by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER VII
No, I ain't goin' out to Blenmont these days. Jarvis does his exercisin'here, and he says his mother's havin' a ball room made out of that gym.
I've been stickin' to the pavements, like I said I would. Lookin'cheerful, too? Why not? If you'd been a minute sooner you'd heard mewobblin' "Please, Ma-ma, nail a rose on me." But say, I'll give you thetale, and then maybe you can write your own ticket.
You see, I'd left Swifty Joe runnin' the Physical Culture Studio, and Iwas doin' a lap up the sunny side of the avenue, just to give my holidayregalia an airing. I wasn't thinkin' a stroke, only just breathin' deepand feelin' glad I was right there and nowhere else--you know how theavenue's likely to go to your head these spring days, with the carriagefolks swampin' the traffic squad, and everybody that is anybody right onthe spot or hurrying to get there, and everyone of 'em as fit andfinished as so many prize-winners at a fair?
Well, I wasn't lookin' for anything to come my way, when all of a suddenI sees a goggle-capped tiger throw open the door of one of themplate-glass benzine broughams at the curb, and bend over like he has apain under his vest. I was just side-steppin' to make room for someupholstered old battle-ax that I supposed owned the rig, when I feels ahand on my elbow and hear some one say: "Why, Shorty McCabe! is thatyou?"
She was a dream, all right--one of your princess-cut girls, with thekind of clothes on that would make a turkey-red check-book turn pale.But you couldn't fool me, even if she had put a Marcelle crimp in thatcarroty hair of hers, and washed off the freckles and biscuit flour. Youcan't change Irish-blue eyes, can you? And when you've come to know avoice that's got a range from maple-sugar to mixed pickles, you don'tforget it, either. Know her? Say, I was brought up next door toSullivan's boarding-house.
"You didn't take me for King Eddie, did you, Miss Sullivan?" says I.
"I might by the clothes," says she, runnin' her eyes over me, "only Isee you've got him beat a mile. But why the Miss Sullivan?"
"Because I've mislaid your weddin'-card, and there's been other thingson my mind than you since our last reunion," says I. "But I'm chawmed tomeet you again, rully," and I begins to edge off.
"You act it," says she. "You look tickled to death--almost. But I'mpleased enough for two. Anyway, I'm in need of a man of about yourweight to take a ride with me. So step lively, Shorty, and don't standthere scaring trade away from the silver shop. Come, jump in."
"Not me," says I. "I never butts into places where there's apt to be ahubby to ask who's who and what's what."
"But there isn't any hubby now," says she.
"North Dakotaed him?" says I.
"No," says she; "I've got a decree good in any State. His friends calledit heart failure. I can't because I used to settle his bar bills. You'renot shy of widows, are you?"
Now say, there's widows and widows--grass, baled hay, and otherkinds--and most of 'em I passes up on general principles, along withchorus girls and lady demonstrators; but somehow I couldn't seem toplace Sadie Sullivan in that line. Why, her mother 'n' mine used toborrow cupfuls of flour of each other over the back fence, and it was tolick a feller who'd yelled "brick-top" after Sadie that started me totakin' my first boxin' lessons in Mike Quigley's barn.
"I ain't much used to traveling in one of these rubber-tired showwindows," says I; "but for the sake of old times I'll chance it once,"and with that I climbs in; the tiger puts on the time-lock, and wejoins the procession. "Your car's all to the giddy," I remarks. "Didn'tit leave you some short of breath after blowin' yourself to this,Sadie?"
"I buy it by the month," says she, "including Jeems and Henri in front.It comes higher that way; but who cares?"
"Oh," says I, "he left a barrel, then?"
"A cellarful," says Sadie.
And on the way up towards the park I gets the scenario of the acts I'dmissed. His name was Dipworthy--you've seen it on the labels,"Dipworthy's Drowsy Drops, Younsgters Yearn for 'Em"--only he wasDipworthy, jr., and knew as little about the "Drop" business as onlysons usually do about such things. Drops wa'n't his long suit; quartscame nearer being his size.
It was while he was having a sober spell that he married Sadie; but thatwas about the last one he ever had. She stuck to him, though; let himchase her with guns and hammer her with the furniture, until the purplemonkeys got him for good and all. Then she cashed in the "Drop"business, settled a life-insurance president's salary on her mother,bought a string of runnin' ponies for her kid brother, and then hit NewYork, with the notion that here was where you could get anything you hadthe price to pay for.
