthy of my steel!" says he, jumpin' up and shovin' out his
+hand. "Well met, Brother!"
+
+"I don't know which of us has a call to get chesty over it; but here's
+how," says I, takin' the friendly palm he holds out. "Seein' it's gone
+this far, though, maybe you'll tell me who in blazes you are!"
+
+And there I'd gone and done just what Pinckney had egged me to do.
+Course, the minute I asked the question I knew I'd given him a chance to
+slip one over on me; but I wa'n't lookin' for quite such a double jointed
+jolt.
+
+"Who am I?" says he. "Does it matter? Well, if it does, I am easily
+accounted for. Behold an anachronism!"
+
+"A which?" says I.
+
+"An anachronism," says he once more.
+
+"I pass," says I. "Is it part of Austria, or just a nickname for some
+alfalfa district out West?"
+
+"Brave ventures," says he; "but vain. One's place of birth doesn't count
+if one's twentieth century mind has a sixteenth century attitude. That's
+my trouble; or else I'm plain lazy, which I don't in the least admit. Do
+you follow me?"
+
+"I'm dizzy from it," says I.
+
+"The confession is aptly put," he goes on, "and the frankness of it does
+you credit. But I perceive. You would class me by peg and hole. Well, I'm
+no peg for any hole. I don't fit. On the floor of life's great workshop I
+just kick around. There you have me--ah--what?"
+
+"Maybe," says I; "but take my advice and don't ever spring that
+description on any desk Sergeant. It may be good; but it sounds like
+loose bearin's."
+
+"Ah!" says he. "The metaphor of to-morrow! Speak on, Sir Galahad!"
+
+"All right," says I. "I know it's runnin' a risk; but I'll chance one
+more: What part of the map do you hail from, Marmaduke?"
+
+"My proper home," says he, "is the Forest of Arden; but where that is I
+know not."
+
+"Why," says I, "then you belong in the new Harriman State Park. Anyway,
+there's a station by that name out on the Erie road."
+
+"Rails never ran to Arden Wood," says he, "nor ever will. Selah!"
+
+"Sounds like an old song," says I. "Are you taken this way often?"
+
+"I'm Marmaduke, you know," says he.
+
+"Sure, that's where we begun," says I; "but it's as far as we got. Is
+bein' Marmaduke your steady job?"
+
+"Some would call it so," says he. "I try to make of it an art."
+
+"You win," says I. "What can I set up?"
+
+"Thanks," says he. "Pinckney has thoughtlessly taken his cigarette case
+with him."
+
+So I sends Swifty out for a box of the most expensive dope sticks he can
+find. Maybe it wouldn't strike everybody that way; but to me it seemed
+like bein' entertained at cut rates. Next to havin' a happy dream about
+nothing I could remember afterwards, I guess this repartee bout with
+Marmaduke gets the ribbon. It was like blowin' soap bubbles to
+music,--sort of soothin' and cheerin' and no wear and tear on the brain.
+He stayed until closin' up time, and I was almost sorry to have him go.
+
+"Come around again," says I, "when the fog is thinner."
+
+"I'm certain to," says he. "I'm Marmaduke, you know."
+
+And the curious thing about that remark was that after you'd heard it
+four or five times it filled the bill. I didn't want to know any more,
+and it was only because Pinckney insisted on givin' me the details that
+the mystery was partly cleared up.
+
+"Well," says he, "what did you think of Marmaduke?"
+
+"Neither of us did any thinkin'," says I. "I just watched the
+butterflies."
+
+"You what?" says Pinckney.
+
+"Oh, call 'em bats, then!" says I. "He's got a dome full."
+
+"You mean you thought Marmaduke a bit off?" says he. "Nothing of the
+kind, Shorty. Why, he's a brilliant chap,--Oxford, Heidelberg, and all
+that sort of thing. He's written plays that no one will put on, books
+that no one will publish, and composed music that few can understand."
+
+"I can believe it," says I. "Also he can use language that he invents as
+he goes along. Entertainin' cuss, though."
+
+"A philosopher souffle," says Pinckney.
+
+"Does it pay him well?" says I.
+
+"It's no joke," says Pinckney. "The little his father left him is gone,
+and what's coming from his Uncle Norton he doesn't get until the uncle
+dies. Meanwhile he's flat broke and too proud to beg or borrow."
+
+"Never tried trailin' a pay envelope, did he?" says I.
+
+"But he doesn't know how," says Pinckney. "His talents don't seem to be
+marketable. I am trying to think of something he could do. And did you
+know, Shorty, he's taken quite a fancy to you?"
+
+"They all do," says I; "but Marmaduke's easier to stand than most of 'em.
+Next time I'm threatened with the willies I'll send for him and offer to
+hire him by the hour."
+
+As a matter of fact, I didn't have to; for he got into the habit of
+blowin' into the studio every day or two, and swappin' a few of his airy
+fancies for my mental short-arm jabs. He said it did him good, and
+somehow or other it always chirked me up too.
+
+And the more I saw of Marmaduke, the less I thought about the bats. Get
+under the surface, and he wa'n't nutty at all. He just had a free flow of
+funny thoughts and odd ways of expressin' 'em. Most of us are so shy of
+lettin' go of any sentiments that can't be had on a rubber stamp that it
+takes a mighty small twist to put a person in the queer class.
+
+However, business is business, and I'd just as soon Marmaduke hadn't been
+on hand the other day when Pyramid Gordon comes in with one of his
+heavyweight broker friends. Course, I didn't know anything about the
+stranger; but I know Pyramid, and his funnybone was fossilized years ago.
+Marmaduke don't offer to make any break, though. He takes his fav'rite
+seat over by the window and goes to gazin' out and rubbin' his chin.
+
+Seems that Mr. Gordon and his friend was both tangled up in some bank
+chain snarl that was worryin' 'em a lot. Things wouldn't be comin' to a
+head for forty-eight hours or so, and meantime all they could do was sit
+tight and wait.
+
+Now, Pyramid's programme in a case of that kind is one I made out for him
+myself. It's simple. He comes to the studio for an hour of the roughest
+kind of work we can put through. After that he goes to his Turkish bath,
+and by the time his rubber is through with him he's ready for a private
+room and a ten hours' snooze. That's what keeps the gray out of his
+cheeks, and helps him look a Grand Jury summons in the face without goin'
+shaky.
+
+So it's natural he recommends the same course to this Mr. Gridley that
+he's brought along. Another thick-neck, Gridley is, with the same flat
+ears as Pyramid, only he's a little shorter and not quite so rugged
+around the chin.
+
+"Here we are, now," says Pyramid, "and here's Professor McCabe, Gridley.
+If he can't make you forget your troubles, you will be the first on
+record. Come on in and see."
+
+But Gridley he shakes his head. "Nothing so strenuous for me," says he.
+"My heart wouldn't stand it. I'll wait for you, though."
+
+"Better come in and watch, then," says I, with a side glance at
+Marmaduke.
+
+"No, thanks; I shall be quite as uncomfortable here," says Gridley, and
+camps his two hundred and ten pounds down in my desk chair.
+
+It was a queer pair to leave together,--this Gridley gent, who was
+jugglin' millions, and gettin' all kinds of misery out of it, and
+Marmaduke, calm and happy, with barely one quarter to rub against
+another. But of course there wa'n't much chance of their findin' anything
+in common to talk about.
+
+Anyway, I was too busy for the next hour to give 'em a thought, and by
+the time I'd got Pyramid breathin' like a leaky air valve and glowin'
+like a circus poster all over, I'd clean forgot both of 'em. So, when I
+fin'lly strolls out absent minded, it's something of a shock to find 'em
+gettin' acquainted, Marmaduke tiltin' back careless in his chair, and
+Gridley eyin' him curious.
+
+It appears that Pyramid's friend has got restless, discovered Marmaduke,
+and proceeded to try to tell him how near he comes to bein' a nervous
+wreck.
+
+"Ever get so you couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't think of but one
+thing over and over?" he was just sayin'.
+
+"To every coat of arms, the raveled sleeve of care," observes Marmaduke
+sort of casual.
+
+"Hey?" says Gridley, facin' round on him sharp.
+
+"As the poet puts it," Marmaduke rattles on,--
+
+    "You cannot gild the lily,
+      Nor can you wet the sea;
+    Pray tell me of my Bonnie,
+      But bring her not to me!"
+
+"Say, what the howling hyenas are you spouting about?" snorts Gridley,
+growin' purple back of the ears. "Who in thunder are you?"
+
+"Don't!" says I, holdin' up a warnin' hand. But I'm too late. Marmaduke
+has bobbed up smilin'.
+
+"A chip on the current," says he. "I'm Marmaduke, you know. No offense
+meant. And you were saying----"
+
+"Huh!" grunts Gridley, calmin' down. "Can't wet the sea, eh? Not so bad,
+young man. You can't keep it still, either. It's the only thing that puts
+me to sleep when I get this way."
+
+"Break, break, break--I know," says Marmaduke.
+
+"That's it," says Gridley, "hearing the surf roar. I'd open up my
+seashore cottage just for the sake of a good night's rest, if it wasn't
+for the blasted seagulls. You've heard 'em in winter, haven't you, how
+they squeak around?"
+
+"It's their wing hinges," says Marmaduke, solemn and serious.
+
+"Eh?" says Gridley, gawpin' at him.
+
+"Squeaky wing hinges," says Marmaduke. "You should oil them."
+
+And, say, for a minute there, after Gridley had got the drift of that
+tomfool remark, I didn't know whether he was goin' to throw Marmaduke
+through the window, or have another fit. All of a sudden, though, he
+begins poundin' his knee.
+
+"By George! but that's rich, young man!" says he. "Squeaky gulls' wing
+hinges! Haw-haw! Oil 'em! Haw-haw! How did you ever happen to think of
+it, eh?"
+
+"One sweetly foolish thought," says Marmaduke. "I'm blessed with little
+else."
+
+"Well, it's a blessing, all right," says Gridley. "I have 'em sometimes;
+but not so good as that. Say, I'll have to tell that to Gordon when he
+comes out. No, he wouldn't see anything in it. But see here, Mr.
+Marmaduke, what have you got on for the evening, eh?"
+
+"My tablets are cleaner than my cuffs," says he.
+
+"Good work!" says Gridley. "What about coming out and having dinner with
+me?"
+
+"With you or any man," says Marmaduke. "To dine's the thing."
+
+With that, off they goes, leavin' Pyramid in the gym. doorway strugglin'
+with his collar. Course, I does my best to explain what's happened.
+
+"But who was the fellow?" says Mr. Gordon.
+
+"Just Marmaduke," says I, "and if you don't want to get your thinker tied
+in a double bowknot you'll let it go at that. He's harmless. First off I
+thought his gears didn't mesh; but accordin' to Pinckney he's some kind
+of a philosopher."
+
+"Gridley has a streak of that nonsense in him too," says Pyramid. "I only
+hope he gets it all out of his system by to-morrow night."
+
+Well, from all I could hear he did; for there wa'n't any scarehead
+financial story in the papers, and I guess the bank snarl must have been
+straightened out all right. What puzzled me for a few days, though, was
+to think what had become of Marmaduke. He hadn't been around to the
+studio once; and Pinckney hadn't heard a word from him, either. Pinckney
+had it all framed up how Marmaduke was off starvin' somewhere.
+
+It was only yesterday, too, that I looks up from the desk to see
+Marmaduke, all got up in an entire new outfit, standin' there smilin' and
+chipper.
+
+"Well, well!" says I. "So you didn't hit the breadline, after all!"
+
+"Perchance I deserved it," says he; "but there came one from the forest
+who willed otherwise."
+
+"Ah, cut the josh for a minute," says I, "and tell us what you landed!"
+
+"Gladly," says he. "I have been made the salaried secretary of the S. O.
+S. G. W. H."
+
+"Is it a new benefit order," says I, "or what?"
+
+"The mystic letters," says he, "stand for the Society for Oiling Squeaky
+Gulls' Wing Hinges. Mr. Gridley is one member; I am the other."
+
+And, say, you may not believe it, but hanged if it wa'n't a fact! He has
+a desk in Gridley's private office, and once a day he shows up there and
+scribbles off a foolish thought on the boss's calendar pad. That's all,
+except that he draws down good money for it.
+
+"Also I have had word," says Marmaduke, "that my aged Uncle Norton is
+very low of a fever."
+
+"Gee!" says I. "Some folks are born lucky, though!"
+
+"And others," says he, "in the Forest of Arden."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+A LOOK IN ON THE GOAT GAME
+
+
+Pinckney was tellin' me, here awhile back at lunch one day, what terrors
+them twins of his was gettin' to be. He relates a tragic tale about how
+they'd just been requested to resign from another private school where
+they'd been goin' as day scholars.
+
+"That is the third this season," says he; "the third, mind you!"
+
+"Well, there's more still, ain't there?" says I.
+
+"Brilliant observation, Shorty," says he, "also logical and pertinent.
+Yes, there are several others still untried by the twins."
+
+"What you howlin' about, then?" says I.
+
+"Because," says he, toyin' with the silver frame that holds the bill of
+fare, "because it is not my intention to demoralize all the educational
+institutions of this city in alphabetical order."
+
+"G'wan!" says I. "The kids have got to be educated somewhere, haven't
+they?"
+
+"Which is the sad part of it," says Pinckney, inspectin' the dish of
+scrambled eggs and asparagus tips and wavin' the waiter to do the serving
+himself. "It means," he goes on, "having a governess around the house,
+and you know what nuisances they can be."
+
+"Do I?" says I. "The nearest I ever got to havin' a governess was when
+Mrs. O'Grady from next door used to come in to use our wash-tubs and I
+was left with her for the day. Nobody ever called her a nuisance and got
+away with it."
+
+"What an idyllic youth to look back upon!" says he. "I can remember half
+a dozen, at least, who had a hand in directing the course of my budding
+intellect, and each one of them developed some peculiarity which
+complicated the domestic situation. I am wondering what this new
+governess of ours will contribute."
+
+"Got one on the job already, eh?" says I.
+
+"This is her third day," says he, "and if she manages to live through it
+with the twins, I shall have hope."
+
+"Ah, pickles!" says I. "Those kids are all right. They're full of life
+and ginger, that's all."
+
+"Especially ginger," says Pinckney.
+
+"What of it?" says I. "Or are you just blowin' about 'em? It's all right,
+they're a great pair, and any time you want to entertain me for half an
+hour, turn 'em loose in my comp'ny."
+
+"Done!" says Pinckney. "We'll take a cab right up."
+
+"Put it off three minutes, can't you?" says I, lookin' over the French
+pastry tray and spearin' a frosted creampuff that was decorated up with
+sugar flowers until it looked like a bride's bouquet.
+
+He insists on callin' my bluff, though; so up the avenue we goes, when I
+should have been hotfootin' it back to the studio. But I could see that
+Pinckney was some anxious about how the kids was gettin' on, Gertie being
+away for the day, and I thinks maybe I'll be useful in calmin' any riot
+he might find in progress.
+
+All was quiet and peaceful, though, as Pinckney opens the door with his
+latchkey. No howls from upstairs, no front windows broken, and nobody
+slidin' down the banisters. We was just waitin' for the automatic
+elevator to come down when we hears voices floatin' out from the lib'ry.
+Pinckney steps to the doorway where he can see through into the next
+room, and then beckons me up for a squint.
+
+It wa'n't the kids at all, but a couple of grownups that was both
+strangers to me. From the way the young woman is dressed I could guess
+she was the new governess. Anyway, she's makin' herself right to home, so
+far as entertainin' comp'ny goes; for she and the gent with her is more
+or less close together and mixed up. First off it looked like a side-hold
+lover's clinch, and then again it didn't.
+
+"Is it a huggin' match, or a rough-house tackle?" I whispered over
+Pinckney's shoulder.
+
+"I pass the declaration," says he. "Suppose we investigate."
+
+With that we strolls in, and we're within a dozen feet of the couple
+before they get wise to the fact that there's an int'rested audience. I
+must say, though, that they made a clean, quick breakaway. Then they
+stands, starin' at us.
+
+"Ah, Miss Marston!" says Pinckney. "Do I interrupt?"
+
+"Why--er--er--you see, sir," she begins, "I--that is--we----"
+
+And she breaks down with as bad a case of rattles as I ever see. She's a
+nice lookin', modest appearin' young woman, too, a little soft about the
+mouth, but more or less classy in her lines. Her hair is some mussed, and
+there's sort of a wild, desp'rate look in her eyes.
+
+"A near relative, I presume?" suggests Pinckney, noddin' at the gent,
+who's takin' it all cool enough.
+
+"Oh, yes, sir," gasps out the governess. "My husband, sir."
+
+And the gent, he bows as easy and natural as if he was bein' introduced
+at an afternoon tea party. "Glad to know you," says he, stickin' out his
+hand, which Pinckney, bein' absent-minded just then, fails to see.
+
+"Really!" says Pinckney, lookin' the governess up and down. "Then it's
+not Miss Marston, but Mrs.--er----"
+
+"Yes," says she, lettin' her chin drop, "Mrs. Marston."
+
+"Very unfortunate," says Pinckney, "very!"
+
+"Haw, haw, haw!" breaks out the strange gent, slappin' his knee. "I say
+now, but that's a good one, that is, even if it is at my expense!
+Unfortunate, eh? Perfectly true though, perfectly true!"
+
+Now it takes a lot to get Pinckney going; but for a minute all he does is
+turn and size up this husband party with the keen sense of humor. I had
+my mouth open and my eyes bugged too; for he don't look the part at all.
+Why, he's dressed neat and expensive, a little sporty maybe, for a real
+gent; but he carries it off well.
+
+"Glad to have your assurance that I was right," says Pinckney, still
+givin' him the frosty eye.
+
+"Oh, don't mention it," says Mr. Marston. "And I trust you will overlook
+my butting in here to see Kitty--er, Mrs. Marston. Little matter of
+sentiment and--well, business, you know. I don't think it will happen
+often."
+
+"I am quite sure it won't," says Pinckney. "And now, if the interview has
+been finished, I would suggest that----"
+
+"Oh, certainly, certainly!" says Marston, edging towards the door. "Allow
+me, gentlemen, to bid you good-day. And I say, Kit, don't forget that
+little matter. By-by."
+
+Honest, if I could make as slick a backout as that, without carryin' away
+anybody's footprint, I'd rate myself a headliner among the trouble
+dodgers. Pinckney, though, don't seem to appreciate such talents.
+
+"That settles governess No. 1," says he as we starts for the elevator
+again. "We are beginning the series well."
+
+That was before he saw how smooth she got along with Jack and Jill. After
+she'd given an exhibition of kid trainin' that was a wonder, he remarked
+that possibly he might as well let her stay the week out.
+
+"But of course," says he, "she will have to go. Hanged if I understand
+how Mrs. Purdy-Pell happened to send her here, either! Shorty, do you
+suppose Sadie could throw any light on this case?"
+
+"I'll call for a report," says I.
+
+Does Sadie know anything about the Marstons? Well, rather! Says she told
+me all about 'em at the time too; but if she did it must have got by.
+Anyway, this was just a plain, simple case of a worthless son marryin'
+the fam'ly governess and bein' thrown out for it by a stern parent, same
+as they always are in them English novels Sadie's forever readin'.
+
+The Marstons was Madison-ave. folks, which means that their back yard was
+bounded on the west by the smart set--and that's as far as there's any
+need of going. The girl comes from 'Frisco and is an earthquake orphan.
+Hence the governess stunt. As for young Marston, he'd been chucked out of
+college, tried out for a failure in the old man's brokerage office, and
+then left to drift around town on a skimpy allowance. So he was in fine
+shape to get married! The girl sticks to him, though, until there's
+trouble with the landlady, and then, when he only turns ugly and makes no
+move towards gettin' a job, she calls it off, gives him the slip, and
+begins rustlin' for herself.
+
+"Oh, well," says Pinckney, "I suppose she ought to have a chance. But if
+that husband of hers is going to----"
+
+"Next time you catch him at it," says I, "just 'phone down for me. It'll
+be a pleasure."
+
+I meant it too; for after hearing how she'd lost other places on account
+of his hangin' around I could have enjoyed mussin' him up some.
+
+With my feelin' that way, you can guess what a jar it is, one afternoon
+when I'm having a little front office chat with my old reg'lar, Pyramid
+Gordon, to see this same gent blow in through the door. Almost looked
+like he knew what he ought to get and had come after it.
+
+"Well?" says I as chilly as I knew how.
+
+"Quite so," says he, "quite so. I see you remember our recent meeting.
+Awkward situation for a moment, wasn't it, eh? Splendid chap, though,
+your friend----"
+
+"Say, choke off the hot air," says I, "and let's hear what gave you the
+courage to climb those stairs!"
+
+And what do you guess? He takes five minutes of steady chinnin' to get
+around to it; but he puts over such a velvety line of talk, and it's so
+int'restin' to watch him do it, that I let him spiel ahead until he gets
+to the enactin' clause in his own way. And it's nothing more or less than
+a brassy fingered touch for a twenty, all based on the fact that he met
+me at a house where his wife's drawin' wages.
+
+"Mr. Gordon," says I, turnin' to Pyramid, who's heard it all, "what do
+you think of that, anyway?"
+
+"Very neat, indeed," says Pyramid, chucklin'.
+
+"And then a few!" says I. "I can almost see myself givin' up that twenty
+right off the bat. Nothing but great presence of mind and wonderful
+self-control holds me back. But look here, Mr. What's-your-name----"
+
+"Marston," says he, flashin' an engraved visitin' card, "L. Egbert
+Marston."
+
+"L. Egbert, eh?" says I. "Does the L stand for Limed? And what do they
+call you for short--Eggie?"
+
+"Oh, suit yourself," says he, with a careless wave of the hand.
+
+"All right, Eggie," says I; "but before we get in any deeper I've got a
+conundrum or two to spring on you. We got kind of curious, Pinckney and
+me, about that visit of yours. He thinks we disturbed a fond embrace. It
+looked diff'rent to me. I thought I could see finger-marks on the young
+lady's throat. How about it?"
+
+Course he flushes up. Any man would under a jab like that, and I looked
+for him either to begin breakin' the peace or start lyin' out of it.
+There's considerable beef to Egbert, you know. He'd probably weigh in at
+a hundred and eighty, with all that flabby meat on him, and if it wa'n't
+for that sort of cheap look to his face you might take him for a real
+man. But he don't show any more fight than a cow. He don't even put in
+any indignant "Not guilty!" He just shrugs his shoulders and indulges in
+a sickly laugh.
+
+"It doesn't sound nice," says he; "but sometimes they do need a bit of
+training, these women."
+
+"For instance?" says I. "In the matter of handing over a little spendin'
+money, eh?"
+
+"You've struck it," says he, with another shrug.
+
+I glances at Pyramid; but there wa'n't any more expression to that draw
+poker face of his than as if it was a cement block.
+
+"Egbert," says I, frank and confidential, "you're a sweet scented pill,
+ain't you?"
+
+And does that draw any assault and battery motions? It don't. All the
+result is to narrow them shifty eyes of his and steady 'em down until
+he's lookin' me square in the face.
+
+"I was hard up, if you want to know," says he. "I didn't have a dollar."
+
+"And that," says I, "is what you give out as an excuse for----"
+
+"Yes," he breaks in. "And I'm no worse than lots of other men, either.
+With money, I'm a gentleman; without it--well, I get it any way I can.
