"The Appin-Joneses'!" cried Clara. "Why, we know them too. Don't youremember, Harold, the Sunday we spent with them on the Hudson?"
Instinctively we had all jumped for cover, behind the rocks.
"Whatever shall we do?" I exclaimed.
"We must get our things," said Edith Croyden. "Jack, if your suit isready run and get it and stop the launch. Mrs. Borus and Mr. Borus and Ican get our things straightened up while you keep them talking. My suitis nearly ready anyway; I thought some one might come. Mr. Borus, wouldyou mind running and fetching me my things, they're all in a parceltogether? And perhaps if you have a looking-glass and some pins, Mrs.Borus, I could come over and dress with you."
That same evening we found ourselves all comfortably gathered on thepiazza of the Hotel Christopher Columbus. Appin-Jones insisted on makinghimself our host, and the story of our adventures was related again andagain to an admiring audience, with the accompaniment of cigars and icedchampagne. Only one detail was suppressed, by common instinct. BothClara and I felt that it would only raise needless comment to explainthat Mr. and Mrs. Croyden had occupied separate encampments.
Nor is it necessary to relate our safe and easy return to New York.
Both Clara and I found Mr. and Mrs. Croyden delightful travellingcompanions, though perhaps we were not sorry when the moment came to saygood-bye.
"The word 'good-bye,'" I remarked to Clara, as we drove away, "is alwaysa painful one. Oddly enough when I was hunting the humpo, or humpedbuffalo, of the Himalayas----"
"Do tell me about it, darling," whispered Clara, as she nestled besideme in the cab.
VI
THE KIDNAPPED PLUMBER
A TALE OF THE NEW TIME
(_Being one chapter--and quite enough---from the Reminiscences of anOperating Plumber_)
_VI.--The Kidnapped Plumber: A Tale of the New Time._
"Personally," said Thornton, speaking for the first time, "I never careto take a case that involves cellar work."
We were sitting--a little group of us--round about the fire in acomfortable corner of the Steam and Air Club. Our talk had turned, asalways happens with a group of professional men, into more or lesstechnical channels. I will not say that we were talking shop; the wordhas an offensive sound and might be misunderstood. But we were talkingas only a group of practising plumbers--including some of the biggestmen in the profession--would talk. With the exception of Everett, whohad a national reputation as a Consulting Barber, and Thomas, who was avacuum cleaner expert, I think we all belonged to the same profession.We had been holding a convention, and Fortescue, who had one of thebiggest furnace practices in the country, had read us a paper thatafternoon--a most revolutionary thing--on External Diagnosis ofDefective Feed Pipes, and naturally the thing had bred discussion.Fortescue, who is one of the most brilliant men in the profession, hadstoutly maintained his thesis that the only method of diagnosis fortrouble in a furnace is to sit down in front of it and look at it forthree days; others held out for unscrewing it and carrying it home forconsideration; others of us, again, claimed that by tapping the affectedspot with a wrench the pipe might be fractured in such a way as to provethat it was breakable. It was at this point that Thornton interruptedwith his remark about never being willing to accept a cellar case.
Naturally all the men turned to look at the speaker. Henry Thornton, atthe time of which I relate, was at the height of his reputation.Beginning, quite literally, at the bottom of the ladder, he had intwenty years of practice as an operating plumber raised himself to thetop of his profession. There was much in his appearance to suggest theunderlying reasons of his success. His face, as is usual with men of ourcalling, had something of the dreamer in it, but the bold set of the jawindicated determination of an uncommon kind. Three times President ofthe Plumbers' Association, Henry Thornton had enjoyed the highesthonours of his chosen profession. His book on _Nut Coal_ was recognizedas the last word on the subject, and had been crowned by the FrenchAcademy of Nuts.
I suppose that one of the principal reasons for his success was hissingular coolness and resource. I have seen Thornton enter a kitchen,with that quiet reassuring step of his, and lay out his instruments onthe table, while a kitchen tap with a broken washer was sprizzlingwithin a few feet of him, as calmly and as quietly as if he were in hislecture-room of the Plumbers' College.