"But I made a wrong guess, Shorty," says she. "It isn't all in havingthe money; it's in knowing how to make it get you the things you want."
"There's plenty would like to give you lessons in that," says I.
"You?" says she.
"Say, do I look like a con. man?" says I.
"There, there, Shorty!" says she. "I knew better, only I've beengold-bricked so much lately that I'd almost suspect my own grandmother.I've got two maids who steal my dresses and rings; a lady companion whonags me about the way I talk, and who hates me alive because I canafford to hire her; and even the hotel manager makes me pay double ratesbecause I look too young for a real widow. Do you know, there are timeswhen I almost miss the late Dippy. Were you ever real lonesome, Shorty?"
"Once or twice," says I, "when I was far from Broadway."
"That's nothing," says she, "to being lonesome _on_ Broadway. And I'vebeen so lonesome in a theatre box, with two thousand people in plainsight, that I've dropped tears down on the trombone player in theorchestra. And I was lonesome just now, when I picked you up back there.I had been into that big jewelry store, buying things I didn't want,just for the sake of having some one to talk to."
"Ah, say," says I, "cut it in smaller chunks, Sadie. I'm no pelican."
"You don't believe me?" says she.
"I know this little old burg too well," says I. "Why, with ahundred-dollar bill I can buy more society than you could put in ahall."
"But don't you see, Shorty," says she, "that the kind you can buy isn'tworth having? You don't buy yours, do you? And I don't want to buy mine.I want to swap even. I'm not a freak, nor a foreigner, nor a quarantinesuspect. Look at all these women going past--what's the differencebetween us? But they're not lonesome, I'll bet. They have friends anddear enemies by the hundreds, while I haven't either. There isn't asingle home on this whole island where I can step up and ring the frontdoor-bell. I feel like a tramp hanging to the back of a parlor-car. Whatgood does my money do me? Suppose I want to take dinner at a swellrestaurant--I wouldn't know the things to order, and I'd be afraid ofthe waiters. Think of that, Shorty."
I tried to; but it was a strain. If anyone else had put it up to me thatSadie Sullivan, with a roll of real money as big as a bale of cotton,could lose her nerve just because she didn't have a visitin'-list, I'dhave told 'em to drop the pipe. She was giving me straight goods,though. Why, her lip was tremblin' like a lost kid's.
"Chuck it!" says I. "For a girl that had a whole bunch of Johnnies onthe waitin' list, and her with only one best dress to her name at thetime, you give me an ache. I don't set up for no great judge of form andfigure; but my eyesight's still good, I guess, and if I was choosin' alikely looker, I'd back you against the field."
That makes her grin a little, and she pats my hand kind of sisterlylike. "It isn't men I want, you goose; it's women--my own kind," saysshe, and the next minute she gives me the nudge and whispers: "Now,watch--the one in the chiffon Panama."
"Shiff which?" says I. But I sees the one she means--a heavy-weightperson, rigged out like a dry-goods exhibit and topped off withmillinery from the spring openin', coming toward us behind a pair ofnervous steppers. She had her lamps turned our way, and I hears Sadiegive her the time of day as sweet as you please. She wasn't more'n sixfeet off, either; but it missed fire. She stared right through Sadie,just as if there'd been windows in her, and then turned to cuddle abrindle pup on the seat beside
her.
"Acts like she owed you money," says I.
"We swapped tales of domestic woe for two weeks at Colorado Springsseason before last," said Sadie; "but it seems that she's forgotten.That's Mrs. Morris Pettigrew, whose husband--"
"That one?" says I. "Why, she ain't such a much, either. I know folksthat think she's a joke."
"She feels that she can't afford to recognize me on Fifth-ave., just thesame. That's where I stand," says Sadie.
"It's a crooked deal, then," says I.
And right there I began to get a glimmer of the kind of game she was upagainst. Talk about freeze-outs!
"I'll show her, though, and the rest of 'em!" says Sadie, stickin' outher cute little chin. "I'm not going to quit yet."
"Good for you!" says I. "It's a pastime I ain't up in at all; but if youcan ever find use for me behind the scenes anywhere, just call on."
"I will, Shorty," says she, "and right now. Come on down to Sherry'swith me for luncheon."
