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diff --git a/26528-h/26528-h.htm b/26528-h/26528-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c1a7be1 --- /dev/null +++ b/26528-h/26528-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10294 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Odd Numbers, by Sewell Ford</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.2em;} + h3.pg {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; font-size: 110%;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + div.ce p {text-align: center; margin: auto 0;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + .caption {font-size:.8em;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + hr.silver {width: 100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.4em;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 class="figcenter">The Project Gutenberg eBook, Odd Numbers, by Sewell Ford, Illustrated by +F. Vaux Nicholson</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Odd Numbers</p> +<p> Being Further Chronicles of Shorty McCabe</p> +<p>Author: Sewell Ford</p> +<p>Release Date: September 4, 2008 [eBook #26528]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ODD NUMBERS***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Roger Frank<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 482px; height: 309px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 482px;'> +<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>“‘Sisters? Do we look it?’ says Maisie”</span><br /> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.6em; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0.5em;'>ODD NUMBERS</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>BEING FURTHER CHRONICLES</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em; margin-bottom:2em;'>OF SHORTY McCABE</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em; margin-bottom:1em;'>BY</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:2em;'>SEWELL FORD</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.81em;'>AUTHOR OF</p> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em; margin-bottom:2em;'>TRYING OUT TORCHY, ETC.</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>Illustrations by</p> +<p style=' font-size:1em; margin-bottom:2em;'>F. VAUX WILSON</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:1em;'>NEW YORK</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> +<p style=' font-size:1em;'>PUBLISHERS</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce' style=' font-size:0.8em;'> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Copyright</span>, 1908, 1909, 1910, 1911, <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>by</span></p> +<p>SEWELL FORD</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Copyright</span>, 1912, <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>by</span></p> +<p>EDWARD J. CLODE</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:1em;'>Contents</p> +</div> + +<table border='0' width='500' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Goliah and the Purple Lid</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_GOLIAH_AND_THE_PURPLE_LID'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>How Maizie Came Through </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_HOW_MAIZIE_CAME_THROUGH'>17</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Where Spotty Fitted In </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_WHERE_SPOTTY_FITTED_IN'>35</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>A Grandmother Who Got Going </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_A_GRANDMOTHER_WHO_GOT_GOING'>50</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>A Long Shot on DeLancey </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_A_LONG_SHOT_ON_DELANCEY'>67</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Playing Harold Both Ways </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_PLAYING_HAROLD_BOTH_WAYS'>84</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Cornelia Shows Some Class </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_CORNELIA_SHOWS_SOME_CLASS'>100</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Doping Out an Odd One </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_DOPING_OUT_AN_ODD_ONE'>116</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Handing Bobby a Blank </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_HANDING_BOBBY_A_BLANK'>134</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Marmaduke Slips One Over </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_MARMADUKE_SLIPS_ONE_OVER'>151</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>A Look In on the Goat Game </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_A_LOOK_IN_ON_THE_GOAT_GAME'>167</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Mrs. Truckles’ Broad Jump </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_MRS_TRUCKLES__BROAD_JUMP'>183</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Heiney Takes the Gloom Cure </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_HEINEY_TAKES_THE_GLOOM_CURE'>199</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>A Try-Out for Toodleism </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_A_TRYOUT_FOR_TOODLEISM'>214</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>The Case of the Tiscotts </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_THE_CASE_OF_THE_TISCOTTS'>230</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Classing Tutwater Right </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_CLASSING_TUTWATER_RIGHT'>246</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>How Hermy Put It Over </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_HOW_HERMY_PUT_IT_OVER'>262</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Joy Riding with Aunty </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_JOY_RIDING_WITH_AUNTY'>279</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Turning a Trick for Beany </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_TURNING_A_TRICK_FOR_BEANY'>294</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em;'>ODD NUMBERS</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 0em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='I_GOLIAH_AND_THE_PURPLE_LID' id='I_GOLIAH_AND_THE_PURPLE_LID'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>GOLIAH AND THE PURPLE LID</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“What’s the use?” says I. “Ain’t I here?”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +has been bought off and nobody’s thought of +applyin’ the statute of limitations.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Quite a hat, eh?” he chuckles.</p> +<p>“It’s goin’ some in the lid line,” says I.</p> +<p>“I expect that’s a mighty stylish article, +though,” says he.</p> +<p>“That’s the bluff the store people are +makin’,” says I, “and there’s no law against +it.”</p> +<p>“What would be your guess on the price of +that there, now?” says he, edging up.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span></p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“Wife ain’t in town, then?” says I.</p> +<p>“No,” says he, “she’s—she isn’t.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t you runnin’ some risks,” says I, +“loadin’ up with a lid that may not fit her +partic’lar style of beauty?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“You’ve surrounded the idea,” says I. +“Maybe it would be safer to send for her to +come on.”</p> +<p>“No,” says he; “couldn’t be done. But see +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Maybe you never heard of me,” he goes on; +“but I’m Goliah Daggett, from South Forks, +Iowy.”</p> +<p>“Guess I’ve missed hearin’ of you,” says I.</p> +<p>“I suppose so,” says he, kind of disappointed, +though. “The boys out there call me +Gol Daggett.”</p> +<p>“Sounds most like a cussword,” says I.</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“It’s a fair swap,” says I. “Mine’s McCabe; +Shorty for short.”</p> +<p>“Yes?” says he. “I knew a McCabe once. +He—er—well, he——”</p> +<p>“Never mind,” says I. “It’s a big fam’ly, +and there’s only a few of us that’s real credits +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +to the name. But about this scheme of yours, +Mr. Daggett?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know why not,” says I.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Manicure artists?” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“It’s one experience you’ve got on me,” +says I. “And this manicure lady is a ringer +for Mrs. Daggett, eh?”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“Well, better late than never,” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I. “You mean she’s——”</p> +<p>He nods. “Four years ago this spring,” +says he. “Typhoid.”</p> +<p>“But,” says I, “how about this hat?”</p> +<p>“One of my notions,” says he,—“just a +foolish idea of mine. I’ll tell you. When she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +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.”</p> +<p>Say, I never saw any specimens of Miss Simmons’ +art works; but I could make a guess. +And I nods my head.</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“How’s that?” says I.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>Talk about your nutty propositions, eh? But +honest, I didn’t feel even like crackin’ a smile.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I wish,” says he, “I could see it tried on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +that manicure young woman first. Suppose we +go down and bring her up?”</p> +<p>“What makes you think she’ll come?” +says I.</p> +<p>“Oh, I guess she will,” says he, quiet and +thoughtful. “We’ll try, anyway.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“That’s her,” says he, pointing out a heavyweight +Titian blonde in the far corner, and over +he pikes.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Just as Daggett tiptoes up she’s pattin’ down +some of the red puffs that makes the back of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Sir!” says she, jumpin’ up and glarin’ at +him.</p> +<p>Daggett tries to soothe her down; but it’s +no go.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“Hey?” says Heinmuller, puffin’ out his +cheeks. “Vos iss dot?”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +on a hat he was thinkin’ of gettin’ for his +wife.</p> +<p>“That’s all,” says he. “No insult intended. +And of course I expect to make it worth while +for the young lady.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Why, surely,” says he. “You’ll come +along, too, won’t you, McCabe? Honest, now, +I wouldn’t dare do this alone.”</p> +<p>“Too bad about that shy, retirin’ disposition +of yours!” says I. “Afraid she’ll steal you, +eh?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +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!</p> +<p>“A triumph!” gurgles the saleslady, lookin’ +from one to the other of us, tryin’ to figure out +who she ought to play to.</p> +<p>“It’s a game combination, all right,” says I, +lookin’ wise.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>Then there’s more of the coy business, aimed +straight at Daggett. But Miss Rooney don’t +quite put it across.</p> +<p>“That’s going out to Iowy with me,” says +he, prompt and decided.</p> +<p>“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></p> +<p>“Must have set you back near a hundred, +didn’t they?” says I, as Daggett and I parts +on the corner.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Chee!” says Swifty Joe, when I shows up, +along about three o’clock, “you must have been +puttin’ away a hearty lunch!”</p> +<p>“It wa’n’t that kept me,” says I. “I was +helpin’ hand a late one to Marthy.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='II_HOW_MAIZIE_CAME_THROUGH' id='II_HOW_MAIZIE_CAME_THROUGH'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>HOW MAIZIE CAME THROUGH</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +was just servin’ the demitasses, when there’s +a ring on the ’phone. Tidson, he puts down the +tray and answers the call.</p> +<p>“It’s from the office, sir,” says he. “Some +one to see you, sir.”</p> +<p>“Me?” says I. “Get a description, Tidson, +so I’ll know what to expect.”</p> +<p>At that he asks the room clerk for details, +and reports that it’s two young ladies by the +name of Blickens.</p> +<p>“What!” says Sadie, prickin’ up her ears. +“You don’t know any young women of that +name; do you, Shorty?”</p> +<p>“Why not?” says I. “How can I tell until +I’ve looked ’em over?”</p> +<p>“Humph!” says she. “Blickens!”</p> +<p>“Sounds nice, don’t it?” says I. “Kind of +snappy and interestin’. Maybe I’d better go +down and——”</p> +<p>“Tidson,” says Sadie, “tell them to send +those young persons up here!”</p> +<p>“That’s right, Tidson,” says I. “Don’t +mind anything I say.”</p> +<p>“Blickens, indeed!” says Sadie, eyin’ me +sharp, to see if I’m blushin’ or gettin’ nervous. +“I never heard you mention any such name.”</p> +<p>“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——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span></p> +<p>“I’m not a bit curious, Shorty McCabe,” she +snaps out, “and you know it! But when it +comes to——”</p> +<p>“The Misses Blickens,” says Tidson, holdin’ +back the draperies with one hand, and smotherin’ +a grin with the other.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Among old friends, I am,” says I, “Now +if you come under——”</p> +<p>“It’s all right, Phemey,” says she, motionin’ +to the short one. “Sit down.”</p> +<p>“Sure!” says I. “Don’t mind the furniture. +Take a couple of chairs.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“It’s sweet of you to run in,” says I. “Been +wadin’ in the park lake, or enjoyin’ the +shower?”</p> +<p>“Enjoying the shower is good,” says she; +“but I hadn’t thought of describing it that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +way. I reckon, though, you’d like to hear who +we are.”</p> +<p>“Oh, any time when you get to that,” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” says I. “Sisters?”</p> +<p>“Do we look it?” says Maizie. “No! +First cousins on the whiskered side. Ever +hear that name Blickens before?”</p> +<p>“Why—er—why——” says I, scratchin’ my +head.</p> +<p>“Don’t dig too deep,” says Maizie. “How +about Blickens’ skating rink in Kansas City?”</p> +<p>“Oh!” says I. “Was it run by a gent they +called Sport Blickens?”</p> +<p>“It was,” says she.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that was dad, all right,” says Maizie.</p> +<p>“It was?” says I. “Well, well! Now if +there’s anything I can do for——”</p> +<p>“Whoa up!” says Maizie. “This is no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +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——”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Excuse me,” says I. “Miss Blickens, this +is Mrs. McCabe.”</p> +<p>“Howdy,” says Maizie. “I was wondering +if it wasn’t about due. Goshety gosh! but +you’re all to the peaches, eh? And me——”</p> +<p>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!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“That’ll do, take it away,” says she. “If +I ever get real stuck on myself, I’ll have something +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“Dobie?” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Miss Blickens,” says I, “I’m willin’ to pay +you by the hour.”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>Euphemia blinks twice, kind of reminiscent; +but nothin’ in the shape of words gets through +the gum.</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“I take it,” says I, “that you did.”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +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?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“If that had come from Mrs. McCabe,” says +she, eyin’ Sadie kind of longin’, “I reckon I +could.”</p> +<p>“Why,” says Sadie, “I should be delighted.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“My dear girl!” says Sadie, grabbin’ both +her hands. “We’ll do it to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></p> +<p>“You will need a neat cloth street dress, for +afternoons,” says Sadie.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“But, my dear girl,” says Sadie, “can you +afford to——”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>Well, I pilots ’em out to Fifth-ave., stows ’em +into a motor stage, and heads ’em down town.</p> +<p>“Whew!” says Sadie, when I gets back. “I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +suppose that is a sample of Western breeziness.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>When I gets home that night I finds Sadie all +fagged out and drinkin’ bromo seltzer for a +headache.