+And I want to tell you, I've seen men with plenty of it get more in
+meaner ways. I don't know how to juggle stocks, or wreck banks, or use
+any of the respectable methods that----"
+
+"Nothing personal, I hope," puts in Mr. Gordon, with another chuckle.
+
+"Not so intended," says Marston.
+
+"Eh, thanks," says Pyramid.
+
+"We'll admit," says I, "that your partic'lar way of raisin' funds, Mr.
+Marston, ain't exactly novel; but didn't it ever occur to you that some
+folks get theirs by workin' for it?"
+
+"I know," says he, tryin' to seem good natured again; "but I'm not that
+kind. I'm an idler. As some poet has put it, 'Useless I linger, a
+cumberer here.'"
+
+"You're a cucumber, all right," says I; "but why not, just for a change,
+make a stab at gettin' a job?"
+
+"I've had several," says he, "and never could hold one more than a week.
+Too monotonous, for one thing; and then, in these offices, one is thrown
+among so many ill bred persons, you know."
+
+"Sure!" says I, feelin' my temper'ture risin'. "Parties that had rather
+work for a pay envelope than choke their wives. I've met 'em. I've heard
+of your kind too, Egbert; but you're the first specimen I ever got real
+close to. And you're a bird! Mr. Gordon, shall I chuck him through the
+window, or help him downstairs with my toe?"
+
+"I wouldn't do either," says Pyramid. "In fact, I think I can make use of
+this young man."
+
+"Then you're welcome to him," says I. "Blaze ahead."
+
+"Much obliged," says Pyramid. "Now, Mr. Marston, what is the most
+reasonable sum, per month, that would allow you to carry out your idea of
+being a gentleman?"
+
+Egbert thinks that over a minute and then puts it at three hundred.
+
+"And would it conflict with those ideas," Pyramid goes on, "if you were
+required, say twice a week, to spend an hour in a private office, signing
+your name?"
+
+Egbert thinks he could stand that.
+
+"Very well, then," says Pyramid, producin' his checkbook and gettin' busy
+with the fountain pen, "here is your first month's salary in advance.
+Whenever you find it convenient during the week, report at my offices.
+Ask for Mr. Bradley. Yes, Bradley. That's all," and Pyramid lights up one
+of his torches as satisfied as though he'd just bought in a Senator.
+
+As for Egbert, he stows the check away, taps me on the shoulder, and
+remarks real friendly, "Well, professor, no hard feelings, I hope?"
+
+"Say, Eggie," says I, "seems to me I expressed myself once on that point,
+and I ain't had any sudden change of heart. If I was you I'd beat while
+the beatin's good."
+
+Egbert laughs; but he takes the advice.
+
+"Huh!" says I to Pyramid. "I expect that's your notion of making a funny
+play, eh!"
+
+"I'm no humorist, Shorty," says he.
+
+"Then what's the idea?" says I. "What do you mean?"
+
+"I never mean anything but cold, straight business," says he. "That's the
+only game worth playing."
+
+"So?" says I. "Then here's where you got let in bad with your eyes open.
+You heard him tell how useless he was?"
+
+"I did," says Pyramid; "but I always do my own appraising when I hire
+men. I anticipate finding Mr. Marston somewhat useful."
+
+And say, that's all I can get out of Pyramid on the subject; for when it
+comes to business, he's about as chatty over his plans as a hard shell
+clam on the suffragette question. I've known him to make some freak
+plans; but this move of pickin' out a yellow one like Egbert and
+rewardin' him as if he was a Carnegie medal winner beat anything he'd
+ever sprung yet.
+
+It's no bluff, either. I hears of this Marston gent sportin' around at
+the clubs, and it wa'n't until I accident'lly run across an item on the
+Wall Street page that I gets any more details. He shows up, if you
+please, as secretary of the Consolidated Holding Company that there's
+been so much talk about. I asks Pinckney what kind of an outfit that was;
+but he don't know.
+
+"Huh!" says I. "All I'd feel safe in givin' Egbert to hold for me would
+be one end of the Brooklyn Bridge."
+
+"I don't care what he holds," says Pinckney, "if he will stay away from
+our little governess. She's a treasure."
+
+Seems Mrs. Marston had been doin' some great tricks with the twins, not
+only keepin' 'em from marrin' the furniture, but teachin' 'em all kinds
+of knowledge and improvin' their table manners, until it was almost safe
+to have 'em down to luncheon now and then.
+
+But her life was being made miser'ble by the prospect of havin' Egbert
+show up any day and create a row. She confided the whole tale to Sadie,
+how she was through with Marston for good, but didn't dare tell him so,
+and how she sent him most of her salary to keep him away.
+
+"The loafer!" says I. "And think of the chance I had at him there in the
+studio! Hanged if I don't get even with Pyramid for that, though!"
+
+But I didn't. Mr. Gordon's been too busy this season to show up for any
+trainin', and it was only here the other day that I runs across him in
+the street.
+
+"Well," says I, "how's that work scornin' pet of yours gettin' on these
+days?"
+
+"Marston?" says he. "Why, haven't you heard? Mr. Marston is away on a
+vacation."
+
+"Vacation!" says I. "He needs it, he does!"
+
+"The company thought so," says Pyramid. "They gave him six months' leave
+with pay. He's hunting reindeer or musk ox somewhere up in British
+Columbia."
+
+"Him a hunter?" says I. "G'wan!"
+
+Pyramid grins. "He did develop a liking for the wilderness rather
+suddenly," says he; "but that is where he is now. In fact, I shouldn't be
+surprised if he stayed up there for a year or more."
+
+"What's the joke?" says I, catchin' a flicker in them puffy eyes of
+Pyramid's.
+
+"Why, just this," says he. "Mr. Marston, you know, is secretary of the
+Consolidated Holding Company."
+
+"Yes, I read about that," says I. "What then?"
+
+"It pains me to state," says Mr. Gordon, "that in his capacity of
+secretary Mr. Marston seems to have sanctioned transactions which violate
+the Interstate Commerce act."
+
+"Ah-ha!" says I. "Turned crooked on you, did he?"
+
+"We are not sure as yet," says Pyramid. "The federal authorities are
+anxious to settle that point by examining certain files which appear to
+be missing. They even asked me about them. Perhaps you didn't notice,
+Shorty, that I was cross-examined for five hours, one day last week."
+
+"I don't read them muck rakin' articles," says I.
+
+"Quite right," says Pyramid. "Well, I couldn't explain; for, as their own
+enterprising detectives discovered, when Mr. Marston boarded the Montreal
+Express his baggage included a trunk and two large cases. Odd of him to
+take shipping files on a hunting trip, wasn't it?" and Pyramid tips me
+the slow wink.
+
+I'm more or less of a thickhead when it comes to flossy finance; but I've
+seen enough plain flimflam games to know a few things. And the wink
+clinched it. "Mr. Gordon," says I, "for a Mr. Smooth you've got a greased
+pig in the warthog class. But suppose Egbert gets sick of the woods and
+hikes himself back? What then?"
+
+"Jail," says Pyramid, shruggin' his sable collar up around his ears.
+"That would be rather deplorable too. Bright young man, Marston, in many
+ways, and peculiarly adapted for----"
+
+"Yes, I know the part," says I. "They gen'rally spells it g-o-a-t."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+MRS. TRUCKLES' BROAD JUMP
+
+
+And do you imagine Kitty Marston settles down to a life job after that?
+Not her. At the very next pay day she hands in her two weeks' notice, and
+when they pin her right down to facts she admits weepy that she means to
+start out lookin' for Egbert. Now wouldn't that crust you?
+
+Course, the sequel to that is another governess hunt which winds up with
+Madame Roulaire. And say, talk about your queer cases----But you might as
+well have the details.
+
+You see, until Aunt Martha arrived on the scene this Madame Roulaire
+business was only a fam'ly joke over to Pinckney's, with all of us in on
+it more or less. But Aunt Martha ain't been there more'n three or four
+days before she's dug up mystery and scandal and tragedy enough for
+another one of them French dope dramas.
+
+"In my opinion," says she, "that woman is hiding some dreadful secret!"
+
+But Mrs. Pinckney only smiles in that calm, placid way of hers. You know
+how easy she took things when she was Miss Geraldine and Pinckney found
+her on the steamer in charge of the twins that had been willed to him?
+Well, she ain't changed a bit; and, with Pinckney such a brilliant member
+of the Don't Worry Fraternity, whatever frettin' goes on in that house
+has to be done by volunteers.
+
+Aunt Martha acts like she was wise to this; for she starts right in to
+make up for lost opportunities, and when she spots this freaky lookin'
+governess she immediately begins scoutin' for trouble. Suspicions? She
+delivers a fresh lot after every meal!
+
+"Humph!" says she. "Madame Roulaire, indeed! Well, I must say, she looks
+as little like a Frenchwoman as any person I ever saw! How long have you
+had her, Geraldine? What, only two months? Did she bring written
+references, and did you investigate them carefully?"
+
+She wouldn't let up, either, until she'd been assured that Madame
+Roulaire had come from service in an English fam'ly, and that they'd
+written on crested notepaper indorsin' her in every point, giving her
+whole hist'ry from childhood up.
+
+"But she hasn't the slightest French accent," insists Aunt Martha.
+
+"I know," says Mrs. Pinckney. "She lived in England from the time she was
+sixteen, and of course twenty years away from one's----"
+
+"Does she claim to be only thirty-six?" exclaims Aunt Martha. "Why, she's
+fifty if she's a day! Besides, I don't like that snaky way she has of
+watching everyone."
+
+There was no denyin', either, that this Roulaire party did have a pair of
+shifty eyes in her head. I'd noticed that much myself in the few times
+I'd seen her. They wa'n't any particular color you could name,--sort of a
+greeny gray-blue,--but they sure was bright and restless. You'd never
+hear a sound out of her, for she didn't let go of any remarks that wa'n't
+dragged from her; but somehow you felt, from the minute you got into the
+room until she'd made a gumshoe exit by the nearest door, that them
+sleuthy lamps never quite lost sight of you.
+
+That and her smile was the main points about her. I've seen a lot of
+diff'rent kinds of smiles, meanin' and unmeanin'; but this chronic
+half-smirk of Madame Roulaire's was about the most unconvincin'
+performance I've ever watched. Why, even a blind man could tell she
+didn't really mean it! Outside of that, she was just a plain, pie faced
+sort of female with shrinkin', apologizin' ways and a set of store teeth
+that didn't fit any too well; but she wa'n't one that you'd suspect of
+anything more tragic than eatin' maraschino cherries on the sly, or
+swappin' household gossip with the cook.
+
+That wa'n't the way Martha had her sized up, though, and of course there
+was no keepin' her inquisitive nose out of the case. First thing anyone
+knew, she'd backed Madame Roulaire into a corner, put her through the
+third degree, and come trottin' back in triumph to Mrs. Pinckney.
+
+"Didn't I tell you?" says she. "French! Bosh! Perhaps you haven't asked
+her about Auberge-sur-Mer, where she says she was born?"
+
+Greraldine admits that she ain't done much pumpin'.
+
+"Well, I have," says Aunt Martha, "and she couldn't tell me a thing about
+the place that was so. I spent ten days there only two years ago, and
+remember it perfectly. She isn't any more French than I am."
+
+"Oh, what of it?" says Mrs. Pinckney. "She gets along splendidly with the
+twins. They think the world of her."
+
+"But she's thoroughly deceitful," Aunt Martha comes back. "She
+misrepresents her age, lies about her birthplace, and--and she wears a
+transformation wig."
+
+"Yes, I had noticed the brown wig," admits Mrs. Pinckney; "but they're
+quite common."
+
+"So are women poisoners," snaps Martha. "Think of what happened to the
+Briggses, after they took in that strange maid! Then there was the Madame
+Catossi case, over in Florence last year. They were warned about her, you
+remember."
+
+And maybe you know how a good lively suspecter can get results when she
+keeps followin' it up. They got to watchin' the governess close when she
+was around, and noticin' all the little slips in her talk and the
+crab-like motions she made in dodgin' strangers. That appears to make her
+worse than ever, too. She'd get fussed every time anyone looked her way,
+and just some little question about the children would make her jump and
+color up like she'd been accused of burnin' a barn. Even Sadie, who'd
+been standin' up for her right along, begins to weaken.
+
+"After all," says she, "I'm not sure there isn't something queer about
+that woman."
+
+"Ah, all governesses are queer, ain't they?" says I; "but that ain't any
+sign they've done time or are in the habit of dosin' the coffeepot with
+arsenic. It's Aunt Martha has stirred all this mess up, and she'd make
+the angel Gabriel prove who he was by blowin' bugle calls."
+
+It was only next day, though, that we gets a report of what happens when
+Pinckney runs across this Sir Carpenter-Podmore at the club and lugs him
+out to dinner. He's an English gent Pinckney had known abroad. Comin' in
+unexpected that way, him and Madame Roulaire had met face to face in the
+hall, while the introductions was bein' passed out--and what does she do
+but turn putty colored and shake like she was havin' a fit!
+
+"Ah, Truckles?" says Podmore, sort of cordial.
+
+"No, no!" she gasps. "Roulaire! I am Madame Roulaire!"
+
+"Beg pardon, I'm sure," says Sir Carpenter, liftin' his eyebrows and
+passin' on.
+
+That was all there was to it; but everyone in the house heard about it.
+Course Aunt Martha jumps right in with the question marks; but all she
+gets out of Podmore is that he presumes he was mistaken.
+
+"Well, maybe he was," says I. "Why not?"
+
+"Then you haven't heard," says Sadie, "that Sir Carpenter was for a long
+time a Judge on the criminal bench."
+
+"Z-z-z-zing!" says I. "Looks kind of squally for the governess, don't
+it?"
+
+If it hadn't been for Pinckney, too, Aunt Martha'd had her thrown out
+that night; but he wouldn't have it that way.
+
+"I've never been murdered in my bed, or been fed on ground glass," says
+he, "and--who knows?--I might like the sensation."
+
+Say, there's more sides to that Pinckney than there are to a cutglass
+paperweight. You might think, with him such a Reggie chap, that havin' a
+suspicious character like that around would get on his nerves; but, when
+it comes to applyin' the real color test, there ain't any more yellow in
+him than in a ball of bluin', and he can be as curious about certain
+things as a kid investigatin' the animal cages.
+
+Rather than tie the can to Madame Roulaire without gettin' a straight
+line on her, he was willin' to run chances. And it don't make any
+difference to him how much Aunt Martha croaks about this and that, and
+suggests how dreadful it is to think of those dear, innocent little
+children exposed to such evil influences. That last item appeals strong
+to Mrs. Pinckney and Sadie, though.
+
+"Of course," says Geraldine, "the twins don't suspect a thing as yet, and
+whatever we discover must be kept from them."
+
+"Certainly," says Sadie, "the poor little dears mustn't know."
+
+So part of the programme was to keep them out of her way as much as
+possible without actually callin' her to the bench, and that's what
+fetched me out there early the other afternoon. It was my turn at
+protectin' innocent childhood. I must say, though, it's hard realizin'
+they need anything of that sort when you're within reach of that Jack and
+Jill combination. Most people seem to feel the other way; but, while
+their society is apt to be more or less strenuous, I can gen'rally stand
+an hour or so of it without collectin' any broken bones.
+
+As usual, they receives me with an ear splittin' whoop, and while Jill
+gives me the low tackle around the knees Jack proceeds to climb up my
+back and twine his arms affectionate around my neck.
+
+"Hey, Uncle Shorty," they yells in chorus, "come play Wild West with
+us!"
+
+"G'wan, you young terrors!" says I, luggin' 'em out on the lawn and
+dumpin' 'em on the grass. "Think I'd risk my neck at any such game as
+that? Hi! leggo that necktie or I'll put on the spanks! Say, ain't you
+got any respect for company clothes? Now straighten up quiet and tell me
+about the latest deviltry you've been up to."
+
+"Pooh!" says Jill. "We're not afraid of you."
+
+"And we know why you're here to-day, too," says Jack.
+
+"Do you?" says I. "Well, let's have it."
+
+"You're on guard," says Jill, "keeping us away from old Clicky."
+
+"Old Clicky?" says I.
+
+"Uh-huh," says Jack. "The goosy governess, you know."
+
+"Eh?" says I, openin' my eyes.
+
+"We call her that," says Jill, "because her teeth click so when she gets
+excited. At night she keeps 'em in a glass of water. Do you suppose they
+click then?"
+
+"Her hair comes off too," says Jack, "and it's all gray underneath. We
+fished it off once, and she was awful mad."
+
+"You just ought to hear her when she gets mad," says Jill. "She drops her
+H's."
+
+"She don't do it before folks, though," says Jack, "'cause she makes
+believe she's French. She's awful good to us, though, and we love her
+just heaps."
+
+"You've got queer ways of showin' it," says I.
+
+"What makes Aunt Martha so scared of her?" says Jill. "Do you think it's
+so she would really and truly murder us all and run off with the jewelry,
+or that she'd let in burglars after dark? She meets someone every
+Thursday night by the side gate, you know."
+
+"A tall woman with veils over her face," adds Jack. "We hid in the bushes
+and watched 'em."
+
+"Say, for the love of Mike," says I, "is there anything about your
+governess you kids haven't heard or seen? What more do you know?"
+
+"Lots," says Jill. "She's scared of Marie, the new maid. Marie makes her
+help with the dishes, and make up her own bed, and wait on herself all
+the time."
+
+"And she has to study beforehand all the lessons she makes us learn,"
+says Jack. "She studies like fun every night in her room, and when we ask
+questions from the back of the book she don't know the answers."
+
+"She's been too scared to study or anything, ever since Monday," says
+Jill. "Do you think they'll have a policeman take her away before she
+poisons us all? We heard Aunt Martha say they ought to."
+
+Say, they had the whole story, and more too. If there was anything about
+Madame Roulaire's actions, her past hist'ry, or what people thought of
+her that had got by these two, I'd like to know what it was.
+
+"Gee!" says I. "Talk about protectin' you! What you need most is a pair
+of gags and some blinders. Now trot along off and do your worst, while I
+look up Pinckney and give him some advice."
+
+I was strollin' through the house lookin' for him, and I'd got as far as
+the lib'ry, when who should I see but Madame Roulaire comin' through the
+opposite door. Someway, I didn't feel like meetin' them sleuthy eyes just
+then, or seein' that smirky smile; so I dodges back and pikes down the
+hall. She must have had the same thought; for we almost collides head on
+halfway down, and the next thing I know she's dropped onto a davenport,
+sobbin' and shakin' all over.
+
+"Excuse me for mentionin' it," says I; "but there ain't any call for
+hysterics."
+
+"Oh, I know who you are now," says she. "You--you're a private
+detective!"
+
+"Eh?" says I. "How'd you get onto my disguise?"
+
+"I knew it from the first," says she. "And then, when I saw you with the
+children, asking them about me----Oh, you won't arrest me and take me
+away from the darlings, will you? Please don't take me to jail! I'll tell
+you everything, truly I will, sir!"
+
+"That might help some," says I; "but, if you're goin' to 'fess up,
+suppose you begin at Chapter I. Was it the fam'ly jewels you was after?"
+
+"No, no!" says she. "I never took a penny's worth in my life. Truckles
+could tell you that if he could only be here."
+
+"Truckles, eh!" says I. "Now just who was----"
+
+"My 'usband, sir," says she. "And I'm Mrs. Truckles."
+
+"Oh-ho!" says I. "Then this Roulaire name you've been flaggin' under was
+sort of a _nom de plume_?"
+
+"It was for Katy I did it!" she sobs.
+
+"Oh, yes," says I. "Well, what about Katy?"
+
+And, say, that was the way it come out; first, a bit here and then a bit
+there, with me puttin' the ends together and patchin' this soggy everyday
+yarn out of what we'd all thought was such a deep, dark mystery.
+
+She was English, Mrs. Truckles was, and so was the late Truckles. They'd
+worked together, him bein' a first class butler whose only fault was he
+couldn't keep his fingers off the decanters. It was after he'd struck the
+bottom of the toboggan slide and that thirst of his had finished him for
+good and all that Mrs. Truckles collects her little Katy from where
+they'd boarded her out and comes across to try her luck on this side.
+
+She'd worked up as far as housekeeper, and had made enough to educate
+Katy real well and marry her off to a bright young gent by the name of
+McGowan that owned a half interest in a corner saloon up in the Bronx and
+stood well with the district leader.
+
+She was happy and contented in them days, Mrs. Truckles was, with McGowan
+doin' a rushin' business, gettin' his name on the Tammany ticket, and
+Katy patronizing a swell dressmaker and havin' a maid of her own. Then,
+all of a sudden, Mrs. Truckles tumbles to the fact that Katy is gettin'
+ashamed of havin' a mother that's out to service and eatin' with the
+chauffeur and the cook. Not that she wants her livin' with them,--McGowan
+wouldn't stand for that,--but Katy did think Mother might do something
+for a living that wouldn't blur up the fam'ly escutcheon quite so much.
+
+It was just when Mrs. Truckles was feelin' this most keen that the French
+governess where she was got married and went West to live, leavin' behind
+her, besides a collection of old hats, worn out shoes, and faded picture
+postals, this swell reference from Lady Jigwater. And havin' put in a
+year or so in France with dif'rent families that had taken her across,
+and havin' had to pick up more or less of the language, Mrs. Truckles
+conceives the great scheme of promotin' herself from the back to the
+front of the house. So she chucks up as workin' housekeeper, splurges on
+the wig, and strikes a swell intelligence office with this phony
+reference.
+
+Course, with anybody else but an easy mark like Mrs. Pinckney, maybe she
+wouldn't have got away with it; but all Geraldine does is glance at the
+paper, ask her if she likes children, and put her on the payroll.
+
+"Well?" says I. "And it got you some worried tryin' to make good, eh?"
+
+"I was near crazy over it," says she. "I thought I could do it at first;
+but it came cruel 'ard. Oh, sir, the lies I've 'ad to tell, keepin' it
+up. And with the rest of the 'elp all 'ating me! Marie used me worst of
+all, though. She made me tell 'er everything, and 'eld it over my 'ead.
+Next that Aunt Martha came and thought up so many bad things about
+me--you know."
+
+"Sure," says I; "but how about this Sir Podmore?"
+
+"I was 'ead laundress at Podmore 'Ouse," says she, "and I thought it was
+all up when he saw me here. I never should have tried to do it. I'm a
+good 'ousekeeper, if I do say it; but I'm getting to be an old woman now,
+and this will end me. It was for Katy I did it, though. Every week she
+used to come and throw it in my face that she couldn't call at the front
+door and--and----Well, I 'opes you'll believe me, sir; but that was just
+the way of it, and if I'm taken to jail it will kill Katy and----"
+
+"Aha!" breaks in a voice behind us. "Here, Pinckney! Come, Geraldine!
+This way everybody!" and as I turns around there's Aunt Martha with the
+accusin' finger out and her face fairly beamin'. Before I can get in a
+word she's assembled the fam'ly.
+
+"What did I tell you?" she cackles. "She's broken down and confessed! I
+heard her!"
+
+"Is it true, Shorty?" demands Mrs. Pinckney. "Does she admit that she was
+plotting to----"
+
+"Yep!" says I. "It's something awful too, almost enough to curdle your
+blood."
+
+"Go on," says Aunt Martha. "Tell us the worst. What is it?"
+
+"It's a case of standin' broad jump," says I, "from housekeeper to
+governess, with an age handicap and a crooked entry."