"You never go into a cellar?" asked Fortescue. "But hang it, man, Idon't see how one can avoid it!"
"Well, I do avoid it," answered Thornton, "at least as far as I possiblycan. I send down my solderist, of course, but personally, unless it isabsolutely necessary, I never go down."
"That's all very well, my dear fellow," Fortescue cut in, "but you knowas well as I do that you get case after case where the cellar diagnosisis simply vital. I had a case last week, a most interesting thing--" heturned to the group of us as he spoke--"a double lesion of a gas-pipeunder a cement floor--half a dozen of my colleagues had been absolutelybaffled. They had made an entirely false diagnosis, operated on thedining-room floor, which they removed and carried home, and when I wascalled in they had just obtained permission from the Stone Mason'sProtective Association to knock down one side of the house."
"Excuse me interrupting just a minute," interjected a member of thegroup who hailed from a distant city, "have you much trouble aboutthat? I mean about knocking the sides out of houses?"
"No trouble now," said Fortescue. "We did have. But the public isgetting educated up to it. Our law now allows us to knock the side outof a house when we feel that we would really like to see what is in it.We are not allowed, of course, to build it up again."
"No, of course not," said the other speaker. "But I suppose you canthrow the bricks out on the lawn."
"Yes," said Fortescue, "and sit on them to eat lunch. We had a big fightin the legislature over that, but we got it through."
"Thank you, but I feel I am interrupting."
"Well, I was only saying that, as soon as I had made up my mind that thetrouble was in the cellar, the whole case was simple. I took mycolleagues down at once, and we sat on the floor of the cellar and helda consultation till the overpowering smell of gas convinced me thatthere was nothing for it but an operation on the floor. The whole thingwas most successful. I was very glad, as it happened that theproprietor of the house was a very decent fellow, employed, I think, asa manager of a bank, or something of the sort. He was most grateful. Itwas he who gave me the engraved monkey wrench that some of you wereadmiring before dinner. After we had finished the whole operation--Iforgot to say that we had thrown the coal out on the lawn to avoid anycomplication--he quite broke down. He offered us to take his whole houseand keep it."
"You don't do that, do you?" asked the outsider.
"Oh no, never," said Fortescue. "We've made a very strict professionalrule against it. We found that some of the younger men were apt to takea house when they were given it, and we had to frown down on it. But,gentlemen, I feel that when Mr. Thornton says that he never goes downinto a cellar there must be a story behind it. I think we should invitehim to relate it to us."
A murmur of assent greeted the speaker's suggestion. For myself I wasparticularly pleased, inasmuch as I have long felt that Thornton as a_raconteur_ was almost as interesting as in the role of an operatingplumber. I have often told him that, if he had not happened to meetsuccess in his chosen profession, he could have earned a living as a daywriter: a suggestion which he has always taken in good part and withoutoffence.
Those of my readers who have looked through the little volume ofReminiscences which I have put together, will recall the narrative of_The Missing Nut_ and the little tale entitled _The Blue Blow Torch_ asinstances in point.
"Not much of a story, perhaps," said Thornton, "but such as it is youare welcome to it. So, if you will just fill up your glasses withraspberry vinegar, you may have the tale for what it is worth."
We gladly complied with the suggestion and Thornton continued:
"It happened a good many
years ago at a time when I was only a youngfellow fresh from college, very proud of my Plumb. B., and inclined tothink that I knew it all. I had done a little monograph on _Choked Feedin the Blow Torch_, which had attracted attention, and I suppose thataltogether I was about as conceited a young puppy as one would find inthe profession. I should mention that at this time I was not married,but had set up a modest apartment of my own with a consulting-room and asingle manservant. Naturally I could not afford the services of asolderist or a gassist and did everything for myself, though Simmons, myman, could at a pinch be utilized to tear down plaster and breakfurniture."