</p> +<p>“What’s wrong?” says I.</p> +<p>“Nothing,” says Sadie; “only I’ve been +having the time of my life.”</p> +<p>“Buying tailor made uniforms for the Misses +Blickens?” says I.</p> +<p>“Tailor made nothing!” says Sadie. “It +was no use, Shorty, I had to give in. Maizie +wanted the other things so badly. And then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +Euphemia declared she must have the same +kind. So I spent the whole day fitting them +out.”</p> +<p>“Got ’em something sudden and noisy, eh?” +says I.</p> +<p>“Just wait until you see them,” says Sadie.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Huh!” says I. “Sentiments like that has +got lots of folks into trouble.”</p> +<p>“And yet,” says Sadie, “Maizie’s a nice +girl in her way. We’ll see how she comes out.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +friends of Miss Blickens too, and she’d be +pleased to have us join.</p> +<p>“West End-ave.!” says I. “Gee! but it +looks like Maizie had been able to butt in. Do +we go, Sadie?”</p> +<p>“I said we’d be charmed,” says she. “I’m +dying to see how Maizie will look.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“We saw it unpacked from the Paris case,” +whispers Sadie. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span></p> +<p>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’.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Stunning!” says Sadie.</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“Say, Maizie,” says I, “who’s the Sir Lionel +Budweiser, and where did you pick him +up?”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>And say, he was trained, all right. He trots +right over.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Why—why——” says Sadie, and it’s one of +the few times I ever saw her rattled.</p> +<p>“Just flash that ring again, Oscar,” says +Maizie.</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +should say that, if you like Oscar, he would do +nicely.”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“Well!” says Sadie afterwards, lettin’ out +a long breath. “To think that we ever worried +about her!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='III_WHERE_SPOTTY_FITTED_IN' id='III_WHERE_SPOTTY_FITTED_IN'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>WHERE SPOTTY FITTED IN</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“I have a new idea,” says he, “that’s all.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Why, I’ve thought of something new for +Spotty Cahill,” says he, beamin’.</p> +<p>“G’wan!” says I. “I might have known it +was a false alarm. Spotty Cahill! Say, do +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +you want to know what I’d advise you to do for +Spotty next?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>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 <i>Mauretania</i> +in. In fact, he’d been waitin’ there as +long as Pinckney had been a member. They’d +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Oh, I say,” says he, “but where is +Peter?”</p> +<p>“Peter, sir?” says the new man. “Very +sorry, sir, but Peter’s dead.”</p> +<p>“Dead!” says Pinckney. “Why—why—how +long has that been?”</p> +<p>“Over a month, sir,” says he. “Anything +wrong, sir?”</p> +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +and here the first thing he knows Peter’s been +under the sod for more’n a month.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Well, Pinckney discovers that Spotty has been +livin’ on the few dollars that was left after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Fine!” says I. “He’d be a lot of use on +a wheat farm. What does Aloysius have to +say to the proposition?”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“It’ll be a long walk,” says I.</p> +<p>“There’s where my idea comes in,” says +Pinckney. “I am going to finance the trip.”</p> +<p>“If it don’t cost too much,” says I, “it’ll be +a good investment.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Maybe Swifty knows where he roosts,” +says I.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Well, well!” says Pinckney. “Regularly +employed here, are you, Spotty?”</p> +<p>“Me? Nah!” says Spotty, lookin’ disgusted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +at the thought. “I’m only stayin’ +around.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t you afraid the sun will fade them +curly locks of yours?” says I.</p> +<p>“Ah, quit your kiddin’!” says Spotty, +startin’ to roll a fresh cigarette.</p> +<p>“Don’t mind Shorty,” says Pinckney. “I +have some good news for you.”</p> +<p>That don’t excite Spotty a bit. “Not another +job!” he groans.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” says Spotty. “Good ways +off, ain’t it!”</p> +<p>“It is, rather,” admits Pinckney; “but that +need not trouble you. What do you think I +am going to do for you, Spotty?”</p> +<p>“Give it up,” says he, calmly lightin’ a match +and proceedin’ with the smoke.</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Oh, her?” says Spotty, turnin’ languid to +see who he meant. “That’s Mareena. Her +father runs the shop.”</p> +<p>“Armenian?” says I.</p> +<p>“No, Syrian,” says he.</p> +<p>“Quite some of a looker, eh?” says I, tryin’ +to sound him.</p> +<p>“Not so bad,” says Spotty, hunchin’ his +shoulders.</p> +<p>“But—er—do I understand,” says Pinckney, +“that there is—ah—some attachment between +you and—er—the young lady?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></p> +<p>“Blamed if I know,” says Spotty. “Better +ask her.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“It wa’n’t what you’d call a shrewd move,” +says I. “Seems to me I’d bought his ticket, +anyway.”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“You never can tell,” says I.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Ah, don’t start worryin’ yet,” says I. +“Give him time.”</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span></p> +<p>“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’.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Say, you!” I sings out. “What’s happened +to Spotty?”</p> +<p>“Spot-tee?” says he. “Spot-tee?” He +shrugs his shoulders and pretends to look +dazed.</p> +<p>“Yes, Spotty,” says I, “red-headed, freckle-faced +young gent. You know him.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” says he, tappin’ his head. “The +golden crowned! El Sareef Ka-heel?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“You are a friend of Sareef Ka-heel?” he +breaks in, eyin’ me suspicious.</p> +<p>“Once removed,” says I; “but it amounts to +the same thing. Now where is he?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Here,” says the old gent, “your friend, the +Sareef Ka-heel!”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +his head; but it’s Spotty all right, alive, uncarved, +and lookin’ happy and contented.</p> +<p>“Well, for the love of soup!” says I. +“What is it, a masquerade?”</p> +<p>“That you, McCabe?” says he. “Come in +and—and sit on the floor.”</p> +<p>“Say,” says I, steppin’ inside, “this ain’t +the costume you’re going to start for Canada +in, is it?”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“What’s that?” says I. “You—you ain’t +been gettin’ married, have you?”</p> +<p>“Yep,” says Spotty, grinnin’ foolish. “Nine +o’clock last night. We’re goin’ to start on our +weddin’ trip Tuesday, me and Mareena.”</p> +<p>“Mareena!” I gasps. “Not the—the one +we saw out front? Where you going, Niagara?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Think you’ll like it?” says I.</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Well,” says I, “so you and Spotty are +goin’ to leave us, eh?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“That’s right,” says Spotty. “It’ll be all +to the good, that. Mareena can cook too.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +sly to pat his hair when she passed, you could +see how it was.</p> +<p>So I wished ’em luck and hurried back to report +before Pinckney sent a squad of reserves +after me.</p> +<p>“Well!” says he, the minute I gets in. “Let +me know the worst at once.”</p> +<p>“I will,” says I. “He’s married.” It was +all I could do, too, to make him believe the +yarn.</p> +<p>“By Jove!” says he. “Think of a chap +like Spotty Cahill tumbling into a romance like +that! And on Fourth-ave!”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Probably a title of some sort,” says Pinckney. +“Like sheik, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“But what does a Sareef have to do?” +says I.</p> +<p>“Do!” says Pinckney. “Why, he’s boss +of the caravan. He—he sits around in the sun +and looks picturesque.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IV_A_GRANDMOTHER_WHO_GOT_GOING' id='IV_A_GRANDMOTHER_WHO_GOT_GOING'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>A GRANDMOTHER WHO GOT GOING</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>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?</p> +<p>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’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +work, and gets out without swappin’ any more +conversation than is strictly necessary.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Ah, Vincent!” says he.</p> +<p>“Hello, Rodney!” says Vincent as they +passes each other in the front office, one goin’ +out and the other comin’ in.</p> +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +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:</p> +<p>“Oh, by the way, Vincent, how is grammy?”</p> +<p>“Why!” says Vincent, “isn’t she out with +you and Nellie?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Lost somebody, have you?” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Eh?” says he. “No, no! She is really +my mother, you know. I’ve got into the way +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +of calling her grammy only during the last +three or four years.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I see!” says I. “The grandmother +habit is something she’s contracted comparative +recent, eh? Ain’t gone to her head, has +it?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +and so he naturally couldn’t be very thick with +a grandmother that didn’t understand a word +of his lingo.</p> +<p>“Besides,” says Vincent, “mother and my +wife, I regret to say, have never found each +other very congenial.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Then she hangs out with your sister, eh, +and does her grandmother act there?” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Still sticks to the polonaise of ’81, and +wears a straw lid she bought durin’ the Centennial, +eh?” says I.</p> +<p>Vincent says that about tells the story.</p> +<p>“And where is it she’s been livin’ all this +time that you’ve been gettin’ on so well in New +York?” says I.</p> +<p>“In our old home, Tonawanda,” says he, +shudderin’ some as he lets go of the name. +“It’s where she should have stayed, too!”</p> +<p>“So-o-o-o?” says I. I’d been listenin’ just +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Of course,” says he, “that was out of the +question!”</p> +<p>“Oh, sure!” says I. “How absurd! But +what’s the contents of this late bulletin about +her being a stray?”</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“But where am I to look first?” says he. +“How am I to begin?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“No, no,” says Vincent, glancin’ uneasy at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +the gym. door. “I don’t care to have him +know anything about it.”</p> +<p>“Maybe sister might have some information,” +says I. “There’s the ’phone.”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” says he. “If you don’t mind, I +will call her up at the Kipp country place.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Have her cross examine the maids,” says I. +“The old lady may have left some orders about +forwardin’ her mail.”</p> +<p>That was the clew. Inside of ten minutes +Nellie ’phones back and gives a number on West +21st-st.</p> +<p>“Gee!” says I. “A hamfatters’ boardin’-house, +I’ll bet a bag of beans! Grandmother +has sure picked out a lively lodgin’-place.”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“Rescuin’ grandmothers ain’t my long suit,” +says I; “but I’ll admit I’m some int’rested in +this case. Come on.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +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?</p> +<p>“It’s a sure enough double-in-brass roost,” +says I. “Don’t say anything that sounds like +contract, or you’ll be mobbed.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Duchess!” says Vincent. “I—I’m afraid +there’s some mistake.”</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span></p> +<p>And Vincent is the worst puzzled gent you +ever saw as he climbs back into the cab.</p> +<p>“It can’t be mother they mean,” says he. +“No one would ever think of calling her +Duchess.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Madam Doughretti had just fed the Punk +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +Lady waltz into the pianola for the fourth time +as we pulls up at the curb.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Why, grandmother!” says he.</p> +<p>She don’t seem so much jarred as you might +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +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.</p> +<p>“There, there, Vincent?” says she. “Please +don’t grandmother me; at least, not in public.”</p> +<p>“But,” says he, “you know that you are a——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“But, mother,” says he, “what does this +mean? Such clothes! And such—such”—here +he throws a meanin’ look at the Indian +gent.</p> +<p>“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?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“But your—your clothes!” gasps Vincent.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Possibly they’re all right,” says he; “but +how—how long have you been wearing your +hair that way?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +it was for her to be livin’ among such dreadful +people.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Good heavens!” says Vincent. “And this—this +Bear person, does he——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Where to, Vincent?” says she.</p> +<p>“Why, to my home, of course,” says he.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“But no one could call you that now, +mother,” says Vincent. “You—you’re different, +quite different.”</p> +<p>“Oh, am I?” says she.</p> +<p>“To be sure you are,” says he. “Julia and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +I would be glad to have you with us. Really, +we would.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Is the old lady still leadin’ the band +wagon, Vincent!” says I to him yesterday.</p> +<p>“She is,” says he, “and it is wonderful how +young she has grown.”</p> +<p>“New York is a great place for rejuvenatin’ +grandmothers,” says I, “specially around in +the Red Ink Zone.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='V_A_LONG_SHOT_ON_DELANCEY' id='V_A_LONG_SHOT_ON_DELANCEY'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>A LONG SHOT ON DELANCEY</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Well,” says I, “the studio’s still here on +42d-st., and if your eyesight ain’t failed +you——”</p> +<p>“Oh, chop it, can’t you, Shorty?” says he. +“This is really important. Come right up, +can’t you!”</p> +<p>“That depends,” says I. “Any partic’lar +place?”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Know about Duke, don’t you? It ain’t much +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +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.</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“And really,” says Duke, “about all I have +to do is drop around once or twice a week and +sign a few checks.”</p> +<p>“I see,” says I. “They let you supply the +funds, eh?”</p> +<p>“Why, yes,” says Duke. “I’m the only one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“Oh, do I?” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Sure!” says I. “You want me to sub for +you at Lenox?”</p> +<p>“Deuce take it, no!” says Duke. “I want +you to go down and look at that land for me.”</p> +<p>“Huh!” says I. “What I know about real +estate wouldn’t——”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Duke,” says I, “you’re a reg’lar real +estate Napoleon. I wouldn’t have believed it +was in you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></p> +<p>“I know,” says he. “I’m really surprised +at myself.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Why, howdy do, Mr. Cathaway?” says +Duke. “Charmed to see you, by Jove!