+
+Course, I has to work out the details for 'em, and when I've stated the
+whole hideous plot, from the passing of Truckles the Thirsty to the high
+pride of Katy the Barkeep's Bride, includin' the tale of the stolen
+character and chuckin' the nervy bluff--well, they didn't any of 'em know
+what to say. They just stands around gawpin' curious at this sobbin',
+wabbly kneed old party slumped down there on the hall seat.
+
+Aunt Martha, actin' as prosecutor for the State, is the first to recover.
+"Well, there's no knowin' how far she might have gone," says she. "And
+she ought to be punished some way. Pinckney, what are you going to do
+with her?"
+
+For a minute he looks from Aunt Martha to the object in the middle of the
+circle, and then he drops them black eyelashes lazy, like he was
+half-asleep, and I knew somethin' was coming worth listenin' to.
+
+"Considering all the circumstances," says Pinckney, "I think we shall
+discharge Marie, increase Mrs. Truckles' salary, give her an assistant,
+and ask her to stay with us permanently. Eh, Geraldine?"
+
+And Geraldine nods hearty.
+
+"Pinckney, let's shake on that," says I. "Even if your head is full of
+soap bubbles, you've got an eighteen-carat heart in you. Hear the news,
+Mrs. Truckles?"
+
+"Then--then I'm not to go to jail?" says she, takin' her hands off her
+face and lookin' up straight and steady for the first time in months.
+
+"Jail nothin'!" says I. "There's goin' to be a new deal, and you start in
+fresh with a clean slate."
+
+"Humph!" snorts Aunt Martha. "Do you expect me to stay here and
+countenance any such folly?"
+
+"I'm far too considerate of my relatives for that," says Pinckney.
+"There's a train at five-thirty-six."
+
+And, say, to see Mrs. Truckles now, with her gray hair showin' natural,
+and her chin up, and a twin hangin' to either hand, and the sleuthy look
+gone out of them old eyes, you'd hardly know her for the same party!
+
+These antelope leaps is all right sometimes; but when you take 'em you
+want to be wearin' your own shoes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+HEINEY TAKES THE GLOOM CURE
+
+
+Two in one day, mind you. It just goes to show what effect the first dose
+of hot weather is liable to have on the custard heads. Well, maybe I
+oughtn't to call 'em that, either. They can't seem to help gettin' that
+way, any more'n other folks can dodge havin' bad dreams, or boils on the
+neck. And I ain't any mind specialist; so when it comes to sayin' what'll
+soften up a man's brain, or whether he couldn't sidestep it if he tried,
+I passes the make.
+
+Now look at this dippy move of Mr. Jarvis's. Guess you don't remember
+him. I'd 'most forgot him myself, it's so long since he was around; but
+he's the young chap that owns that big Blenmont place, the gent that
+Swifty and I helped out with the fake match when he----Well, never mind
+that yarn. He got the girl, all right; and as he had everything else
+anybody could think of, it should have been a case of lockin' trouble on
+the outside and takin' joy for a permanent boarder.
+
+But there the other mornin', just as I was havin' a breathin' spell after
+hammerin' some surplus ego out of a young society sport that had the idea
+he could box, the studio door opens, and in pokes this Mr. Jarvis, actin'
+like he'd been doped.
+
+Now he's a big, husky, full blooded young gent, that's always used
+himself well, never collected any bad habits, and knows no more about
+being sick than a cat knows about swimmin'. Add to that the fact that
+he's one of the unemployed rich, with more money than he knows how to
+spend, and you can figure out how surprised I am to see that down and out
+look on his face. Course, I thinks something serious has been happenin'
+to him, and I treats him real gentle.
+
+"Hello, Mr. Jarvis!" says I. "Somebody been throwin' the hooks into you,
+have they?"
+
+"Oh, no," says he. "No, I--I'm all right."
+
+"That's good," says I. "Dropped in to let me hand you a few vibrations
+with the mitts?"
+
+"No, thank you, Shorty," says he, fingerin' a chair-back sort of
+hesitatin', as if he didn't know whether to sit down or stand up. "That
+is--er--I think I don't care for a bout to-day. I--I'm hardly in the
+mood, you see."
+
+"Just as you say," says I. "Have a seat, anyway. Sure! That one; it's
+reserved for you. Maybe you come in to enjoy some of my polite and
+refined conversation?"
+
+"Why--er--the fact is, Shorty," says he, fixin' his tie kind of nervous,
+"I--I don't know just why I did come in. I think I started for the club,
+and as I was passing by in a cab I looked up here at your
+windows--and--and----"
+
+"Of course," says I, soothin'. "What's the use goin' to the club when the
+Physical Culture Studio is handier? You're feelin' fine as silk; how're
+you lookin'?"
+
+"Eh? Beg pardon?" says he, gettin' twisted up on that mothy gag. "Oh, I
+see! I'm looking rotten, thank you, and feeling the same."
+
+"G'wan!" says I. "You ain't got any license to have feelin's like that.
+Guess you got the symptoms mixed. But where do you think it hurts most?"
+
+Well, it takes five or ten minutes of jollyin' like that to pull any
+details at all out of Jarvis, and when I does get the whole heartrendin'
+story, I hardly knows whether to give him the laugh, or to send out for a
+nursin' bottle.
+
+Ever seen a great, grown man play the baby act? Talk about a woman in a
+cryin' spell! That ain't a marker to watchin' a six-foot, one hundred and
+eighty-pound free citizen droop his mouth corners and slump his shoulders
+over nothin' at all. Course, I don't always feel like a hickey boy
+myself, and I'll admit there are times when the rosy tints get a little
+clouded up; but I has my own way of workin' out of such spells before the
+mullygrubs turns my gray matter into curdled milk. But Jarvis, he's as
+blue as a rainy Monday with the wash all in soak.
+
+In the first place, he's been alone for nearly three whole weeks, the
+women folks all bein' abroad, and it's a new experience for him. Think of
+that awful calamity happenin' to a man of his size! Seems that before he
+was married he'd always carted mother and sister around, under the idea
+that he was lookin' out for them, when as a matter of fact they was the
+ones that was lookin' after him. Then Mrs. Jarvis, Lady Evelyn that was,
+takes him in hand and makes him more helpless than ever. He never
+mistrusts how much he's been mollycoddled, until he finds himself with
+nobody but a valet, a housekeeper, and seventeen assorted servants to
+help him along in the struggle for existence.
+
+His first move after the ladies have sailed is to smoke until his tongue
+feels like a pussycat's back, eat his lonesome meals at lunch-counter
+clip, and work himself into a mild bilious state. That makes him a little
+cranky with the help, and, as there's no one around to smooth 'em out,
+the cook and half a dozen maids leaves in a bunch. His head coachman goes
+off on a bat, the housekeeper skips out to Ohio to bury an aunt, and the
+domestic gear at Blenmont gets to runnin' about as smooth as a flat wheel
+trolley car on a new roadbed.
+
+To finish off the horrible situation, Jarvis has had a misunderstandin'
+with a landscape architect that he'd engaged to do things to the grounds.
+Jarvis had planned to plant a swan lake in the front yard; but the
+landscaper points out that it can't be done because there's a hill in the
+way.
+
+"To be sure," says Jarvis, "these are little things; but I've been
+worrying over them until--until---- Well, I'm in bad shape, Shorty."
+
+"It's a wonder you're still alive," says I.
+
+"Don't!" says he, groanin'. "It is too serious a matter. Perhaps you
+don't know it, but I had an uncle that drank himself to death."
+
+"Huh!" says I. "'Most everybody has had an uncle of that kind."
+
+"And one of my cousins," Jarvis goes on, lowerin' his voice and lookin'
+around cautious, "shot himself--in the head!"
+
+"Eh?" says I. And then I begun to get a glimmer of what he was drivin'
+at. "What! You don't mean that you were thinkin' of--of----"
+
+He groans again and nods his head.
+
+Then I cuts loose. "Why, look here!" says I. "You soft boiled, mush
+headed, spineless imitation of a real man! do you mean to tell me that,
+just because you've been tied loose from a few skirts for a week or so,
+and have had to deal with some grouchy hired hands, you've actually gone
+jelly brained over it?"
+
+Perhaps that don't make him squirm some, though! He turns white first,
+and then he gets the hectic flush. "Pardon me, McCabe," says he,
+stiffenin' up, "but I don't care to have anyone talk to me like----"
+
+"Ah, pickles!" says I. "I'll talk to you a good deal straighter'n that,
+before I finish! And you'll take it, too! Why, you great, overgrown kid!
+what right have you developin' such a yellow cur streak as that? You!
+What you need is to be laid over that chair and paddled, and blamed if I
+don't know but I'd better----"
+
+But just here the door creaks, and in drifts the other one. Hanged if I
+ever did know what his real name was. I called him Heiney Kirschwasser
+for short, though he says he ain't Dutch at all, but Swiss-French; and
+that it ain't kirsch that's his failin', but prune brandy. He's the mop
+and broom artist for the buildin', some floater the janitor picked up off
+the sidewalk a few months back.
+
+He wa'n't exactly a decorative object, this Heiney; but he's kind of a
+picturesque ruin. His widest part is around the belt; and from there he
+tapers both ways, his shoulders bein' a good eight inches narrower; and
+on top of them, with no neck to speak of, is a head shaped like a gum
+drop, bald on top, and remindin' you of them mountain peaks you see in
+pictures, or a ham set on end.
+
+He has a pair of stary, pop eyes, a high colored beak that might be used
+as a danger signal, and a black, shoebrush beard, trimmed close except
+for a little spike under the chin, that gives the lower part of his face
+a look like the ace of spades. His mornin' costume is a faded blue
+jumper, brown checked pants, and an old pair of rubber soled shoes that
+Swifty had donated to him.
+
+That's Heiney's description, as near as I can get to it. He comes
+shufflin' in, luggin' a scrub pail in one hand, and draggin' a mop in the
+other, and he looks about as cheerful as a worn-out hearse that's been
+turned into an ash wagon.
+
+"Heiney," says I, "you're just in time. Still lookin' for a nice,
+comfortable place to die in, are you?"
+
+Heiney shrugs his shoulders and lifts his eyebrows in a lifeless sort of
+style. He does most of his conversin' that way; but he can say more with
+a few shrugs than Swifty Joe can by usin' both sides of his mouth. What
+Heiney means is that one place is as good as another, and he don't care
+how soon he finds it.
+
+"Well, cheer up, Heiney," says I; "for I've just decided to give you the
+use of my back room to shuffle off in. I've got comp'ny for you, too.
+Here's a friend of mine that feels the same way you do. Mr. Jarvis, Mr.
+Heiney Kirschwasser."
+
+And you should have seen the look of disgust on Jarvis's face as he sizes
+up the specimen. "Oh, I say now, Shorty," he begins, "there's such a
+thing as----"
+
+"G'wan!" says I. "Wa'n't you just tellin' me about how you was plannin' a
+job for the coroner? And Heiney's been threatenin' to do the same thing
+for weeks. He comes in here every day or so and talks about jumpin' off
+the dock, or doin' the air dance. I've been stavin' him off with slugs of
+prune brandy and doses of good advice; but if a chap like you has caught
+the fever, then I see I've been doin' wrong not to let Heiney have his
+way. Now there's the back room, with plenty of rope and gasjets. Get on
+in there, both of you, and make a reg'lar bee of it!"
+
+Heiney, he stands blinkin' and starin' at Jarvis, until he gets him so
+nervous he almost screams.
+
+"For Heaven's sake, Shorty," says Jarvis, "let's not joke about such a
+subject!"
+
+"Joke!" says I. "You're the one that's supplyin' the comedy here. Now
+Heiney is serious. He'd do the trick in a minute if he had the nerve.
+He's got things on his mind, Heiney has. And what's the odds if they
+ain't so? Compared to what you've been fussin' about, they're----Here,
+Heiney, you tell the gentleman that tale of yours. Begin where you was a
+cook in some seashore hotel in Switzerland."
+
+"Not zeashore! _Non_!" says Heiney, droppin' his pail and wavin' one
+hand. "Eet ees at Lack Como, in ze montongs. I am ze head chef, _moi!_"
+
+"Yes, you look it!" says I. "A fine figure of a chef you'd make! wouldn't
+you? Well, go on: about bein' full of prunes when they called on you to
+season the soup. What was it you dumped in instead of salt,--arsenic,
+eh?"
+
+"_Non, non!_" says Heiney, gettin' excited. "Ze poison for ze r-r-rat. I
+keep heem in one tin can, same as ze salt. I am what you call intoxicate.
+I make ze mistak'. Ah, _diable! Deux, trois_--t'ree hundred guests are
+zere. Zey eat ze soup. Zen come by me ze _maitre d'hotel._ He say ze soup
+ees spoil. Eet has ze foony taste. Ah, mon _Dieu! Mon_----"
+
+"Yes, yes," says I. "Never mind whether it was Monday or Tuesday. What
+did you do then?"
+
+"_Moi_? I fly!" says Heiney. "I am distract. I r-r-r-run on ze
+r-r-r-road. I tear-r-r off my white apron, my white chapeau. Ah,
+_sacr-r-re nom!_ How my heart is thoomp, thoomp, on my inside! All night
+I speak to myself: 'You have keel zem all! Ze _belle_ ladies! Ze _pauvre_
+shildren! All, you have poi-zon-ed! Zey make to tweest up on ze floor!'
+Ah, _diable_! Always I can see zem tweest up!"
+
+"Reg'lar rough on rats carnival, eh?" says I. "Three hundred beautiful
+ladies and poor children, not to mention a few men, doin' the agony act
+on the dinin' room floor! There, Jarvis! How'd you like to carry round a
+movin' picture film like that in your mem'ry? Course, I've tried to
+explain to Heiney that nothing of the kind ever took place; that the
+papers would have been full of it; and that he'd been in the jug long
+before this, if it had. But this is Heiney's own particular pipe dream,
+and he can't let go of it. It's got tangled up in the works somehow, and
+nothing I can say will jar it loose. Poor cuss! Look at him! No doubt
+about its seemin' real to him, is there? And how does your little
+collection of fleabites show up alongside it; eh, Jarvis?"
+
+But Jarvis, he's gazin' at Heiney as if this lump of moldy sweitzerkase
+was fascinatin' to look at.
+
+"I beg pardon," says he, "but you say this hotel was at Lake Como?"
+
+Heiney nods his head, then covers his face with his hands, as if he was
+seein' things again.
+
+"And what was the date of this--this unfortunate occurrence?" says
+Jarvis.
+
+"Year before the last, in Augoost," says Heiney, shudderin',--"Augoost
+seven."
+
+"The seventh of August!" says Jarvis. "And was your hotel the Occident?"
+
+"_Oui, oui_!" says Heiney. "_L'Hotel Occident_."
+
+"Guess he means Accident," says I. "What do you know about it, Jarvis?"
+
+"Why," says he, "I was there."
+
+"What?" says I. "Here, Heiney, wake up! Here's one of the victims of your
+rat poison soup. Does he look as though he'd been through that floor
+tweestin' orgy?"
+
+With that Heiney gets mighty interested; but he ain't convinced until
+Jarvis gives him all the details, even to namin' the landlord and
+describin' the head waiter.
+
+"But ze soup!" says Heiney. "Ze poi-zon-ed soup?"
+
+"It was bad soup," says Jarvis; "but not quite so bad as that. Nobody
+could eat it, and I believe the final report that we had on the subject
+was to the effect that a half intoxicated chef had seasoned it with the
+powdered alum that should have gone into the morning rolls."
+
+"Ze alum! Ze alum! Of zat I nevair think!" squeals Heiney, flopping down
+on his knees. "Ah, _le bon Dieu! Le bon Dieu_!"
+
+He clasps his hands in front of him and rolls his eyes to the ceilin'.
+Say, it was the liveliest French prayin' I ever saw; for Heiney is
+rockin' back and forth, his pop eyes leakin' brine, and the polly-voo
+conversation is bubblin' out of him like water out of a bu'sted fire
+hydrant.
+
+"Ah, quit it!" says I. "This is no camp meetin'."
+
+There's no shuttin' him off, though, and all the let-up he takes is to
+break off now and then to get Jarvis to tell him once more that it's all
+true.
+
+"You make _certainement_, eh?" says he. "Nobody was keel?"
+
+"Not a soul," says Jarvis. "I didn't even hear of anyone that was made
+ill."
+
+"Ah, _merci, merci_!" howls Heiney, beginnin' the rockin' horse act
+again.
+
+"Say, for the love of Pete, Heiney!" says I, "will you saw that off
+before you draw a crowd? I'm glad you believe Jarvis, and that Jarvis
+believes you; but hanged if I can quite swallow any such dopy yarn as
+that without somethin' more convincin'! All I know about you is that
+you're the worst floor scrubber I ever saw. And you say you was a cook,
+do you?"
+
+"Cook!" says Heiney, swellin' up his chest. "I am tell you zat I was ze
+premier chef. I have made for myself fame. Everywhere in _l'Europe_ zey
+will tell you of me. For the king of ze Englise I have made a dinner.
+_Moi!_ I have invent ze sauce Ravignon. From nozzing at all--some meat
+scraps, some leetle greens--I produce ze dish ravishment."
+
+"Yes, I've heard bluffs like that before," says I; "but I never saw one
+made good. Tell you what I'll do, though: In the far corner of the gym,
+there, is what Swifty Joe calls his kitchenet, where he warms up his
+chowder and beans. There's a two-burner gas stove, an old fryin' pan, and
+a coffee pot. Now here's a dollar. You take that out on Sixth-ave. and
+spend it for meat scraps and leetle greens. Then you come back here, and
+while Jarvis and I are takin' a little exercise, if you can hash up
+anything that's fit to eat, I'll believe your whole yarn. Do you make the
+try?"
+
+Does he? Say, you never saw such a tickled Frenchy in your life. Before
+Jarvis and me had got nicely peeled down for our delayed boxin' bout,
+Heiney is back with his bundles, has got the fryin' pan scoured, the gas
+blazin', and is throwin' things together like a juggler doin' a stage
+turn.
+
+He sheds the blue jumper, ties a bath towel around him for an apron,
+makes a hat out of a paper bag, and twists some of that stringy lip
+decoration of his into a pointed mustache. Honest, he didn't look nor act
+any more like the wreck that had dragged the mop in there half an hour
+before than I look like Bill Taft. And by the time we've had our three
+rounds and a rub down, he's standin' doubled up beside a little table
+that he's found, with his arms spread out like he was goin' to take a
+dive.
+
+"_Messieurs_," says he, "eet ees serve."
+
+"Good!" says I. "I'm just about up to tacklin' a hot lunch. What kind of
+a mess have you got here, anyway, Heiney? Any alum in it? Blamed if I
+don't make you put away the whole shootin' match if it ain't good!"
+
+How's that? Well, say, I couldn't name it, or say whether it was a stew,
+fry or an omelet, but for an impromptu sample of fancy grub it was a
+little the tastiest article I ever stacked up against.
+
+"Why!" says Jarvis, smackin' his lips after the third forkful. "It's _ris
+de veau_, isn't it?"
+
+"But yes, monsieur!" says Heiney, his face lightin' up. "Eet ees _ris de
+veau grille, a la financier_."
+
+"And what's that in English?" says I.
+
+"In Englise," says Heiney, shruggin' his shoulders, "eet ees not exist.
+Eet ees Parisienne."
+
+"Bully for Paris, then!" says I. "Whatever it might be if it could be
+naturalized, it touches the spot. I take it all back, Heiney. You're the
+shiftiest chef that ever juggled a fryin' pan. A refill on the riddy-voo,
+seal-voo-plate."
+
+Well, what do you guess! Jarvis engages Heiney on the spot, and an hour
+later they've started for Blenmont, both of 'em actin' like they thought
+this was a good world to live in, after all.
+
+Yesterday me and Sadie accepts a special invite out there to dinner; and
+it was worth goin' out to get. From start to finish it was the finest
+that ever happened. Afterwards Jarvis has Heiney come up from the kitchen
+and show himself while we drinks his good health. And say, in his white
+togs and starched linen cap, he's got the chef on the canned goods ads.
+lookin' like a hash rustler in a beanery.
+
+As for Jarvis, he's got the pink back in his cheeks, and is holdin' his
+chin up once more, and when we left in the mornin' he was out bossin' a
+couple of hundred lab'rers that was takin' that hill in wheelbarrows and
+cartin' it off where it wouldn't interfere with the lake.
+
+"Shorty," says he, "I don't know how you did it, but you've made me a
+sane man again, and I owe you more than----"
+
+"Ah, chuck it!" says I. "It was curin' Heiney that cured you."
+
+"Really?" says he. "Then you are a believer in homeopathic
+psychotherapeutics?"
+
+"Which?" says I. "Say, write that down on my cuff by syllables, will you?
+I want to spring it on Swifty Joe."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+A TRY-OUT FOR TOODLEISM
+
+
+Eh? Yes, maybe I do walk a little stiff jointed; but, say, I'm satisfied
+to be walkin' around at all. If I hadn't had my luck with me the other
+day, I'd be wearin' that left leg in splints and bein' pushed around in a
+wheel chair. As it is, the meat is only a little sore, and a few more
+alcohol rubs will put it in shape.
+
+What was it come so near gettin' me on the disabled list? Toodleism! No,
+I expect you didn't; but let me put you next, son: there's more 'isms and
+'pathys and 'ists floatin' around these days, than any one head can keep
+track of. I don't know much about the lot; but this Toodleism's a punk
+proposition. Besides leavin' me with a game prop, it come near bu'stin'
+up the fam'ly.
+
+Seems like trouble was lookin' for me last week, anyway. First off, I has
+a run of old timers, that panhandles me out of all the loose coin I has
+in my clothes. You know how they'll come in streaks that way, sometimes?
+Why, I was thinkin' of havin' 'em form a line, one while. Then along
+about Thursday one of my back fletchers develops a case of jumps. What's
+a fletcher? Why, a steak grinder, and this one has a ripe spot in it.
+Course, it's me for the nickel plated plush chair, with the footrest and
+runnin' water attached; and after the tooth doctor has explored my jaw
+with a rock drill and a few other cute little tools, he says he'll kill
+the nerve.
+
+"Don't, Doc.!" says I. "That nerve's always been a friend of mine until
+lately. Wouldn't dopin' it do?"
+
+He says it wouldn't, that nothin' less'n capital punishment would reform
+a nerve like that; so I tells him to blaze away. No use goin' into
+details. Guess you've been there.
+
+"Say, Doc.," says I once when he was fittin' a fresh auger into the
+machine, "you ain't mistakin' me for the guilty party, are you?"
+
+"Did I hurt?" says he.
+
+"You don't call that ticklin', do you?" says I.
+
+But he only grins and goes on with the excavation. After he's blasted out
+a hole big enough for a terminal tunnel he jabs in a hunk of cotton
+soaked with sulphuric acid, and then tamps down the concrete.
+
+"There!" says he, handin' me a drug store drink flavored with
+formaldehyde. "In the course of forty-eight hours or so that nerve will
+be as dead as a piece of string. Meantime it may throb at intervals."
+
+That's what it did, too! It dies as hard as a campaign lie. About every
+so often, just when I'm forgettin', it wakes up again, takes a fresh
+hold, and proceeds to give an imitation of a live wire on an alternatin'
+circuit.
+
+"Ahr chee!" says Swifty Joe. "To look at the map of woe you're carryin'
+around, you'd think nobody ever had a bum tusk before."
+
+"Nobody ever had this one before," says I, "and the way I look now ain't
+chronic, like some faces I know of."
+
+"Ahr chee!" says Swifty, which is his way of bringin' in a minority
+report.
