by O. Henry
THE MAN HIGHER UP
Across our two dishes of spaghetti, in a corner of Provenzano'srestaurant, Jeff Peters was explaining to me the three kinds of graft.
Every winter Jeff comes to New York to eat spaghetti, to watch theshipping in East River from the depths of his chinchilla overcoat,and to lay in a supply of Chicago-made clothing at one of the Fultonstreet stores. During the other three seasons he may be found furtherwest--his range is from Spokane to Tampa. In his profession hetakes a pride which he supports and defends with a serious andunique philosophy of ethics. His profession is no new one. He is anincorporated, uncapitalized, unlimited asylum for the reception ofthe restless and unwise dollars of his fellowmen.
In the wilderness of stone in which Jeff seeks his annual lonelyholiday he is glad to palaver of his many adventures, as a boy willwhistle after sundown in a wood. Wherefore, I mark on my calendar thetime of his coming, and open a question of privilege at Provenzano'sconcerning the little wine-stained table in the corner between therakish rubber plant and the framed palazzio della something on thewall.
"There are two kinds of graft," said Jeff, "that ought to be wiped outby law. I mean Wall Street speculation, and burglary."
"Nearly everybody will agree with you as to one of them," said I, witha laugh.
"Well, burglary ought to be wiped out, too," said Jeff; and I wonderedwhether the laugh had been redundant.
"About three months ago," said Jeff, "it was my privilege to becomefamiliar with a sample of each of the aforesaid branches ofillegitimate art. I was _sine qua grata_ with a member of thehousebreakers' union and one of the John D. Napoleons of finance atthe same time."
"Interesting combination," said I, with a yawn. "Did I tell you Ibagged a duck and a ground-squirrel at one shot last week over in theRamapos?" I knew well how to draw Jeff's stories.
"Let me tell you first about these barnacles that clog the wheels ofsociety by poisoning the springs of rectitude with their upas-likeeye," said Jeff, with the pure gleam of the muck-raker in his own.
"As I said, three months ago I got into bad company. There are twotimes in a man's life when he does this--when he's dead broke, andwhen he's rich.
"Now and then the most legitimate business runs out of luck. It wasout in Arkansas I made the wrong turn at a cross-road, and drives intothis town of Peavine by mistake. It seems I had already assaulted anddisfigured Peavine the spring of the year before. I had sold $600worth of young fruit trees there--plums, cherries, peaches and pears.The Peaviners were keeping an eye on the country road and hoping Imight pass that way again. I drove down Main street as far as theCrystal Palace drugstore before I realized I had committed ambush uponmyself and my white horse Bill.
"The Peaviners took me by surprise and Bill by the bridle and begana conversation that wasn't entirely disassociated with the subjectof fruit trees. A committee of 'em ran some trace-chains throughthe armholes of my vest, and escorted me through their gardens andorchards.
"Their fruit trees hadn't lived up to their labels. Most of 'em hadturned out to be persimmons and dogwoods, with a grove or two ofblackjacks and poplars. The only one that showed any signs of bearinganything was a fine young cottonwood that had put forth a hornet'snest and half of an old corset-cover.
"The Peaviners protracted our fruitless stroll to the edge of town.They took my watch and money on account; and they kept Bill and thewagon as hostages. They said the first time one of them dogwood treesput forth an Amsden's June peach I might come back and get my things.Then they took off the trace chains and jerked their thumbs in thedirection of the Rocky Mountains; and I struck a Lewis and Clark lopefor the swollen rivers and impenetrable forests.
"When I regained intellectualness I found myself walking into anunidentified town on the A., T. & S. F. railroad. The Peaviners hadn'tleft anything in my pockets except a plug of chewing--they wasn'tafter my life--and that saved it. I bit off a chunk and sits down on apile of ties by the track to recogitate my sensations of thought andperspicacity.