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Gee!” thinks I. “I’m makin’ a hit with +the nobility, me and my winnin’ ways!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span></p> +<p>That don’t exactly state the case, though; +for as soon as we’re alone DeLancey comes +right to cases.</p> +<p>“I understand, Mr. McCabe,” says he, “that +you are to visit Clam Creek.”</p> +<p>“Yep,” says I. “Sounds enticin’, don’t +it?”</p> +<p>“Doubtless you will spend a day or so +there?” he goes on.</p> +<p>“Over night, anyway,” says I.</p> +<p>“Hum!” says he. “Then you will hardly +fail to meet my brother. He is living at Clam +Creek.”</p> +<p>“What!” says I. “Not Broadway Bob?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Bob too!” says I. “Why—why, say, +you don’t mean the one that——”</p> +<p>“The same,” he cuts in. “I know they’re +supposed to be abroad; but they’re not, they are +at Clam Creek.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +books, such as the Rollo series and the +works of Dr. Van Dyke.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 cochère, and the wagonette ready to take +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +’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.</p> +<p>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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” says I. “Like to have me give him +your best regards!”</p> +<p>“No,” says DeLancey. “I should like, however, +to hear how you found him.”</p> +<p>“Another report, eh!” says I. “All right, +Mr. Cathaway, I’ll size him up for you.”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“Ah, button ’em back!” says I. “Who do +you think you’re dealin’ with, anyway?”</p> +<p>“Why,” says he, flushin’ up, “I merely intended——”</p> +<p>“Well, forget it!” says I. “I ain’t runnin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +<img src='images/illus-078.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 507px; height: 340px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 507px;'> +“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>I knew it must be Mr. and Mrs. Bob Cathaway</span>”<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>If Bob Cathaway didn’t shudder at that, I +did for him. “You may bring me—er—some +of the latter,” says he.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“For the love of Mike,” says I, “how do +you stand it?”</p> +<p>“Eh?” says Bob, droppin’ his cards and +starin’ at me. “I—I beg pardon?”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +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?</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“But two years of it!” says I. “What do +you find to do?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +that the best way for two parties to get along +together is to cut out the hammer music.</p> +<p>“So you had a talk with DeLancey?” says +Bob on the way back. “I suppose he—er—sent +no message?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“What do you think, Babe?” says he, +pantin’. “DeLancey wants to know when +we’re coming back!”</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +Then she asks, sort of husky, “Isn’t there a +night train, Bob?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Ah, McCabe,” he sings out, “just a moment! +That little affair about my Brother Robert, +you know.”</p> +<p>“Sure, I know,” says I, bracin’ myself. +“Where is he now?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VI_PLAYING_HAROLD_BOTH_WAYS' id='VI_PLAYING_HAROLD_BOTH_WAYS'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>PLAYING HAROLD BOTH WAYS</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>I inspected some of them places when I was +up that way not long ago,—joints where they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +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?</p> +<p>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 fiancé +couldn’t be there?</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Ah, quit it, Sadie!” says I, interruptin’ the +sad tale. “Do you want to make me cry?”</p> +<p>“Well, they were wretched, even if you don’t +believe it,” says she; “so I just told them to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +come right down here for the rest of the season.”</p> +<p>“Wha-a-at!” says I. “Not here?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s all right,” says I; “but——”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Maybe it will,” says I. “We ain’t ever +done this wholesale before; so I ain’t sure.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +inside the young folks strikin’ up the melodies +and makin’ merry gen’rally.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Don’t mention it,” says I. “It’s a fad of +mine.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +she finds she’s addressin’ either Marjorie’s left +shoulder or Bobbie’s right.</p> +<p>“Eh, Sadie?” says I across the centerpiece. +“What was that last of yours?”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“What we seem to need most, Sadie,” says +I as she gives it up, “is a table megaphone.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Of course,” says she, “they want a little +time by themselves.”</p> +<p>“Sure!” says I. “Half-hour out for the +reunion.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +if I didn’t come near sittin’ slam down on +the second pair, that was snuggled up close +there in the dark!</p> +<p>“Aha!” says I in my best comic vein. “So +here’s where you are, eh? Fine night, ain’t +it?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“It’s lovely out, isn’t it?” says Sadie.</p> +<p>“Yes,” says I; “but more or less mushy in +spots.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Must have had,” says I. “I shouldn’t +think they’d have to repeat that performance +for a month.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Pooh!” says Sadie, makin’ a bluff she +didn’t mind. “Do let them enjoy themselves +in their own way.”</p> +<p>“Sure I will,” says I. “Only this chaperon +business is gettin’ on my nerves. I don’t feel +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +like a host here; I feel more like a second story +man dodgin’ the night watchman.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Humph!” I hears her remark as she +watches Bobbie and Marjorie sidestep her and +go meanderin’ off down a path to the rocks.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></p> +<p>“Well, well!” says I. “I never knew before +how unentertainin’ I could be.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Well, son,” says I, “where did you drop +from?”</p> +<p>“My name is Harold Burbank Fitzmorris,” +says he, “and I am visiting with my mother +on the adjoining estate.”</p> +<p>“That sounds like a full description, Harold,” +says I. “Did you stray off, or was you +sent?”</p> +<p>“I trust you don’t mind,” says he; “but +I am exploring.”</p> +<p>“Explore away then,” says I, “so long as +you don’t tramp through the flowerbeds.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I wouldn’t think of injuring them,” +says he. “I am passionately fond of flowers.”</p> +<p>“You don’t say!” says I.</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span></p> +<p>“Eh!” says I. “Ain’t you beginning sort +of young?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Oh, then you’ve got a job on the hook, +have you!” says I.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Harold,” says I, “all them Hungarian +wines are more or less heady, and a kid like +you shouldn’t monkey with any of ’em.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“Harold,” says I, “you’re a wizard. So +it’s nix on the josh, eh?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Me too,” says I. “I’m just as sore on +these foreign languages as anyone. So you’re +visitin’ next door, eh? Enjoyin’ yourself?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Why pretend to approve of one’s parent,” +says he, “when approval is undeserved?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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’.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +and pikes off, tryin’ to shake him; but Harold +trails right along too. Maybe I’d yearned for +conversation. Well, I was gettin’ it.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Why,” says Harold, “I had not observed +them before. Thank you for the suggestion. +I will join them at once.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +into the house. Harold hesitates a little about +walkin’ through the door after ’em, until I +waves my hand cordial.</p> +<p>“Make yourself right to home, Harold,” +says I. “Keep ’em cheered up.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Come over again this evenin’,” says I. +“You’re makin’ a hit.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>And when Marjorie drifts in alone, along +about nine o’clock, and goes to drummin’ on +the piano, I smiles. Ten minutes later Helen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +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.</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>I expect I’ll never know the rest; for just +then there’s a break in the lecture.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Uggle-guggle! Wow!” remarks Harold +between splashes.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” observes Charles through, +his teeth. “Swallow a lot of it, you windbag! +It’ll do you good.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +next place, I strolls down to meet ’em as they +are comin’ up to the house.</p> +<p>“Hope you didn’t see what happened down +there just now, Professor,” says Bobbie.</p> +<p>“Me?” says I. “Well, if I did I can forget +it quick.”</p> +<p>“Thanks, old man!” says both of ’em, pattin’ +me friendly on the shoulder.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well, well!” says I. “Such a nice spoken +youngster too!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>But no more entertainin’ lovers for us! +Harolds ain’t common enough.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VII_CORNELIA_SHOWS_SOME_CLASS' id='VII_CORNELIA_SHOWS_SOME_CLASS'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>CORNELIA SHOWS SOME CLASS</h3> +</div> + +<p>“Oh, by the way, Shorty,” says Sadie to me +the other mornin’, just as I’m makin’ an early +get-away for town.</p> +<p>“Another postscript, eh?” says I. “Well, +let it come over speedy.”</p> +<p>“It’s something for Mrs. Purdy-Pell,” says +she. “I’d almost forgotten.”</p> +<p>“Is it orderin’ some fancy groceries, or +sendin’ out a new laundry artist?” says I. +“If it is, why I guess I can——”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Me?” says I. “Why, I’ve been waitin’ +for this. Makin’ afternoon calls on weepy old +maids is my specialty.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span></p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +Cousin Cornelia to do their heavy mournin’ and +had a black edge put on their stationery.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +the chance would only come her way.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>So there she was, all the lingerin’ ones off +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +busy pickin’ out new candidates for Durgin +to choose from.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Why, how kind of you, Mr. McCabe!” says +Cornelia. “Yes, I am perfectly well and quite +safe here.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Why—why——” says she, hesitatin’. +“Oh, but I couldn’t think of troubling you, you +know.”</p> +<p>“Why not?” says I, gettin’ reckless. “Just +remember that I’d be tickled to death, any time +you push the button.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span></p> +<p>“We-e-ell,” says she, “we were just wishing, +Miss Stover and I, that we did have some +gentleman friend who would——”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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——</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“What good hearin’ you have, Swifty!” +says I. “Some day, though, you’ll strain one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Oh, there you are!” she gurgles, holdin’ +out her hand. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></p> +<p>“Excuse me, lady,” says I, sidesteppin’ behind +the chair, “but ain’t you tryin’ to tag +the wrong party?”</p> +<p>“Why,” says she, lettin’ out a chuckle, +“don’t you know me, Mr. McCabe?”</p> +<p>“Not yet,” says I; “but it looks like I +would if——Great snakes!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Gee!” I gasps. “The round is on me, +Miss Cornelia. But I wa’n’t lookin’ for you +in—in——”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“You look all to the skookum,” says I.</p> +<p>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?</p> +<p>“It’s so good of you to come to our rescue,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +says she. “Miss Stover will be down presently. +Now, where shall we go to dinner?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Why,” says she, shruggin’ her shoulders,—“how +is it you put such things?—the limit, I +suppose?”</p> +<p>“Honest?” says I. “Then how about +Clover Blossom Inn?”</p> +<p>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’.</p> +<p>“Fine!” says she. “I’ve read about that +inn.” Then she hurries on to plan out the details. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +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.</p> +<p>“The dinner we are to go shares on,” says +she.</p> +<p>“Couldn’t think of it,” says I. “Let that +stand as my blow.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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?</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-110.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 498px; height: 323px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 498px;'> +“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Cornelia whispered about the peroxide puffed girl</span>”<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +Also she has just a suspicion of eye +twinkle behind the glasses, which suggests that +perhaps some of this programme is due to +her.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +you blame her for workin’ up a cheek flush and +rattlin’ off nonsense?</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>p. m.</span> to two-thirty in the mornin’, I’ll let +you name ’em.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Champagne!” says the schoolma’am. +“Oh, how perfectly delightful! Do you know, +I always have wanted to know how it tasted.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I, tryin’ hard to put on a pleased +grin. “So Pinckney brought you along too, +did he? Lovely evenin’, ain’t it?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Wha-a-at!” says she. “You?”</p> +<p>“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!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span></p> +<p>“Ain’t it?” says I. “You see, Sadie, I’m +carryin’ out instructions.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Hey, Pinckney,” says I, “see what’s +comin’ now!”</p> +<p>And when Pinckney reached around and discovers +what it is, he digs down for his roll +like a true sport, never battin’ an eyelash.</p> +<p>“You would ring in the fam’ly on me, would +you,” says I, “when I’m showin’ lady friends +the sights?”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VIII_DOPING_OUT_AN_ODD_ONE' id='VIII_DOPING_OUT_AN_ODD_ONE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>DOPING OUT AN ODD ONE</h3> +</div> + +<p>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!</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span></p> +<p>“Gee!” says I. “Vice Commodore! Say, +there must be some mistake about this.”</p> +<p>“Not at all,” says Sadie.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” says Sadie. +“When I took all that trouble to have you win +over that ridiculous Bronson-Smith!”</p> +<p>“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’.”</p> +<p>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?</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +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’.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ll be hanged!” says I. “Chunk +Tracey!”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“Yes; but look who you are, Chunk,” says I. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></p> +<p>“I know,” says he.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +throws over his mud hook and lets his sail +run.