+
+The worst of it was, though, I'm billed to show up at Rockywold for a May
+party that Sadie and Mrs. Purdy-Pell was pullin' off, and when I lands
+there Friday afternoon the jaw sensations was still on the job. I'm
+feeling about as cheerful and chatty as a Zoo tiger with ingrowin'
+toenails. So, after I've done the polite handshake, and had a word with
+Sadie on the fly, I digs out my exercise uniform and makes a sneak down
+into their dinky little gym., where there's a first class punchin' bag
+that I picked out for Purdy-Pell myself.
+
+You know, I felt like I wanted to hit something, and hit hard. It wa'n't
+any idle impulse, either. That tooth was jumpin' so I could almost feel
+my heels leave the floor, and I had emotions that it would take more than
+language to express proper. So I peels off for it, down to a sleeveless
+jersey and a pair of flannel pants, and starts in to drum out the devil's
+tattoo on that pigskin bag.
+
+I was so busy relievin' my feelin's that I didn't notice anything float
+in the door; but after awhile I looks up and discovers the audience.
+She's a young female party that I didn't remember havin' seen before at
+any of the Rockywold doin's; but it looks like she's one of the guests,
+all right.
+
+Well, I hadn't been introduced, and I couldn't see what she was buttin'
+into the gym. for, anyway, so I keeps right on punchin' the bag; thinkin'
+that if she was shocked any by my costume she'd either get over it, or
+beat it and have a fit.
+
+She's one of the kind you might expect 'most anything from,--one of these
+long, limp, loppy, droop eyed fluffs, with terracotta hair, and a
+prunes-and-prisms mouth all puckered to say something soulful. She's
+wearin' a whackin' big black feather lid with a long plume trailin' down
+over one ear, a strawb'ry pink dress cut accordin' to Louis Catorz
+designs,--waist band under her armpits, you know,--and nineteen-button
+length gloves. Finish that off with a white hen feather boa, have her
+hands clasped real shy under her chin, and you've got a picture of what I
+sees there in the door. But it was the friendly size-up she was givin'
+me, and no mistake. She must have hung up there three or four minutes
+too, before she quits, without sayin' a word.
+
+At the end of half an hour I was feelin' some better; but when I'd got
+into my tailor made, I didn't have any great enthusiasm for tacklin'
+food.
+
+"Guess I'll appoint this a special fast day for mine," says I to Sadie.
+
+"Why, Shorty!" says she. "Whatever is the matter?" And she has no sooner
+heard about the touchy tusk than she says, "Oh, pooh! Just say there
+isn't any such thing as toothache. Pain, you know, is only a false mental
+photograph, an error of the mind, and----"
+
+"Ah, back up, Sadie!" says I. "Do you dream I don't know whether this
+jump is in my brain or my jaw? This is no halftone; it's the real
+thing."
+
+"Nonsense!" says she. "You come right downstairs and see Dr. Toodle.
+He'll fix it in no time."
+
+Seems this Toodle was the one the party had been arranged for, and Sadie
+has to hunt him up. It didn't take long to trail him down; for pretty
+soon she comes towin' him into the drawin'-room, where I'm camped down on
+a sofa, holdin' on with both hands.
+
+"Dr. Toodle," says she, "I want to present Mr. McCabe."
+
+Now, I don't claim any seventh-son powers; but I only has to take one
+look at Toodle to guess that he's some sort of a phony article. No
+reg'lar pill distributor would wear around that mushy look that he has
+on. He's a good sized, wide shouldered duck, with a thick crop of long
+hair that just clears his coat collar, and one of these smooth, soft,
+sentimental faces the women folks go nutty over,--you know, big nose,
+heavy chin, and sagged mouth corners. His get-up is something between a
+priest's and an actor's,--frock coat, smooth front black vest, and a
+collar buttoned behind. He gurgles out that he's charmed to meet Mr.
+McCabe, and wants to know what's wrong.
+
+"Nothin' but a specked tooth," says I. "But I can stand it."
+
+"My de-e-ear brother," says Toodle, puttin' his fingers together and
+gazin' down at me like a prison chaplain givin' a talk to murderers' row,
+"you are possessed of mental error. Your brain focus has been disturbed,
+and a blurred image has been cast on the sensitive retina of the----"
+
+"Ah, say, Doc.," says I, "cut out the preamble! If you've got a cocaine
+gun in your pocket, dig it up!"
+
+Then he goes off again with another string of gibberish, about pain bein'
+nothin' but thought, and thought bein' something we could steer to suit
+ourselves. I can't give you the patter word for word; but the nub of it
+was that I could knock that toothache out in one round just by thinkin'
+hard. Now wouldn't that peeve you? What?
+
+"All right, Doc.," says I. "I'll try thinkin' I ain't got any ache, if
+you'll sit here and keep me comp'ny by thinkin' you've had your dinner.
+Is it a go?"
+
+Well, it wa'n't. He shrugs his shoulders, and says he's afraid I'm a
+difficult subject, and then he teeters off on his toes. Sadie tells me I
+ought to be ashamed of myself for tryin' to be so fresh.
+
+"He's a very distinguished man," she says. "He's the founder of
+Toodleism. He's written a book about it."
+
+"I thought he looked like a nutty one," says I. "Keep him away from me;
+I'll be all right by mornin'."
+
+The argument might have lasted longer; but just then comes the dinner
+call, and they all goes in where the little necks was waitin' on the
+cracked ice, and I'm left alone to count the jumps and enjoy myself.
+Durin' one of the calm spells I wanders into the lib'ry, picks a funny
+paper off the table, and settles down in a cozy corner to read the jokes.
+I must have been there near an hour, when in drifts the loppy young lady
+in the pink what-d'ye-call-it,--the one I'd made the silent hit with in
+the gym.,--and she makes straight for me.
+
+"Oh, here you are!" says she, like we was old friends. "Do you know, I've
+just heard of your--your trouble."
+
+"Ah, it ain't any killin' matter," says I. "It don't amount to much."
+
+"Of course it doesn't!" says she. "And that is what I came to talk to you
+about. I am Miss Lee,--Violet Lee."
+
+"Ye-e-es?" says I.
+
+"You see," she goes on, "I am Dr. Toodle's secretary and assistant."
+
+"Oh!" says I. "He's in luck, then."
+
+"Now, now!" says she, just like that, givin' me a real giddy tap with her
+fan. "You must be real serious."
+
+"I'm in condition to be all of that," says I. "Are you plannin' to try
+the----"
+
+"I am going to help you to banish the imaginary pains, Mr. McCabe," says
+she. "Now first you must repeat after me the _summum bonum_."
+
+"Eh?" says I.
+
+"It's very simple," says she, floppin' down on the cushions alongside and
+reachin' out for one of my hands. "It begins this way, 'I am a child of
+light and goodness.' Now say that."
+
+Say, how would you duck a proposition of that kind? There was Violet,
+with her big eyes rolled at me real pleadin', and her mouth puckered up
+real cunning, and the soft, clingin' grip on my right paw. Well, I says
+it over.
+
+"That's it!" she purrs. "Now, 'Evil and fear and pain are the creatures
+of darkness.' Go on!"
+
+"Sure thing!" says I. "'Evil and fear and----Ouch!"
+
+Ever feel one of them last gasps that a nerve gives when it goes out of
+business? I thought the top of my head was comin' off. But it didn't, and
+a couple of seconds later I knew the jumpin' was all over; so I
+straightens my face out, and we proceeds with the catechism.
+
+It was a bird, too. I didn't mind doin' it at all with Miss Lee there to
+help; for, in spite of her loppy ways, she's more or less of a candy
+girl. There was a good deal to it, and it all means the same as what
+Toodle was tryin' to hand out; but now that the ache has quit I'm ready
+for any kind of foolishness.
+
+Violet had got to the point where she has snuggled up nice and close,
+with one hand still grippin' mine and the other smoothin' out my jaw
+while she told me again how pain was only a pipe dream,--when I glances
+over her shoulder and sees Sadie floatin' in hangin' to Dr. Toodle's
+arm.
+
+And does Sadie miss the tableau in our corner? Not to any extent! Her
+eyebrows go up, and her mouth comes open. That's the first indication.
+Next her lips shut tight, and her eyes narrow down, and before you could
+count three she's let go of Toodle as if he was a hot potato, and she's
+makin' a bee line for the cozy corner.
+
+"Why!" says Miss Lee, lookin' up and forecastin' the comin' conditions in
+a flash. "Is dinner over? Oh, and there's Dr. Toodle!" and off she trips,
+leavin' the McCabe fam'ly to hold a reunion.
+
+"Well, I never!" says Sadie, givin' me the gimlet gaze. And say, she puts
+plenty of expression into them three words.
+
+"Me either," says I. "Not very often, anyway. But a chance is a chance."
+
+"I hope I didn't intrude?" says she, her eyes snappin'.
+
+"There's no tellin'," says I.
+
+"It was a very touching scene!" says she. "Very!"
+
+"Wa'n't it?" says I. "Nice girl, Violet."
+
+"Violet! Humph!" says she. "There's no accounting for tastes!"
+
+"Just what I was thinkin' when I see you with the timelock clutch on that
+freak doctor's south wing," says I.
+
+"Dr. Toodle," says she, "was explaining to me his wonderful self healing
+theories."
+
+"And dear Violet," says I, "was puttin' me through a course of sprouts in
+the automatic toothache cure."
+
+"Oh, indeed!" says Sadie. "Was patting your cheek part of it?"
+
+"I hope so," says I.
+
+"Huh!" says she. "I suppose it worked?"
+
+"Like a charm," says I. "All that bothers me now is how I can dig up
+another pain."
+
+"You might have your dear Violet see what can be done for that soft spot
+in your head!" she snaps. "Only next time take her off out of sight,
+please."
+
+"Oh, we'll attend to that, all right," says I. "This havin' a green eyed
+wife buttin' in just at the interestin' point is something fierce!" And
+that's where I spread it on too thick.
+
+"Don't be a chump, Shorty!" says Sadie, lettin' loose a sudden giggle and
+mussin' my hair up with both hands. It's a way she has of gettin' out of
+a corner, and she's skipped off before I'm sure whether she's still got a
+grouch, or is only lettin' on.
+
+By that time my appetite has come back; so I holds up the butler and has
+him lay out a solitaire feed. And when I goes back to the crowd again I
+finds Toodle has the center of the stage, with the spotlight full on him.
+All the women are gathered round, listening to his guff like it was sound
+sense. Seems he's organized a new deal on the thought cure stunt, and
+he's workin' it for all it's worth. The men, though, don't appear so
+excited over what he's sayin'.
+
+"Confounded rubbish, I call it!" says Mr. Purdy-Pell.
+
+"You ought to hear it from Violet," says I. "She's the star explainer of
+that combination."
+
+But Violet seems to have faded into the background. We don't see anything
+more of her that evenin', nor she wa'n't in evidence next mornin'. Doc.
+Toodle was, though. He begins by tellin' how he never takes anything but
+hot water and milk on risin'; but that in the middle of the forenoon he
+makes it a point to put away about three fresh laid eggs, raw, in a glass
+of sherry.
+
+"How interesting!" says Mrs. Purdy-Pell. "Then we must drive over to
+Fernbrook Farm, right after breakfast, and get some of their lovely White
+Leghorn eggs."
+
+That was the sort of excursion I was rung into; so the bunch of us piles
+into the wagonette and starts for a fresh supply of hen fruit. When we
+gets to the farm the superintendent invites us to take a tour through the
+incubator houses, and of course they all wants to see the dear little
+chickies and so on. All but me. I stays and chins with the coachman while
+he walks the horses around the driveway.
+
+In about half an hour they comes troopin' back, Toodle in the lead,
+luggin' a paper bag full of warm eggs. He don't wait for the others, but
+pikes for the wagonette and climbs in one of the side seats facin' me. We
+was just turnin' to back up to the block for the ladies, when a yellow
+kyoodle dashes around the corner after a cat. Them skittish horses was
+just waitin' for some such excuse as that, and before Mr. Driver can put
+the curb bit on 'em hard enough they've done a quick pivot, cramped the
+wheels, and turned us over on the soggy grass as neat as anything you
+ever see.
+
+Me bein' on the low side, I strikes the ground first; but before I can
+squirm out, down comes Toodle on top, landin' his one hundred and ninety
+pounds so sudden that it knocks the wind clear out of me. He's turned
+over on the way down, so I've got his shoulder borin' into my chest and
+the heavy part of him on my leg.
+
+Course, the women squeals, and the horses cut up some; but the driver has
+landed on his feet and has them by the head in no time at all, so we
+wa'n't dragged around any. Noticin' that, I lays still and waits for
+Toodle to pry himself loose. But the Doc. don't seem in any hurry to
+move, and the next thing I know I hear him groanin' and mumblin' under
+his breath. Between groans he was tryin' to say over that rigmarole of
+his.
+
+"I am a child of light--Oh, dear me!--of light and goodness!" he was
+pantin' out. "Evil and fear and--Oh, my poor back!--and pain are
+creatures of--Oh my, oh my!--of darkness! Nothing can harm me!"
+
+"Say, something is goin' to harm you mighty sudden," says I, "if you
+don't let me up out of this."
+
+"Oh, my life blood!" he groans. "I can feel my life blood! Oh, oh! I am a
+child of----"
+
+"Ah, slush!" says I. "Get up and shake yourself. Think I'm a bloomin'
+prayer rug that you can squat on all day? Roll over!" and I manages to
+hand him a short arm punch in the ribs that stirs him up enough so I can
+slide out from under. Soon's I get on my feet and can hop around once or
+twice I finds there's no bones stickin' through, and then I turns to have
+a look at him.
+
+And say, I wouldn't have missed that exhibition for twice the shakin' up
+I got! There he is, stretched out on the wet turf, his eyelids
+flutterin', his breath comin' fast, and his two hands huggin' tight
+what's left of that bu'sted paper bag, right up against the front of his
+preacher's vest. And can you guess what's happened to them eggs?
+
+"Oh, my life blood!" he keeps on moanin'. "I can feel it oozing
+through----"
+
+"Ah, you're switched, Toodle!" says I. "Your brain kodak is out of
+register, that's all. It ain't life blood you're losin'; it's only your
+new laid omelet that's leakin' over your vest front."
+
+About then I gets a squint at Sadie and Mrs. Purdy-Pell, and they're
+almost chokin' to death in a funny fit.
+
+Well, say, that was the finish of Toodleism with the Rockywold bunch. The
+Doc. didn't have a scratch nor a bruise on him, and after he'd been
+helped up and scraped off, he was almost as good as new. But his
+conversation works is clogged for good, and he has his chin down on his
+collar. They sends him and Violet down to catch the next train, and Sadie
+and Mrs. Purdy-Pell spends the rest of the day givin' imitations of how
+Toodle hugged up the eggs and grunted that he was a child of light.
+
+"Not that I don't believe there was something in what he said," Sadie
+explains to me afterwards; "only--only----"
+
+"Only he was a false alarm, eh?" says I. "Well, Violet wa'n't that kind,
+anyway."
+
+"Pooh!" says she. "I suppose you'll brag about Violet for the rest of
+your life."
+
+Can you keep 'em guessin' long, when it comes to things of that kind? Not
+if they're like Sadie.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE CASE OF THE TISCOTTS
+
+
+What I had on the slate for this part'cular afternoon was a brisk walk up
+Broadway as far as the gasoline district and a little soothin'
+conversation with Mr. Cecil Slattery about the new roadster he's tryin'
+to Paladino me into placin' my order for. I'd just washed up and was in
+the gym. giving my coat a few licks with the whisk broom, when Swifty Joe
+comes tiptoein' in, taps me on the shoulder, and points solemn into the
+front office.
+
+"That's right," says I, "break it to me gentle."
+
+"Get into it quick!" says he, grabbin' the coat.
+
+"Eh?" says I. "Fire, police, or what?"
+
+"S-s-sh!" says he. "Lady to see you."
+
+"What kind," says I, "perfect, or just plain lady? And what's her name?"
+
+"Ahr-r-r chee!" he whispers, hoarse and stagy. "Didn't I tell you it was
+a lady? Get a move on!" and he lifts me into the sleeves and yanks away
+the whisk broom.
+
+"See here, Swifty," says I, "if this is another of them hot air
+demonstrators, or a book agent, there'll be trouble comin' your way in
+bunches! Remember, now!"
+
+Here was once, though, when Swifty hadn't made any mistake. Not that he
+shows such wonderful intelligence in this case. With her wearin' all them
+expensive furs, and the cute little English footman standin' up straight
+in his yellow topped boots over by the door, who wouldn't have known she
+was a real lady?
+
+She's got up all in black, not exactly a mournin' costume, but one of
+these real broadcloth regalias, plain but classy. She's a tall, slim
+party, and from the three-quarters' view I gets against the light I
+should guess she was goin' on thirty or a little past it. All she's armed
+with is a roll of paper, and as I steps in she's drummin' with it on the
+window sill.
+
+Course, we has all kinds driftin' into the studio here, by mistake and
+otherwise, and I gen'rally makes a guess on 'em right; but this one don't
+suggest anything at all. Even that rat faced tiger of hers could have
+told her this wa'n't any French millinery parlor, and she didn't look
+like one who'd get off the trail anyway. So I plays a safety by coughin'
+polite behind my hand and lettin' her make the break. She ain't backward
+about it, either.
+
+"Why, there you are, Professor McCabe!" says she, in that gushy, up and
+down tone, like she was usin' language as some sort of throat gargle.
+"How perfectly dear of you to be here, too!"
+
+"Yes, ain't it?" says I. "I've kind of got into the habit of bein'
+here."
+
+"Really, now!" says she, smilin' just as though we was carryin' on a
+sensible conversation. And it's a swagger stunt too, this talkin' without
+sayin' anything. When you get so you can keep it up for an hour you're
+qualified either for the afternoon tea class or the batty ward. But the
+lady ain't here just to pay a social call. She makes a quick shift and
+announces that she's Miss Colliver, also hoping that I remember her.
+
+"Why, sure," says I. "Miss Ann, ain't it?"
+
+As a matter of fact, the only time we was ever within speakin' distance
+was once at the Purdy-Pells' when she blew in for a minute just at dinner
+time, lifted a bunch of American Beauties off the table with the excuse
+that they was just what she wanted to send to the Blind Asylum, and blew
+out again.
+
+But of course I couldn't help knowin' who she was and all about her.
+Ain't the papers always full of her charity doin's, her funds for this
+and that, and her new discoveries of shockin' things about the poor?
+Ain't she built up a rep as a lady philanthropist that's too busy doing
+good to ever get married? Maybe Mrs. Russell Sage and Helen Gould has
+gained a few laps on her lately; but when it comes to startin' things for
+the Tattered Tenth there ain't many others that's got much on her.
+
+"Gee!" thinks I. "Wonder what she's going to do for me?"
+
+I ain't left long in doubt. She backs me up against the desk and cuts
+loose with the straight talk. "I came in to tell you about my new
+enterprise, Piny Crest Court," says she.
+
+"Apartment house, is it?" says I.
+
+"No, no!" says she. "Haven't you read about it? It's to be a white plague
+station for working girls."
+
+"A white--white----Oh! For lungers, eh?"
+
+"We never speak of them in that way, you know," says she, handin' me the
+reprovin' look. "Piny Crest Court is the name I've given to the site.
+Rather sweet, is it not? Really there are no pines on it, you know; but I
+shall have a few set out. The buildings are to be perfectly lovely. I've
+just seen the architect's plans,--four open front cottages grouped around
+an administration infirmary, the superintendent's office to be finished
+in white mahogany and gold, and the directors' room in Circassian walnut,
+with a stucco frieze after della Robbia. Don't you simply love those
+Robbia bambinos?"
+
+"Great!" says I, lyin' as easy and genteel as if I had lots of practice.
+
+"I am simply crazy to have the work started," she goes on; "so I am
+spending three afternoons a week in filling up my lists. Everyone
+responds so heartily, too. Now, let me see, I believe I have put you down
+for a life membership."
+
+"Eh?" says I, gaspin' some; for it ain't often I'm elected to things.
+
+"You will have the privilege of voting for board members and of
+recommending two applicants a year. A life membership is two hundred and
+fifty dollars."
+
+"You mean I get two-fifty," says I, "for--for just----"
+
+Then I came to. And, say, did you ever know such a bonehead? Honest,
+though, from all I'd heard of the way she spreads her money around, and
+the patronizin' style she has of puttin' this proposition up to me, I
+couldn't tell for a minute how she meant it. And when I suddenly
+surrounds the idea that it's me gives up the two-fifty, I'm so fussed
+that I drops back into the chair and begins to hunt through the desk for
+my checkbook. And then I feels myself growin' a little warm behind the
+ears.
+
+"So you just put me down offhand for two hundred and fifty, did you?"
+says I.
+
+"If you wish," says she, "you may take out a life certificate for each
+member of your family. Several have done that. Let me show you my list of
+subscribers. See, here are some of the prominent merchants and
+manufacturing firms. I haven't begun on the brokers and bankers yet; but
+you will be in good company."
+
+"Ye-e-es?" says I, runnin' my eye over the firm names. "But I don't know
+much about this scheme of yours, Miss Colliver."
+
+"Why, it is for working girls," says she, "who are victims of the white
+plague. We take them up to Piny Crest and cure them."
+
+"Of working?" says I.
+
+"Of the plague," says she. "It is going to be the grandest thing I've
+done yet. And I have the names of such a lot of the most interesting
+cases; poor creatures, you know, who are suffering in the most wretched
+quarters. I do hope they will last until the station is finished. It
+means finding a new lot, if they don't, and the public organizations are
+becoming so active in that sort of thing, don't you see?"
+
+Somehow, I don't catch it all, she puts over her ideas so fast; but I
+gather that she'd like to have me come up prompt with my little old
+two-fifty so she can get busy givin' out the contracts. Seein' me still
+hangin' back, though, she's willin' to spend a few minutes more in
+describin' some of the worst cases, which she proceeds to do.
+
+"We estimate," says Miss Ann as a final clincher, "that the average cost
+is about fifty dollars per patient. Now," and she sticks the subscription
+list into my fist, "here is an opportunity! Do you wish to save five
+human lives?"
+
+Ever had it thrown into you like that? The sensation is a good deal like
+bein' tied to a post and havin' your pockets frisked by a holdup gang.
+Anyway, that's the way I felt, and then the next minute I'm ashamed of
+havin' any such feelings at all; for there's no denyin' that dozens of
+cases like she mentions can be dug up in any crowded block. Seems kind of
+inhuman, too, not to want chip in and help save 'em. And yet there I was
+gettin' grouchy over it, without knowin' why!
+
+"Well," says I, squirmin' in the chair, "I'd like to save five hundred,
+if I could. How many do you say you're going to take care of up at this
+new place?"
+
+"Sixty," says she. "I select the most pitiful cases. I am taking some
+things to one of them now. I wish you could see the awful misery in that
+home! I could take you down there, you know, and show you what a squalid
+existence they lead, these Tiscotts."
+
+"Tiscotts!" says I, prickin' up my ears. "What Tiscotts? What's his first
+name?"
+
+"I never heard the husband mentioned," says Miss Ann. "I doubt if there
+is one. The woman's name, I think, is Mrs. Anthony Tiscott. Of course,
+unless you are really interested----"
+
+"I am," says I. "I'm ready to go when you are."
+
+That seems to jar Miss Colliver some, and she tries a little shifty
+sidestepping; but I puts it up to her as flat as she had handed it to me
+about savin' the five lives. It was either make good or welsh, and she
+comes to the scratch cheerful.