"Quit your kiddin'," says I. "You don't want to queer the whole programat the start. I'd be lost in a place like that--me in a sack suit andround-top dicer! Why, the head waiter'd say 'Scat!' and I'd make a diveunder the table."
She said she didn't care a red apple for that. She wanted to sail inthere and throw a bluff, only she couldn't go alone, and she guessedI'd do just as I was.
Course, I couldn't stand for no fool play of that kind; but seein' asshe was so dead set on the place, I said we'd make it a 'leven-o'clocksupper, after the theatre; but it must be my blow.
"I've got the clothes that'll fit into a night racket," says I, "andbesides, I've got to get a few points first."
"It's a go," says she.
So we made a date, and Sadie drops me at the Studio. I goes right to the'phone and calls up Pinckney at the club. Didn't I tell you about him?Sure, that's the one. You wouldn't think though, to see him and metappin' each other with the mitts, that he was a front ranker in thesmart push. But he's all of that. He's a pacemaker for the swiftestbunch in the world. Say, if he should take to walkin' on his hands,there wouldn't be no men's shoes sold on Fifth-ave. for a year.
Well, he shows up here about an hour later, lookin' as fresh as thoughhe'd just come off the farm. "Did you say something about wantingadvice, Shorty?" says he.
"I did," says I.
"Religious, or otherwise?" says he. "But it makes no difference; I'myours to command."
"I don't ask you to go beyond your depth," says I. "It's just a case oforderin' fancy grub. I'm due to blow a lady friend of mine to theswellest kind of a supper that grows in the borough; no two-dollartabble-doty, understand; but a special, real-lace, eighteen-carat feed,with nothing on the bill of fare that ain't spelled in French."
"Ah!" says he, "something like _Barquettes Bordellaise_, _poulet encasserole_, _fraises au champagne_, and so on, eh?"
"I was about to mention them very things," says I. "But my memory's onthe blink. Couldn't you write 'em down, with a diagram of how they look,and whether you spear 'em with a fork, or take 'em in through a straw?"
"Why, to be sure," says he. So he did, and it looked something likethis:
"_Consomme au fumet d'estaragon_ (chicken soup--big spoon).
"_Barquettes Bordellaise_ (marrow on toast, with mushrooms--fork only).
"_Fonds d'artichauts Monegosque_ (hearts of artichokes in creamsauce--fork and breadsticks)."
There was a lot more to it, and it wound up with some kind of cheesewith a name that sounded like breakin' a pane of glass.
I threw up my hands at that. "It's no go," says I. "I couldn't learn tosay all that in a month. How would it do for me to slip the waiter thatprogram and tell him to follow copy?"
"We'll do better than that?" says Pinckney. "Where's your 'phone?"
Pretty soon he gets some one on the wire that he calls Felix, and theyhas a heart-to-heart talk in French for about ten minutes.
"It's all arranged," says he. "You are to hand my card to the man at thedoor as you go in, and Felix will do the rest. Eleven-fifteen is thehour. But I'm surprised at you, Shorty. A lady, eh? Ah, well! In thespring the young man's fancy gently turns--"
"Ah, say!" says I. "There ain't no call for any funny cracks about this.You know me, and you can guess I'm no Willie-boy. When I get a soft spotin my head, and try to win a queen, it'll be done on the dead quiet, andyou won't hear no call for help. But this is a different proposition.This is a real lady, who's been locked out by the society trust, and whotakes an invite from me just because we happened to know each other whenwe was kids."
"Oh-ho!" says Pinckney, snappin' them black eyes the way he does when hegets real waked up. "That sounds quite romantic."
"It ain't," says I. "It's just as reg'lar as takin' your aunt to asacred concert."
He seemed to want to know the details, though; so I told him all aboutSadie, and how she'd been ruled out of her class by a lot of stiffs whowa'n't one-two-sixteen with her, either for looks or lucre.
"And it's a crooked decision," says I. "Maybe Sadie wasn't brought up bya Swedish maid and a French governess from Chelsea, Mass.; but she's onvelvet now, and she's a real hand-picked pippin, too. What's more, she'sa nice little lady, with nothin' behind her that you couldn't print in aSunday-school weekly. All she aims to do is to travel with themoney-burners and be sociable. And say, that's natural, ain't it?"
"It's quite human," says Pinckney, "and what you've told me about her isvery interesting. I hope the little supper goes off all right. Ta-ta,Shorty."