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Oh, I say, McCabe!” says he. “Do you +see that?”</p> +<p>“If I didn’t,” says I, “I could almost smell +it from here. Some new member, is it?”</p> +<p>“Member!” he gasps. “Why, it’s some +dashed old fisherman! We—we cawn’t have +him stay there, you know.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“But you know, McCabe,” goes on the chairman, +“you ought to go out and send him +away. That’s one of your duties.”</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I. “How long since I’ve been +official marine bouncer for this organization? +G’wan! Go tell him yourself!”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +Long Island Sound than anyone else, and I +says so flat.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>It was well worth lookin’ at too; for, although +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Well, well!” says I. “Bagpipes!”</p> +<p>“Bagpipes be blowed!” says Chunk. +“That’s an accordion he’s playing. Listen!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Hold on there, Shorty,” says Chunk, as I +starts out to deliver the collection. “I’d like +to go with you.”</p> +<p>“Come along, then,” says I. “I guess +some of these sailormen will row us out.”</p> +<p>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” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Hey, keep your hands off that rail!” he +sings out, reachin’ for a boathook as we come +alongside.</p> +<p>“It’s all right, Cap,” says I. “We’re +friends.”</p> +<p>“Git out!” says he. “I ain’t got any +friends.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“But you have a wife somewhere ashore, +I suppose,” suggests Chunk, “a dear old +soul who waits anxiously for you to come +back?”</p> +<p>“Bah!” grunts Cap’n Spiller, knockin’ the +heel out of his corncob vicious. “I ain’t got +any use for women.”</p> +<p>“I see,” says Chunk, gazin’ up sentimental +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +at the moon. “A blighted romance of youth; +some fair, fickle maid who fled with another and +left you alone?”</p> +<p>“No such luck,” says Spiller. “My trouble +was havin’ too many to once. Drat ’em!”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“Never learned ’tall,” growls Spiller. +“Just picked it up from a Portugee that tried +to knife me afterwards.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Guess so,” says the Captain. “I allus +plays most when my dyspepshy is worst. It’s +kind of a relief.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Not me!” grunts Spiller. “I can make +all the music I want myself.”</p> +<p>“How about plays, then?” says Chunk. +“Now, wouldn’t you like to see the best show +on Broadway?”</p> +<p>“No, sir,” says he, prompt and vigorous. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +“I ain’t never seen any shows, and don’t want +to seen one, either.”</p> +<p>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?”</p> +<p>“Not yet,” says he. “Have the boat come +back for me in about an hour.”</p> +<p>It was nearer two, though, before he shows +up again, and his face is fairly beamin’.</p> +<p>“Well,” says I, “did you adopt the old +pirate, or did he adopt you?”</p> +<p>“Wait and see,” says he, noddin’ his head +cocky. “Anyway, he’s promised to show up +at my office to-morrow afternoon.”</p> +<p>“You must be stuck on entertaining a +grouchy old lemon like that,” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“What!” says I. “You ain’t thinkin’ of +puttin’ that old sour face on the stage, are +you? Say, you’re batty!”</p> +<p>“Batty, am I?” says Chunk, kind of swellin’ +up. “All right, I’ll show you. I’ve made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +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!</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Chunk,” says I, as he shows up at our +box, “I take it back. You sure have picked +another winner.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“It’s a cinch if you can hold onto him, eh?” +says I.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>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’. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +Gen’rally I’d lug along two or three friends, +so I could tell ’em how it happened.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“What’s up, Chunk?” says I. “You seem +peeved.”</p> +<p>“Peeved!” he yells. “Why, blankety blank +the scousy universe, I’m stark, raving mad! +What do you think? Spiller has quit!”</p> +<p>“Somebody overbid that hundred a week?” +says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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:</p> +<p>Mister P. K. Tracey;</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +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.</p> +<p>Yours, +<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Todd Spiller</span>.</p> +<p>“Now what in the name of all that’s woolly,” +says Chunk, “would you say to a thing like +that?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IX_HANDING_BOBBY_A_BLANK' id='IX_HANDING_BOBBY_A_BLANK'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>HANDING BOBBY A BLANK</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 café, 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.</p> +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +of course, him bein’ a Bible pounder, I don’t +expect anything of the kind.</p> +<p>“Yes, I understand all that,” Danny was +tellin’ him; “but you’d better come down to +the office, just the same.”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Sorry,” says the minister, shovin’ his cuffs +back in place; “but I must ask you to keep +your hands off.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Why,” says he,—“why—er——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Really,” says he, gazin’ around, “I am +sure there must be some misunderstanding.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean,” says he, “that I cannot +communicate with a guest in this hotel without +being liable to arrest?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“I’m Shorty McCabe,” says I.</p> +<p>“Oh!” says he. “It seems to me I’ve +heard——”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>The minister lifts his eyebrows some, but +proceeds to hand out the information. “My +name is Hooker,” says he,—“Samuel Hooker.”</p> +<p>“Preacher?” says I.</p> +<p>“Ye-es, a poor one,” says he. “Where? +Well, in the neighborhood of Mossy Dell, Pennsylvania.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“This unfortunate fellow,” says he, droppin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +a hand on the object’s shoulder, “is one of our +industrial products. His name is Kronacher, +commonly called Dummy.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“You don’t mean Bobby Brut, do you?” +says I.</p> +<p>“Robert K. Rankin is the young man’s name, +I believe,” says he,—“son of the late Loring +Rankin, president of the Consolidated——”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +stairs; and Danny, it seems, hadn’t got on his +track until he was well started.</p> +<p>“All I ask,” says he, “is five minutes of +Mr. Rankin’s time. That is not an unreasonable +request, I hope?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“That’s all right,” says I. “You go down +to the office and put your case to ’em straight.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“That’s too bad,” says I, “if you had business +with Bobby that was on the level.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></p> +<p>“Since you’ve been so kind,” says he, “perhaps +you would give me your opinion—if I am +not detaining you?”</p> +<p>“Spiel away!” says I. “I’ll own up you’ve +got me some interested.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Perhaps you have heard of our efforts to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +have a child labor bill passed in our State?” +says he.</p> +<p>“No,” says I; “but I’m against it. There’s +enough kids has to answer the mill whistle, +without passin’ laws to make ’em.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Ever see Bobby?” says I.</p> +<p>He says he hasn’t.</p> +<p>“Know anything of his habits, and so on?” +I asks.</p> +<p>“Not a thing,” says the Rev. Sam.</p> +<p>“Then you take it from me,” says I, “that +you ain’t missed much.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +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.</p> +<p>And this was the youth the Rev. Mr. Hooker +had come to have a heart to heart talk with!</p> +<p>“Ain’t you takin’ a lot of trouble, just for +a few Polackers?” says I.</p> +<p>“They are my brothers,” says he, quiet like.</p> +<p>“What!” says I. “You don’t look it.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Gee!” says I. “You’ve adopted a big +fam’ly.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, thank you!” says he, givin’ +me the grateful grip.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span></p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>But while the help was pickin’ up the cards +Bobby gets a glimpse of our trio, ranged up +against the door draperies.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Can’t say your nut shows any cracks from +here,” says I. “Who’s been tellin’ you it +did?”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +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!</p> +<p>“Are they all going?” says Bobby.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,” says Atkins, standin’ attention.</p> +<p>“What do you think, eh?” says Bobbie, +half shuttin’ his pop eyes and starin’ at me, +real foxy.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +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’.</p> +<p>“Well?” says the Rev. Sam.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Dummy Kronacher,” says the Rev. Sam, +comin’ out strong on the first word.</p> +<p>“Good!” says Bobbie. “Hey, Dummy? +What will you take to stay here with me and +do that right along?”</p> +<p>Dummy has just discovered a stuffed alligator +that can snap its jaws and wiggle its tail. +He only looks up and grins.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“But,” says Hooker, “can’t you do something +about those helpers? Won’t you promise +to——”</p> +<p>“No!” snaps Bobby. “I’ve no time to +bother with such things. Atkins, show ’em +out!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“What for?” says I. “That pair’ll get +along fine; they’re two of a kind.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='X_MARMADUKE_SLIPS_ONE_OVER' id='X_MARMADUKE_SLIPS_ONE_OVER'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>MARMADUKE SLIPS ONE OVER</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>“Who’s the silent gazooks you run on the +siding out front?” says I.</p> +<p>“Why,” says Pinckney, “that’s only Marmaduke.”</p> +<p>“Only!” says I. “I should say Marmaduke +was quite some of a name. Anything behind +it? He ain’t a blank, is he?”</p> +<p>“Who, Marmaduke?” says he. “Far from +it! In fact, he has a most individual personality.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></p> +<p>“That sounds good,” says I; “but does it +mean anything? Who is he, anyway?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Go on—I’m easy,” says I. “I’d look nice, +wouldn’t I, holdin’ a perfect stranger up for his +pedigree?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well, you’re apt to strain your ears some +listenin’,” says I. “This ain’t my day for +askin’ fool questions.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>One of these long, loose jointed, languid actin’ +gents, Marmaduke is; the kind that can drape +themselves careless and comf’table over almost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Excuse me,” says I, “but your friend +has gone.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s it, is it?” says I. “In that case, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +make yourself to home. Have an evening paper?”</p> +<p>“Please take it away,” says he. “I might +be tempted to read about the beastly stock +market.”</p> +<p>“Been taking a little flyer, eh?” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“So?” says I. “Now I’ve been exposed a +lot and haven’t caught it very hard.”</p> +<p>“Gifted of the gods!” says he.</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I.</p> +<p>“I’m Marmaduke, you know,” says he.</p> +<p>“I’ve heard that much,” says I.</p> +<p>“To him that hath ears—mufflers,” says he.</p> +<p>“Mufflers?” says I. “I guess I must be +missin’ some of my cues, Mister.”</p> +<p>“Never care,” says he. “Why cry over +spilt milk when one can keep a cat?”</p> +<p>“Look here!” says I. “Are you stringin’ +me, or am I stringin’ you?”</p> +<p>“Of what use to fret the oracle?” says he. +“They say silence is golden—well, I’ve spent +mine.”</p> +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +he might have been readin’ the label off a tea +chest. So with that I counters with one of my +rough and ready comebacks.</p> +<p>“Marmaduke—did you say it was?” says I. +“If you did, where’s the can?”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“Stirred up the pigeons, anyway,” says I.</p> +<p>“Pigeons?” says he, lookin’ puzzled.</p> +<p>“Well, well!” says I. “And he wants a +diagram for that mossy one! Loft, you know,” +and I taps my forehead.</p> +<p>“Almost worthy of my steel!” says he, +jumpin’ up and shovin’ out his hand. “Well +met, Brother!”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Who am I?” says he. “Does it matter? +Well, if it does, I am easily accounted for. Behold +an anachronism!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></p> +<p>“A which?” says I.</p> +<p>“An anachronism,” says he once more.</p> +<p>“I pass,” says I. “Is it part of Austria, or +just a nickname for some alfalfa district out +West?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“I’m dizzy from it,” says I.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” says he. “The metaphor of to-morrow! +Speak on, Sir Galahad!”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“My proper home,” says he, “is the Forest +of Arden; but where that is I know not.”</p> +<p>“Why,” says I, “then you belong in the new +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +Harriman State Park. Anyway, there’s a station +by that name out on the Erie road.”</p> +<p>“Rails never ran to Arden Wood,” says he, +“nor ever will. Selah!”</p> +<p>“Sounds like an old song,” says I. “Are +you taken this way often?”</p> +<p>“I’m Marmaduke, you know,” says he.</p> +<p>“Sure, that’s where we begun,” says I; “but +it’s as far as we got. Is bein’ Marmaduke your +steady job?”</p> +<p>“Some would call it so,” says he. “I try to +make of it an art.”</p> +<p>“You win,” says I. “What can I set +up?”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” says he. “Pinckney has thoughtlessly +taken his cigarette case with him.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Come around again,” says I, “when the +fog is thinner.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></p> +<p>“I’m certain to,” says he. “I’m Marmaduke, +you know.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Well,” says he, “what did you think of +Marmaduke?”</p> +<p>“Neither of us did any thinkin’,” says I. “I +just watched the butterflies.”</p> +<p>“You what?” says Pinckney.</p> +<p>“Oh, call ’em bats, then!” says I. “He’s +got a dome full.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I can believe it,” says I. “Also he can use +language that he invents as he goes along. Entertainin’ +cuss, though.”</p> +<p>“A philosopher soufflé,” says Pinckney.</p> +<p>“Does it pay him well?” says I.</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +uncle dies. Meanwhile he’s flat broke and too +proud to beg or borrow.”</p> +<p>“Never tried trailin’ a pay envelope, did +he?” says I.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“Better come in and watch, then,” says I, +with a side glance at Marmaduke.</p> +<p>“No, thanks; I shall be quite as uncomfortable +here,” says Gridley, and camps his two +hundred and ten pounds down in my desk +chair.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>It appears that Pyramid’s friend has got restless, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +discovered Marmaduke, and proceeded to +try to tell him how near he comes to bein’ a +nervous wreck.</p> +<p>“Ever get so you couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, +couldn’t think of but one thing over and over?” +he was just sayin’.</p> +<p>“To every coat of arms, the raveled sleeve +of care,” observes Marmaduke sort of casual.