CHAPTER XVII
THE MAN AT THE ASTOR
Refraining from discussing with Master Maloney the allegedbone-headedness of girls, Smith went through into the inner room, andfound John sitting in the editorial chair, glancing through the latestnumber of _Peaceful Moments_.
"Why, John, friend of my youth," he said, "where have you been hidingall this time? I called you up at your office weeks ago, and an acidvoice informed me that you were no longer there. Have you been fired?"
"Yes," said John. "Why aren't you on the _News_ any more? Nobodyseemed to know where you were, till I met Faraday this morning, whotold me you were here."
Smith was conscious of an impression that in some subtle way John hadchanged since their last meeting. For a moment he could not have saidwhat had given him this impression. Then it flashed upon him. Before,John had always been, like Mrs. Fezziwig in "The Christmas Carol," onevast substantial smile. He had beamed cheerfully on what to him wasevidently the best of all possible worlds. Now, however, it would seemthat doubts had occurred to him as to the universal perfection ofthings. His face was graver. His eyes and his mouth alike gave evidenceof disturbing happenings.
In the matter of confidences, Smith was not a believer in spade-work.If they were offered to him, he was invariably sympathetic, but henever dug for them. That John had something on his mind was obvious,but he intended to allow him, if he wished to reveal it, to select hisown time for the revelation.
John, for his part, had no intention of sharing this particular troubleeven with Smith. It was too new and intimate for discussion.
It was only since his return to New York that the futility of his questhad really come home to him. In the belief of having at last escapedfrom Mervo he had been inclined to overlook obstacles. It had seemed tohim, while he waited for his late subjects to dismiss him, that, oncehe could move, all would be simple. New York had dispelled that idea.Logically, he saw with perfect clearness, there was no reason why heand Betty should ever meet again.
To retain a spark of hope beneath this knowledge was not easy and John,having been in New York now for nearly three weeks without anyencouragement from the fates, was near the breaking point. A grayapathy had succeeded the frenzied restlessness of the first few days.The necessity for some kind of work that would to some extent occupyhis mind was borne in upon him, and the thought of Smith had followednaturally. If anybody could supply distraction, it would be Smith.Faraday, another of the temporary exiles from the _News_, whom hehad met by chance in Washington Square, had informed him of Smith's newposition and of the renaissance of _Peaceful Moments_, and he hadhurried to the office to present himself as an unskilled but willingvolunteer to the cause. Inspection of the current number of the paperhad convinced him that the _Peaceful Moments_ atmosphere, if itcould not cure, would at least relieve.
"Faraday told me all about what you had done to this paper," he said."I came to see if you would let me in on it. I want work."
"Excellent!" said Smith. "Consider yourself one of us."
"I've never done any newspaper work, of course, but--"
"Never!" cried Smith. "Is it so long since the deaf old college daysthat you forget the _Gridiron?"_
In their last year at Harvard, Smith and John, assisted by others of acongenial spirit, had published a small but lively magazine devoted tocollege topics, with such success--from one point of view--that on theappearance of the third number it was suppressed by the authorities.
"You were the life and soul of the _Gridiron,"_ went on Smith."You shall be the life and soul of _Peaceful Moments_. You havespecial qualifications for the post. A young man once called at theoffice of a certain newspaper, and asked for a job. 'Have you anyspecialty?' enquired the editor. 'Yes,' replied the bright boy, 'I amrather good at invective.' 'Any particular kind of invective?' queriedthe man up top. 'No,' replied our hero, 'just general invective.' Suchis your case, my son. You have a genius for general invective. You arethe man _Peaceful Moments_ has been waiting for."
"If you think so--"
"I do think so. Let us consider it settled. And now, tell me, what doyou think of our little journal?"
"Well--aren't you asking for trouble? Isn't the proprietor--?"
Smith waved his hand airily.
"Dismiss him from your mind," he said. "He is a gentleman of the nameof Benjamin Scobell, who--"
"Benjamin Scobell!"
"Who lives in Europe and never sees the paper. I happen to know that heis anxious to get rid of it. His solicitors have instructions to acceptany reasonable offer. If only I could close in on a small roll, I wouldbuy it myself, for by the time we have finished our improvements, itwill be a sound investment for the young speculator. Have you read theBroster Street story? It has hit somebody already. Already some unknownindividual is grasping the lemon in his unwilling fingers. And--toremove any diffidence you may still have about lending your sympatheticaid--that was written by no hardened professional, but by ourstenographer. She'll be in soon, and I'll introduce you. You'll likeher. I do not despair, later on, of securing an epoch-makingcontribution from Comrade Maloney."
As he spoke, that bulwark of the paper entered in person, bearing anenvelope.
