by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER VIII
DOPING OUT AN ODD ONE
Say, notice any deep sea roll about my walk? No? Well, maybe you can getthe tarry perfume as I pass by? Funny you don't; for I've been a ViceCommodore for most three weeks now. Yes, that's on the level--belay myspinnaker taffrail if it ain't!
That's what I get for bein' one of the charter members of the RockhurstYacht Club. You didn't, eh? Well, say, I'm one of the yachtiest yachtersthat ever jibbed a gangway. Not that I do any sailin' exactly; but Iguess Sadie and me each paid good money for our shares of club stock, andif that ain't as foolish an act as you can find in the nautical calendar,then I'll eat the binnacle boom.
Course, this Vice Commodore stunt was sort of sprung on me; for I'd beensuch an active member I didn't even know the bloomin' clubhouse wasfinished until here the other day I gets this bulletin from the annualmeetin', along with the programme for the openin' exercises.
"Gee!" says I. "Vice Commodore! Say, there must be some mistake aboutthis."
"Not at all," says Sadie.
"Sure there is," says I. "Why, I hardly know one end of a boat from theother; and besides I ain't got any clubby habits. They've been let inwrong, that's all. I'll resign."
"You'll do nothing of the sort!" says Sadie. "When I took all thattrouble to have you win over that ridiculous Bronson-Smith!"
"Eh?" says I. "Been playin' the Mrs. Taft, have you? In that case, Iexpect I'll have to stay with it. But, honest, you can look for a seasonof perfectly punk Vice Commodorin'."
As it turns out, though, there ain't one in ten members that knows muchmore about yachtin' than I do. Navigatin' porch rockers, orderin' allhands up for fancy drinks, and conductin' bridge whist regattas was theirchief sea-goin' accomplishments; and when it come to makin' myselfuseful, who was it, I'd like to know, that chucked the boozy steward offthe float when he had two of the house committee treed up the signalmast?
I suspect that's how it is I'm played up so prominent for this housewarmin' episode. Anyway, when I arrives there on the great night--me allgot up fancy in a double breasted serge coat, white flannel pants, andcork soled canvas shoes--I finds they've put me on the receptioncommittee; and that, besides welcomin' invited guests, I'm expected tokeep one eye peeled for outsiders, to see that nobody starts nothin'.
So I'm on deck, as you might say, and more or less conspicuous, when thisLarchmont delegation is landed and comes stringin' up. It was "Ahoythere, Captain This!" and "How are you, Captain That?" from the rest ofthe committee, who was some acquainted; and me buttin' around earnesttryin' to find someone to shake hands with, when I runs across this thickset party in the open front Tuxedo regalia, with his opera hat down overone eye and a long cigar raked up coquettish from the sou'west corner ofhis face.
Know him? I guess! It's Peter K. Tracey; yes, the one that has his nameon so many four-sheet posters. Noticed how he always has 'em read, ain'tyou? "Mr. Peter K. Tracey presents Booth Keene, the sterling youngactor." Never forgets that "Mr."; but, say, I knew him when he signed itjust "P. Tracey," and chewed his tongue some at gettin' that down.
Them was the days when he'd have jumped at the chance of managin' my ringexhibits, and he was known in sportin' circles as Chunk Tracey. I ain'tfollowed all his moves since then; but I know he got to handlin' the bigheavyweights on exhibition tours, broke into the theatrical game with ananimal show that was a winner, and has stuck to the boxoffice end eversince.
Why shouldn't he, with a half ownership in a mascot Rube drama that neverhas less than six road companies playin' it, and at least one hit onBroadway every season? I admit I was some surprised, though, to hear ofhim 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 muchjarred at findin' me as I was to see him.
"Well, I'll be hanged!" says I. "Chunk Tracey!"
"Why, hello, Shorty!" says he, and neither one of us remembers the"Charmed to see yuh, old chappy" lines we should have been shootin' off.Seems he'd been towed along with a bunch of near-swells that didn't daretreat him as if he really belonged, and he was almost frothin' at themouth.
"Talk about your society folks!" says he. "Why,--blankety blank 'em!--Ican go down the Rialto any afternoon, pick up a dozen people attwenty-five a week, drill 'em four days, and give a better imitation thanthis crowd ever thought of putting up!"
"Yes; but look who you are, Chunk," says I.
"I know," says he.
And he meant it too. He always was about the cockiest little rooster inthe business; but I'd rather expected eight or ten years of ups and downsin the theatrical game, bein' thrown out of the trust and crawlin' backon his knees would have tempered him down some.