Well, it began frosty enough; for when it came to pilotin' a lady intothat swell mob, I had the worst case of stage-fright you ever saw. Say,them waiters is a haughty-lookin' lot, ain't they? But after we'd foundFelix, and I'd passed him a ten-spot, and he'd bowed and scraped andtowed us across the room like he thought we held a mortgage on theplace, I didn't feel quite so much as if I'd got into the wrong flat.
I did have something of a chill when I caught sight of asheepish-looking cuss in the glass. He looked sort of familiar, and Iwas wondering what he'd done to be ashamed of, when I sees it was me.Then I squints around at the other guys and say, more'n half of 'em worethe same kind of a look. It was only the women that seemed right tohome. There wasn't one in sight that didn't have her chin up and hershoulders back, and carrying all the dog the law allows. They treatedthem stiff-necked food-slingers like they was a lot of wooden Indians.You'd see 'em pilin' their wraps on one of them lordly gents just as ifhe was a chair. Then they'd plant themselves, spread out theirdry-goods, peel off their elbow gloves, and proceed to rescue the cherryfrom the bottom of the glass.
And Sadie? Well, say, you'd thought she'd never had a meal anywhere elsein her life. The way she bossed Felix around, and sized up the otherfolks, calm as a Chinaman, was a caution. And talk! I never had so muchrapid-fire conversation passed out to me all in a bunch before. Course,she was just keepin' her end up, and makin' believe I was doing myshare, too. But it was a mighty good imitation. Every now and then she'dtear off a little laugh so natural that I could almost swear I'd saidsomething funny, only I knew I hadn't opened my head.
As for me, I was busy tryin' to guess what was under the silver coversthat Felix kept bringin' in, and rememberin' what Pinckney had saidabout forks and spoons. Say, I suppose you've been up against one ofthose little after-the-play-is-over suppers that they serve behind thelace curtains on Fifth-ave.; but this was my first offense. Littlesuppers! Honest, now, there was more'n I'd want if I hadn't been fed fora week. Generally I can worry along with three squares a day, and when Ido feel like havin' a bite before I hit the blankets, a _sweitzerkase_sandwich does me. But this affair had seven acts to it, and everyone wasa mystery.
"Why, I didn't know you were such an epicure," says Sadie.
"Me either," says I; "but I'd never let myself loose before. Have somemore _pulley_ from the _carrousell_ and help yourself to the--the otherthing."
"Shorty, tell me how you managed it," says she.
"I've been taking
lessons by mail," says I.
"You're a dear to do it, anyway," says she. "Just think of the figureI'd cut coming here by my lonesome. It's bad enough at the hotel, withonly Mrs. Prusset. And I've been wanting to come for weeks. What luck itwas, finding you to-day!"
"Say, don't run away with the idea that I'm makin' a day's work ofthis," says I. "I'm havin' a little fun out of this myself. There'sworse company than you, y'know."
"And I've met a heap of men stupider than Shorty McCabe," says she,givin' me the jolly with that sassy grin of hers, and lettin' go one ofthose gurgly laughs that sounds as if it had been made on a clarinet.
It was just about then that I looks up and finds Pinckney standing onone foot, waitin' for a chance to butt in.
"Why, professor! This is a pleasure," says he.
"Hello!" says I. "Where'd you blow in from?"
Then I makes him acquainted with Sadie, and asks him what it'll be. Oh,he did it well; seemed as surprised as if he hadn't seen me for a year,and begins to get acquainted with Sadie right away. I tried to give herthe wink, meanin' to put her next to the fact that here was where sheought to come out strong on the broad A's, and throw in thedontcher-knows frequent; but it was no go. She didn't care a rap. Shetalked just as she would to me, asked Pinckney all sorts of foolquestions, and inside of two minutes them two was carryin' on like acouple of kids.
"I'm a rank outsider here, you know," says she, "and if it hadn't beenfor Shorty I'd never got in at all. Oh, sure, Shorty and I are oldchums. We used to slide down the same cellar door."
S'elp me, I was plumb ashamed of Sadie then, givin' herself away likethat. But Pinckney seemed to think it was great sport. Pretty soon hesays he's got some friends over at another table, and did she mind if hebrought 'em over.
"Think you'd better?" says she. "I'm the Mrs. Dipworthy of the 'DrowsyDrops,' you know, and that's a tag that won't come off."
"If you'll allow me," says he, "I'll attend to the tag business. They'llbe delighted to meet you."