"Ah, Comrade Maloney," said Smith. "Is that your contribution? What isthe subject? 'Mustangs I have Met?'"
"A kid brought dis," said Pugsy. "Dere ain't no answer."
Smith read the letter with raised eyebrows.
"We shall have to get another stenographer," he said. "The giftedauthor of our Broster Street series has quit."
"Oh!" said John, not interested.
"Quit at a moment's notice and without explanation. I can't understandit."
"I guess she had some reason," said John, absently. He was inclined tobe absent during these days. His mind was always stealing away tooccupy itself with the problem of the discovery of Betty. The motivesthat might have led a stenographer to resign her position had nointerest for him.
Smith shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, Woman, Woman!" he said resignedly.
"She says she will send in some more Broster Street stuff, though,which is a comfort. But I'm sorry she's quit. You would have likedher."
"Yes?" said John.
At this moment there came from the outer office a piercing squeal. Itpenetrated into the editorial sanctum, losing only a small part of itsstrength on the way. Smith looked up with patient sadness.
"If Comrade Maloney," he said, "is going to take to singing duringbusiness hours, I fear this journal must put up its shutters.Concentrated thought will be out of the question."
He moved to the door and flung it open as a second squeal rent the air,and found Master Maloney writhing in the grip of a tough-looking personin patched trousers and a stained sweater. His left ear was firmlygrasped between the stranger's finger and thumb.
The tough person released Pugsy, and, having eyed Smith keenly for amoment, made a dash for the stairs, leaving the guardian of the gaterubbing his ear resentfully.
"He blows in," said Master Maloney, aggrieved, "an' asks is de editorin. I tells him no, an' he nips me by the ear when I tries to stop himbuttin' t'roo."
"Comrade Maloney," said Smith, "you are a martyr. What would Horatiushave done if somebody had nipped him by the ear when he was holding thebridge? It might have made all the difference. Did the gentleman statehis business?"
"Nope. Just tried to butt t'roo."
"One of these strong, silent men. The world is full of us. These arethe perils of the journalistic life. You will be safer and happier whenyou are a cowboy, Comrade Maloney."
Smith was thoughtful as he returned to the inner room.
"Things are warming up, John," he said. "The sport who has just leftevidently came just to get a sight of me. Otherwise, why should he tearhimself away without stopping for a chat. I suppose he was sent to markme down for whichever gang Comrade Parker is employing."
"What do you mean?" said John. "All this gets past me. Who is Parker?"
Smith related the events leading up to Mr. Parker's visit, anddescribed what had happened on that occasion.
"So, before you throw in your lot with this journal," he concluded, "itwould be well to think the matter over. You must weigh the pros andcons. Is your passion for literature such that you do not mind beingput out of business with a black-jack for the cause? Will the knowledgethat a low-browed gentleman is waiting round the corner for youstimulate or hinder you in your work? There's no doubt now that we areup against a tough crowd."
"By Jove!" said John. "I hadn't a notion it was like that."
"You feel, then, that on the whole--"
"I feel that on the whole this is just the business I've been huntingfor. You couldn't keep me out of it now with an ax."
Smith looked at him curiously, but refrained from enquiries. That theremust be something at the back of this craving for adventure andexcitement, he knew. The easy-going John he had known of old wouldcertainly not have deserted the danger zone, but he would not havewelcomed entry to it so keenly. It was plain that he was hungry forwork that would keep him from thought. Smith was eminently a patientyoung man, and though the problem of what upheaval had happened tochange John to such an extent interested him greatly, he was preparedto wait for explanations.
Of the imminence of the danger he was perfectly aware. He had knownfrom the first that Mr. Parker's concluding words were not an emptythreat. His experience as a reporter had given him the knowledge thatis only given in its entirety to police and newspaper men: that thereare two New Yorks--one, a modern, well-policed city, through which onemay walk from end to end without encountering adventure; the other, acity as full of sinister intrigue, of whisperings and conspiracies, ofbattle, murder, and sudden death in dark byways, as any town ofmediaeval Italy. Given certain conditions, anything may happen in NewYork. And Smith realized that these conditions now prevailed in his owncase. He had come into conflict with New York's underworld.Circumstances had placed him below the surface, where only his witscould help him.
He would have been prepared to see the thing through by himself, butthere was no doubt that John as an ally would be a distinct comfort.
Nevertheless, he felt compelled to give his friend a last chance ofwithdrawing.
"You know," he said, "there is really no reason why you should--"
"But I'm going to," interrupted John. "That's all there is to it.What's going to happen, anyway? I don't know anything about thesegangs. I thought they spent all their time shooting each other up."