</p> +<p>“Hey?” says Gridley, facin’ round on him +sharp.</p> +<p>“As the poet puts it,” Marmaduke rattles on,—</p> +<table summary='poetry' style=' font-style:italic; margin-left:4em;'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>“You cannot gild the lily,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.735835172921266em;'>Nor can you wet the sea;</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.0em;'>Pray tell me of my Bonnie,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0.735835172921266em;'>But bring her not to me!”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>“Say, what the howling hyenas are you +spouting about?” snorts Gridley, growin’ purple +back of the ears. “Who in thunder are +you?”</p> +<p>“Don’t!” says I, holdin’ up a warnin’ hand. +But I’m too late. Marmaduke has bobbed up +smilin’.</p> +<p>“A chip on the current,” says he. “I’m +Marmaduke, you know. No offense meant. And +you were saying——”</p> +<p>“Huh!” grunts Gridley, calmin’ down. +“Can’t wet the sea, eh? Not so bad, young +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +man. You can’t keep it still, either. It’s the +only thing that puts me to sleep when I get this +way.”</p> +<p>“Break, break, break—I know,” says Marmaduke.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“It’s their wing hinges,” says Marmaduke, +solemn and serious.</p> +<p>“Eh?” says Gridley, gawpin’ at him.</p> +<p>“Squeaky wing hinges,” says Marmaduke. +“You should oil them.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“One sweetly foolish thought,” says Marmaduke. +“I’m blessed with little else.”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +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?”</p> +<p>“My tablets are cleaner than my cuffs,” says +he.</p> +<p>“Good work!” says Gridley. “What about +coming out and having dinner with me?”</p> +<p>“With you or any man,” says Marmaduke. +“To dine’s the thing.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“But who was the fellow?” says Mr. Gordon.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Well, well!” says I. “So you didn’t hit +the breadline, after all!”</p> +<p>“Perchance I deserved it,” says he; “but +there came one from the forest who willed otherwise.”</p> +<p>“Ah, cut the josh for a minute,” says I, +“and tell us what you landed!”</p> +<p>“Gladly,” says he. “I have been made the +salaried secretary of the S. O. S. G. W. H.”</p> +<p>“Is it a new benefit order,” says I, “or +what?”</p> +<p>“The mystic letters,” says he, “stand for +the Society for Oiling Squeaky Gulls’ Wing +Hinges. Mr. Gridley is one member; I am the +other.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Also I have had word,” says Marmaduke, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +“that my aged Uncle Norton is very low of a +fever.”</p> +<p>“Gee!” says I. “Some folks are born +lucky, though!”</p> +<p>“And others,” says he, “in the Forest of +Arden.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XI_A_LOOK_IN_ON_THE_GOAT_GAME' id='XI_A_LOOK_IN_ON_THE_GOAT_GAME'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>A LOOK IN ON THE GOAT GAME</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>“That is the third this season,” says he; +“the third, mind you!”</p> +<p>“Well, there’s more still, ain’t there?” +says I.</p> +<p>“Brilliant observation, Shorty,” says he, +“also logical and pertinent. Yes, there are several +others still untried by the twins.”</p> +<p>“What you howlin’ about, then?” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“G’wan!” says I. “The kids have got to be +educated somewhere, haven’t they?”</p> +<p>“Which is the sad part of it,” says Pinckney, +inspectin’ the dish of scrambled eggs and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Got one on the job already, eh?” says I.</p> +<p>“This is her third day,” says he, “and if she +manages to live through it with the twins, I +shall have hope.”</p> +<p>“Ah, pickles!” says I. “Those kids are all +right. They’re full of life and ginger, that’s +all.”</p> +<p>“Especially ginger,” says Pinckney.</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span></p> +<p>“Done!” says Pinckney. “We’ll take a cab +right up.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +First off it looked like a side-hold lover’s clinch, +and then again it didn’t.</p> +<p>“Is it a huggin’ match, or a rough-house +tackle?” I whispered over Pinckney’s shoulder.</p> +<p>“I pass the declaration,” says he. “Suppose +we investigate.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Ah, Miss Marston!” says Pinckney. “Do +I interrupt?”</p> +<p>“Why—er—er—you see, sir,” she begins, “I—that +is—we——”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“A near relative, I presume?” suggests +Pinckney, noddin’ at the gent, who’s takin’ it +all cool enough.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, sir,” gasps out the governess. +“My husband, sir.”</p> +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +stickin’ out his hand, which Pinckney, bein’ absent-minded +just then, fails to see.</p> +<p>“Really!” says Pinckney, lookin’ the governess +up and down. “Then it’s not Miss Marston, +but Mrs.—er——”</p> +<p>“Yes,” says she, lettin’ her chin drop, “Mrs. +Marston.”</p> +<p>“Very unfortunate,” says Pinckney, +“very!”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Glad to have your assurance that I was +right,” says Pinckney, still givin’ him the frosty +eye.</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span></p> +<p>“I am quite sure it won’t,” says Pinckney. +“And now, if the interview has been finished, +I would suggest that——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“That settles governess No. 1,” says he as +we starts for the elevator again. “We are beginning +the series well.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“I’ll call for a report,” says I.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +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’.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Oh, well,” says Pinckney, “I suppose she +ought to have a chance. But if that husband of +hers is going to——”</p> +<p>“Next time you catch him at it,” says I, +“just ’phone down for me. It’ll be a pleasure.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>With my feelin’ that way, you can guess what +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Well?” says I as chilly as I knew how.</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“Say, choke off the hot air,” says I, “and +let’s hear what gave you the courage to climb +those stairs!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Mr. Gordon,” says I, turnin’ to Pyramid, +who’s heard it all, “what do you think of that, +anyway?”</p> +<p>“Very neat, indeed,” says Pyramid, chucklin’.</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +wonderful self-control holds me back. But look +here, Mr. What’s-your-name——”</p> +<p>“Marston,” says he, flashin’ an engraved visitin’ +card, “L. Egbert Marston.”</p> +<p>“L. Egbert, eh?” says I. “Does the L stand +for Limed? And what do they call you for +short—Eggie?”</p> +<p>“Oh, suit yourself,” says he, with a careless +wave of the hand.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“It doesn’t sound nice,” says he; “but sometimes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +they do need a bit of training, these +women.”</p> +<p>“For instance?” says I. “In the matter of +handing over a little spendin’ money, eh?”</p> +<p>“You’ve struck it,” says he, with another +shrug.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Egbert,” says I, frank and confidential, +“you’re a sweet scented pill, ain’t you?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“I was hard up, if you want to know,” says +he. “I didn’t have a dollar.”</p> +<p>“And that,” says I, “is what you give out +as an excuse for——”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“Nothing personal, I hope,” puts in Mr. Gordon, +with another chuckle.</p> +<p>“Not so intended,” says Marston. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></p> +<p>“Eh, thanks,” says Pyramid.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.’”</p> +<p>“You’re a cucumber, all right,” says I; “but +why not, just for a change, make a stab at gettin’ +a job?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t do either,” says Pyramid. “In +fact, I think I can make use of this young man.”</p> +<p>“Then you’re welcome to him,” says I. +“Blaze ahead.”</p> +<p>“Much obliged,” says Pyramid. “Now, Mr. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +Marston, what is the most reasonable sum, per +month, that would allow you to carry out your +idea of being a gentleman?”</p> +<p>Egbert thinks that over a minute and then +puts it at three hundred.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>Egbert thinks he could stand that.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>As for Egbert, he stows the check away, taps +me on the shoulder, and remarks real friendly, +“Well, professor, no hard feelings, I hope?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Egbert laughs; but he takes the advice.</p> +<p>“Huh!” says I to Pyramid. “I expect +that’s your notion of making a funny play, +eh!”</p> +<p>“I’m no humorist, Shorty,” says he. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></p> +<p>“Then what’s the idea?” says I. “What do +you mean?”</p> +<p>“I never mean anything but cold, straight +business,” says he. “That’s the only game +worth playing.”</p> +<p>“So?” says I. “Then here’s where you got +let in bad with your eyes open. You heard him +tell how useless he was?”</p> +<p>“I did,” says Pyramid; “but I always do +my own appraising when I hire men. I anticipate +finding Mr. Marston somewhat useful.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Huh!” says I. “All I’d feel safe in givin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +Egbert to hold for me would be one end of the +Brooklyn Bridge.”</p> +<p>“I don’t care what he holds,” says Pinckney, +“if he will stay away from our little governess. +She’s a treasure.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Well,” says I, “how’s that work scornin’ +pet of yours gettin’ on these days?”</p> +<p>“Marston?” says he. “Why, haven’t you +heard? Mr. Marston is away on a vacation.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span></p> +<p>“Vacation!” says I. “He needs it, he +does!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Him a hunter?” says I. “G’wan!”</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>“What’s the joke?” says I, catchin’ a flicker +in them puffy eyes of Pyramid’s.</p> +<p>“Why, just this,” says he. “Mr. Marston, +you know, is secretary of the Consolidated Holding +Company.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I read about that,” says I. “What +then?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Ah-ha!” says I. “Turned crooked on you, +did he?”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +I was cross-examined for five hours, one day last +week.”</p> +<p>“I don’t read them muck rakin’ articles,” +says I.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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?”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know the part,” says I. “They +gen’rally spells it g-o-a-t.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XII_MRS_TRUCKLES__BROAD_JUMP' id='XII_MRS_TRUCKLES__BROAD_JUMP'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>MRS. TRUCKLES’ BROAD JUMP</h3> +</div> + +<p>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?</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“In my opinion,” says she, “that woman is +hiding some dreadful secret!”</p> +<p>But Mrs. Pinckney only smiles in that calm, +placid way of hers. You know how easy she took +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +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.</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“But she hasn’t the slightest French accent,” +insists Aunt Martha.</p> +<p>“I know,” says Mrs. Pinckney. “She lived +in England from the time she was sixteen, and +of course twenty years away from one’s——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>That wa’n’t the way Martha had her sized +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>Greraldine admits that she ain’t done much +pumpin’.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Oh, what of it?” says Mrs. Pinckney. +“She gets along splendidly with the twins. +They think the world of her.”</p> +<p>“But she’s thoroughly deceitful,” Aunt +Martha comes back. “She misrepresents her +age, lies about her birthplace, and—and she +wears a transformation wig.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I had noticed the brown wig,” admits +Mrs. Pinckney; “but they’re quite common.”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +last year. They were warned about her, +you remember.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“After all,” says she, “I’m not sure there +isn’t something queer about that woman.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +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!</p> +<p>“Ah, Truckles?” says Podmore, sort of cordial.</p> +<p>“No, no!” she gasps. “Roulaire! I am +Madame Roulaire!”</p> +<p>“Beg pardon, I’m sure,” says Sir Carpenter, +liftin’ his eyebrows and passin’ on.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Well, maybe he was,” says I. “Why +not?”</p> +<p>“Then you haven’t heard,” says Sadie, +“that Sir Carpenter was for a long time a +Judge on the criminal bench.”</p> +<p>“Z-z-z-zing!” says I. “Looks kind of +squally for the governess, don’t it?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“I’ve never been murdered in my bed, or +been fed on ground glass,” says he, “and—who +knows?—I might like the sensation.”</p> +<p>Say, there’s more sides to that Pinckney than +there are to a cutglass paperweight. You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Of course,” says Geraldine, “the twins +don’t suspect a thing as yet, and whatever we +discover must be kept from them.”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” says Sadie, “the poor little +dears mustn’t know.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +is apt to be more or less strenuous, I can +gen’rally stand an hour or so of it without +collectin’ any broken bones.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Hey, Uncle Shorty,” they yells in chorus, +“come play Wild West with us!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Pooh!” says Jill. “We’re not afraid of +you.”</p> +<p>“And we know why you’re here to-day, too,” +says Jack.</p> +<p>“Do you?” says I. “Well, let’s have +it.”</p> +<p>“You’re on guard,” says Jill, “keeping us +away from old Clicky.”</p> +<p>“Old Clicky?” says I.</p> +<p>“Uh-huh,” says Jack. “The goosy governess, +you know.”</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I, openin’ my eyes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span></p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Her hair comes off too,” says Jack, “and +it’s all gray underneath. We fished it off once, +and she was awful mad.”</p> +<p>“You just ought to hear her when she gets +mad,” says Jill. “She drops her H’s.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“You’ve got queer ways of showin’ it,” +says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“A tall woman with veils over her face,” +adds Jack. “We hid in the bushes and watched +’em.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Lots,” says Jill. “She’s scared of Marie, +the new maid. Marie makes her help with the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +dishes, and make up her own bed, and wait on +herself all the time.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +halfway down, and the next thing I know she’s +dropped onto a davenport, sobbin’ and shakin’ +all over.</p> +<p>“Excuse me for mentionin’ it,” says I; “but +there ain’t any call for hysterics.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I know who you are now,” says she. +“You—you’re a private detective!”</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I. “How’d you get onto my +disguise?”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Truckles, eh!” says I. “Now just who +was——”</p> +<p>“My ’usband, sir,” says she. “And I’m Mrs. +Truckles.”</p> +<p>“Oh-ho!” says I. “Then this Roulaire +name you’ve been flaggin’ under was sort of +a <i>nom de plume</i>?”</p> +<p>“It was for Katy I did it!” she sobs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” says I. “Well, what about +Katy?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Well?” says I. “And it got you some worried +tryin’ to make good, eh?”