You couldn't notice it, though. In fact, this chesty, cocksure attitudeseemed to have grown on him, and it was plain that most of his sorenessjust now come from findin' himself in with a lot of folks that didn'ttake any special pains to admit what a great man he was. So, as him andme was sort of left to flock by ourselves, I undertook the job ofsupplyin' a few soothin' remarks, just for old time's sake. And that'show it was he got rung in on this little mix-up with Cap'n Spiller.
You see, the way the committee had mapped it out, part of the doin's wasa grand illumination of the fleet. Anyway, they had all the craft theycould muster anchored in a semicircle off the end of the float andtrimmed up with Japanese lanterns. Well, just about time for lightin' up,into the middle of the fleet comes driftin' a punk lookin' old sloop withdirty, patched sails, some shirts and things hangin' from the riggin',and a length of stovepipe stickin' through the cabin roof. When theskipper has struck the exact center, he throws over his mud hook and letshis sail run.
Not bein' posted on the details, I didn't know but that was part of theshow, until the chairman of my committee comes rushin' up to me allexcited, and points it out.
"Oh, I say, McCabe!" says he. "Do you see that?"
"If I didn't," says I, "I could almost smell it from here. Some newmember, is it?"
"Member!" he gasps. "Why, it's some dashed old fisherman! We--we cawn'thave him stay there, you know."
"Well," says I, "he seems to be gettin' plenty of advice on that point."And he was; for they was shoutin' things at him through a dozenmegaphones.
"But you know, McCabe," goes on the chairman, "you ought to go out andsend him away. That's one of your duties."
"Eh?" says I. "How long since I've been official marine bouncer for thisorganization? G'wan! Go tell him yourself!"
We had quite an argument over it too, with Peter K. chimin' in on myside; but, while the chappy insists that it's my job to fire the oldhooker off the anchorage, I draws the line at interferin' with anythingbeyond the shore. Course, it might spoil the effect; but the way itstruck me was that we didn't own any more of Long Island Sound thananyone else, and I says so flat.
That must have been how the boss of the old sloop felt about it too; forhe don't pay any attention to the howls or threats. He just makes thingssnug and then goes below and starts pokin' about in his dinky littlecabin. Judgin' by the motions, he was gettin' a late supper.
Anyway, they couldn't budge him, even though half the club was stewin'about it. And, someway, that seemed to tickle Chunk and me a lot. Wewatched 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 byhimself, instead of right here in the midst of so many flossy yachtsmen.
He even had music to eat by; for part of the programme was the turnin'loose of one of these high priced cabinet disk machines, that was on theCommodore's big schooner, and feedin' it with Caruso and Melba records.There was so much chatterin' goin' on around us on the verandas, and somany corks poppin' and glasses clinkin', that the skipper must have gotmore benefit from the concert than anyone else. At last he wipes hismouth on his sleeve careful, fills his pipe, and crawls out on deck toenjoy the view.
It was well worth lookin' at too; for, although there was most too manyclouds for the
moon to do much execution, here was all the yachts lightedup, and the clubhouse blazin' and gay, and the water lappin' gentle inbetween. He gazes out at it placid for a minute or so, and then we seehim dive down into the cabin. He comes back with something or other thatwe 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 mighthave been "The Campbells Are Coming" or might not; but anyway it wasenough to give you that tingly sensation in your toes. And it wasproceedin' from the after deck of that old hulk.
"Well, well!" says I. "Bagpipes!"
"Bagpipes be blowed!" says Chunk. "That's an accordion he's playing.Listen!"
Say, I was listenin', and with both ears. Also other folks was beginnin'to do the same. Inside of five minutes, too, all the chatter has dieddown, and as I glanced around at the tables I could see that whole crowdof fancy dressed folks noddin' and beatin' time with their fans andcigars and fizz glasses. Even the waiters was standin' still, or tiptoin'so's to take it in.
Ever hear one of them out-of-date music bellows handled by a natural bornartist? Say, I've always been partial to accordions myself, though Inever had the courage to own up to it in public; but this was the firsttime I'd ever heard one pumped in that classy fashion.
Music! Why, as he switches off onto "The Old Folks at Home," you'dthought there was a church organ and a full orchestra out there! Maybecomin' across the water had something to do with it; but hanged if itwa'n't great! And of all the fine old tunes he gave us--"Nellie Gray,""Comin' Through the Rye," "Annie Laurie," and half a dozen more.
"Chunk," says I, as the concert ends and the folks begin to applaud,"there's only one thing to be done in a case like this. Lemme take thatlid of yours."
"Certainly," says he, and drops a fiver into it before he passes it over.That wa'n't the only green money I collects, either, and by the time I'vemade the entire round I must have gathered up more'n a quart of spendin'currency.