"Not all, unfortunately, Comrade John. They are always charmed to takeon a small job like this on the side."
"And what does it come to? Do we have an entire gang camping on ourtrail in a solid mass, or only one or two toughs?"
"Merely a section, I should imagine. Comrade Parker would go to themain boss of the gang--Bat Jarvis, if it was the Groome Street gang, orSpider Reilly and Dude Dawson if he wanted the Three Points or theTable Hill lot. The boss would chat over the matter with his ownspecial partners, and they would fix it up among themselves. The restof the gang would probably know nothing about it. The fewer in thegame, you see, the fewer to divide the Parker dollars. So what we haveto do is to keep a lookout for a dozen or so aristocrats of thatdignified deportment which comes from constant association with themain boss, and, if we can elude these, all will be well."
* * * * *
It was by Smith's suggestion that the editorial staff of _PeacefulMoments_ dined that night at the Astor roof-garden.
"The tired brain," he said, "needs to recuperate. To feed on such anight as this in some low-down hostelry on the level of the street,with German waiters breathing heavily down the back of one's neck andtwo fiddles and a piano hitting up ragtime about three feet from one'stympanum, would be false economy. Here, fanned by cool breezes andsurrounded by passably fair women and brave men, one may do a certainamount of tissue-restoring. Moreover, there is little danger up here ofbeing slugged by our moth-eaten acquaintance of this afternoon. Weshall probably find him waiting for us at the main entrance with ablack-jack, but till then--"
He turned with gentle grace to his soup. It was a warm night, and theroof-garden was full. From where they sat they could see the milliontwinkling lights of the city. John, watching them, as he smoked acigarette at the conclusion of the meal, had fallen into a dream. Hecame to himself with a start, to find Smith in conversation with awaiter.
"Yes, my name is Smith," he was saying.
The waiter retired to one of the tables and spoke to a young mansitting there. John, recollected having seen this solitary dinerlooking in their direction once or twice during dinner, but the facthad not impressed him.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"The man at that table sent over to ask if my name was Smith. It was.He is now coming along to chat in person. I wonder why. I don't knowhim from Adam."
The stranger was threading his way between the tables.
"Can I have a word with you, Mr. Smith?" he said. The waiter brought achair and he seated himself.
"By the way," said Smith, "my friend, Mr. Maude. Your own name willdoubtless come up in the course of general chitchat over thecoffee-cups."
"Not on your tintype it won't," said the stranger decidedly. "It won'tbe needed. Is Mr. Maude on your paper? That's all right, then. I can goahead."
He turned to Smith.
"It's about that Broster Street thing."
"More fame!" murmured Smith. "We certainly are making a hit with thegreat public over Broster Street."
"Well, you understand certain parties have got it in against you?"
"A charming conversationalist, one Comrade Parker, hinted at somethingof the sort in a recent conversation. We shall endeavor, however, tolook after ourselves."
"You'll need to. The man behind is a big bug."
"Who is he?"
The stranger shrugged his shoulders.
"Search me. You wouldn't expect him to give that away."
"Then on what system have you estimated the size of the gentleman'sbug-hood? What makes you think that he's a big bug?"
"By the number of dollars he was ready to put up to have you putthrough."
Smith's eyes gleamed for an instant, but he spoke as coolly as ever.
"Oh!" he said. "And which gang has he hired?"
"I couldn't say. He--his agent, that is--came to Bat Jarvis. Bat forsome reason turned the job down."
"He did? Why?"
"Search me. Nobody knows. But just as soon as he heard who it was hewas being asked to lay for, he turned it down cold. Said none of hisfellows was going to put a finger on anyone who had anything to do withyour paper. I don't know what you've been doing to Bat, but he sure isthe long-lost brother to you."
"A powerful argument in favor of kindness to animals!" said Smith. "Oneof his celebrated stud of cats came into the possession of ourstenographer. What did she do? Instead of having the animal made into anourishing soup, she restored it to its bereaved owner. Observe thesequel. We are very much obliged to Comrade Jarvis."
"He sent me along," went on the stranger, "to tell you to watch out,because one of the other gangs was dead sure to take on the job. And hesaid you were to know that he wasn't mixed up in it. Well, that's all.I'll be pushing along. I've a date. Glad to have met you, Mr. Maude.Good-night."
For a few moments after he had gone, Smith and John sat smoking insilence.
"What's the time?" asked Smith suddenly. "If it's not too late--Hello,here comes our friend once more."
The stranger came up to the table, a light overcoat over his dressclothes. From the pocket of this he produced a watch.
"Force of habit," he said apologetically, handing it to John. "You'llpardon me. Good-night again."
The Prince and Betty Page 17