</p> +<p>“I was near crazy over it,” says she. “I +thought I could do it at first; but it came cruel +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +’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.”</p> +<p>“Sure,” says I; “but how about this Sir +Podmore?”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“What did I tell you?” she cackles. “She’s +broken down and confessed! I heard her!”</p> +<p>“Is it true, Shorty?” demands Mrs. Pinckney. +“Does she admit that she was plotting +to——” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span></p> +<p>“Yep!” says I. “It’s something awful too, +almost enough to curdle your blood.”</p> +<p>“Go on,” says Aunt Martha. “Tell us the +worst. What is it?”</p> +<p>“It’s a case of standin’ broad jump,” says +I, “from housekeeper to governess, with an +age handicap and a crooked entry.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Considering all the circumstances,” says +Pinckney, “I think we shall discharge Marie, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +increase Mrs. Truckles’ salary, give her an assistant, +and ask her to stay with us permanently. +Eh, Geraldine?”</p> +<p>And Geraldine nods hearty.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Jail nothin’!” says I. “There’s goin’ to +be a new deal, and you start in fresh with a +clean slate.”</p> +<p>“Humph!” snorts Aunt Martha. “Do you +expect me to stay here and countenance any such +folly?”</p> +<p>“I’m far too considerate of my relatives for +that,” says Pinckney. “There’s a train at five-thirty-six.”</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>These antelope leaps is all right sometimes; +but when you take ’em you want to be wearin’ +your own shoes.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIII_HEINEY_TAKES_THE_GLOOM_CURE' id='XIII_HEINEY_TAKES_THE_GLOOM_CURE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>HEINEY TAKES THE GLOOM CURE</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>But there the other mornin’, just as I was +havin’ a breathin’ spell after hammerin’ some +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Hello, Mr. Jarvis!” says I. “Somebody +been throwin’ the hooks into you, have they?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no,” says he. “No, I—I’m all right.”</p> +<p>“That’s good,” says I. “Dropped in to let +me hand you a few vibrations with the mitts?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Why—er—the fact is, Shorty,” says he, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +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——”</p> +<p>“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’?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +to runnin’ about as smooth as a flat wheel trolley +car on a new roadbed.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“It’s a wonder you’re still alive,” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Huh!” says I. “’Most everybody has had +an uncle of that kind.”</p> +<p>“And one of my cousins,” Jarvis goes on, +lowerin’ his voice and lookin’ around cautious, +“shot himself—in the head!”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>He groans again and nods his head.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +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?”</p> +<p>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——”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Heiney,” says I, “you’re just in time. Still +lookin’ for a nice, comfortable place to die in, +are you?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Well, cheer up, Heiney,” says I; “for I’ve +just decided to give you the use of my back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +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.”</p> +<p>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——”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>Heiney, he stands blinkin’ and starin’ at Jarvis, +until he gets him so nervous he almost +screams.</p> +<p>“For Heaven’s sake, Shorty,” says Jarvis, +“let’s not joke about such a subject!”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“Not zeashore! <i>Non</i>!” says Heiney, droppin’ +his pail and wavin’ one hand. “Eet ees +at Lack Como, in ze montongs. I am ze head +chef, <i>moi!</i>”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“<i>Non, non!</i>” 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, <i>diable! +Deux, trois</i>—t’ree hundred guests are zere. Zey +eat ze soup. Zen come by me ze <i>maître d’hôtel.</i> +He say ze soup ees spoil. Eet has ze foony taste. +Ah, mon <i>Dieu! Mon</i>——”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” says I. “Never mind whether +it was Monday or Tuesday. What did you do +then?”</p> +<p>“<i>Moi</i>? 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, <i>sacr-r-ré +nom!</i> How my heart is thoomp, thoomp, on +my inside! All night I speak to myself: ‘You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +have keel zem all! Ze <i>belle</i> ladies! Ze <i>pauvre</i> +shildren! All, you have poi-zon-ed! Zey make +to tweest up on ze floor!’ Ah, <i>diable</i>! Always +I can see zem tweest up!”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>But Jarvis, he’s gazin’ at Heiney as if this +lump of moldy sweitzerkase was fascinatin’ to +look at.</p> +<p>“I beg pardon,” says he, “but you say this +hotel was at Lake Como?”</p> +<p>Heiney nods his head, then covers his face +with his hands, as if he was seein’ things again.</p> +<p>“And what was the date of this—this unfortunate +occurrence?” says Jarvis. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></p> +<p>“Year before the last, in Augoost,” says +Heiney, shudderin’,—“Augoost seven.”</p> +<p>“The seventh of August!” says Jarvis. +“And was your hotel the Occident?”</p> +<p>“<i>Oui, oui</i>!” says Heiney. “<i>L’Hôtel Occident</i>.”</p> +<p>“Guess he means Accident,” says I. “What +do you know about it, Jarvis?”</p> +<p>“Why,” says he, “I was there.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“But ze soup!” says Heiney. “Ze poi-zon-ed +soup?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Ze alum! Ze alum! Of zat I nevair think!” +squeals Heiney, flopping down on his knees. +“Ah, <i>le bon Dieu! Le bon Dieu</i>!”</p> +<p>He clasps his hands in front of him and rolls +his eyes to the ceilin’. Say, it was the liveliest +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Ah, quit it!” says I. “This is no camp +meetin’.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“You make <i>certainement</i>, eh?” says he. +“Nobody was keel?”</p> +<p>“Not a soul,” says Jarvis. “I didn’t even +hear of anyone that was made ill.”</p> +<p>“Ah, <i>merci, merci</i>!” howls Heiney, beginnin’ +the rockin’ horse act again.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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 +<i>l’Europe</i> zey will tell you of me. For the king +of ze Englise I have made a dinner. <i>Moi!</i> I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +have invent ze sauce Ravignon. From nozzing +at all—some meat scraps, some leetle greens—I +produce ze dish ravishment.”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +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.</p> +<p>“<i>Messieurs</i>,” says he, “eet ees serve.”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Why!” says Jarvis, smackin’ his lips after +the third forkful. “It’s <i>ris de veau</i>, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“But yes, monsieur!” says Heiney, his face +lightin’ up. “Eet ees <i>ris de veau grillé, à la +financier</i>.”</p> +<p>“And what’s that in English?” says I.</p> +<p>“In Englise,” says Heiney, shruggin’ his +shoulders, “eet ees not exist. Eet ees Parisienne.”</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“Ah, chuck it!” says I. “It was curin’ +Heiney that cured you.”</p> +<p>“Really?” says he. “Then you are a believer +in homeopathic psychotherapeutics?”</p> +<p>“Which?” says I. “Say, write that down +on my cuff by syllables, will you? I want to +spring it on Swifty Joe.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIV_A_TRYOUT_FOR_TOODLEISM' id='XIV_A_TRYOUT_FOR_TOODLEISM'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>A TRY-OUT FOR TOODLEISM</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Don’t, Doc.!” says I. “That nerve’s always +been a friend of mine until lately. +Wouldn’t dopin’ it do?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Did I hurt?” says he.</p> +<p>“You don’t call that ticklin’, do you?” +says I.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“There!” says he, handin’ me a drug store +drink flavored with formaldehyde. “In the +course of forty-eight hours or so that nerve will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +be as dead as a piece of string. Meantime it +may throb at intervals.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Nobody ever had this one before,” says I, +“and the way I look now ain’t chronic, like +some faces I know of.”</p> +<p>“Ahr chee!” says Swifty, which is his way +of bringin’ in a minority report.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Guess I’ll appoint this a special fast day +for mine,” says I to Sadie.</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” says she. “You come right +downstairs and see Dr. Toodle. He’ll fix it in +no time.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +drawin’-room, where I’m camped down on a +sofa, holdin’ on with both hands.</p> +<p>“Dr. Toodle,” says she, “I want to present +Mr. McCabe.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Nothin’ but a specked tooth,” says I. “But +I can stand it.”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“Ah, say, Doc.,” says I, “cut out the preamble! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +If you’ve got a cocaine gun in your +pocket, dig it up!”</p> +<p>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?</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“He’s a very distinguished man,” she says. +“He’s the founder of Toodleism. He’s written +a book about it.”</p> +<p>“I thought he looked like a nutty one,” says +I. “Keep him away from me; I’ll be all right +by mornin’.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Oh, here you are!” says she, like we was +old friends. “Do you know, I’ve just heard of +your—your trouble.”</p> +<p>“Ah, it ain’t any killin’ matter,” says I. “It +don’t amount to much.”</p> +<p>“Of course it doesn’t!” says she. “And +that is what I came to talk to you about. I am +Miss Lee,—Violet Lee.”</p> +<p>“Ye-e-es?” says I.</p> +<p>“You see,” she goes on, “I am Dr. Toodle’s +secretary and assistant.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” says I. “He’s in luck, then.”</p> +<p>“Now, now!” says she, just like that, givin’ +me a real giddy tap with her fan. “You must +be real serious.”</p> +<p>“I’m in condition to be all of that,” says +I. “Are you plannin’ to try the——”</p> +<p>“I am going to help you to banish the imaginary +pains, Mr. McCabe,” says she. “Now +first you must repeat after me the <i>summum +bonum</i>.”</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I.</p> +<p>“It’s very simple,” says she, floppin’ down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“That’s it!” she purrs. “Now, ‘Evil and +fear and pain are the creatures of darkness.’ +Go on!”</p> +<p>“Sure thing!” says I. “‘Evil and fear +and——Ouch!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +pipe dream,—when I glances over her shoulder +and sees Sadie floatin’ in hangin’ to Dr. +Toodle’s arm.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Well, I never!” says Sadie, givin’ me the +gimlet gaze. And say, she puts plenty of expression +into them three words.</p> +<p>“Me either,” says I. “Not very often, anyway. +But a chance is a chance.”</p> +<p>“I hope I didn’t intrude?” says she, her eyes +snappin’.</p> +<p>“There’s no tellin’,” says I.</p> +<p>“It was a very touching scene!” says she. +“Very!”</p> +<p>“Wa’n’t it?” says I. “Nice girl, Violet.”</p> +<p>“Violet! Humph!” says she. “There’s no +accounting for tastes!”</p> +<p>“Just what I was thinkin’ when I see you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +with the timelock clutch on that freak doctor’s +south wing,” says I.</p> +<p>“Dr. Toodle,” says she, “was explaining to +me his wonderful self healing theories.”</p> +<p>“And dear Violet,” says I, “was puttin’ me +through a course of sprouts in the automatic +toothache cure.”</p> +<p>“Oh, indeed!” says Sadie. “Was patting +your cheek part of it?”</p> +<p>“I hope so,” says I.</p> +<p>“Huh!” says she. “I suppose it worked?”</p> +<p>“Like a charm,” says I. “All that bothers +me now is how I can dig up another pain.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +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’.</p> +<p>“Confounded rubbish, I call it!” says Mr. +Purdy-Pell.</p> +<p>“You ought to hear it from Violet,” says +I. “She’s the star explainer of that combination.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +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.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“Say, something is goin’ to harm you mighty +sudden,” says I, “if you don’t let me up out +of this.”</p> +<p>“Oh, my life blood!” he groans. “I can +feel my life blood! Oh, oh! I am a child +of——”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +paper bag, right up against the front of his +preacher’s vest. And can you guess what’s happened +to them eggs?</p> +<p>“Oh, my life blood!” he keeps on moanin’. +“I can feel it oozing through——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>About then I gets a squint at Sadie and Mrs. +Purdy-Pell, and they’re almost chokin’ to death +in a funny fit.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Not that I don’t believe there was something +in what he said,” Sadie explains to me +afterwards; “only—only——”</p> +<p>“Only he was a false alarm, eh?” says I. +“Well, Violet wa’n’t that kind, anyway.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span></p> +<p>“Pooh!” says she. “I suppose you’ll brag +about Violet for the rest of your life.”</p> +<p>Can you keep ’em guessin’ long, when it comes +to things of that kind? Not if they’re like +Sadie.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XV_THE_CASE_OF_THE_TISCOTTS' id='XV_THE_CASE_OF_THE_TISCOTTS'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<h3>THE CASE OF THE TISCOTTS</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” says I, “break it to me +gentle.”</p> +<p>“Get into it quick!” says he, grabbin’ the +coat.</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I. “Fire, police, or what?”</p> +<p>“S-s-sh!” says he. “Lady to see you.”</p> +<p>“What kind,” says I, “perfect, or just plain +lady? And what’s her name?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“See here, Swifty,” says I, “if this is another +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +of them hot air demonstrators, or a book +agent, there’ll be trouble comin’ your way in +bunches! Remember, now!”</p> +<p>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?</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Why, there you are, Professor McCabe!” +says she, in that gushy, up and down tone, like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +she was usin’ language as some sort of throat +gargle. “How perfectly dear of you to be here, +too!”</p> +<p>“Yes, ain’t it?” says I. “I’ve kind of got +into the habit of bein’ here.”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“Why, sure,” says I. “Miss Ann, ain’t it?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Gee!” thinks I. “Wonder what she’s +going to do for me?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Apartment house, is it?” says I.</p> +<p>“No, no!” says she. “Haven’t you read +about it? It’s to be a white plague station for +working girls.”</p> +<p>“A white—white——Oh! For lungers, +eh?”</p> +<p>“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?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span></p> +<p>“Great!” says I, lyin’ as easy and genteel +as if I had lots of practice.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I, gaspin’ some; for it ain’t +often I’m elected to things.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“You mean I get two-fifty,” says I, “for—for +just——”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“So you just put me down offhand for two +hundred and fifty, did you?” says I.</p> +<p>“If you wish,” says she, “you may take out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Of working?” says I.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span></p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Tiscotts!” says I, prickin’ up my ears. +“What Tiscotts? What’s his first name?”