+
+"Very well, then," says she, "we will drive down there at once."
+
+So it's me into the Victoria alongside of Miss Ann, with the fat coachman
+pilotin' us down Fifth-ave. to 14th, then across to Third-ave., and again
+down and over to the far East Side.
+
+I forget the exact block; but it's one of the old style double-deckers,
+with rusty fire escapes decorated with beddin' hung out to air, dark
+hallways that has a perfume a garbage cart would be ashamed of, rickety
+stairs, plasterin' all gone off the halls, and other usual signs of real
+estate that the agents squeeze fifteen per cent. out of. You know how
+it's done, by fixin' the Buildin' and Board of Health inspectors, jammin'
+from six to ten fam'lies in on a floor, never makin' any repairs, and
+collectin' weekly rents or servin' dispossess notices prompt when they
+don't pay up.
+
+Lovely place to hang up one of the "Home, Sweet Home" mottoes! There's a
+water tap in every hall, so all the tenants can have as much as they
+want, stove holes in most of the rooms, and you buy your coal by the
+bucket at the rate of about fourteen dollars a ton. Only three a week for
+a room, twelve dollars a month. Course, that's more per room than you'd
+pay on the upper West Side with steam heat, elevator service, and a
+Tennessee marble entrance hall thrown in; but the luxury of stowin' a
+whole fam'ly into one room comes high. Or maybe the landlords are doin'
+it to discourage poverty.
+
+"This is where the Tiscotts hang out, is it?" says I. "Shall I lug the
+basket for you, Miss Colliver?"
+
+"Dear no!" says she. "I never go into such places. I always send the
+things in by Hutchins. He will bring Mrs. Tiscott down and she will tell
+us about her troubles."
+
+"Let Hutchins sit on the box this time," says I, grabbin' up the basket.
+"Besides, I don't want any second hand report."
+
+"But surely," puts in Miss Ann, "you are not going into such a----"
+
+"Why not?" says I. "I begun livin' in one just like it."
+
+At that Miss Ann settles back under the robe, shrugs her shoulders into
+her furs, and waves for me to go ahead.
+
+Half a dozen kids on the doorstep told me in chorus where I'd find the
+Tiscotts, and after I've climbed up through four layers of stale cabbage
+and fried onion smells and felt my way along to the third door left from
+the top of the stairs, I makes my entrance as the special messenger of
+the ministerin' angel.
+
+It's the usual fam'ly-room tenement scene, such as the slum writers are
+so fond of describin' with the agony pedal down hard, only there ain't
+quite so much dirt and rags in evidence as they'd like. There's plenty,
+though. Also there's a lot of industry on view. Over by the light shaft
+window is Mrs. Tiscott, pumpin' a sewin' machine like she was entered in
+a twenty-four-hour endurance race, with a big bundle of raw materials at
+one side. In front of her is the oldest girl, sewin' buttons onto white
+goods; while the three younger kids, includin' the four-year-old boy, are
+spread out around the table in the middle of the room, pickin' nut meat
+into the dishpan.
+
+What's the use of tellin' how Mrs. Tiscott's stringy hair was bobbed up,
+or the kind of wrapper she had on? You wouldn't expect her to be sportin'
+a Sixth-ave. built pompadour, or a lingerie reception gown, would you?
+And where they don't have Swedish nursery governesses and porcelain tubs,
+the youngsters are apt not to be so----But maybe you'll relish your nut
+candy and walnut cake better if we skip some details about the state of
+the kids' hands. What's the odds where the contractors gets such work
+done, so long as they can shave their estimates?
+
+The really int'restin' exhibit in this fam'ly group, of course, is the
+bent shouldered, peaked faced girl who has humped herself almost double
+and is slappin' little pearl buttons on white goods at the rate of twenty
+a minute. And there's no deception about her being a fine case for Piny
+Crest. You don't even have to hear that bark of hers to know it.
+
+I stands there lookin' 'em over for a whole minute before anybody pays
+any attention to me. Then Mrs. Tiscott glances up and stops her machine.
+
+"Who's that?" she sings out. "What do you----Why! Well, of all things,
+Shorty McCabe, what brings you here?"
+
+"I'm playin' errand boy for the kind Miss Colliver," says I, holdin' up
+the basket.
+
+Is there a grand rush my way, and glad cries, and tears of joy? Nothing
+doing in the thankful hysterics line.
+
+"Oh!" says Mrs. Tiscott. "Well, let's see what it is this time." And she
+proceeds to dump out Miss Ann's contribution. There's a glass of
+gooseb'ry bar le duc, another of guava jelly, a little can of pate de
+foie gras, and half a dozen lady fingers.
+
+"Huh!" says she, shovin' the truck over on the window sill. As she's
+expressed my sentiments too, I lets it go at that.
+
+"Looks like one of your busy days," says I.
+
+"One of 'em!" says she with a snort, yankin' some more pieces out of the
+bundle and slippin' a fresh spool of cotton onto the machine.
+
+"What's the job?" says I.
+
+"Baby dresses," says she.
+
+"Good money in it?" says I.
+
+"Oh, sure!" says she. "Forty cents a dozen is good, ain't it?"
+
+"What noble merchant prince is so generous to you as all that?" says I.
+
+Mrs. Tiscott, she shoves over the sweater's shop tag so I can read for
+myself. Curious,--wa'n't it?--but it's the same firm whose name heads the
+Piny Crest subscription list. It's time to change the subject.
+
+"How's Annie?" says I, lookin' over at her.
+
+"Her cough don't seem to get any better," says Mrs. Tiscott. "She's had
+it since she had to quit work in the gas mantle shop. That's where she
+got it. The dust, you know."
+
+Yes, I knew. "How about Tony?" says I.
+
+"Tony!" says she, hard and bitter. "How do I know? He ain't been near us
+for a month past."
+
+"Sends in something of a Saturday, don't he?" says I.
+
+"Would I be lettin' the likes of her--that Miss Colliver--come here if he
+did," says she, "or workin' my eyes out like this?"
+
+"I thought Lizzie was in a store?" says I, noddin' towards the
+twelve-year-old girl at the nut pickin' table.
+
+"They always lays off half the bundle girls after Christmas," says Mrs.
+Tiscott. "That's why we don't see Tony regular every payday any more. He
+had the nerve to claim most of Lizzie's envelope."
+
+Then it was my turn to say "Huh!"
+
+"Why don't you have him up?" says I.
+
+"I'm a-scared," says she. "He's promised to break my head."
+
+"Think he would?" says I.
+
+"Yes," says she. "He's changed for the worse lately. He'd do it, all
+right, if I took him to court."
+
+"What if I stood ready to break his, eh?" says I. "Would that hold him?"
+
+Say, it wa'n't an elevatin' or cheerful conversation me and Mrs. Tiscott
+indulged in; but it was more or less to the point. She's some int'rested
+in the last proposition of mine, and when I adds a few frills about
+givin' a butcher's order and standin' for a sack of potatoes, she agrees
+to swear out the summons for Tony, providin' I'll hand it to him and be
+in court to scare the liver out of him when she talks to the Justice.
+
+"I hate to do it too," says she.
+
+"I know," says I; "but no meat or potatoes from me unless you do!"
+
+Sounds kind of harsh, don't it? You'd think I had a special grudge
+against Tony Tiscott too. But say, it's only because I know him and his
+kind so well. Nothing so peculiar about his case. Lots of them swell
+coachmen go that way, and in his day Tony has driven for some big people.
+Him and me got acquainted when he was wearin' the Twombley-Crane livery
+and drawin' down his sixty-five a month. That wa'n't so long ago,
+either.
+
+But it's hard waitin' hours on the box in cold weather, and they get to
+boozin'. When they hit it up too free they lose their places. After
+they've lost too many places they don't get any more. Meantime they've
+accumulated rheumatism and a fam'ly of kids. They've got lazy habits too,
+and new jobs don't come easy at forty. The next degree is loafin' around
+home permanent; but they ain't apt to find that so pleasant unless the
+wife is a good hustler. Most likely she rows it. So they chuck the fam'ly
+and drift off by themselves.
+
+That's the sort of chaps you'll find on the bread lines. But Tony hadn't
+quite got to that yet. I knew the corner beer joint where he did odd jobs
+as free lunch carver and window cleaner. Also I knew the line of talk I
+meant to hand out to him when I got my fingers on his collar.
+
+"Well?" says Miss Ann, when I comes back with the empty basket. "Did you
+find it an interesting case?"
+
+"Maybe that's the word," says I.
+
+"You saw the young woman, did you?" says she, "the one who----"
+
+"Sure," says I. "She's got it--bad."
+
+"Ah!" says Miss Ann, brightenin' up. "And now about that life
+membership!"
+
+"Well," says I, "the Piny Crest proposition is all right, and I'd like to
+see it started; but the fact is, Miss Colliver, if I should put my name
+down with all them big people I'd be runnin' out of my class."
+
+"You would be--er----Beg pardon," says she, "but I don't think I quite
+get you?"
+
+I'd suspected she wouldn't. But how was I going to dope out to her clear
+and straight what's so muddled up in my own head? You know, all about how
+Annie got her cough, and my feelin's towards the firms that's sweatin'
+the Tiscotts, from the baby up, and a lot of other things that I can't
+state.
+
+"As I said," goes on Miss Colliver, "I hardly think I understand."
+
+"Me either," says I. "My head's just a merry go round of whys and
+whatfors. But, as far as that fund of yours goes, I don't come in."
+
+"Humph!" says she. "That, at least, is quite definite. Home, Hutchins!"
+
+And there I am left on the curb lookin' foolish. Me, I don't ride back to
+the studio on any broadcloth cushions! Serves me right too, I expect. I
+feels mean and low down all the rest of the day, until I gets some
+satisfaction by huntin' up Tony and throwin' such a scare into him that
+he goes out and finds a porter's job and swears by all that's holy he'll
+take up with the fam'ly again.
+
+But think of the chance I passed up of breakin' into the high toned
+philanthropy class!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+CLASSING TUTWATER RIGHT
+
+
+Maybe that brass plate had been up in the lower hall of our buildin' a
+month or so before I takes any partic'lar notice of it. Even when I did
+get my eye on it one mornin' it only gets me mildly curious. "Tutwater,
+Director of Enterprises, Room 37, Fourth Floor," is all it says on it.
+
+"Huh!" thinks I. "That's goin' some for a nine by ten coop under the
+skylight."
+
+And with that I should have let it drop, I expect. But what's the use?
+Where's the fun of livin', if you can't mix in now and then. And you know
+how I am.
+
+Well, I comes pikin' up the stairs one day not long after discoverin' the
+sign, and here on my landin', right in front of the studio door, I finds
+this Greek that runs the towel supply wagon usin' up his entire United
+States vocabulary on a strange gent that he's backed into a corner.
+
+"Easy, there, easy, Mr. Poulykopolis!" says I. "This ain't any golf
+links, where you can smoke up the atmosphere with language like that.
+What's the row, anyway?"
+
+"No pay for five week; always nex' time, he tells, nex' time. Gr-r-r-r! I
+am strong to slap his life out, me!" says Pouly, thumpin' his chest and
+shakin' his black curls. They sure are fierce actin' citizens when
+they're excited, these Marathoners.
+
+"Yes, you would!" says I. "Slap his life out? G'wan! If he handed you one
+jolt you wouldn't stop runnin' for a week. How big is this national debt
+you say he owes you! How much?"
+
+"Five week!" says Pouly. "One dollar twenty-five."
+
+"Sufferin' Shylocks! All of that? Well, neighbor," says I to the strange
+gent, "has he stated it correct?"
+
+"Perfectly, sir, perfectly," says the party of the second part. "I do not
+deny the indebtedness in the least. I was merely trying to explain to
+this agent of cleanliness that, having been unable to get to the bank
+this morning, I should be obliged to----"
+
+"Why, of course," says I. "And in that case allow me to stake you to the
+price of peace. Here you are, Pouly. Now go out in the sun and cool
+off."
+
+"My dear sir," says the stranger, followin' me into the front office,
+"permit me to----"
+
+"Ah, never mind the resolutions!" says I, "It was worth riskin' that much
+for the sake of stoppin' the riot. Yes, I know you'll pay it back. Let's
+see, which is your floor?"
+
+"Top, sir," says he, "room 37."
+
+"Oh ho!" says I. "Then you're the enterprise director, Tutwater?"
+
+"And your very humble servant, sir," says he, bringin' his yellow Panama
+lid off with a full arm sweep, and throwin' one leg graceful over the
+back of a chair.
+
+At that I takes a closer look at him, and before I've got half through
+the inspection I've waved a sad farewell to that one twenty-five. From
+the frayed necktie down to the runover shoes, Tutwater is a walkin'
+example of the poor debtor's oath. The shiny seams of the black frock
+coat shouts of home pressin', and the limp way his white vest fits him
+suggests that he does his own laundry work in the washbowl. But he's
+clean shaved and clean brushed, and you can guess he's seen the time when
+he had such things done for him in style.
+
+Yet there ain't anything about the way Tutwater carries himself that
+signifies he's down and out. Not much! He's got the easy, confident swing
+to his shoulders that you might expect from a sport who'd just picked
+three winners runnin'.
+
+Rather a tall, fairly well built gent he is, with a good chest on him,
+and he has one of these eager, earnest faces that shows he's alive all
+the time. You wouldn't call him a handsome man, though, on account of the
+deep furrows down each side of his cheeks and the prominent jut to his
+eyebrows; but, somehow, when he gets to talkin', them eyes of his lights
+up so you forget the rest of his features.
+
+You've seen chaps like that. Gen'rally they're cranks of some kind or
+other, and when they ain't they're topliners. So I puts Tutwater down as
+belongin' to the crank class, and it wa'n't long before he begun livin'
+up to the description.
+
+"Director of enterprises, eh?" says I. "That's a new one on me."
+
+"Naturally," says he, wavin' his hand, "considering that I am first in
+the field. It is a profession I am creating."
+
+"So?" says I. "Well, how are you comin' on?"
+
+"Excellently, sir, excellently," says he. "I have found, for the first
+time in my somewhat varied career, full scope for what I am pleased to
+call my talents. Of course, the work of preparing the ground is a slow
+process, and the--er--ahem--the results have not as yet begun to
+materialize; but when Opportunity comes my way, sir----Aha! Ha, ha! Ho,
+ho! Well, then we shall see if Tutwater is not ready for her!"
+
+"I see," says I. "You with your hand on the knob, eh? It's an easy way of
+passin' the time too; that is, providin' such things as visits from the
+landlord and the towel collector don't worry you."
+
+"Not at all," says he. "Merely petty annoyances, thorns and pebbles in
+the pathways that lead to each high emprise."
+
+Say, it was almost like hearin' some one read po'try, listenin' to
+Tutwater talk; didn't mean much of anything, and sounded kind of good. At
+the end of half an hour I didn't know any more about his game than at the
+beginning. I gathered, though, that up to date it hadn't produced any
+ready cash, and that Tutwater had been on his uppers for some time.
+
+He was no grafter, though. That dollar twenty-five weighed heavier on his
+mind than it did on mine. He'd come in and talk about not bein' able to
+pay it back real regretful, without even hintin' at another touch. And
+little by little I got more light on Tutwater, includin' some details of
+what he called his career.
+
+There was a lot to it, so far as variety went. He'd been a hist'ry
+professor in some one-horse Western college, had tried his luck once up
+at Nome, had canvassed for a patent dishwasher through Michigan, done a
+ballyhoo trick outside a travelin' tent show, and had given bump lectures
+on the schoolhouse circuit.
+
+But his prize stunt was when he broke into the real estate business and
+laid out Eucalyptus City. That was out in Iowa somewhere, and he'd have
+cleaned up a cool million in money if the blamed trolley company hadn't
+built their line seven miles off in the other direction.
+
+It was gettin' this raw deal that convinces him the seed district wa'n't
+any place for a gent of his abilities. So he sold out his options on the
+site of Eucalyptus to a brick makin' concern, and beat it for 42d-st.
+with a capital of eighty-nine dollars cash and this great director scheme
+in his head. The brass plate had cost him four dollars and fifty cents,
+one month's rent of the upstairs coop had set him back thirty more, and
+he'd been livin' on the rest.
+
+"But look here, Tutty," says I, "just what sort of enterprise do you
+think you can direct?"
+
+"Any sort," says he, "anything, from running an international exposition,
+to putting an icecream parlor on a paying basis."
+
+"Don't you find your modesty something of a handicap?" says I.
+
+"Oh, I'm modest enough," he goes on. "For instance, I don't claim to
+invent new methods. I just adapt, pick out lines of proved success, and
+develop. Now, your business here--why, I could take hold of it, and in
+six months' time I'd have you occupying this entire building, with
+classes on every floor, a solarium on the roof, a corps of assistants
+working day and night shifts, and----"
+
+"Yes," I breaks in, "and then the Sheriff tackin' a foreclosure notice on
+the front door. I know how them boom methods work out, Tutty."
+
+But talk like that don't discourage Tutwater at all. He hangs onto his
+great scheme, keepin' his eyes and ears open, writin' letters when he can
+scare up money for postage, and insistin' that sooner or later he'll get
+his chance.
+
+"Here is the place for such chances to occur," says he, "and I know what
+I can do."
+
+"All right," says I; "but if I was you I'd trail down some pavin' job
+before the paper inner soles wore clean through."
+
+Course, how soon he hit the bread line wa'n't any funeral of mine
+exactly, and he was a hopeless case anyway; but somehow I got to likin'
+Tutwater more or less, and wishin' there was some plan of applyin' all
+that hot air of his in useful ways. I know of lots of stiffs with not
+half his brains that makes enough to ride around in taxis and order
+custom made shirts. He was gettin' seedier every week, though, and I had
+it straight from the agent that it was only a question of a few days
+before that brass plate would have to come down.
+
+And then, one noon as we was chinnin' here in the front office, in blows
+a portly, red faced, stary eyed old party who seems kind of dazed and
+uncertain as to where he's goin'. He looks first at Tutwater, and then at
+me.
+
+"Same to you and many of 'em," says I. "What'll it be?"
+
+"McCabe was the name," says he; "Professor McCabe, I think. I had it
+written down somewhere; but----"
+
+"Never mind," says I. "This is the shop and I'm the right party. What
+then?"
+
+"Perhaps you don't know me?" says he, explorin' his vest pockets sort of
+aimless with his fingers.
+
+"That's another good guess," says I; "but there's lots of time ahead of
+us."
+
+"I--I am--well, never mind the name," says he, brushin' one hand over his
+eyes. "I--I've mislaid it."
+
+"Eh?" says I.
+
+"It's no matter," says he, beginnin' to ramble on again. "But I own a
+great deal of property in the city, and my head has been troubling me
+lately, and I heard you could help me. I'll pay you well, you know.
+I--I'll give you the Brooklyn Bridge."
+
+"Wha-a-at's that?" I gasps. "Say, couldn't you make it Madison Square
+Garden? I could get rent out of that."
+
+"Well, if you prefer," says he, without crackin' a smile.
+
+"And this is Mr. Tutwater," says I. "He ought to be in on this. What'll
+yours be, Tutty?"
+
+Say, for a minute or so I couldn't make out whether the old party was
+really off his chump or what. He's a well dressed, prosperous lookin'
+gent, a good deal on the retired broker type, and I didn't know but he
+might be some friend of Pyramid Gordon's who'd strayed in here to hand me
+a josh before signin' on for a course of lessons.
+
+Next thing we knew, though, he slumps down in my desk chair, leans back
+comf'table, sighs sort of contented, smiles a batty, foolish smile at us,
+and then closes his eyes. Another second and he's snorin' away as
+peaceful as you please.
+
+"Well, say!" says I to Tutwater. "What do you think of that, now? Does he
+take this for a free lodgin' house, or Central Park? Looks like it was up
+to me to ring for the wagon."
+
+"Don't," says Tutwater. "The police handle these cases so stupidly. His
+mind has been affected, possibly from some shock, and he is physically
+exhausted."
+
+"He's all in, sure enough," says I; "but I can't have him sawin' wood
+here. Come, come, old scout," I hollers in his ear, "you'll have to camp
+somewhere else for this act!" I might as well have shouted into the safe,
+though. He never stirs.
+
+"The thing to do," says Tutwater, "is to discover his name, if we can,
+and then communicate with his friends or family."
+
+"Maybe you're right, Tutwater," says I. "And there's a bunch of letters
+in his inside pocket. Have a look."
+
+"They all seem to be addressed to J. T. Fargo, Esq.," says Tutwater.
+
+"What!" says I. "Say, you don't suppose our sleepin' friend here is old
+Jerry Fargo, do you? Look at the tailor's label inside the pocket. Eh?
+Jeremiah T. Fargo! Well, say, Tutty, that wa'n't such an idle dream of
+his, about givin' me the garden. Guess he could if he wanted to. Why,
+this old party owns more business blocks in this town than anybody I know
+of except the Astors. And I was for havin' him carted off to the station!
+Lemme see that 'phone directory."
+
+A minute more and I had the Fargo house on the wire.
+
+"Who are you?" says I. "Oh, Mr. Fargo's butler. Well, this is Shorty
+McCabe, and I want to talk to some of the fam'ly about the old man. Sure,
+old Jerry. He's here. Eh, his sister? She'll do. Yes, I'll hold the
+wire."
+
+I'd heard of that old maid sister of his, and how she was a queer old
+girl; but I didn't have any idea what a cold blooded proposition she was.
+Honest, she seemed put out and pettish because I'd called her up.
+
+"Jeremiah again, hey?" she squeaks. "Now, why on earth don't he stay in
+that sanatorium where I took him? This is the fourth time he's gone
+wandering off, and I've been sent for to hunt him up. You just tell him
+to trot back to it, that's all."
+
+"But see here, Miss Fargo," says I, "he's been trottin' around until you
+can't tell him anything! He's snoozin' away here in my office, dead to
+the world."
+
+"Well, I can't help it," says she. "I'm not going to be bothered with
+Jeremiah to-day. I've got two sick cats to attend to."
+
+"Cats!" says I. "Say, what do you----"
+
+"Oh, hush up!" says she. "Do anything you like with him!" And hanged if
+she don't bang up the receiver at that, and leave me standin' there at my
+end of the wire lookin' silly.
+
+"Talk about your freak plutes," says I to Tutwater, after I've explained
+the situation, "if this ain't the limit! Look what I've got on my hands
+now!"
+
+Tutwater, he's standin' there gazin' hard at old Jerry Fargo, his eyes
+shinin' and his thought works goin' at high pressure speed. All of a
+sudden he slaps me on the back and grips me by the hand. "Professor,"
+says he, "I have it! There is Opportunity!"
+
+"Eh?" says I. "Old Jerry? How?"
+
+"I shall cure him--restore his mind, make him normal," says Tutwater.
+
+"What do you know about brushin' out batty lofts?" says I.
+
+"Nothing at all," says he; "but I can find someone who does. You'll give
+me Fargo, won't you?"
+
+"Will I?" says I. "I'll advance you twenty to take him away, and charge
+it up to him. But what'll you do with him?"
+
+"Start the Tutwater Sanatorium for Deranged Millionaires," says he.
+"There's a fortune in it. May I leave him here for an hour or so?"
+
+"What for?" says I.
+
+"Until I can engage my chief of staff," says he.
+
+"Say, Tutty," says I, "do you really mean to put over a bluff the size of
+that?"
+
+"I've thought it all out," says he. "I can do it."
+
+"All right, blaze ahead," says I; "but I'm bettin' you land in the lockup
+inside of twenty-four hours."