"And then along comes a fast freight which slows up a little at thetown; and off of it drops a black bundle that rolls for twenty yardsin a cloud of dust and then gets up and begins to spit soft coal andinterjections. I see it is a young man broad across the face, dressedmore for Pullmans than freights, and with a cheerful kind of smile inspite of it all that made Phoebe Snow's job look like a chimney-sweep's.
"'Fall off?' says I.
"'Nunk,' says he. 'Got off. Arrived at my destination. What town isthis?'
"'Haven't looked it up on the map yet,' says I. 'I got in about fiveminutes before you did. How does it strike you?'
"'Hard,' says he, twisting one of his arms around. 'I believe thatshoulder--no, it's all right.'
"He stoops over to brush the dust off his clothes, when out of hispocket drops a fine, nine-inch burglar's steel jimmy. He picks it upand looks at me sharp, and then grins and holds out his hand.
"'Brother,' says he, 'greetings. Didn't I see you in Southern Missourilast summer selling colored sand at half-a-dollar a teaspoonful to putinto lamps to keep the oil from exploding?'
"'Oil,' says I, 'never explodes. It's the gas that forms thatexplodes.' But I shakes hands with him, anyway.
"'My name's Bill Bassett,' says he to me, 'and if you'll call itprofessional pride instead of conceit, I'll inform you that you havethe pleasure of meeting the best burglar that ever set a gum-shoe onground drained by the Mississippi River.'
"Well, me and this Bill Bassett sits on the ties and exchanges bragsas artists in kindred lines will do. It seems he didn't have a cent,either, and we went into close caucus. He explained why an ableburglar sometimes had to travel on freights by telling me that aservant girl had played him false in Little Rock, and he was makinga quick get-away.
"'It's part of my business,' says Bill Bassett, 'to play up to theruffles when I want to make a riffle as Raffles. 'Tis loves that makesthe bit go 'round. Show me a house with a swag in it and a prettyparlor-maid, and you might as well call the silver melted down andsold, and me spilling truffles and that Chateau stuff on the napkinunder my chin, while the police are calling it an inside job justbecause the old lady's nephew teaches a Bible class. I first make animpression on the girl,' says Bill, 'and when she lets me inside Imake an impression on the locks. But this one in Little Rock done me,'says he. 'She saw me taking a trolley ride with another girl, and whenI came 'round on the night she was to leave the door open for me itwas fast. And I had keys made for the doors upstairs. But, no sir. Shehad sure cut off my locks. She was a Delilah,' says Bill Bassett.
"It seems that Bill tried to break in anyhow with his jimmy, but thegirl emitted a succession of bravura noises like the top-riders of atally-ho, and Bill had to take all the hurdles between there and thedepot. As he had no baggage they tried hard to check his departure,but he made a train that was just pulling out.
"'Well,' says Bill Bassett, when we had exchanged memories of our deadlives, 'I could eat. This town don't look like it was kept under aYale lock. Suppose we commit some mild atrocity that will bring intemporary expense money. I don't suppose you've brought along any hairtonic or rolled gold watch-chains, or similar law-defying swindlesthat you could sell on the plaza to the pikers of the pareticpopulace, have you?'
"'No,' says I, 'I left an elegant line of Patagonian diamond earringsand rainy-day sunbursts in my valise at Peavine. But they're to staythere until some of those black-gum trees begin to glut the marketwith yellow clings and Japanese plums. I reckon we can't count on themunless we take Luther Burbank in for a partner.'
"'Very well,' says Bassett, 'we'll do the best we can. Maybe afterdark I'll borrow a hairpin from some lady, and open the Farmers andDrovers Marine Bank with it.'
"While we were talking, up pulls a passenger train to the depot nearby. A person in a high hat gets off on the wrong side of the train andcomes tripping down the track towards us. He was a little, fat manwith a big nose and rat's eyes, but dressed expensive, and carrying ahand-satche
l careful, as if it had eggs or railroads bonds in it. Hepasses by us and keeps on down the track, not appearing to notice thetown.