"Hold on there, Shorty," says Chunk, as I starts out to deliver thecollection. "I'd like to go with you."
"Come along, then," says I. "I guess some of these sailormen will row usout."
What we had framed up was one of these husky, rugged, old hearts of oak,who would choke up some on receivin' the tribute and give us his blessin'in a sort of "Shore Acres" curtain speech. Part of that description helives 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 uplike a pair of yellow shoes at the end of a hard season. His hair is longand matted, and he ain't overly clean in any detail. He don't receive usreal hearty, either.
"Hey, keep your hands off that rail!" he sings out, reachin' for aboathook as we come alongside.
"It's all right, Cap," says I. "We're friends."
"Git out!" says he. "I ain't got any friends."
"Sure you have, old scout," says I. "Anyway, there's a lot of peopleashore that was mighty pleased with the way you tickled that accordion.Here's proof of it too," and I holds up the hat.
"Huh!" says he, gettin' his eye on the contents. "Come aboard, then.Here, I guess you can stow that stuff in there," and blamed if he don'tshove out an empty lard pail for me to dump the money in. That's asexcited as he gets about it too.
Say, I'd have indulged in about two more minutes of dialogue with thatugly faced old pirate, and then I'd beat it for shore good and disgusted,if it hadn't been for Chunk Tracey. But he jumps in, as enthusiastic asif he was interviewin' some foreign Prince, presses a twenty-five-centperfecto on the Cap'n, and begins pumpin' out of him the story of hislife.
And when Chunk really enthuses it's got to be a mighty cold propositionthat don't thaw some. Ten to one, too, if this had been a nice, easytalkin', gentle old party, willin' to tell all he knew in the first fiveminutes, Chunk wouldn't have bothered with him; but, because he don'tshow any gratitude, mushy or otherwise, and acts like he had a permanent,ingrowin' grouch, Chunk is right there with the persistence. He drags outof 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 sayshis chief business is clammin'; but he does a little fishin' andfreightin' on the side. He don't work much, though, because it don't takea lot to keep him.
"But you have a wife somewhere ashore, I suppose," suggests Chunk, "adear old soul who waits anxiously for you to come back?"
"Bah!" grunts Cap'n Spiller, knockin' the heel out of his corncobvicious. "I ain't got any use for women."
"I see," says Chunk, gazin' up sentimental at the moon. "A blightedromance of youth; some fair, fickle maid who fled with another and leftyou alone?"
"No such luck," says Spiller. "My trouble was havin' too many to once.Drat 'em!"
And you'd most thought Chunk would have let it go at that; but not him!He only tackles Spiller along another line. "What I want to know,Captain," says he, "is where you learned to play the accordion so well."
"Never learned 'tall," growls Spiller. "Just picked it up from a Portugeethat tried to knife me afterwards."
"You don't say!" says Chunk. "But there's the musician's soul in you. Youlove it, don't you? You use it to express your deep, unsatisfiedlongings?"
"Guess so," says the Captain. "I allus plays most when my dyspepshy isworst. It's kind of a relief."
"Um-m-m--ah!" says Chunk. "Many geniuses are that way. You must come intotown, though, and let me take you to hear some real, bang up, classicalmusic."
"Not me!" grunts Spiller. "I can make all the music I want myself."
"How about plays, then?" says Chunk. "Now, wouldn't you like to see thebest show on Broadway?"
"No, sir," says he, prompt and vigorous. "I ain't never seen any shows,and don't want to seen one, either."
And, say, along about that time, what with the stale cookin' and bilgewater scents that was comin' from the stuffy cabin, and this charmin'mood that old Spiller was in, I was gettin' restless. "Say, Chunk," Ibreaks in, "you may be enjoyin' this, all right; but I've got enough.It's me for shore! Goin' along?"
"Not yet," says he. "Have the boat come back for me in about an hour."
It was nearer two, though, before he shows up again, and his face isfairly beamin'.
"Well," says I, "did you adopt the old pirate, or did he adopt you?"
"Wait and see," says he, noddin' his head cocky. "Anyway, he's promisedto show up at my office to-morrow afternoon."
"You must be stuck on entertaining a grouchy old lemon like that," saysI.
"But he's a genius," says Chunk. "Just what I've been looking for as ahead liner in a new vaudeville house I'm opening next month."
"What!" says I. "You ain't thinkin' of puttin' that old sour face on thestage, are you? Say, you're batty!"