+
+What do you think, though? By three o'clock he comes back, towin' a
+spruce, keen eyed young chap that he introduces as Dr. McWade. He's
+picked him up over at Bellevue, where he found him doin' practice work in
+the psychopathic ward. On the strength of that I doubles my grubstake,
+and he no sooner gets his hands on the two sawbucks than he starts for
+the street.
+
+"Here, here!" says I. "Where you headed for now?"
+
+And Tutwater explains how his first investment is to be a new silk lid,
+some patent leather shoes, and a silver headed walkin' stick.
+
+"Good business!" says I. "You'll need all the front you can carry."
+
+And while he's out shoppin' the Doc and me and Swifty Joe lugs the
+patient up to Tutwater's office without disturbin' his slumbers at all.
+
+Well, I didn't see much more of Tutwater that day, for from then on he
+was a mighty busy man; but as I was drillin' across to the Grand Central
+on my way home I gets a glimpse of him, sportin' a shiny hat and white
+spats, just rushin' important into a swell real estate office. About noon
+next day he stops in long enough to shake hands and say that it's all
+settled.
+
+"Tutwater Sanatorium is a fact," says he. "I have the lease in my
+pocket."
+
+"What is it, some abandoned farm up in Vermont?" says I.
+
+"Hardly," says Tutwater, smilin' quiet.
+
+"It's Cragswoods; beautiful modern buildings, formerly occupied as a
+boys' boarding school, fifteen acres of lovely grounds, finest location
+in Westchester County. We take possession to-day, with our patient."
+
+"But, say, Tutwater," says I, "how in blazes did you----"
+
+"I produced Fargo," says he. "Dr. McWade has him under complete control
+and his cure has already begun. It will be finished at Cragswoods. Run up
+and see us soon. There's the address. So long."
+
+Well, even after that, I couldn't believe he'd really pull it off.
+Course, I knew he could make Fargo's name go a long ways if he used it
+judicious; but to launch out and hire an estate worth half a million--why
+he was makin' a shoestring start look like a sure thing.
+
+And I was still listenin' for news of the grand crash, when I begun
+seein' these items in the papers about the Tutwater Sanatorium.
+"Millionaires Building a Stone Wall," one was headed, and it went on to
+tell how five New York plutes, all sufferin' from some nerve breakdown,
+was gettin' back health and clearin' up their brains by workin' like day
+laborers under the direction of the famous specialist, Dr. Clinton
+McWade.
+
+"Aha!" says I. "He's added a press agent to the staff, and he sure has
+got a bird!"
+
+Every few days there's a new story bobs up, better than the last, until I
+can't stand it any longer. I takes half a day off and goes up there to
+see if he's actually doin' it. And, say, when I walks into the main
+office over the Persian rug, there's the same old Tutwater. Course, he's
+slicked up some fancy, and he's smokin' a good cigar; but you couldn't
+improve any on the cheerful countenance he used to carry around, even
+when he was up against it hardest. What I asks to see first is the five
+millionaires at work.
+
+"Seven, you mean," says Tutwater. "Two more came yesterday. Step right
+out this way. There they are, seven; count 'em, seven. The eighth man is
+a practical stone mason who is bossing the job. It's a good stone wall
+they're building, too. We expect to run it along our entire frontage."
+
+"Got 'em mesmerized?" says I.
+
+"Not at all," says Tutwater. "It's part of the treatment. McWade's idea,
+you know. The vocational cure, we call it, and it works like a charm. Mr.
+Fargo is practically a well man now and could return to his home next
+week if he wished. As it is, he's so much interested in finishing that
+first section of the wall that he will probably stay the month out. You
+can see for yourself what they are doing."
+
+"Well, well!" says I. "Seven of 'em! What I don't understand, Tutwater,
+is how you got so many patients so soon. Where'd you get hold of 'em?"
+
+"To be quite frank with you, McCabe," says Tutwater, whisperin'
+confidential in my ear, "only three of them are genuine paying patients.
+That is why I have to charge them fifty dollars a day, you see."
+
+"And the others?" says I.
+
+"First class imitations, who are playing their parts very cleverly," says
+he. "Why not? I engaged them through a reliable theatrical agency."
+
+"Eh?" says I. "You salted the sanatorium? Tutwater, I take it all back.
+You're in the other class, and I'm backin' you after this for whatever
+entry you want to make."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+HOW HERMY PUT IT OVER
+
+
+What do you know about luck, eh? Say, there was a time when I banked
+heavy on such things as four-leaf clovers, and the humpback touch, and
+dodgin' ladders, and keepin' my fingers crossed after gettin' an X-ray
+stare. The longer I watch the game, though, the less I think of the luck
+proposition as a chart for explainin' why some gets in on the ground
+floor, while others are dropped through the coal chute.
+
+Now look at the latest returns on the career of my old grammar school
+chum, Snick Butters. Maybe you don't remember my mentionin' him before.
+Yes? No? It don't matter. He's the sporty young gent that's mortgaged his
+memorial window to me so many times,--you know, the phony lamp he can do
+such stunts with.
+
+He's a smooth boy, Snick is,--too smooth, I used to tell him,--and always
+full of schemes for avoidin' real work. For a year or so past he's held
+the hot air chair on the front end of one of these sightseein' chariots,
+cheerin' the out of town buyers and wheat belt tourists with the flippest
+line of skyscraper statistics handed out through any megaphone in town.
+They tell me that when Snick would fix his fake eye on the sidewalk, and
+roll the good one up at the Metropolitan tower, he'd have his passengers
+so dizzy they'd grab one another to keep from fallin' off the wagon.
+
+Yes, I always did find Snick's comp'ny entertainin', and if it hadn't
+been more or less expensive,--a visit always meanin' a touch with him,--I
+expect I'd been better posted on what he was up to. As it is, I ain't
+enjoyed the luxury of seein' Snick for a good many months; when here the
+other afternoon, just as I was thinking of startin' for home, the studio
+door opens, and in blows a couple of gents, one being a stranger, and the
+other this Mr. Butters.
+
+Now, usually Snick's a fancy dresser, no matter who he owes for it. He'll
+quit eatin' any time, or do the camel act, or even give up his
+cigarettes; but if the gents' furnishing shops are showin' something new
+in the line of violet socks or alligator skin vests, Snick's got to sport
+the first ones sprung on Broadway.
+
+So, seein' him show up with fringes on his cuffs, a pair of runover tan
+shoes, and wearin' his uniform cap off duty, I can't help feelin' some
+shocked, or wonderin' how much more'n a five-spot I'll be out by the time
+he leaves. It was some relief, though, to see that the glass eye was
+still in place, and know I wouldn't be called on to redeem the ticket on
+that, anyway.
+
+"Hello, Snick!" says I. "Glad you came in,--I was just going. Hope you
+don't mind my lockin' the safe? No offense, you know."
+
+"Can it, Shorty," says he. "There's no brace coming this time."
+
+"Eh?" says I. "Once more with that last, and say it slower, so I can let
+it sink in."
+
+"Don't kid," says he. "This is straight business."
+
+"Oh!" says I. "Well, that does sound serious. In that case, who's
+your--er----Did he come in with you?"
+
+I thought he did at first; but he seems so little int'rested in either
+Snick or me that I wa'n't sure but he just wandered in because he saw the
+door open. He's a high, well built, fairly good lookin' chap, dressed
+neat and quiet in black; and if it wa'n't for the sort of aimless,
+wanderin' look in his eyes, you might have suspected he was somebody in
+partic'lar.
+
+"Oh, him!" says Snick, shootin' a careless glance over his shoulder.
+"Yes, of course he's with me. It's him I want to talk to you about."
+
+"Well," says I, "don't he--er----Is it a dummy, or a live one? Got a
+name, ain't it?"
+
+"Why, sure!" says Snick. "That's Hermy. Hey you, Hermy, shake hands with
+Professor McCabe!"
+
+"Howdy," says I, makin' ready to pass the grip. But Hermy ain't in a
+sociable mood, it seems.
+
+"Oh, bother!" says he, lookin' around kind of disgusted and not noticin'
+the welcomin' hand at all. "I don't want to stay here. I ought to be
+home, dressing for dinner."
+
+And say, that gives you about as much idea of the way he said it, as
+you'd get of an oil paintin' from seein' a blueprint. I can't put in the
+pettish shoulder wiggle that goes with it, or make my voice behave like
+his did. It was the most ladylike voice I ever heard come from a
+heavyweight; one of these reg'lar "Oh-fudge-Lizzie-I-dropped-my-gum"
+voices. And him with a chest on him like a swell front mahog'ny bureau!
+
+"Splash!" says I. "You mean, mean thing! So there!"
+
+"Don't mind what he says at all, Shorty," says Snick. "You wait! I'll fix
+him!" and with that he walks up to Hermy, shakes his finger under his
+nose, and proceeds to lay him out. "Now what did I tell you; eh, Hermy?"
+says Snick. "One lump of sugar in your tea--no pie--and locked in your
+room at eight-thirty. Oh, I mean it! You're here to behave yourself.
+Understand? Take your fingers off that necktie! Don't slouch against the
+wall there, either! You might get your coat dusty. Dress for dinner!
+Didn't I wait fifteen minutes while you fussed with your hair? And do you
+think you're going to go through all that again? You're dressed for
+dinner, I tell you! But you don't get a bit unless you do as you're told!
+Hear?"
+
+"Ye-e-es, sir," sniffles Hermy.
+
+Honest, it was a little the oddest exhibition I ever saw. Why, he would
+make two of Snick, this Hermy would, and he has a pair of shoulders like
+a truck horse. Don't ever talk to me about chins again, either! Hermy has
+chin enough for a trust buster; but that's all the good it seems to do
+him.
+
+"You ain't cast the hypnotic spell over him, have you, Snick?" says I.
+
+"Hypnotic nothing!" says Snick. "That ain't a man; it's only a music
+box!"
+
+"A which?" says I.
+
+"Barytone," says Snick. "Say, did you ever hear Bonci or Caruso or any of
+that mob warble? No? Well, then I'll have to tell you. Look at Hermy
+there. Take a good long gaze at him. And--sh-h-h! After he's had one show
+at the Metropolitan he'll have that whole bunch carryin' spears."
+
+"Is this something you dreamed, Snick," says I, "or is it a sample of
+your megaphone talk?"
+
+"You don't believe it, of course," says he. "That's what I brought him up
+here for. Hermy, turn on the Toreador business!"
+
+"Eh?" says I; then I sees Hermy gettin' into position to cut loose. "Back
+up there! Shut it off! What do I know about judgin' singers on the hoof?
+Why, he might be all you say, or as bad as I'd be willin' to bet; but I
+wouldn't know it. And what odds does it make to me, one way or another?"
+
+"I know, Shorty," says Snick, earnest and pleadin'; "but you're my last
+hope. I've simply got to convince you."
+
+"Sorry, Snick," says I; "but this ain't my day for tryin' out barytones.
+Besides, I got to catch a train."
+
+"All right," says Snick. "Then we'll trot along with you while I tell you
+about Hermy. Honest, Shorty, you've got to hear it!"
+
+"If it's as desperate as all that," says I, "spiel away."
+
+And of all the plunges I ever knew Snick Butters to make,--and he sure is
+the dead gamest sport I ever ran across,--this one that he owns up to
+takin' on Hermy had all his past performances put in the piker class.
+
+Accordin' to the way he deals it out, Snick had first discovered Hermy
+about a year ago, found him doin' the tray balancin' act in a porcelain
+lined three-off-and-draw-one parlor down on Seventh-ave. He was doin' it
+bad, too,--gettin' the orders mixed, and spillin' soup on the customers,
+and passin' out wrong checks, and havin' the boss worked up to the
+assassination point.
+
+But Hermy didn't even know enough to be discouraged. He kept right on
+singsongin' out his orders down the shaft, as cheerful as you please:
+"Sausage and mashed, two on the wheats, one piece of punk, and two mince,
+and let 'em come in a hurry! Silver!" You know how they do it in them C.
+B. & Q. places? Yes, corned beef and cabbage joints. With sixty or
+seventy people in a forty by twenty-five room, and the dish washers
+slammin' crockery regardless, you got to holler out if you want the chef
+to hear. Hermy wa'n't much on the shout, so he sang his orders. And it
+was this that gave Snick his pipedream.
+
+"Now you know I've done more or less tra-la-la-work myself," says he,
+"and the season I spent on the road as one of the merry villagers with an
+Erminie outfit put me wise to a few things. Course, this open air
+lecturing has spoiled my pipes for fair; but I've got my ear left,
+haven't I? And say, Shorty, the minute I heard that voice of Hermy's I
+knew he was the goods."
+
+So what does he do but go back later, after the noon rush was over, and
+get Hermy to tell him the story of his life. It wa'n't what you'd call
+thrillin'. All there was to it was that Hermy was a double orphan who'd
+been brought up in Bridgeport, Conn., by an uncle who was a dancin'
+professor. The only thing that saved Hermy from a bench in the brass
+works was his knack for poundin' out twosteps and waltzes on the piano;
+but at that it seems he was such a soft head he couldn't keep from
+watchin' the girls on the floor and striking wrong notes. Then there was
+trouble with uncle. Snick didn't get the full details of the row, or what
+brought it to a head; but anyway Hermy was fired from the academy and
+fin'lly drifted to New York, where he'd been close up against the bread
+line ever since.
+
+"And when I found how he just naturally ate up music," says Snick, "and
+how he'd had some training in a boy choir, and what a range he had, I
+says to him, 'Hermy,' says I, 'you come with me!' First I blows in ten
+good hard dollars getting a lawyer to draw up a contract. I thought it
+all out by myself; but I wanted the whereases put in right. And it's a
+peach. It bound me to find board and lodging and provide clothes and
+incidentals for Hermy for the period of one year; and in consideration of
+which, and all that, I am to be the manager and sole business
+representative of said Hermy for the term of fifteen years from date,
+entitled to a fair and equal division of whatsoever profits, salary, or
+emoluments which may be received by the party of the second part, payable
+to me, my heirs, or assigns forever. And there I am, Shorty. I've done
+it! And I'm going to stay with it!"
+
+"What!" says I. "You don't mean to say you've invested a year's board and
+lodgin' and expenses in--in that?" and I gazes once more at this hundred
+and eighty-pound wrist slapper, who is standin' there in front of the
+mirror pattin' down a stray lock.
+
+"That's what I've done," says Snick, shovin' his hands in his pockets and
+lookin' at the exhibit like he was proud of it.
+
+"But how the--where in blazes did you get it?" says I.
+
+"Squeezed it out," says Snick; "out of myself, too. And you know me. I
+always was as good to myself as other folks would let me. But all that
+had to be changed. It come hard, I admit, and it cost more'n I figured
+on. Why, some of his voice culture lessons set me back ten a throw. Think
+of that! He's had 'em, though. And me? Well, I've lived on one meal a
+day. I've done a double trick: on the wagon day times, night cashier in a
+drug store from nine till two a.m. I've cut out theaters, cigarettes, and
+drinks. I've made my old clothes last over, and I've pinched the dimes
+and nickels so hard my thumbprints would look like treasury dies. But
+we've got the goods, Shorty. Hermy may be the mushiest, sappiest, hen
+brained specimen of a man you ever saw; but when it comes to being a high
+class grand opera barytone, he's the kid! And little Percival here is his
+manager and has the power of attorney that will fix him for keeps if I
+know anything!"
+
+"Ye-e-es?" says I. "Reminds me some of the time when you was backin'
+Doughnut to win the Suburban. Recollect how hard you scraped to get the
+two-fifty you put down on Doughnut at thirty to one, and how hard you
+begged me to jump in and pull out a bale of easy money? Let's see; did
+the skate finish tenth, or did he fall through the hole in his name?"
+
+"Ah, say!" says Snick. "Don't go digging that up now. That was sport.
+This is straight business, on the level, and I ain't asking you to put up
+a cent."
+
+"Well, what then?" says I.
+
+Would you guess it? He wants me to book Hermy for a private exhibition
+before some of my swell friends! All I've got to do is to persuade some
+of 'em to give a little musicale, and then spring this nutmeg wonder on
+the box holdin' set without warnin'.
+
+"If he was a Russki with long hair," says I, "or even a fiddlin' Czech,
+they might stand for it; but to ask 'em to listen to a domestic unknown
+from Bridgeport, Conn.----I wouldn't have the nerve, Snick. Why not take
+him around to the concert agencies first?"
+
+"Bah!" says Snick. "Haven't we worn out the settees in the agency
+offices? What do they know about good barytone voices? All they judge by
+is press clippings and lists of past engagements. Now, your people would
+know. He'd have 'em going in two minutes, and they'd spread the news
+afterwards. Then we'd have the agents coming to us. See?"
+
+Course I couldn't help gettin' int'rested in this long shot of Snick's,
+even if I don't take any stock in his judgment; but I tries to explain
+that while I mix more or less with classy folks, I don't exactly keep
+their datebooks for 'em, or provide talent for their after dinner
+stunts.
+
+That don't head off Snick, though. He says I'm the only link between him
+and the set he wants to reach, and he just can't take no for an answer.
+He says he'll depend on me for a date for next Wednesday night.
+
+"Why Wednesday?" says I. "Wouldn't Thursday or Friday do as well?"
+
+"No," says he. "That's Frenchy's only night off from the cafe, and it's
+his dress suit Hermy's got to wear. It'll be some tight across the back;
+but it's the biggest one I can get the loan of without paying rent."
+
+Well, I tells Snick I'll see what can be done, and when I gets home I
+puts the problem up to Sadie. Maybe if she'd had a look at Hermy she'd
+taken more interest; but as it is she says she don't see how I can afford
+to run the chances of handin' out a lemon, even if there was an op'nin'.
+Then again, so many of our friends were at Palm Beach just now, and those
+who'd come back were so busy givin' Lent bridge parties, that the chances
+of workin' in a dark horse barytone was mighty slim. She'd think it over,
+though, and see if maybe something can't be done.
+
+So that's the best I can give Snick when he shows up in the mornin', and
+it was the same every day that week. I was kind of sorry for Snick, and
+was almost on the point of luggin' him and his discovery out to the house
+and askin' in a few of the neighbors, when Sadie tells me that the
+Purdy-Pells are back from Florida and are goin' to open their town house
+with some kind of happy jinks Wednesday night, and that we're invited.
+
+Course, that knocks out my scheme. I'd passed the sad news on to Snick;
+and it was near noon Wednesday, when I'm called up on the 'phone by
+Sadie. Seems that Mrs. Purdy-Pell had signed a lady harpist and a refined
+monologue artist to fill in the gap between coffee and bridge, and the
+lady harper had scratched her entry on account of a bad case of grip. So
+couldn't I find my friend Mr. Butters and get him to produce his singer?
+The case had been stated to Mrs. Purdy-Pell, and she was willin' to take
+the risk.
+
+"All right," says I. "But it's all up to her, don't you forget."
+
+With that I chases down to Madison Square, catches Snick just startin'
+out with a load of neck stretchers, gives him the number, and tells him
+to show up prompt at nine-thirty. And I wish you could have seen the joy
+that spread over his homely face. Even the store eye seemed to be
+sparklin' brighter'n ever.
+
+Was he there? Why, as we goes in to dinner at eight o'clock, I catches
+sight of him and Hermy holdin' down chairs in the reception room. Well,
+you know how they pull off them affairs. After they've stowed away about
+eleventeen courses, from grapefruit and sherry to demitasse and
+benedictine, them that can leave the table without wheel chairs wanders
+out into the front rooms, and the men light up fresh perfectos and hunt
+for the smokin' den, and the women get together in bunches and exchange
+polite knocks. And in the midst of all that some one drifts casually up
+to the concert grand and cuts loose. That was about the programme in this
+case.
+
+Hermy was all primed for his cue, and when Mrs. Purdy-Pell gives the nod
+I sees Snick push him through the door, and in another minute the thing
+is on. The waiter's uniform was a tight fit, all right; for it stretches
+across his shoulders like a drumhead. And the shirt studs wa'n't mates,
+and the collar was one of them saw edged laundry veterans. But the
+general effect was good, and Hermy don't seem to mind them trifles at
+all. He stands up there lookin' big and handsome, simpers and smiles
+around the room a few times, giggles a few at the young lady who'd
+volunteered to do the ivory punishing, and then fin'lly he gets under way
+with the Toreador song.
+
+As I say, when it comes to gems from Carmen, I'm no judge; but this stab
+of Hermy's strikes me from the start as a mighty good attempt. He makes a
+smooth, easy get-away, and he strikes a swingin', steady gait at the
+quarter, and when he comes to puttin' over the deep, rollin' chest notes
+I has feelin's down under the first dinner layer like I'd swallowed a
+small thunder storm. Honest, when he fairly got down to business and
+hittin' it up in earnest, he had me on my toes, and by the look on
+Sadie's face I knew that our friend Hermy was going some.
+
+But was all the others standin' around with their mouths open, drinkin'
+it in? Anything but! You see, some late comers had arrived, and they'd
+brought bulletins of something rich and juicy that had just happened in
+the alimony crowd,--I expect the event will figure on the court calendars
+later,--and they're so busy passin' on the details to willin' ears, that
+Hermy wa'n't disturbin' 'em at all. As a matter of fact, not one in ten
+of the bunch knew whether he was makin' a noise like a bullfighter or a
+line-up man.
+
+I can't help takin' a squint around at Snick, who's peekin' in through
+the draperies. And say, he's all but tearin' his hair. It was tough, when
+you come to think of it. Here he'd put his whole stack of blues on this
+performance, and the audience wa'n't payin' any more attention to it than
+to the rattle of cabs on the avenue.
+
+Hermy has most got to the final spasm, and it's about all over, when, as
+a last straw, some sort of disturbance breaks out in the front hall.
+First off I thought it must be Snick Butters throwin' a fit; but then I
+hears a voice that ain't his, and as I glances out I sees the Purdy-Pell
+butler havin' a rough house argument with a black whiskered gent in
+evenin' clothes and a Paris model silk lid. Course, everyone hears the
+rumpus, and there's a grand rush, some to get away, and others to see
+what's doin'.
+
+"Let me in! I demand entrance! It must be!" howls the gent, while the
+butler tries to tell him he's got to give up his card first.
+
+And next thing I know Snick has lit on the butler's back to pull him off,
+and the three are havin' a fine mix-up, when Mr. Purdy-Pell comes boltin'
+out, and I've just offered to bounce any of 'em that he'll point out,
+when all of a sudden he recognizes the party behind the brunette
+lambrequins.
+
+"Why--why," says he, "what does this mean, Mr. ----"
+
+"Pardon," says the gent, puffin' and pushin' to the front. "I intrude,
+yes? A thousand pardons. But I will explain. Next door I am dining--there
+is a window open--I hear that wonderful voice. Ah! that marvelous voice!
+Of what is the name of this artist? Yes? I demand! I implore! Ah, I must
+know instantly, sir!"
+
+Well, you know who it was. There's only one grand opera Napoleon with
+black whiskers who does things in that way, and makes good every trip.
+It's him, all right. And if he don't know a barytone voice, who does?
+
+Inside of four minutes him and Hermy and Snick was bunched around the
+libr'y table, chewin' over the terms of the contract, and next season
+you'll read the name of a new soloist in letters four foot high.
+
+Say, I was up to see Mr. Butters in his new suite of rooms at the St.