"'Come on,' says Bill Bassett to me, starting after him.
"'Where?' I asks.
"'Lordy!' says Bill, 'had you forgot you was in the desert? Didn't yousee Colonel Manna drop down right before your eyes? Don't you hear therustling of General Raven's wings? I'm surprised at you, Elijah.'
"We overtook the stranger in the edge of some woods, and, as it wasafter sun-down and in a quiet place, nobody saw us stop him. Billtakes the silk hat off the man's head and brushes it with his sleeveand puts it back.
"'What does this mean, sir?' says the man.
"'When I wore one of these,' says Bill, 'and felt embarrassed, Ialways done that. Not having one now I had to use yours. I hardly knowhow to begin, sir, in explaining our business with you, but I guesswe'll try your pockets first.'
"Bill Bassett felt in all of them, and looked disgusted.
"'Not even a watch,' he says. 'Ain't you ashamed of yourself, youwhited sculpture? Going about dressed like a head-waiter, and financedlike a Count! You haven't even got carfare. What did you do with yourtransfer?'
"The man speaks up and says he has no assets or valuables of anysort. But Bassett takes his hand-satchel and opens it. Out comes somecollars and socks and a half a page of a newspaper clipped out. Billreads the clipping careful, and holds out his hand to the held-upparty.
"'Brother,' says he, 'greetings! Accept the apologies of friends. I amBill Bassett, the burglar. Mr. Peters, you must make the acquaintanceof Mr. Alfred E. Ricks. Shake hands. Mr. Peters,' says Bill, 'standsabout halfway between me and you, Mr. Ricks, in the line of havoc andcorruption. He always gives something for the money he gets. I'm gladto meet you, Mr. Ricks--you and Mr. Peters. This is the first timeI ever attended a full gathering of the National Synod of Sharks--housebreaking, swindling, and financiering all represented. Pleaseexamine Mr. Rick's credentials, Mr. Peters.'
"The piece of newspaper that Bill Bassett handed me had a good pictureof this Ricks on it. It was a Chicago paper, and it had obloquiesof Ricks in every paragraph. By reading it over I harvested theintelligence that said alleged Ricks had laid off all that portion ofthe State of Florida that lies under water into town lots and sold 'emto alleged innocent investors from his magnificently furnished officesin Chicago. After he had taken in a hundred thousand or so dollars oneof these fussy purchasers that are always making trouble (I've had'em actually try gold watches I've sold 'em with acid) took a cheapexcursion down to the land where it is always just before supper tolook at his lot and see if it didn't need a new paling or two on thefence, and market a few lemons in time for the Christmas presenttrade. He hires a surveyor to find his lot for him. They run the lineout and find the flourishing town of Paradise Hollow, so advertised,to be about 40 rods and 16 poles S., 27 degrees E. of the middle ofLake Okeechobee. This man's lot was under thirty-six feet of water,and, besides, had been preempted so long by the alligators and garsthat his title looked fishy.
"Naturally, the man goes back to Chicago and makes it as hot forAlfred E. Ricks as the morning after a prediction of snow by theweather bureau. Ricks defied the allegation, but he couldn't denythe alligators. One morning the papers came out with a column aboutit, and Ricks come out by the fire-escape. It seems the allegedauthorities had beat him to the safe-deposit box where he kept hiswinnings, and Ricks has to westward ho! with only feetwear and a dozen15-and-a-half English pokes in his shopping bag. He happened to havesome mileage left in his book, and that took him as far as the townin the wilderness where he was spilled out on me and Bill Bassett asElijah III. with not a raven in sight for any of us.
"Then this Alfred E. Ricks lets out a squeak that he is hungry, too,and denies the hypothesis that he is good for the value, let alone theprice, of a meal. And so, there was the three of us, representing, ifwe had a mind to draw syllogisms and parabolas, labor and trade andcapital. Now, when trade has no capital there isn't a dicker to bemade. And when capital has no money there's a stagnation in steak andonions. That put it up to the man with the jimmy.