Thornton paused to take a sip of raspberry vinegar and went on:
"Well, then. I had come home to dinner particularly tired after a longday. I had sat in an attic the greater part of the afternoon (a case oftop story valvular trouble) and had had to sit in a cramped positionwhich practically forbade sleep. I was feeling, therefore, none too wellpleased, when a little while after dinner the bell rang and Simmonsbrought word to the library that there was a client in theconsulting-room. I reminded the fellow that I could not possiblyconsider a case at such an advanced hour unless I were paid emergencyovertime wages with time and a half during the day of recovery."
"One moment," interrupted the outside member. "You don't mentioncompensation for mental shock. Do you not draw that here?"
"We do _now_" explained Thornton, "but the time of which I speak is someyears ago and we still got nothing for mental shock, nor disturbance ofequilibrium. Nowadays, of course, one would insist on a substantialretainer in advance.
"Well, to continue. Simmons, to my surprise, told me that he had alreadyinformed the client of this fact, and that the answer had only been aplea that the case was too urgent to admit of delay. He also suppliedthe further information that the client was a young lady. I am afraid,"added Thornton, looking round his audience with a sympathetic smile,"that Simmons (I had got him from Harvard and he had not yet quitelearned his place) even said something about her being strikinglyhandsome."
A general laugh greeted Thornton's announcement.
"After all," said Fortescue, "I never could see why an Ice Man should besupposed to have a monopoly on gallantry."
"Oh, I don't know," said Thornton. "For my part--I say it withoutaffectation--the moment I am called in professionally, women, as women,cease to exist for me. I can stand beside them in the kitchen andexplain to them the feed tap of a kitchen range without feeling them tobe anything other than simply clients. And for the most part, I think,they reciprocate that attention. There are women, of course, who willcall a man in with motives--but that's another story. I must get back towhat I was saying.
"On entering the consulting-room I saw at once that Simmons hadexaggerated nothing in describing my young client as beautiful. I haveseldom, even among our own class, seen a more strikingly handsome girl.She was dressed in a very plain and simple fashion which showed me atonce that she belonged merely to the capitalist class. I am, as I thinkyou know, something of an observer, and my eye at once noted the absenceof heavy gold ear-rings and wrist-bangles. The blue feathers at the sideof her hat were none of them more than six inches long, and the buttonson her jacket were so inconspicuous that one would hardly notice them.In short, while her dress was no doubt good and serviceable, there wasan absence of _chic_, a lack of noise about it, that told at once thetale of narrow circumstances.
"She was evidently in great distress.
"'Oh, Mr. Thornton,' she exclaimed, advancing towards me, 'do come toour house at once. I simply don't know what to do.'
"She spoke with great emotion, and seemed almost on the point ofbreaking into tears.
"'Pray, calm yourself, my dear young lady,' I said, 'and try to tell mewhat is the trouble.'
"'Oh, don't lose any time,' she said, 'do, do come at once.'
"'We will lose no time' I said reassuringly, as I looked at my watch.'It is now seven-thirty. We will reckon the time from now, with overtimeat time and a half. But if I am to do anything for you I must have someidea of what has happened.'
"'The cellar boiler,' she moaned, clasping her hands together, 'thecellar boiler won't work!'
"'Ah!' I said soothingly. 'The cellar boiler won't work. Now tell me, isthe feed choked, miss?'
"'I don't know,' she exclaimed.
"'Have you tried letting off the exhaust?'
"She shook her head with a doleful look.
"'I don't know what it is,' she said.
"But already I was hastily gathering together a few instruments,questioning her rapidly as I did so.
"'How's your pressure gauge?' I asked. 'How's your water? Do you drawfrom the mains or are you on the high level reservoir?'
"It had occurred to me at once that it might be merely a case ofstoppage of her main feed, complicated, perhaps, with a valvular troublein her exhaust. On the other hand it was clear enough that, if her feedwas full and her gauges working, her trouble was more likely a leaksomewhere in her piping.
"But all attempts to draw from the girl any clear idea of the symptomswere unavailing. All she could tell me was that the cellar boilerwouldn't work. Beyond that her answers were mere confusion. I gatheredenough, however, to feel sure that her main feed was still working, andthat her top story check valve was probably in order. With that I had tobe content.