"Batty, am I?" says Chunk, kind of swellin' up. "All right, I'll showyou. I've made half a million, my boy, by just such batty moves as that.It's because I know people, know 'em through and through, from whatthey'll pay to hear, to the ones who can give 'em what they want. I'm adiscoverer of talent, Shorty. Where do I get my stars from? Pick 'em upanywhere. I don't go to London and Paris and pay fancy salaries. I findmy attractions first hand, sign' em up on long contracts, and take thevelvet that comes in myself. That's my way, and I guess I've made good."
"Maybe you have," says I; "but I'm guessin' this is where you stub yourtoe. Hot line that'll be for the head of a bill, won't it--an accordionplayer? Think you can get that across?"
"Think!" says Chunk, gettin' indignant as usual, because someone suggestshe can fall down on anything. "Why, I'm going to put that over twice aday, to twelve hundred-dollar houses! No, I don't think; I know!"
And just for that it wouldn't have taken much urgin' for me to have putup a few yellow ones that he was makin' a wrong forecast.
But, say, you didn't happen to be up to the openin' of Peter K.'s newAlcazar the other night, did you? Well, Sadie and I was, on account ofbeing included in one of Chunk's complimentary box parties. And, honest,when they
sprung that clouded moonlight water view, with the Long Islandlights in the distance, and the Sound steamers passin' back and forth atthe back, and the rocks in front, hanged if I didn't feel like I was onthe veranda of our yacht club, watchin' it all over again, the same as itwas that night!
Then in from one side comes this boat; no ordinary property piece fakedup from something in stock; but a life sized model that's a dead ringerfor the old Queen of the Seas, even to the stovepipe and the shirts hungfrom the forestay. It comes floatin' in lazy and natural, and when CapSpiller goes forward to heave over the anchor he drops it with a splashinto real water. He's wearin' the same old costume,--shirt sleeves, cobpipe, and all,--and when he begins to putter around in the cabin, blamedif you couldn't smell the onions fryin' and the coffee boilin'. Yes, sir,Chunk had put it all on!
Did the act get 'em interested? Say, there was fifteen straight minutesof this scenic business, with not a word said; but the house was so stillI 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 theside, and opens up with them old tunes of his--well, he had 'em all withhim, from the messenger boys in the twenty-five-cent gallery to thebrokers in the fifteen-dollar boxes. He takes five curtain calls, and theorchestra circle was still demandin' more when they rung down the frontdrop.
"Chunk," says I, as he shows up at our box, "I take it back. You surehave picked another winner."
"Looks like it, don't it?" says he. "And whisper! A fifty-minute act fora hundred a week! That's the best of it. Up at the Columbus their topliner is costing them a thousand a day."
"It's a cinch if you can hold onto him, eh?" says I.
"Oh, I can hold him all right," says Chunk, waggin' his head confident."I know enough about human nature to be sure of that. Of course, he's anodd freak; but this sort of thing will grow on him. The oftener he gets ahand like that, the more he'll want it, and inside of a fortnight that'llbe what he lives for. Oh, I know people, from the ground up, inside andoutside!"
Well, I was beginnin' to think he did. And, havin' been on the inside ofhis deal, I got to takin' a sort of pride in this hit, almost as much asif I'd discovered the Captain myself. I used to go up about everyafternoon to see old Spiller do his stunt and get 'em goin'. Gen'rallyI'd lug along two or three friends, so I could tell 'em how it happened.
Last Friday I was a little late for the act, and was just rushin' by theboxoffice, when I hears language floatin' out that I recognizes as abrand that only Chunk Tracey could deliver when he was good and warmunder the collar. Peekin' in through the window, I sees him standin'there, fairly tearin' his hair.
"What's up, Chunk?" says I. "You seem peeved."
"Peeved!" he yells. "Why, blankety blank the scousy universe, I'm stark,raving mad! What do you think? Spiller has quit!"
"Somebody overbid that hundred a week?" says I.
"I wish they had; then I could get out an injunction and hold him on hiscontract," says Peter K. "But he's skipped, skipped for good. Readthat."
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 casemore or less clear. Here's what it said:
Mister P. K. Tracey;
Sir:--I'm through being a fool actor. The money's all right if I neededit, which I doant, but I doant like makin' a fool of myself twict a dayto please a lot of citty foalks I doant give a dam about annie way, Idoant like livin' in a blamed hotel either, for there aint annie wheresto 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 comeback for I wont. You couldn't git me to act on that staige agin, ever.It's foolish.
Yours, TODD SPILLER.
"Now what in the name of all that's woolly," says Chunk, "would you sayto a thing like that?"
"Me?" says I. "I don't know. Maybe I'd start in by admittin' that to cardindex the minds of the whole human race was a good deal of a job for oneparty to tackle, even with a mighty intellect like yours. Also, if it wasput up to me flat, I might agree with Spiller."