"'Brother bushrangers,' says Bill Bassett, 'never yet, in trouble,did I desert a pal. Hard by, in yon wood, I seem to see unfurnishedlodgings. Let us go there and wait till dark.'
"There was an old, deserted cabin in the grove, and we three tookpossession of it. After dark Bill Bassett tells us to wait, and goesout for half an hour. He comes back with a armful of bread andspareribs and pies.
"'Panhandled 'em at a farmhouse on Washita Avenue,' says he. 'Eat,drink and be leary.'
"The full moon was coming up bright, so we sat on the floor of thecabin and ate in the light of it. And this Bill Bassett begins tobrag.
"'Sometimes,' says he, with his mouth full of country produce, 'Ilose all patience with you people that think you are higher up inthe profession than I am. Now, what could either of you have done inthe present emergency to set us on our feet again? Could you do it,Ricksy?'
"'I must confess, Mr. Bassett,' says Ricks, speaking nearly inaudibleout of a slice of pie, 'that at this immediate juncture I couldnot, perhaps, promote an enterprise to relieve the situation. Largeoperations, such as I direct, naturally require careful preparation inadvance. I--'
"'I know, Ricksy,' breaks in Bill Bassett. 'You needn't finish. Youneed $500 to make the first payment on a blond typewriter, and fourroomsful of quartered oak furniture. And you need $500 more foradvertising contracts. And you need two weeks' time for the fish tobegin to bite. Your line of relief would be about as useful in anemergency as advocating municipal ownership to cure a man suffocatedby eighty-cent gas. And your graft ain't much swifter, BrotherPeters,' he winds up.
"'Oh,' says I, 'I haven't seen you turn anything into gold with yourwand yet, Mr. Good Fairy. 'Most anybody could rub the magic ring fora little left-over victuals.'
"'That was only getting the pumpkin ready,' says Bassett, braggyand cheerful. 'The coach and six'll drive up to the door before youknow it, Miss Cinderella. Maybe you've got some scheme under yoursleeve-holders that will give us a start.'
"'Son,' says I, 'I'm fifteen years older than you are, and youngenough yet to take out an endowment policy. I've been broke before. Wecan see the lights of that town not half a mile away. I learned underMontague Silver, the greatest street man that ever spoke from a wagon.There are hundreds of men walking those streets this moment withgrease spots on their clothes. Give me a gasoline lamp, a dry-goodsbox, and a two-dollar bar of white castile soap, cut into little--'
"'Where's your two dollars?' snickered Bill Bassett into my discourse.There was no use arguing with that burglar.
"'No,' he goes on; 'you're both babes-in-the-wood. Finance has closedthe mahogany desk, and trade has put the shutters up. Both of you lookto labor to start the wheels going. All right. You admit it. To-nightI'll show you what Bill Bassett can do.'
"Bassett tells me and Ricks not to leave the cabin till he comes back,even if it's daylight, and then he starts off toward town, whistlinggay.
"This Alfred E. Ricks pulls off his shoes and his coat, lays a silkhandkerchief over his hat, and lays down on the floor.
"'I think I will endeavor to secure a little slumber,' he squeaks.'The day has been fatiguing. Good-night, my dear Mr. Peters.'
"'My regards to Morpheus,' says I. 'I think I'll sit up a while.'
"About two o'clock, as near as I could guess by my watch in Peavine,home comes our laboring man and kicks up Ricks, and calls us to thestreak of bright moonlight shining in the cabin door. Then he spreadsout five packages of one thousand dollars each on the floor, andbegins to cackle over the nest-egg like a hen.