</p> +<p>“I never heard the husband mentioned,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +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——”</p> +<p>“I am,” says I. “I’m ready to go when you +are.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Very well, then,” says she, “we will drive +down there at once.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +rents or servin’ dispossess notices prompt when +they don’t pay up.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“This is where the Tiscotts hang out, is it?” +says I. “Shall I lug the basket for you, Miss +Colliver?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Let Hutchins sit on the box this time,” says +I, grabbin’ up the basket. “Besides, I don’t +want any second hand report.”</p> +<p>“But surely,” puts in Miss Ann, “you are +not going into such a——”</p> +<p>“Why not?” says I. “I begun livin’ in one +just like it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span></p> +<p>At that Miss Ann settles back under the robe, +shrugs her shoulders into her furs, and waves +for me to go ahead.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +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?</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Who’s that?” she sings out. “What do +you——Why! Well, of all things, Shorty McCabe, +what brings you here?”</p> +<p>“I’m playin’ errand boy for the kind Miss +Colliver,” says I, holdin’ up the basket.</p> +<p>Is there a grand rush my way, and glad cries, +and tears of joy? Nothing doing in the thankful +hysterics line.</p> +<p>“Oh!” says Mrs. Tiscott. “Well, let’s see +what it is this time.” And she proceeds to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +dump out Miss Ann’s contribution. There’s a +glass of gooseb’ry bar le duc, another of guava +jelly, a little can of pâté de foie gras, and half +a dozen lady fingers.</p> +<p>“Huh!” says she, shovin’ the truck over on +the window sill. As she’s expressed my sentiments +too, I lets it go at that.</p> +<p>“Looks like one of your busy days,” says I.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“What’s the job?” says I.</p> +<p>“Baby dresses,” says she.</p> +<p>“Good money in it?” says I.</p> +<p>“Oh, sure!” says she. “Forty cents a +dozen is good, ain’t it?”</p> +<p>“What noble merchant prince is so generous +to you as all that?” says I.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“How’s Annie?” says I, lookin’ over at her.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Yes, I knew. “How about Tony?” says I.</p> +<p>“Tony!” says she, hard and bitter. “How +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +do I know? He ain’t been near us for a month +past.”</p> +<p>“Sends in something of a Saturday, don’t +he?” says I.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“I thought Lizzie was in a store?” says I, +noddin’ towards the twelve-year-old girl at the +nut pickin’ table.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Then it was my turn to say “Huh!”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you have him up?” says I.</p> +<p>“I’m a-scared,” says she. “He’s promised +to break my head.”</p> +<p>“Think he would?” says I.</p> +<p>“Yes,” says she. “He’s changed for the +worse lately. He’d do it, all right, if I took him +to court.”</p> +<p>“What if I stood ready to break his, eh?” +says I. “Would that hold him?”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +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.</p> +<p>“I hate to do it too,” says she.</p> +<p>“I know,” says I; “but no meat or potatoes +from me unless you do!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Well?” says Miss Ann, when I comes back +with the empty basket. “Did you find it an +interesting case?”</p> +<p>“Maybe that’s the word,” says I.</p> +<p>“You saw the young woman, did you?” says +she, “the one who——”</p> +<p>“Sure,” says I. “She’s got it—bad.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” says Miss Ann, brightenin’ up. +“And now about that life membership!”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“You would be—er——Beg pardon,” says +she, “but I don’t think I quite get you?”</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></p> +<p>“As I said,” goes on Miss Colliver, “I +hardly think I understand.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Humph!” says she. “That, at least, is +quite definite. Home, Hutchins!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>But think of the chance I passed up of +breakin’ into the high toned philanthropy class!</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVI_CLASSING_TUTWATER_RIGHT' id='XVI_CLASSING_TUTWATER_RIGHT'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<h3>CLASSING TUTWATER RIGHT</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Huh!” thinks I. “That’s goin’ some for +a nine by ten coop under the skylight.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span></p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Five week!” says Pouly. “One dollar +twenty-five.”</p> +<p>“Sufferin’ Shylocks! All of that? Well, +neighbor,” says I to the strange gent, “has he +stated it correct?”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“My dear sir,” says the stranger, followin’ +me into the front office, “permit me to——”</p> +<p>“Ah, never mind the resolutions!” says I, +“It was worth riskin’ that much for the sake +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +of stoppin’ the riot. Yes, I know you’ll pay it +back. Let’s see, which is your floor?”</p> +<p>“Top, sir,” says he, “room 37.”</p> +<p>“Oh ho!” says I. “Then you’re the enterprise +director, Tutwater?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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’.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Director of enterprises, eh?” says I. +“That’s a new one on me.”</p> +<p>“Naturally,” says he, wavin’ his hand, “considering +that I am first in the field. It is a +profession I am creating.”</p> +<p>“So?” says I. “Well, how are you comin’ +on?”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“I see,” says I. “You with your hand on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +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.”</p> +<p>“Not at all,” says he. “Merely petty annoyances, +thorns and pebbles in the pathways +that lead to each high emprise.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>But his prize stunt was when he broke into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“But look here, Tutty,” says I, “just +what sort of enterprise do you think you can +direct?”</p> +<p>“Any sort,” says he, “anything, from running +an international exposition, to putting an +icecream parlor on a paying basis.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you find your modesty something of +a handicap?” says I.</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +the roof, a corps of assistants working day and +night shifts, and——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Here is the place for such chances to occur,” +says he, “and I know what I can do.”</p> +<p>“All right,” says I; “but if I was you I’d +trail down some pavin’ job before the paper +inner soles wore clean through.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>And then, one noon as we was chinnin’ here +in the front office, in blows a portly, red faced, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Same to you and many of ’em,” says I. +“What’ll it be?”</p> +<p>“McCabe was the name,” says he; “Professor +McCabe, I think. I had it written down +somewhere; but——”</p> +<p>“Never mind,” says I. “This is the shop +and I’m the right party. What then?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps you don’t know me?” says he, explorin’ +his vest pockets sort of aimless with his +fingers.</p> +<p>“That’s another good guess,” says I; “but +there’s lots of time ahead of us.”</p> +<p>“I—I am—well, never mind the name,” says +he, brushin’ one hand over his eyes. “I—I’ve +mislaid it.”</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Wha-a-at’s that?” I gasps. “Say, +couldn’t you make it Madison Square Garden? +I could get rent out of that.”</p> +<p>“Well, if you prefer,” says he, without +crackin’ a smile. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span></p> +<p>“And this is Mr. Tutwater,” says I. “He +ought to be in on this. What’ll yours be, +Tutty?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +as well have shouted into the safe, though. He +never stirs.</p> +<p>“The thing to do,” says Tutwater, “is to +discover his name, if we can, and then communicate +with his friends or family.”</p> +<p>“Maybe you’re right, Tutwater,” says I. +“And there’s a bunch of letters in his inside +pocket. Have a look.”</p> +<p>“They all seem to be addressed to J. T. +Fargo, Esq.,” says Tutwater.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>A minute more and I had the Fargo house on +the wire.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>I’d heard of that old maid sister of his, and +how she was a queer old girl; but I didn’t have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +any idea what a cold blooded proposition she +was. Honest, she seemed put out and pettish +because I’d called her up.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Cats!” says I. “Say, what do you——”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +grips me by the hand. “Professor,” says he, +“I have it! There is Opportunity!”</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I. “Old Jerry? How?”</p> +<p>“I shall cure him—restore his mind, make +him normal,” says Tutwater.</p> +<p>“What do you know about brushin’ out batty +lofts?” says I.</p> +<p>“Nothing at all,” says he; “but I can find +someone who does. You’ll give me Fargo, +won’t you?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“What for?” says I.</p> +<p>“Until I can engage my chief of staff,” says +he.</p> +<p>“Say, Tutty,” says I, “do you really mean +to put over a bluff the size of that?”</p> +<p>“I’ve thought it all out,” says he. “I can +do it.”</p> +<p>“All right, blaze ahead,” says I; “but I’m +bettin’ you land in the lockup inside of twenty-four +hours.”</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Here, here!” says I. “Where you headed +for now?”</p> +<p>And Tutwater explains how his first investment +is to be a new silk lid, some patent leather +shoes, and a silver headed walkin’ stick.</p> +<p>“Good business!” says I. “You’ll need all +the front you can carry.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Tutwater Sanatorium is a fact,” says he. +“I have the lease in my pocket.”</p> +<p>“What is it, some abandoned farm up in +Vermont?” says I.</p> +<p>“Hardly,” says Tutwater, smilin’ quiet. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“But, say, Tutwater,” says I, “how in +blazes did you——”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Aha!” says I. “He’s added a press agent +to the staff, and he sure has got a bird!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Got ’em mesmerized?” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well, well!” says I. “Seven of ’em! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +What I don’t understand, Tutwater, is how you +got so many patients so soon. Where’d you get +hold of ’em?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“And the others?” says I.</p> +<p>“First class imitations, who are playing +their parts very cleverly,” says he. “Why +not? I engaged them through a reliable theatrical +agency.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVII_HOW_HERMY_PUT_IT_OVER' id='XVII_HOW_HERMY_PUT_IT_OVER'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<h3>HOW HERMY PUT IT OVER</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +called on to redeem the ticket on that, anyway.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Can it, Shorty,” says he. “There’s no +brace coming this time.”</p> +<p>“Eh?” says I. “Once more with that last, +and say it slower, so I can let it sink in.”</p> +<p>“Don’t kid,” says he. “This is straight +business.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” says I. “Well, that does sound serious. +In that case, who’s your—er——Did he +come in with you?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well,” says I, “don’t he—er——Is it a +dummy, or a live one? Got a name, ain’t it?”</p> +<p>“Why, sure!” says Snick. “That’s Hermy. +Hey you, Hermy, shake hands with Professor +McCabe!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span></p> +<p>“Howdy,” says I, makin’ ready to pass the +grip. But Hermy ain’t in a sociable mood, it +seems.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>“Splash!” says I. “You mean, mean thing! +So there!”</p> +<p>“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +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?”</p> +<p>“Ye-e-es, sir,” sniffles Hermy.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“You ain’t cast the hypnotic spell over him, +have you, Snick?” says I.</p> +<p>“Hypnotic nothing!” says Snick. “That +ain’t a man; it’s only a music box!”</p> +<p>“A which?” says I.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Is this something you dreamed, Snick,” +says I, “or is it a sample of your megaphone +talk?”</p> +<p>“You don’t believe it, of course,” says he. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +“That’s what I brought him up here for. +Hermy, turn on the Toreador business!”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“I know, Shorty,” says Snick, earnest and +pleadin’; “but you’re my last hope. I’ve simply +got to convince you.”</p> +<p>“Sorry, Snick,” says I; “but this ain’t my +day for tryin’ out barytones. Besides, I got to +catch a train.”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>“If it’s as desperate as all that,” says I, +“spiel away.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +the orders mixed, and spillin’ soup on +the customers, and passin’ out wrong checks, +and havin’ the boss worked up to the assassination +point.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +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.</p> +<p>“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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +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!”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“But how the—where in blazes did you get +it?” says I.</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +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!”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Well, what then?” says I.</p> +<p>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’.</p> +<p>“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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +from Bridgeport, Conn.——I wouldn’t +have the nerve, Snick. Why not take him +around to the concert agencies first?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Why Wednesday?” says I. “Wouldn’t +Thursday or Friday do as well?”</p> +<p>“No,” says he. “That’s Frenchy’s only +night off from the café, 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.”</p> +<p>Well, I tells Snick I’ll see what can be done, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +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.</p> +<p>“All right,” says I. “But it’s all up to her, +don’t you forget.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Hermy was all primed for his cue, and when +Mrs. Purdy-Pell gives the nod I sees Snick push +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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’.</p> +<p>“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Why—why,” says he, “what does this +mean, Mr. ——”</p> +<p>“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!”</p> +<p>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?</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVIII_JOY_RIDING_WITH_AUNTY' id='XVIII_JOY_RIDING_WITH_AUNTY'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<h3>JOY RIDING WITH AUNTY</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span></p> +<p>“Handing you a few practical hints along the +economy line, eh?” says I.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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!</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +from the Psalms for Aunt Elvira when +she comes down to inflict her annual visit.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“They overdid it, that’s all,” says Dyke. +“Healthy looking Bishop I’d make! What?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span></p> +<p>“You ain’t got just the style for a right +reverend, that’s a fact,” says I.