+Swithin, where it never rains but it pours. He'd held out for a big
+advance, and he'd got it. Also he'd invested part of it in some of the
+giddiest raiment them theatrical clothing houses can supply. While a
+manicure was busy puttin' a gloss finish on his nails, he has his
+Mongolian valet display the rest of his wardrobe, as far as he'd laid it
+in.
+
+"Did I get let in wrong on the Hermy proposition, eh?" says he. "How
+about stayin' with your luck till it turns? Any reminder of the Doughnut
+incident in this? What?"
+
+Do I debate the subject? Not me! I just slaps Snick on the back and
+wishes him joy. If he wants to credit it all up to a rabbit's foot, or a
+clover leaf, I'm willin' to let him. But say, from where I stand, it
+looks to me as if nerve and grit played some part in it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+JOY RIDING WITH AUNTY
+
+
+Was I? Then I must have been thinking of Dyke Mallory. And say, I don't
+know how you feel about it, but I figure that anybody who can supply me
+with a hang-over grin good for three days ain't lived in vain. Whatever
+it's worth, I'm on his books for just that much.
+
+I'll admit, too, that this Dyckman chap ain't apt to get many credits by
+the sweat of his brow or the fag of his brain. There's plenty of folks
+would class him as so much plain nuisance, and I have it from him that
+his own fam'ly puts it even stronger. That's one of his specialties,
+confidin' to strangers how unpop'lar he is at home. Why, he hadn't been
+to the studio more'n twice, and I'd just got next to the fact that he was
+a son of Mr. Craig Mallory, and was suggestin' a quarterly account for
+him, when he gives me the warnin' signal.
+
+"Don't!" says he. "I draw my allowance the fifteenth, and unless you get
+it away from me before the twentieth you might as well tear up the bill.
+No use sending it to the pater, either. He'd renig."
+
+"Handing you a few practical hints along the economy line, eh?" says I.
+
+"Worse than that," says Dyke. "It's a part of my penance for being the
+Great Disappointment. The whole family is down on me. Guess you don't
+know about my Aunt Elvira?"
+
+I didn't, and there was no special reason why I should; but before I can
+throw the switch Dyke has got the deputy sheriff grip on the Mallorys'
+private skeleton and is holdin' him up and explainin' his anatomy.
+
+Now, from all I'd ever seen or heard, I'd always supposed Mr. Craig
+Mallory to be one of the safety vault crowd. Course, they live at Number
+4 West; but that's near enough to the avenue for one of the old fam'lies.
+And when you find a man who puts in his time as chairman of regatta
+committees, and judgin' hackneys, and actin' as vice president of a swell
+club, you're apt to rate him in the seven figure bunch, at least.
+Accordin' to Duke, though, the Mallory income needed as much stretchin'
+as the pay of a twenty-dollar clothing clerk tryin' to live in a
+thirty-five dollar flat. And this is the burg where you can be as hard up
+on fifty thousand a year as on five hundred!
+
+The one thing the Mallorys had to look forward to was the time when Aunt
+Elvira would trade her sealskin sack for a robe of glory and loosen up on
+her real estate. She was near seventy, Aunty was, and when she first went
+out to live at the old country place, up beyond Fort George, it was a
+good half-day's trip down to 23d-st. But she went right on livin', and
+New York kept right on growin', and now she owns a cow pasture two blocks
+from a subway station, and raises potatoes on land worth a thousand
+dollars a front foot.
+
+Bein' of different tastes and habits, her and Brother Craig never got
+along together very well, and there was years when each of 'em tried to
+forget that the other existed. When little Dyckman came, though, the
+frost was melted. She hadn't paid any attention to the girls; but a boy
+was diff'rent. Never havin' had a son of her own to boss around and brag
+about, she took it out on Dyke. A nice, pious old lady, Aunt Elvira was;
+and the mere fact that little Dyke seemed to fancy the taste of a morocco
+covered New Testament she presented to him on his third birthday settled
+his future in her mind.
+
+"He shall be a Bishop!" says she, and hints that accordin' as Dyckman
+shows progress along that line she intends loadin' him up with worldly
+goods.
+
+Up to the age of fifteen, Dyke gives a fair imitation of a Bishop in the
+bud. He's a light haired, pleasant spoken youth, who stands well with his
+Sunday school teacher and repeats passages from the Psalms for Aunt
+Elvira when she comes down to inflict her annual visit.
+
+But from then on the bulletins wa'n't so favor'ble. At the diff'rent
+prep. schools where he was tried out he appeared to be too much of a live
+one to make much headway with the dead languages. About the only subjects
+he led his class in was hazing and football and buildin' bonfires of the
+school furniture. Being expelled got to be so common with him that
+towards the last he didn't stop to unpack his trunk.
+
+Not that these harrowin' details was passed on to Aunt Elvira. The
+Mallorys begun by doctorin' the returns, and they developed into reg'lar
+experts at the game of representin' to Aunty what a sainted little fellow
+Dyke was growin' to be. The more practice they got, the harder their
+imaginations was worked; for by the time Dyckman was strugglin' through
+his last year at college he'd got to be such a full blown hickey boy that
+he'd have been spotted for a sport in a blind asylum.
+
+So they had to invent one excuse after another to keep Aunt Elvira from
+seein' him, all the while givin' her tales about how he was soon to break
+into the divinity school; hoping, of course, that Aunty would get tired
+of waitin' and begin to unbelt.
+
+"They overdid it, that's all," says Dyke. "Healthy looking Bishop I'd
+make! What?"
+
+"You ain't got just the style for a right reverend, that's a fact," says
+I.
+
+Which wa'n't any wild statement of the case, either. He's a tall, loose
+jointed, slope shouldered young gent, with a long, narrow face, gen'rally
+ornamented by a cigarette; and he has his straw colored hair cut plush.
+His costume is neat but expensive,--double reefed trousers, wide soled
+shoes, and a green yodler's hat with the bow on behind. He talks with the
+kind of English accent they pick up at New Haven, and when he's in repose
+he tries to let on he's so bored with life that he's in danger of fallin'
+asleep any minute.
+
+Judgin' from Dyke's past performances, though, there wa'n't many
+somnolent hours in it. But in spite of all the trouble he'd got into, I
+couldn't figure him out as anything more'n playful. Course, rough housin'
+in rathskellers until they called out the reserves, and turnin' the fire
+hose on a vaudeville artist from a box, and runnin' wild with a captured
+trolley car wa'n't what you might call innocent boyishness; but, after
+all, there wa'n't anything real vicious about Dyke.
+
+Playful states it. Give him a high powered tourin' car, with a bunch of
+eight or nine from the football squad aboard, and he liked to tear around
+the State of Connecticut burnin' the midnight gasolene and lullin' the
+villagers to sleep with the Boula-Boula song. Perfectly harmless fun--if
+the highways was kept clear. All the frat crowd said he was a good
+fellow, and it was a shame to bar him out from takin' a degree just on
+account of his layin' down on a few exams. But that's what the faculty
+did, and the folks at home was wild.
+
+Dyke had been back and on the unclassified list for nearly a year now,
+and the prospects of his breakin' into the divinity school was growin'
+worse every day. He'd jollied Mr. Mallory into lettin' him have a little
+two-cylinder roadster, and his only real pleasure in life was when he
+could load a few old grads on the runnin' board and go off for a joy
+ride.
+
+But after the old man had spent the cost of a new machine in police court
+fines and repairs, even this little diversion was yanked away. The last
+broken axle had done the business, and the nearest Dyke could come to
+real enjoyment was when he had the price to charter a pink taxi and
+inspire the chauffeur with highballs enough so he'd throw her wide open
+on the way back.
+
+Not bein' responsible for Dyke, I didn't mind having him around. I kind
+of enjoyed the cheerful way he had of tellin' about the fam'ly boycott on
+him, and every time I thinks of Aunt Elvira still havin' him framed up
+for a comer in the Bishop class, I has to smile.
+
+You see, having gone so far with their fairy tales, the Mallorys never
+got a chance to hedge; and, accordin' to Dyke, they was all scared stiff
+for fear she'd dig up the facts some day, and make a new will leavin' her
+rentroll to the foreign missions society.
+
+Maybe it was because I took more or less interest in him, but perhaps it
+was just because he wanted company and I happened to be handy; anyway,
+here the other afternoon Dyke comes poundin' up the stairs two at a time,
+rushes into the front office, and grabs me by the arm.
+
+"Come on, Shorty!" says he. "Something fruity is on the schedule."
+
+"Hope it don't taste like a lemon," says I. "What's the grand rush?"
+
+"Aunt Elvira is coming down, and she's called for me," says Dyke,
+grinnin' wide. "She must suspect something; for she sent word that if I
+wasn't on hand this time she'd never come again. What do you think of
+that?"
+
+"Aunty's got a treat in store for her, eh?" says I, givin' Dyke the
+wink.
+
+"I should gurgle!" says he. "I'm good and tired of this fake Bishop
+business, and if I don't jolt the old lady out of that nonsense, I'm a
+duffer. You can help some, I guess. Come on."
+
+Well, I didn't exactly like the idea of mixin' up with a fam'ly surprise
+party like that; but Dyke is so anxious for me to go along, and he gets
+me so curious to see what'll happen at the reunion, that I fin'lly grabs
+my coat and hat, and out we trails.
+
+It seems that Aunt Elvira is due at the Grand Central. Never having tried
+the subway, she's come to town just as she used to thirty years ago:
+drivin' to Kingsbridge station, and takin' a Harlem river local down. We
+finds the whole fam'ly, includin' Mr. and Mrs. Craig Mallory, and their
+two married daughters, waitin' outside the gates, with the gloom about
+'em so thick you'd almost think it was a sea turn.
+
+From the chilly looks they shot at Dyke you could tell just how they'd
+forecasted the result when Aunt Elvira got him all sized up; for, with
+his collar turned up and his green hat slouched, he looks as much like a
+divinity student as a bulldog looks like Mary's lamb. And they can almost
+see them blocks of apartment houses bein' handed over to the heathen.
+
+As for Mr. Craig Mallory, he never so much as gives his only son a second
+glance, but turns his back and stands there, twistin' the ends of his
+close cropped gray mustache, and tryin' to look like he wa'n't concerned
+at all. Good old sport, Craig,--one of the kind that can sit behind a
+pair of sevens and raise the opener out of his socks. Lucky for his
+nerves he didn't have to wait long. Pretty soon in pulls the train, and
+the folks from Yonkers and Tarrytown begin to file past.
+
+[Illustration: "Most of Auntie was obscured by the luggage she carries"]
+
+"There she is!" whispers Dyke, givin' me the nudge. "That's Aunt Elvira,
+with her bonnet on one ear."
+
+It's one of the few black velvet lids of the 1869 model still in
+captivity, ornamented with a bunch of indigo tinted violets, and kept
+from bein' lost off altogether by purple strings tied under the chin.
+Most of the rest of Aunty was obscured by the hand luggage she carries,
+which includes four assorted parcels done up in wrappin' paper, and a
+big, brass wire cage holdin' a ragged lookin' gray parrot that was tryin'
+to stick his bill through the bars and sample the passersby.
+
+She's a wrinkled faced, but well colored and hearty lookin' old girl, and
+the eyes that peeks out under the rim of the velvet lid is as keen and
+shrewd as a squirrel's. Whatever else she might be, it was plain Aunt
+Elvira wa'n't feeble minded. Behind her comes a couple of station
+porters, one cartin' an old-time black valise, and the other with his
+arms wrapped around a full sized featherbed in a blue and white tick.
+
+"Gee!" says I. "Aunty carries her own scenery with her, don't she?"
+
+"That's Bismarck in the cage," says Dyke.
+
+"How Bizzy has changed!" says I. "But why the feather mattress?"
+
+"She won't sleep on anything else," says he. "Watch how pleased my
+sisters look. They just love this--not! But she insists on having the
+whole family here to meet her."
+
+I must say for Mr. Mallory that he stood it well, a heavy swell like him
+givin' the glad hand in public to a quaint old freak like that. But Aunt
+Elvira don't waste much time swappin' fam'ly greetin's.
+
+"Where is Dyckman?" says she, settin' her chin for trouble. "Isn't he
+here?"
+
+"Oh, yes," says Mr. Mallory. "Right over there," and he points his cane
+handle to where Dyke and me are grouped on the side lines.
+
+"Here, hold Bismarck!" says Aunty, jammin' the brass cage into Mr.
+Mallory's arm, and with that she pikes straight over to us. I never
+mistrusted she'd be in any doubt as to which was which, until I sees her
+look from one to the other, kind of waverin'. No wonder, though; for,
+from the descriptions she'd had, neither of us came up to the divinity
+student specifications. Yet it was something of a shock when she fixes
+them sharp old lamps on me and says:
+
+"Land to goodness! You?"
+
+"Reverse!" says I. "Here's the guilty party," and I pushes Dyke to the
+front.
+
+She don't gasp, or go up in the air, or throw any kind of a fit, like I
+expected. As she looks him over careful, from the sporty hat to the wide
+soled shoes, I notices her eyes twinkle.
+
+"Hum! I thought as much!" says she. "Craig always could lie easier than
+he could tell the truth. Young man, you don't look to me like a person
+called to hold orders."
+
+"Glad of it, Aunty," says Dyke, with a grin. "I don't feel that way."
+
+"And you don't look as if you had broken down your health studying for
+the ministry, either!" she goes on.
+
+"You don't mean to say they filled you up with that?" says Dyke.
+"Hee-haw!"
+
+"Huh!" says Aunty. "It's a joke, is it? At least you're not afraid to
+tell the truth. I guess I want to have a little private talk with you.
+Who's this other young man?"
+
+"This is Professor McCabe," says Dyke. "He's a friend of mine."
+
+"Let him come along, too," says Aunty. "Perhaps he can supply what you
+leave out."
+
+And, say, the old girl knew what she wanted and when she wanted it, all
+right! There was no bunkoin' her out of it, either. Mr. Mallory leads her
+out to his brougham and does his best to shoo her in with him and Mrs.
+Mallory and away from Dyke; but it was no go.
+
+"I will ride up with Dyckman and his friend," says she. "And I want to go
+in one of those new automobile cabs I've heard so much about."
+
+"Good! We'll get one, Aunty," says Dyke, and then he whispers in my ear,
+"Slip around the corner and call for Jerry Powers. Number 439. He can
+make a taxi take hurdles and water jumps."
+
+I don't know whether it was luck or not, but Jerry was on the stand with
+the tin flag up, and inside of two minutes the three of us was stowed
+away inside, with the bag on top, and Dyke holdin' Bismarck in his lap.
+
+"Now my featherbed," says Aunt Elvira, and she has the porter jam it in
+alongside of me, which makes more or less of a full house. Then the
+procession starts, our taxi in the lead, the brougham second, and the
+married sisters trailin' behind in a hansom.
+
+"My sakes! but these things do ride easy!" says Aunty, settlin' back in
+her corner. "Can they go any faster, Dyckman?"
+
+"Just wait until we get straightened out on the avenue," says Dyke, and
+tips me the roguish glance.
+
+"I've ridden behind some fast horses in my time," says the old lady; "so
+you can't scare me. But now, Dyckman, I'd like to know exactly what
+you've been doing, and what you intend to do."
+
+Well, Dyke starts in to unload the whole yarn, beginnin' by ownin' up
+that he'd scratched the Bishop proposition long ago. And he was statin'
+some of his troubles at college, when I gets a backward glimpse out of
+the side window at something that makes me sit up. First off I thought it
+was another snow storm with flakes bigger'n I'd ever seen before, and
+then I tumbles to the situation. It ain't snow; it's feathers. In jammin'
+that mattress into the taxi the tick must have had a hole ripped in it,
+and the part that was bulgin' through the opposite window was leakin' hen
+foliage to beat the cars.
+
+"Hey!" says I, buttin' in on the confession and pointin' back. "We're
+losin' part of our cargo."
+
+"Land sakes!" says Aunt Elvira, after one glance. "Stop! Stop!"
+
+At that Dyke pounds on the front glass for the driver to shut off the
+juice. But Jerry must have had Dyke out before, and maybe he mistook the
+signal. Anyway, the machine gives a groan and a jerk and we begins
+skimmin' along the asphalt at double speed. That don't check the moltin'
+process any, and Dyke was gettin' real excited, when we hears a chuckle
+from Aunt Elvira.
+
+The old girl has got her eyes trained through the back window. Thanks to
+our speed and the stiff wind that's blowin' down the avenue, the Mallory
+brougham, with the horses on the jump to keep up with us, is gettin' the
+full benefit of the feather storm. The dark green uniforms of the Mallory
+coachman and footman was being plastered thick, and they was both
+spittin' out feathers as fast as they could, and the Mallorys was wipin'
+'em out of their eyes and ears, and the crowds on the sidewalk has caught
+on and is enjoyin' the performance, and a mounted cop was starin' at us
+kind of puzzled, as if he was tryin' to decide whether or not we was
+breakin' an ordinance.
+
+"Look at Craig! Look at Mabel Ann!" snickers Aunt Elvira. "Tell your man
+to go faster, Dyckman. Push out more feathers!"
+
+"More feathers it is," says I, shovin' another fold of the bed through
+the window. Even Bismarck gets excited and starts squawkin'.
+
+Talk about your joy rides! I'll bet that's the only one of the kind ever
+pulled off on Fifth-ave. And it near tickles the old girl to death. What
+was a featherbed to her, when she had her sportin' blood up and was
+gettin' a hunch in on Brother Craig and his wife?
+
+We goes four blocks before we shakes out the last of our ammunition, and
+by that time the Mallory brougham looks like a poultry wagon after a busy
+day at the market, while Aunt Elvira has cut loose with the mirth so hard
+that the velvet bonnet is hangin' under her chin, and Bismarck is out of
+breath. It's a wonder we wa'n't pinched for breakin' the speed laws; but
+the traffic cops is so busy watchin' the feather blizzard that they
+forgets to hold us up. Dyke wants to know if I'll come in for a cup of
+tea, or ride back with Jerry.
+
+"Thanks, but I'll walk back," says I, as we pulls up at the house. "Guess
+I can find the trail easy enough, eh?"
+
+I s'posed I'd get a report of the reunion from him next day; but it
+wa'n't until this mornin' that he shows up here and drags me down to the
+curb to look at his new sixty-horse-power macadam burner.
+
+"Birthday present from Aunty," says he. "Say, she's all to the good,
+Shorty. She got over that Bishop idea months ago, all by herself. And
+what do you think? She says I'm to have a thousand a month, just to enjoy
+myself on. Whe-e-e! Can I do it?"
+
+"Do it, son," says I. "If you can't, I don't know who can."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+TURNING A TRICK FOR BEANY
+
+
+Where'd I collect the Flemish oak tint on muh noble br-r-r-ow? No, not
+sunnin' myself down to Coney Island. No such tinhorn stunt for me! This
+is the real plute color, this is, and I laid it on durin' a little bubble
+tour we'd been takin' through the breakfast doughnut zone.
+
+It was Pinckney's blow. He ain't had the gasolene-burnin' fever very hard
+until this summer; but when he does get it, he goes the limit, as usual.
+Course, he's been off on excursions with his friends, and occasionally
+he's chartered a machine by the day; but I'd never heard him talk of
+wantin' to own one. And then the first thing I knows he shows up at the
+house last Monday night in the tonneau of one of these big seven-seater
+road destroyers, all fitted out complete with spare shoes, hat box, and a
+double-decker trunk strapped on the rack behind.
+
+"Gee!" says I. "Why didn't you buy a private railroad train while you was
+about it, Pinckney?"
+
+"Precisely what I thought I was getting," says he. "However, I want you
+and Sadie to help me test it. We'll start to-morrow morning at
+nine-thirty. Be all ready, will you?"
+
+"Got any idea where you're going, or how long you'll be gone?" says I.
+
+"Nothing very definite," says he. "Purdy-Pell suggested the shore road to
+Boston and back through the Berkshires."
+
+"Fine!" says I. "I'd love to go meanderin' through the country with you
+from now until Christmas; but sad to say I've got one or two----"
+
+"Oh, Renee tells me we can make it in four days," says Pinckney, nodding
+at the chauffeur. "He's been over the route a dozen times."
+
+Well, I puts the proposition up to Sadie, expectin' she'd queer it first
+jump; but inside of ten minutes she'd planned out just how she could
+leave little Sully, and what she should wear, and it's all fixed. I tried
+to show her where I couldn't afford to quit the studio for two or three
+weeks, just at this time of year, when so many of my reg'lars need tunin'
+up after their vacations; but my arguments don't carry much weight.
+
+"Rubbish, Shorty!" says she. "We'll be back before the end of the week,
+and Swifty Joe can manage until then. Anyway, we're not going to miss
+this lovely weather. We're going, that's all!"
+
+"Well," says I to Pinckney, "I've decided to go."
+
+Now this ain't any lightnin' conductor rehash. Bubble tourin' has its
+good points, and it has its drawbacks, too. If you're willin' to take
+things as they come along, and you're travelin' with the right bunch, and
+your own disposition's fair to middlin', why, you can have a bang up
+time, just like you could anywhere with the same layout. Also, I'm
+willin' to risk an encore to this partic'lar trip any time I get the
+chance.
+
+But there was something else I was gettin' at. It don't turn up until
+along durin' the afternoon of our second day out. We was tearin' along
+one of them new tar roads between Narragansett Pier and Newport, and I
+was tryin' to hand a josh to Renee by askin' him to be sure and tell me
+when we went through Rhode Island, as I wanted to take a glance at
+it,--for we must have been hittin' fifty an hour, with the engine runnin'
+as smooth and sweet as a French clock,--when all of a sudden there's a
+bang like bustin' a paper bag, and we feels the car sag down on one
+side.
+
+"_Sacre!_" says Renee through his front teeth.
+
+"Ha, ha!" sings out Pinckney. "My first blow-out!"
+
+"Glad you feel so happy over it," says I.
+
+It's a sensation that don't bring much joy, as a rule. Here you are,
+skimmin' along through the country, glancin' at things sort of casual,
+same's you do from a Pullman window, but not takin' any int'rest in the
+scenery except in a general way, only wonderin' now and then how it is
+people happen to live in places so far away.
+
+And then all in a minute the scenery ain't movin' past you at all. It
+stops dead in its tracks, like when the film of a movin' picture machine
+gets tangled up, and there's only one partic'lar scene to look at. It's
+mighty curious, too, how quick that special spot loses its charm. Also,
+as a gen'ral rule, such things happen just at the wrong spot in the road.
+Now we'd been sailin' along over a ridge, where we could look out across
+Narragansett Bay for miles; but here where our tire had gone on the blink
+was a kind of dip down between the hills, with no view at all.
+
+First off we all has to pile out and get in Renee's way while he inspects
+the damage. It's a blow-out for fair, a hole big enough to lay your two
+hands in, right across the tread, where we'd picked up a broken bottle,
+or maybe a cast horseshoe with the nails in it. Then, while he proceeds
+to get busy with the jack and tire irons, we all makes up our minds to a
+good long wait; for when you tackle one of them big boys, with the rims
+rusted in, it ain't any fifteen-minute picnic, you know.
+
+Course, Pinckney gets out his fireless bottles and the glasses and
+improves the time by handin' around somethin' soothin' or cheerin',
+accordin' to taste. Not bein' thirsty, I begins inspectin' the contagious
+scenery. It wa'n't anything an artist would yearn to paint. Just back
+from the road is a sort of shack that looks as though someone might be
+campin' out in it, and behind that a mess of rough sheds and chicken
+coops.