"'I'll tell you a few things about that town,' says he. 'It's namedRocky Springs, and they're building a Masonic temple, and it lookslike the Democratic candidate for mayor is going to get soaked by aPop, and Judge Tucker's wife, who has been down with pleurisy, isgetting some better. I had a talk on these liliputian thesises beforeI could get a sip
hon in the fountain of knowledge that I was after.And there's a bank there called the Lumberman's Fidelity and Plowman'sSavings Institution. It closed for business yesterday with $23,000cash on hand. It will open this morning with $18,000--all silver--that's the reason I didn't bring more. There you are, trade andcapital. Now, will you be bad?'
"'My young friend,' says Alfred E. Ricks, holding up his hands, 'haveyou robbed this bank? Dear me, dear me!'
"'You couldn't call it that,' says Bassett. 'Robbing" sounds harsh.All I had to do was to find out what street it was on. That town is soquiet that I could stand on the corner and hear the tumblers clickingin that safe lock--"right to 45; left twice to 80; right once to60; left to 15"--as plain as the Yale captain giving orders in thefootball dialect. Now, boys,' says Bassett, 'this is an early risingtown. They tell me the citizens are all up and stirring beforedaylight. I asked what for, and they said because breakfast was readyat that time. And what of merry Robin Hood? It must be Yoicks! andaway with the tinkers' chorus. I'll stake you. How much do you want?Speak up. Capital.'
"'My dear young friend,' says this ground squirrel of a Ricks,standing on his hind legs and juggling nuts in his paws, 'I havefriends in Denver who would assist me. If I had a hundred dollars I--'
"Basset unpins a package of the currency and throws five twenties toRicks.
"'Trade, how much?' he says to me.
"'Put your money up, Labor,' says I. 'I never yet drew upon honesttoil for its hard-earned pittance. The dollars I get are surplus onesthat are burning the pockets of damfools and greenhorns. When I standon a street corner and sell a solid gold diamond ring to a yap for$3.00, I make just $2.60. And I know he's going to give it to a girlin return for all the benefits accruing from a $125.00 ring. Hisprofits are $122.00. Which of us is the biggest fakir?'
"'And when you sell a poor woman a pinch of sand for fifty cents tokeep her lamp from exploding,' says Bassett, 'what do you figure hergross earnings to be, with sand at forty cents a ton?'
"'Listen,' says I. 'I instruct her to keep her lamp clean and wellfilled. If she does that it can't burst. And with the sand in itshe knows it can't, and she don't worry. It's a kind of IndustrialChristian Science. She pays fifty cents, and gets both Rockefeller andMrs. Eddy on the job. It ain't everybody that can let the gold-dusttwins do their work.'
"Alfred E. Ricks all but licks the dust off of Bill Bassett's shoes.
"'My dear young friend,' says he, 'I will never forget yourgenerosity. Heaven will reward you. But let me implore you to turnfrom your ways of violence and crime.'
"'Mousie,' says Bill, 'the hole in the wainscoting for yours. Yourdogmas and inculcations sound to me like the last words of a bicyclepump. What has your high moral, elevator-service system of pillagebrought you to? Penuriousness and want. Even Brother Peters, whoinsists upon contaminating the art of robbery with theories ofcommerce and trade, admitted he was on the lift. Both of you live bythe gilded rule. Brother Peters,' says Bill, 'you'd better choose aslice of this embalmed currency. You're welcome.'
"I told Bill Bassett once more to put his money in his pocket. I neverhad the respect for burglary that some people have. I always gavesomething for the money I took, even if it was only some little triflefor a souvenir to remind 'em not to get caught again.
"And then Alfred E. Ricks grovels at Bill's feet again, and bids usadieu. He says he will have a team at a farmhouse, and drive to thestation below, and take the train for Denver. It salubrified theatmosphere when that lamentable boll-worm took his departure. He was adisgrace to every non-industrial profession in the country. With allhis big schemes and fine offices he had wound up unable even to get anhonest meal except by the kindness of a strange and maybe unscrupulousburglar. I was glad to see him go, though I felt a little sorry forhim, now that he was ruined forever. What could such a man do withouta big capital to work with? Why, Alfred E. Ricks, as we left him, wasas helpless as turtle on its back. He couldn't have worked a scheme tobeat a little girl out of a penny slate-pencil.