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>You see, having gone so far with their fairy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Come on, Shorty!” says he. “Something +fruity is on the schedule.”</p> +<p>“Hope it don’t taste like a lemon,” says I. +“What’s the grand rush?”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Aunty’s got a treat in store for her, eh?” +says I, givin’ Dyke the wink.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Well, I didn’t exactly like the idea of mixin’ +up with a fam’ly surprise party like that; but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +<img src='images/illus-286.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 490px; height: 336px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 490px;'> +“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Most of Auntie was obscured by the luggage she carries</span>”<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>“There she is!” whispers Dyke, givin’ me +the nudge. “That’s Aunt Elvira, with her bonnet +on one ear.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Gee!” says I. “Aunty carries her own +scenery with her, don’t she?”</p> +<p>“That’s Bismarck in the cage,” says Dyke.</p> +<p>“How Bizzy has changed!” says I. “But +why the feather mattress?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Where is Dyckman?” says she, settin’ her +chin for trouble. “Isn’t he here?”</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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:</p> +<p>“Land to goodness! You?”</p> +<p>“Reverse!” says I. “Here’s the guilty +party,” and I pushes Dyke to the front.</p> +<p>She don’t gasp, or go up in the air, or throw +any kind of a fit, like I expected. As she looks +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +him over careful, from the sporty hat to the wide +soled shoes, I notices her eyes twinkle.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“Glad of it, Aunty,” says Dyke, with a grin. +“I don’t feel that way.”</p> +<p>“And you don’t look as if you had broken +down your health studying for the ministry, +either!” she goes on.</p> +<p>“You don’t mean to say they filled you up +with that?” says Dyke. “Hee-haw!”</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“This is Professor McCabe,” says Dyke. +“He’s a friend of mine.”</p> +<p>“Let him come along, too,” says Aunty. +“Perhaps he can supply what you leave +out.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“I will ride up with Dyckman and his +friend,” says she. “And I want to go in one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +of those new automobile cabs I’ve heard so much +about.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“My sakes! but these things do ride easy!” +says Aunty, settlin’ back in her corner. “Can +they go any faster, Dyckman?”</p> +<p>“Just wait until we get straightened out on +the avenue,” says Dyke, and tips me the roguish +glance.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>Well, Dyke starts in to unload the whole yarn, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Hey!” says I, buttin’ in on the confession +and pointin’ back. “We’re losin’ part of our +cargo.”</p> +<p>“Land sakes!” says Aunt Elvira, after one +glance. “Stop! Stop!”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Look at Craig! Look at Mabel Ann!” +snickers Aunt Elvira. “Tell your man to go +faster, Dyckman. Push out more feathers!”</p> +<p>“More feathers it is,” says I, shovin’ another +fold of the bed through the window. Even Bismarck +gets excited and starts squawkin’.</p> +<p>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?</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Thanks, but I’ll walk back,” says I, as we +pulls up at the house. “Guess I can find the +trail easy enough, eh?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>“Do it, son,” says I. “If you can’t, I don’t +know who can.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIX_TURNING_A_TRICK_FOR_BEANY' id='XIX_TURNING_A_TRICK_FOR_BEANY'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<h3>TURNING A TRICK FOR BEANY</h3> +</div> + +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“Gee!” says I. “Why didn’t you buy a +private railroad train while you was about it, +Pinckney?”</p> +<p>“Precisely what I thought I was getting,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +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?”</p> +<p>“Got any idea where you’re going, or how +long you’ll be gone?” says I.</p> +<p>“Nothing very definite,” says he. “Purdy-Pell +suggested the shore road to Boston and +back through the Berkshires.”</p> +<p>“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——”</p> +<p>“Oh, Renée tells me we can make it in four +days,” says Pinckney, nodding at the chauffeur. +“He’s been over the route a dozen times.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span></p> +<p>“Well,” says I to Pinckney, “I’ve decided +to go.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 Renée 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.</p> +<p>“<i>Sacré!</i>” says Renée through his front +teeth.</p> +<p>“Ha, ha!” sings out Pinckney. “My first +blow-out!”</p> +<p>“Glad you feel so happy over it,” says I.</p> +<p>It’s a sensation that don’t bring much joy, as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>First off we all has to pile out and get in +Renée’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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span></p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +duty. So a fool freak hits me to stroll over and +poke him up.</p> +<p>“Hey, you!” says I, vaultin’ the fence.</p> +<p>He jerks his head up a little at that, kind of +stares in my direction, and then dives into another +hill of spuds.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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?”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“But,” says he, hesitatin’ and pushin’ back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +the hat brim, “isn’t this—er—aren’t you Professor +McCabe?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></p> +<p>“What!” says I. “Not Beany, that used +to do architectin’ on the top floor over the +studio?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” says he.</p> +<p>“And you’ve forgot my mug so soon?” +says I.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>“You don’t mean,” says I, “that—that +you——”</p> +<p>He nods, puts his hands up to his face, and +turns his head for a minute.</p> +<p>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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span></p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“I—I’d like to, Shorty,” says he.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +he disappeared. Fact was, he just dropped out, +and I don’t know as I even asked what had become +of him.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +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.</p> +<p>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?</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“That so?” says I, battin’ my head for some +come-back that would fit. “Why—er—I should +think you’d miss ’em, Beany.”</p> +<p>Brilliant, wa’n’t it? But Beany throws back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +his head and lets out the first real laugh he’s +indulged in for over a year.</p> +<p>“No, hardly that,” says he. “I don’t care +about carrying my rainbows around with me.”</p> +<p>“But look here, Beany,” says I. “You +can’t stay here doin’ the poultry hermit act.”</p> +<p>“It’s the only thing I’m fit for,” says he; +“so I must.”</p> +<p>“Then you’ve got to let us send you a few +things occasionally,” says I. “I’ll look up +your old boss and——”</p> +<p>“No, no!” says he. “I’m getting along +all right. I’ve been a little lonesome; but I’ll +pull through.”</p> +<p>“You ought to be doin’ some doctorin’, +though,” says I.</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>Somehow I didn’t enjoy the rest of that day’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +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.</p> +<p>“Pinckney,” says I, as we was puttin’ up in +Newport, “you know all sorts of crackerjacks. +Got any expert eye doctors on your list?”</p> +<p>He chews that over a minute or so, and concludes +that he has, a Dr. Jason Craige, who’s +right here in town.</p> +<p>“He’s the real thing, is he?” says I.</p> +<p>“Most skillful oculist in the country,” says +Pinckney, “and charges accordingly.”</p> +<p>“As high as fifty a throw?” says I.</p> +<p>“Fifty!” says Pinckney. “You should see +his Cliff Walk cottage.”</p> +<p>“Let’s,” says I. “There’s a friend of mine +I’d like to have him take a look at to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“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.”</p> +<p>“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. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span></p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“If it means a chance for Beany,” says I, +“I’ll bid good-by to five twenties and let you +do your worst.”</p> +<p>“A wager of that sort would tempt Craige, +if anything would,” says Pinckney. “We’ll +try it on, anyway.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +exhibition he takes a brace and surprises himself.</p> +<p>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 Renée 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>It’s a fact, too; for Beany goes back on his +old job next Monday mornin’.</p> +<p>“By Jove!” says Pinckney, after the trick +is turned. “A miracle, Craige!”</p> +<p>“Miracle be blowed!” says the Doc. “You +accomplished the miracle last night, Pinckney, +when you ran thirty-two buttons on scratch +hits.”</p> +<div class='ce'> +<p>THE END</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>THE NOVELS OF</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list.</p> +</div> + +<p>GRAUSTARK. Illustrated with Scenes from the Play.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher.</p> +<p>This is a sequel to “Graustark.” A bewitching American girl +visits the little principality and there has a romantic love affair.</p> +<p>PRINCE OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by A. I. Keller.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>BREWSTER’S MILLIONS.</p> +<p>Illustrated with Scenes from the Photo-Play.</p> +<p>A young man, required to spend one million dollars in one year, +in order to inherit <i>seven</i>, accomplishes the task in this lively story.</p> +<p>COWARDICE COURT.</p> +<p>Illus. by Harrison Fisher and decorations by Theodore Hapgood.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE HOLLOW OF HER HAND. Illustrated by A. I. Keller.</p> +<p>A story of modern New York, built around an ancient enmity, +born of the scorn of the aristocrat for one of inferior birth.</p> +<p>WHAT’S-HIS-NAME. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher.</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<div class='ce' style=' font-size:0.8em;'> +<p><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>ZANE GREY’S NOVELS</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list</p> +</div> + +<p>THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE RAINBOW TRAIL</p> +<p>The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the great western +uplands—until at last love and faith awake.</p> +<p>DESERT GOLD</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN</p> +<p>This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, known as the +<i>preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert and of a hunt in</i> “that +wonderful country of deep canons and giant pines.”</p> +<p>THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE SHORT STOP</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>BETTY ZANE</p> +<p>This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful young sister of +old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers.</p> +<p>THE LONE STAR RANGER</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE BORDER LEGION</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS,</p> +<p>By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey</p> +<p>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</p> +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>B. M. Bower’s Novels</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>Thrilling Western Romances</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>Large 12 mos. Handsomely bound in cloth. Illustrated</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +</div> + +<p>CHIP, OF THE FLYING U</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE HAPPY FAMILY</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE RANGE DWELLERS</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE LONESOME TRAIL</p> +<p>“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.</p> +<p>THE LONG SHADOW</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class='ce' style=' font-size:0.8em;'> +<p><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>BOOTH TARKINGTON’S NOVELS</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</p> +</div> + +<p>SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class='ce' style=' font-size:0.8em;'> +<p><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP’S DRAMATIZED NOVELS</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>THE KIND THAT ARE MAKING THEATRICAL HISTORY</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask far Grosset & Dunlap’s list</p> +</div> + +<p>WITHIN THE LAW. By Bayard Veiller & Marvin Dana. +Illustrated by Wm. Charles Cooke.</p> +<p>This is a novelization of the immensely successful play which ran +for two years in New York and Chicago.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY. By Robert Carlton Brown. +Illustrated with scenes from the play.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>The story of Mary is being told in moving pictures and played in +theatres all over the world.</p> +<p>THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM. By David Belasco. +Illustrated by John Rae.</p> +<p>This is a novelization of the popular play in which David Warfield, +as Old Peter Grimm, scored such a remarkable success.</p> +<p>The story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal, +powerful, both as a book and as a play.</p> +<p>THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens.</p> +<p>This novel is an intense, glowing epic of the great desert, sunlit +barbaric, with its marvelous atmosphere of vastness and loneliness.</p> +<p>It is a book of rapturous beauty, vivid in word painting. The play +has been staged with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties.</p> +<p>BEN HUR. A Tale of the Christ. By General Lew Wallace.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>BOUGHT AND PAID FOR. By George Broadhurst and Arthur +Hornblow. Illustrated with scenes from the play.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>The interest of the story turns on the day-by-day developments +which show the young wife the price she has paid.</p> +<div class='ce' style=' font-size:0.8em;'> +<p><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>THE NOVELS OF</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'>STEWART EDWARD WHITE</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</p> +</div> + +<p>THE BLAZED TRAIL. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE CALL OF THE NORTH. Ills. with Scenes from the Play.</p> +<p>The story centers about a Hudson Bay trading post, known as +“The Conjuror’s House” (the original title of the book.)</p> +<p>THE RIVERMAN. Ills. by N. C. Wyeth and C. F. Underwood.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>RULES OF THE GAME. Illustrated by Lejaren A. Hiller.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>GOLD. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE FOREST. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE MOUNTAINS. Illustrated by Fernand Lungren.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>THE CABIN. Illustrated with photographs by the author.</p> +<p>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.”</p> +<p>THE GRAY DAWN. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<div class='ce' style=' font-size:0.8em;'> +<p><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ODD NUMBERS***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 26528-h.txt or 26528-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/6/5/2/26528">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/5/2/26528</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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