+
+Next I discovers that the object down in the field which I'd taken for a
+scarecrow was a live man. By the motions he's goin' through, he's diggin'
+potatoes, and from the way he sticks to it, not payin' any attention to
+us, it seems as if he found it a mighty int'restin' pastime. You'd most
+think, livin' in an out of the way, forsaken place like that, that most
+any native would be glad to stop work long enough to look over a hot
+lookin' bunch like ours.
+
+This one don't seem inclined that way, though. He keeps his back bent and
+his head down and his hands busy. Now, whenever I've been out in a
+machine, and we've had any kind of trouble, there's always been a gawpin'
+committee standin' around, composed of every human being in sight at the
+time of the casualty, includin' a few that seemed to pop up out of the
+ground. But here's a case where the only party that can act as an
+audience ain't doin' his duty. So a fool freak hits me to stroll over and
+poke him up.
+
+"Hey, you!" says I, vaultin' the fence.
+
+He jerks his head up a little at that, kind of stares in my direction,
+and then dives into another hill of spuds.
+
+"Huh!" thinks I. "Don't want any city folks in his'n, by chowder! But
+here's where he gets 'em thrust on him!" and I pikes over for a closer
+view. Couldn't see much, though, but dirty overalls, blue outing shirt,
+and an old haymaker's straw hat with a brim that lops down around his
+face and ears.
+
+"Excuse me," says I; "but ain't you missin' a trick, or is it because you
+don't feel sociable to-day? How're the murphies pannin' out this
+season?"
+
+To see the start he gives, you'd think I'd crept up from behind and
+swatted him one. He straightens up, backs off a step or two, and opens
+his mouth. "Why--why----" says he, after one or two gasps. "Who are you,
+please?"
+
+"Me?" says I. "Oh, I'm just a stray stranger. I was being shot through
+your cunnin' little State on a no-stop schedule, when one of our tires
+went out of business. Hence this informal call."
+
+"But," says he, hesitatin' and pushin' back the hat brim, "isn't
+this--er--aren't you Professor McCabe?"
+
+Say, then it was my turn to do the open face act! Course, knockin' around
+as much as I have and rubbin' against so many diff'rent kinds of folks,
+I'm liable to run across people that know me anywhere; but blamed if I
+expected to do it just walkin' out accidental into a potato orchard.
+
+Sure enough, too, there was something familiar about that long thin nose
+and the droopy mouth corners; but I couldn't place him. Specially I'd
+been willin' to pass my oath I'd never known any party that owned such a
+scatterin' crop of bleached face herbage as he was sportin'. It looked
+like bunches of old hay on the side of a hill. The stary, faded out blue
+eyes wa'n't just like any I could remember, either, and I'm gen'rally
+strong on that point.
+
+"You've called my number, all right," says I; "but, as for returnin' the
+compliment, you've got me going, neighbor. How do you think I'm
+looking?"
+
+He makes a weak stab at springin' a smile, about the ghastliest attempt
+at that sort of thing I ever watched, and then he shrugs his shoulders.
+"I--I couldn't say about your looks," says he. "I recognized you by your
+voice. Perhaps you won't remember me at all. I'm Dexter Bean."
+
+"What!" says I. "Not Beany, that used to do architectin' on the top floor
+over the studio?"
+
+"Yes," says he.
+
+"And you've forgot my mug so soon?" says I.
+
+"Oh, no!" says he, speakin' up quick. "I haven't forgotten. But I can't
+see very well now, you know. In fact, I--I'm---- Well, it's almost night
+time with me, Shorty," and by the way he chokes up I can tell how hard it
+is for him to get out even that much.
+
+"You don't mean," says I, "that--that you----"
+
+He nods, puts his hands up to his face, and turns his head for a minute.
+
+Well, say, I've had lumps come in my throat once in a while before on
+some account or other; but I never felt so much like I'd swallowed a
+prize punkin as I did just then. Most night time! Course, you hear of
+lots of cases, and you know there's asylums where such people are taken
+care of and taught to weave cane bottoms for chairs; but I tell you when
+you get right up against such a case, a party you've known and liked, and
+it's handed to you sudden that he's almost in the stick tappin'
+class--well, it's apt to get you hard. I know it did me. Why, I didn't
+know any more what to do or say than a goat. But it was my next.
+
+"Well, well, Beany, old boy!" says I, slidin' an arm across his shoulder.
+"This is all news to me. Let's get over in the shade and talk this thing
+over."
+
+"I--I'd like to, Shorty," says he.
+
+So we camps down under a tree next to the fence, and he gives me the
+story. As he talks, too, it all comes back to me about the first time
+some of them boys from up stairs towed him down to the studio. He'd
+drifted in from some Down East crossroads, where he'd taken a course in
+mechanical drawin' and got the idea that he was an architect. And a
+greener Rube than him I never expect to see. It was a wonder some
+milliner hadn't grabbed him and sewed him on a hat before he got to
+42d-st.
+
+Maybe that gang of T Square sports didn't find him entertainin', too.
+Why, he swallowed all the moldy old bunk yarns they passed over, and when
+they couldn't hold in any longer, and just let loose the hee-haws, he
+took it good natured, springin' that kind of sad smile of his on 'em, and
+not even gettin' red around the ears. So the boss set him to sweepin' the
+floors and tendin' the blueprint frames on the roof.
+
+That's the way he broke in. Then a few months later, when they had a rush
+of contracts, they tried him out on some detail work. But his drawin' was
+too ragged. He was so good natured, though, and so willin' to do anything
+for anybody, that they kept him around, mainly to spring new gags on, so
+far as I could see.
+
+It wa'n't until he got at some house plans by accident that they found
+out where he fitted in. He'd go over a set of them puzzle rolls that mean
+as much to me as a laundry ticket, and he'd point out where there was
+room for another clothes closet off some chamber here, and a laundry
+chute there, and how the sink in the butler's pantry was on the wrong
+side for a right handed dish washer, and a lot of little details that
+nobody else would think of unless they'd lived in just such a house for
+six months or so. Beany the Home Expert, they called him after that, and
+before any house plans was O. K.'d by the boss he had to revise 'em.
+
+Then he got to hangin' round the studio after hours, helpin' Swifty Joe
+clean up and listenin' to his enlightenin' conversation. It takes a
+mighty talented listener to get Swifty started; but when he does get his
+tongue once limbered up, and is sure of his audience, he enjoys nothin'
+like givin' off his views in wholesale lots.
+
+As for me, I never said a whole lot to Beany, nor him to me; but I
+couldn't help growin' to like the cuss, because he was one of them
+gentle, quiet kind that you cotton to without knowin' exactly why. Not
+that I missed him a lot when he disappeared. Fact was, he just dropped
+out, and I don't know as I even asked what had become of him.
+
+I was hearin' now, though. It wa'n't any great tragedy, to start with.
+Some of the boys got skylarkin' one lunch hour, and Beany was watchin'
+'em, when a lead paper weight he was holdin' slipped out of his hand,
+struck the end of a ruler, and flipped it up into his face. A sharp
+corner hit him in the eye, that's all. He had the sore peeper bound up
+for three or four days before he took it to a hospital.
+
+When he didn't show up again they wondered some, and one of the firm
+inquired for him at his old boardin' place. You know how it is in town.
+There's so many comin' and goin' that it's hard to keep track of 'em all.
+So Beany just faded out.
+
+He told me that when the hospital doctor put it to him flat how bad off
+his bum lamp was, and how the other was due to go the same way, he just
+started out and walked aimless for two days and nights, hardly stoppin'.
+Then he steadied down, pulled himself together, and mapped out a plan.
+
+Besides architectin', all he knew how to do was to raise chickens. He
+figured that if he could get a little place off where land was cheap, and
+get the hang of it well in his head before his glim was doused
+altogether, he might worry along. He couldn't bear to think of goin' back
+to his old home, or hangin' around among strangers until he had to be
+herded into one of them big brick barracks. He wanted to be alone and
+outdoors.
+
+He had a few dollars with him that he'd saved up, and when he struck this
+little sand plot, miles from anywhere, he squat right down on it, built
+his shack, got some settin' hens, and prepared for a long siege in the
+dark. One eye was all to the bad already, and the other was beginnin' to
+grow dim. Nice cheerful proposition to wake up to every mornin', wa'n't
+it?
+
+Does Beany whine any in tellin' it, though? Never a whimper! Gets off his
+little jokes on himself about the breaks he makes cookin' his meals, such
+as sweetenin' his coffee out of the salt bag, and bitin' into a cake of
+bar soap, thinkin' it was a slice of the soggy bread he'd make. Keeps his
+courage up, too, by trying to think that maybe livin' outdoors and
+improvin' his health will help him get back his sight.
+
+"I'm sure I am some better already," says he. "For months all I could see
+out of my left eye was purple and yellow and blue rings. Now I don't see
+those at all."
+
+"That so?" says I, battin' my head for some come-back that would fit.
+"Why--er--I should think you'd miss 'em, Beany."
+
+Brilliant, wa'n't it? But Beany throws back his head and lets out the
+first real laugh he's indulged in for over a year.
+
+"No, hardly that," says he. "I don't care about carrying my rainbows
+around with me."
+
+"But look here, Beany," says I. "You can't stay here doin' the poultry
+hermit act."
+
+"It's the only thing I'm fit for," says he; "so I must."
+
+"Then you've got to let us send you a few things occasionally," says I.
+"I'll look up your old boss and----"
+
+"No, no!" says he. "I'm getting along all right. I've been a little
+lonesome; but I'll pull through."
+
+"You ought to be doin' some doctorin', though," says I.
+
+He shrugs his shoulders again and waves one hand. "What's the use?" says
+he. "They told me at the hospital there wasn't any help. No, I'll just
+stay here and plug it out by myself."
+
+Talk about clear grit, eh! And maybe you can frame up my feelin's when he
+insists there ain't a thing I can do for him. About then, too, I hears
+'em shoutin' from the car for me to come along, as they're all ready to
+start again. So all I does is swap grips with Beany, get off some fool
+speech about wishin' him luck, and leave him standin' there in the potato
+field.
+
+Somehow I didn't enjoy the rest of that day's run very much, and when
+they jollies me by askin' who's my scarecrow acquaintance I couldn't work
+myself up to tellin' 'em about him. But all I could think of was Beany
+back there pokin' around alone in the fog that was settlin' down thicker
+and thicker every day. And in the course of two or three hours I had a
+thought.
+
+"Pinckney," says I, as we was puttin' up in Newport, "you know all sorts
+of crackerjacks. Got any expert eye doctors on your list?"
+
+He chews that over a minute or so, and concludes that he has, a Dr. Jason
+Craige, who's right here in town.
+
+"He's the real thing, is he?" says I.
+
+"Most skillful oculist in the country," says Pinckney, "and charges
+accordingly."
+
+"As high as fifty a throw?" says I.
+
+"Fifty!" says Pinckney. "You should see his Cliff Walk cottage."
+
+"Let's," says I. "There's a friend of mine I'd like to have him take a
+look at to-morrow."
+
+"No use," says Pinckney. "He drops his practice entirely during his
+vacation; wouldn't treat an Emperor then, I've heard him say. He's a good
+deal of a crank on that--and billiards."
+
+"But see here, Pinckney," says I, and I goes on to give him the whole
+tale about Beany, puttin' it over as strong as I knew how.
+
+"Sorry," says Pinckney; "but I know of no way in which I could induce him
+to change his custom. He's Scotch, you know, and as obstinate as---- Hold
+on, Shorty! I've an idea. How strong will you back my game of
+billiards?"
+
+Now of all the erratic cue performers I ever watched, Pinckney gets the
+medal. There's times when he can nurse 'em along the cushion and run up
+quite a string, and then again I've seen him play a game any duffer'd be
+ashamed of. But I begins to smell out his scheme.
+
+"If it means a chance for Beany," says I, "I'll bid good-by to five
+twenties and let you do your worst."
+
+"A wager of that sort would tempt Craige, if anything would," says
+Pinckney. "We'll try it on, anyway."
+
+Whether it was the bluff Pinckney threw, or the insultin' way he suggests
+that the Doc don't dare take him up, I can't say. All I know is that
+inside of half an hour we was in Jason Craige's private billiard room,
+him and Pinckney peeled down to their shirts, and at it.
+
+As a rule I could go to sleep watchin' the best three-ball carom game
+ever played; but durin' this contest I holds the marker's stick and never
+misses a move. First off Pinckney plays about as skillful as a trained
+pig practicin' on the piano; but after four or five minutes of punk
+exhibition he takes a brace and surprises himself.
+
+No need going into details. Pinckney wins out, and the Doc slams his cue
+into the rack with some remark about producin' the charity patient
+to-morrow. Did I? I routs Renee out at daylight next mornin', has him
+make a fifty-mile run at Vanderbilt Cup speed, and we has Beany in the
+eye expert's lib'ry before he comes down for breakfast.
+
+It takes Dr. Craige less'n three minutes to discover that the hospital
+hand who told Beany he was bound to lose both lamps was a fat brained nut
+who'd be more useful drivin' an ashcart. The Doc lays Beany out on a
+leather couch, uses a little cocaine in the right place, monkeys around a
+minute or so with some shiny hardware, and announces that after he's laid
+up for twenty-four hours in a dark room, usin' the wash reg'lar, he'll be
+able to see as well as any of us.
+
+It's a fact, too; for Beany goes back on his old job next Monday
+mornin'.
+
+"By Jove!" says Pinckney, after the trick is turned. "A miracle,
+Craige!"
+
+"Miracle be blowed!" says the Doc. "You accomplished the miracle last
+night, Pinckney, when you ran thirty-two buttons on scratch hits."
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+
+THE NOVELS OF
+GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
+
+GRAUSTARK. Illustrated with Scenes from the Play.
+
+With the appearance of this novel, the author introduced a new type of
+story and won for himself a perpetual reading public. It is the story of
+love behind a throne in a new and strange country.
+
+BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher.
+
+This is a sequel to "Graustark." A bewitching American girl visits the
+little principality and there has a romantic love affair.
+
+PRINCE OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by A. I. Keller.
+
+The Prince of Graustark is none other than the son of the heroine of
+"Graustark." Beverly's daughter, and an American multimillionaire with a
+brilliant and lovely daughter also figure in the story.
+
+BREWSTER'S MILLIONS.
+
+Illustrated with Scenes from the Photo-Play.
+
+A young man, required to spend one million dollars in one year, in order
+to inherit _seven_, accomplishes the task in this lively story.
+
+COWARDICE COURT.
+
+Illus. by Harrison Fisher and decorations by Theodore Hapgood.
+
+A romance of love and adventure, the plot forming around a social feud in
+the Adirondacks in which an English girl is tempted into being a traitor
+by a romantic young American.
+
+THE HOLLOW OF HER HAND. Illustrated by A. I. Keller.
+
+A story of modern New York, built around an ancient enmity, born of the
+scorn of the aristocrat for one of inferior birth.
+
+WHAT'S-HIS-NAME. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher.
+
+"What's-His-Name" is the husband of a beautiful and popular actress who
+is billboarded on Broadway under an assumed name. The very opposite
+manner in which these two live their lives brings a dramatic climax to
+the story.
+
+Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction
+Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+ZANE GREY'S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
+
+THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS
+
+A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of frontier
+warfare. Her loyal superintendent rescues her when she is captured by
+bandits. A surprising climax brings the story to a delightful close.
+
+THE RAINBOW TRAIL
+
+The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the great
+western uplands--until at last love and faith awake.
+
+DESERT GOLD
+
+The story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends with
+the finding of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl who
+is the story's heroine.
+
+RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
+
+A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon
+authority ruled. The prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the theme of the
+story.
+
+THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN
+
+This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones,
+known as the _preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert
+and of a hunt in_ "that wonderful country of deep canons and giant
+pines."
+
+THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT
+
+A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a young
+New Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall
+become the second wife of one of the Mormons--Well, that's the problem of
+this great story.
+
+THE SHORT STOP
+
+The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame and
+fortune as a professional ball player. His hard knocks at the start are
+followed by such success as clean sportsmanship, courage and honesty
+ought to win.
+
+BETTY ZANE
+
+This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful young
+sister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers.
+
+THE LONE STAR RANGER
+
+After killing a man in self defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw along
+the Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds a
+young girl held prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings down
+upon himself the wrath of her captors and henceforth is hunted on one
+side by honest men, on the other by outlaws.
+
+THE BORDER LEGION
+
+Joan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawless
+Western mining camp, to prove his mettle. Then realizing that she loved
+him--she followed him out. On her way, she is captured by a bandit band,
+and trouble begins when she shoots Kells, the leader--and nurses him to
+health again. Here enters another romance--when Joan, disguised as an
+outlaw, observes Jim, in the throes of dissipation. A gold strike, a
+thrilling robbery--gambling and gun play carry you along breathlessly.
+
+THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS,
+
+By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey
+
+The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," as told by his
+sister and Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and his first
+encounter with an Indian. We see "Bill" as a pony express rider, then
+near Fort Sumter as Chief of the Scouts, and later engaged in the most
+dangerous Indian campaigns. There is also a very interesting account of
+the travels of "The Wild West" Show. No character in public life makes a
+stronger appeal to the imagination of America than "Buffalo Bill," whose
+daring and bravery made him famous
+
+Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+B. M. Bower's Novels
+Thrilling Western Romances
+
+Large 12 mos. Handsomely bound in cloth. Illustrated
+
+
+CHIP, OF THE FLYING U
+
+A breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of Chip and Delia
+Whitman are charmingly and humorously told. Chip's jealousy of Dr. Cecil
+Grantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is very
+amusing. A clever, realistic story of the American Cow-puncher.
+
+THE HAPPY FAMILY
+
+A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteen
+jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. Foremost amongst them, we find
+Ananias Green, known as Andy, whose imaginative powers cause many lively
+and exciting adventures.
+
+HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT
+
+A realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of Easterners who
+exchange a cottage at Newport for the rough homeliness of a Montana
+ranch-house. The merry-hearted cowboys, the fascinating Beatrice, and the
+effusive Sir Redmond, become living, breathing personalities.
+
+THE RANGE DWELLERS
+
+Here are everyday, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist. Spirited
+action, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo and Juliet
+courtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, without a dull
+page.
+
+THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS
+
+A vivid portrayal of the experience of an Eastern author, among the
+cowboys of the West, in search of "local color" for a new novel. "Bud"
+Thurston learns many a lesson while following "the lure of the dim
+trails" but the hardest, and probably the most welcome, is that of love.
+
+THE LONESOME TRAIL
+
+"Weary" Davidson leaves the ranch for Portland, where conventional city
+life palls on him. A little branch of sage brush, pungent with the
+atmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of a pair of large brown
+eyes soon compel his return. A wholesome love story.
+
+THE LONG SHADOW
+
+A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, life of a
+mountain ranch. Its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play the game of
+life fearlessly and like men. It is a fine love story from start to
+finish.
+
+Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction
+Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
+
+SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown.
+
+No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal young
+people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent of the
+time when the reader was Seventeen.
+
+PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant.
+
+This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, tragic
+things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a finished,
+exquisite work.
+
+PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm.
+
+Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable phases
+of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile prankishness
+that have ever been written.
+
+THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers.
+
+Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his
+father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a
+fine girl turns Bibbs' life from failure to success.
+
+THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece.
+
+A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a country
+editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love
+interest.
+
+THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.
+
+The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement,
+drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another to
+lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising suitor,
+leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister.
+
+Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction
+Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP'S DRAMATIZED NOVELS
+
+THE KIND THAT ARE MAKING THEATRICAL HISTORY
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask far Grosset & Dunlap's list
+
+WITHIN THE LAW. By Bayard Veiller & Marvin Dana. Illustrated by Wm.
+Charles Cooke.
+
+This is a novelization of the immensely successful play which ran for two
+years in New York and Chicago.
+
+The plot of this powerful novel is of a young woman's revenge directed
+against her employer who allowed her to be sent to prison for three years
+on a charge of theft, of which she was innocent.
+
+WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY. By Robert Carlton Brown. Illustrated with scenes
+from the play.
+
+This is a narrative of a young and innocent country girl who is suddenly
+thrown into the very heart of New York, "the land of her dreams," where
+she is exposed to all sorts of temptations and dangers.
+
+The story of Mary is being told in moving pictures and played in theatres
+all over the world.
+
+THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM. By David Belasco. Illustrated by John Rae.
+
+This is a novelization of the popular play in which David Warfield, as
+Old Peter Grimm, scored such a remarkable success.
+
+The story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal, powerful,
+both as a book and as a play.
+
+THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens.
+
+This novel is an intense, glowing epic of the great desert, sunlit
+barbaric, with its marvelous atmosphere of vastness and loneliness.
+
+It is a book of rapturous beauty, vivid in word painting. The play has
+been staged with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties.
+
+BEN HUR. A Tale of the Christ. By General Lew Wallace.
+
+The whole world has placed this famous Religious-Historical Romance on a
+height of pre-eminence which no other novel of its time has reached. The
+clashing of rivalry and the deepest human passions, the perfect
+reproduction of brilliant Roman life, and the tense, fierce atmosphere of
+the arena have kept their deep fascination. A tremendous dramatic
+success.
+
+BOUGHT AND PAID FOR. By George Broadhurst and Arthur Hornblow.
+Illustrated with scenes from the play.
+
+A stupendous arraignment of modern marriage which has created an interest
+on the stage that is almost unparalleled. The scenes are laid in New
+York, and deal with conditions among both the rich and poor.
+
+The interest of the story turns on the day-by-day developments which show
+the young wife the price she has paid.
+
+Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction
+Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
+
+      *      *      *      *      *      *
+
+THE NOVELS OF
+STEWART EDWARD WHITE
+
+May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
+
+THE BLAZED TRAIL. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.
+
+A wholesome story with gleams of humor, telling of a young man who blazed
+his way to fortune through the heart of the Michigan pines.
+
+THE CALL OF THE NORTH. Ills. with Scenes from the Play.
+
+The story centers about a Hudson Bay trading post, known as "The
+Conjuror's House" (the original title of the book.)
+
+THE RIVERMAN. Ills. by N. C. Wyeth and C. F. Underwood.
+
+The story of a man's fight against a river and of a struggle between
+honesty and grit on the one side, and dishonesty and shrewdness on the
+other.
+
+RULES OF THE GAME. Illustrated by Lejaren A. Hiller.
+
+The romance of the son of "The Riverman." The young college hero goes
+into the lumber camp, is antagonized by "graft," and comes into the
+romance of his life.
+
+GOLD. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.
+
+The gold fever of '49 is pictured with vividness. A part of the story is
+laid in Panama, the route taken by the gold-seekers.
+
+THE FOREST. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.
+
+The book tells of the canoe trip of the author and his companion into the
+great woods. Much information about camping and outdoor life. A splendid
+treatise on woodcraft.
+
+THE MOUNTAINS. Illustrated by Fernand Lungren.
+
+An account of the adventures of a five months' camping trip in the
+Sierras of California. The author has followed a true sequence of
+events.
+
+THE CABIN. Illustrated with photographs by the author.
+
+A chronicle of the building of a cabin home in a forest-girdled meadow of
+the Sierras. Full of nature and woodcraft, and the shrewd philosophy of
+"California John."
+
+THE GRAY DAWN. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.
+
+This book tells of the period shortly after the first mad rush for gold
+in California. A young lawyer and his wife, initiated into the gay life
+of San Francisco, find their ways parted through his downward course, but
+succeeding events bring the "gray dawn of better things" for both of
+them.
+
+Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction
+Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ODD NUMBERS***
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