"When me and Bill Bassett was left alone I did a littlesleight-of-mind turn in my head with a trade secret at the end ofit. Thinks I, I'll show this Mr. Burglar Man the difference betweenbusiness and labor. He had hurt some of my professional self-adulationby casting his Persians upon commerce and trade.
"'I won't take any of your money as a gift, Mr. Bassett,' says I tohim, 'but if you'll pay my expenses as a travelling companion until weget out of the danger zone of the immoral deficit you have caused inthis town's finances to-night, I'll be obliged.'
"Bill Bassett agreed to that, and we hiked westward as soon as wecould catch a safe train.
"When we got to a town in Arizona called Los Perros I suggestedthat we once more try our luck on terra-cotta. That was the home ofMontague Silver, my old instructor, now retired from business. I knewMonty would stake me to web money if I could show him a fly buzzing'round the locality. Bill Bassett said all towns looked alike tohim as he worked mainly in the dark. So we got off the train in LosPerros, a fine little town in the silver region.
"I had an elegant little sure thing in the way of a commercialslungshot that I intended to hit Bassett behind the ear with. I wasn'tgoing to take his money while he was asleep, but I was going to leavehim with a lottery ticket that would represent in experience to him$4,755--I think that was the amount he had when we got off the train.But the first time I hinted to him about an investment, he turns on meand disencumbers himself of the following terms and expressions.
"'Brother Peters,' says he, 'it ain't a bad idea to go into anenterprise of some kind, as you suggest. I think I will. But if I doit will be such a cold proposition that nobody but Robert E. Peary andCharlie Fairbanks will be able to sit on the board of directors.'
"'I thought you might want to turn your money over,' says I.
"'I do,' says he, 'frequently. I can't sleep on one side all night.I'll tell you, Brother Peters,' says he, 'I'm going to start a pokerroom. I don't seem to care for the humdrum in swindling, such aspeddling egg-beaters and working off breakfast food on Barnum andBailey for sawdust to strew in their circus rings. But the gamblingbusiness,' says he, 'from the profitable side of the table is a goodcompromise between swiping silver spoons and selling penwipers at aWaldorf-Astoria charity bazar.'
"'Then,' says I, 'Mr. Bassett, you don't care to talk over my littlebusiness proposition?'
"'Why,' says he, 'do you know, you can't get a Pasteur institute tostart up within fifty miles of where I live. I bite so seldom.'
"So, Bassett rents a room over a saloon and looks around for somefurniture and chromos. The same night I went to Monty Silver's house,and he let me have $200 on my prospects. Then I went to the only storein Los Perros that sold playing cards and bought every deck in thehouse. The next morning when the store opened I was there bringing allthe cards back with me. I said that my partner that was going to backme in the game had changed his mind; and I wanted to sell the cardsback again. The storekeeper took 'em at half price.
"Yes, I was seventy-five dollars loser up to that time. But while Ihad the cards that night I marked every one in every deck. That waslabor. And then trade and commerce had their innings, and the breadI had cast upon the waters began to come back in the form of cottagepudding with wine sauce.
"Of course I was among the first to buy chips at Bill Bassett's game.He had bought the only cards there was to be had in town; and I knewthe back of every one of them better than I know the back of my headwhen the barber shows me my haircut in the two mirrors.
"When the game closed I had the five thousand and a few odd dollars,and all Bill Bassett had was the wanderlust and a black cat he hadbought for a mascot. Bill shook hands with me when I left.
"'Brother Peters,' says he, 'I have no business being in business. Iwas preordained to labor. When a No. 1 burglar tries to make a Jamesout of his jimmy he perpetrates an improfundity. You have a well-oiledand efficacious system of luck at cards,' says he. 'Peace go withyou.' And I never afterward sees Bill Bassett a
gain."