"As a young practitioner, I had as yet no motor car. Simmons, however,summoned me a taxi, into which I hurriedly placed the girl and my basketof instruments, and was soon speeding in the direction she indicated. Itwas a dark, lowering night, with flecks of rain against the windows ofthe cab, and there was something in the lateness of the hour (it was nowafter half-past eight) and the nature of my mission which gave me astimulating sense of adventure. The girl directed me, as I felt sureshe would, towards the capitalist quarter of the town. We had soon spedaway from the brightly lighted streets and tall apartment buildingsamong which my usual practice lay, and entered the gloomy anddilapidated section of the city where the unhappy capitalist classreside. I need not remind those of you who know it that it is scarcely acheerful place to find oneself in after nightfall. The thick growth oftrees, the silent gloom of the ill-lighted houses, and the rankundergrowth of shrubs give it an air of desolation, not to say danger.It is certainly not the place that a professional man would choose to beabroad in after dark. The inhabitants, living, so it is said, on theirscanty dividends and on such parts of their income as our taxation isstill unable to reach, are not people that one would care to fall inwith after nightfall.
"Since the time of which I speak we have done much to introduce a betterstate of things. The opening of day schools of carpentry, plumbing andcalcimining for the children of the capitalist is already producingresults. Strange though it may seem, one of the most brilliant of ourboiler fitters of to-day was brought up haphazard in this very quarterof the town and educated only by a French governess and a universitytutor. But at the time practically nothing had been done. The place wasinfested with consumers, and there were still, so it was said, servantsliving in some of the older houses. A butler had been caught one nightin a thick shrubbery beside one of the gloomy streets.
"We alighted at one of the most sombre of the houses, and ourtaxi-driver, with evident relief, made off in the darkness.
"The girl admitted us into a dark hall, where she turned on an electriclight. 'We have light,' she said, with that peculiar touch of pride thatone sees so often in her class, 'we have four bulbs.'
"Then she called down a flight of stairs that apparently led to thecellar:
"'Father, the plumber has come. Do come up now, dear, and rest.'
"A step sounded on the stairs, and there appeared beside us one of themost forbidding-looking men that I have ever beheld. I don't knowwhether any of you have ever seen an Anglican Bishop. Probably not.Outside of the bush, they are now never seen. But at the time of which Ispeak there were a few still here and there in the purlieus of the city.The man before us was tall and ferocious, and his n
ative ferocity wasfurther enhanced by the heavy black beard which he wore in open defianceof the compulsory shaving laws. His black shovel-shaped hat and hisblack clothes lent him a singularly sinister appearance, while his legswere bound in tight gaiters, as if ready for an instant spring. Hecarried in his hand an enormous monkey wrench, on which his fingers wereclasped in a restless grip.
"'Can you fix the accursed thing?' he asked.
"I was not accustomed to being spoken to in this way, but I was willingfor the girl's sake to strain professional courtesy to the limit.
"'I don't know,' I answered, 'but if you will have the goodness first tofetch me a little light supper, I shall be glad to see what I can doafterwards.'
"My firm manner had its effect. With obvious reluctance the fellowserved me some biscuits and some not bad champagne in the dining-room.
"The girl had meantime disappeared upstairs.
"'If you're ready now,' said the Bishop, 'come on down.'
"We went down to the cellar. It was a huge, gloomy place, with a cementfloor, lighted by a dim electric bulb. I could see in the corner theoutline of a large furnace (in those days the poorer classes had stillno central heat) and near it a tall boiler. In front of this a man waskneeling, evidently trying to unscrew a nut, but twisting it the wrongway. He was an elderly man with a grey moustache, and was dressed, inopen defiance of the law, in a military costume or uniform.
"He turned round towards us and rose from his knees.
"'I'm dashed if I can make the rotten thing go round,' he said.
"'It's all right, General,' said the Bishop. 'I have brought a plumber.'
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