"Say," says I, soon as he'd left, "don't be a sieve, Sadie. Just forgetauld lang syne, and remember that you're travelin' high."
"They've got to take me for what I am, or not at all," says she.
"Yes, but you ain't got no cue to tell the story of your life," says I.
"That's my whole stock in trade, Shorty," says she.
I was lookin' for her to revise that notion when I sees the kind ofcompany Pinckney was luggin' up to spring on us. I'd seen their picturesin the papers, and knew 'em on sight. And the pair wasn't anything butthe top of the bunch. You know the Twombley-Cranes, that cut more ice inJuly than the Knickerbocker Trust does all winter. Why say, to see thehouse rubber at 'em as they came sailin' our way, you'd thought they waspaid performers stepping up to do their act. It was a case of bein' inthe lime-light for us, from that on.
"Hully chee!" says I. "Here's where I ought to fade."
But there wasn't any show to duck; for Felix was chasin' over some morechairs, and Pinckney was doin' the honors all round, and the first thingI knew we was a nice little fam'ly party, chuckin' repartee across thepink candle shades, and behavin' like star boarders that had paid inadvance.
It was Sadie, though, that had the centre of the stage, and I'll bestaggered if she didn't jump in to make her bluff good. She let outeverything that she shouldn't have told, from how she used to wait ontable at her mother's boarding-house, to the way she'd got the frozenface ever since she came to town.
"But what am I expected to do?" says she. "I've got no Hetty Green gripon my bankbook. There's a whole binful of the 'Drowsy Drop' dollars, andI'm willing to throw 'em on the bonfire just as liberal as the next one,only I want a place around the ring. There's no fun in playing a lonehand, is there? I've been trying to find out what's wrong with me,anyway?"
"My dear girl," says Mrs. Twombley-Crane, "there's nothing wrong withyou at all. You're simply delicious. Isn't she, now, Freddie?"
And Freddie just grinned. Say, some men is born wise. "Professor McCabeand I are exchanging views on the coming light-weight contest," says he."Don't mind us, my dear."
Perhaps that's what we were gassin' about, or why is a hen. You cansearch me. I was that rattled with Sadie's nerve display that I didn'tfollow anything else real close.
But when it was all over, and I'd been brought to by a peep at the billthe waiter handed me, I couldn't figure out whether she'd made abull's-eye or rung in a false alarm.
One thing I did notice, as we sails out, and that was the stoutPettigrew person who'd passed Sadie the pickled pig's foot on the avenuethat afternoon. She was sitting opposite a skimpy little runt with abald head, at a table up near the door where the waiters juggled soupover her feathers every time they passed. Her eyes were glued on Sadieas we came up, and by the spread of the furrows around her mouth I seeshe was tryin' to crack a smile.
"Now," thinks I, "here's where she collects chilblains and feels themercury drop."
But say! would you look for it in a dream book? What does Sadie do butpass her out the glad hand and coo away, like a pouter pigeon on acornice, about being tickled to see her again. Oh, they get me dizzy,women do!
That wa'n't a marker though, to the reverse English carom Sadie takesafter we'd got into a cab and started for her hotel. Was there a jollyfor me, or a "Thank you, Shorty, I've had the time of my life?" Nothin'like it. She just slumped into her corner and switched on the boo-hooslike a girl that's been kept after school.
"Enjoy yourself, Sadie," says I. "Only remember that this is a hansom,not a street sprinkler."
That didn't fetch her; so after a while I tries her again. "What wentwrong?" says I. "Was she stringin' you, or was it the way I wore my facethat queered the show?"
"It's all right, Shorty," says she between weeps. "And nothing's wrong,nothing at all. Mrs. What's-Her-Name's asked me to stay a week with herat their Newport place, and old Mrs. Pettigrew will turn green beforemorning thinking of me, and I've shaken the hoodoo at last. But it allcame so much in a lump that I just had to turn on the sprayer. You knowhow I feel, don't you, Shorty?"
"Sure," says I, "just as well as if you'd sent me a picture postal ofthe place you boarded last."
But say, I turned the trick, didn't I? I didn't know what was comin' outof the box, of course; and maybe I was some jolted at throwin' threesixes to a pair, but there they lay.
No, I ain't goin' into the boostin' line as a reg'lar thing; but I guessif any amateur in the business gets a rose nailed on him, I ought to bethe gent. Not?