by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER XV
Flag it, now, and I'll say it for you. Yes, you read about it in thepapers, and says you: "Is it all so?" Well, some of it was, and some ofit wasn't. But what do you expect? No two of the crowd would tell it thesame way, if they was put on the stand the next minute. Here's the wayit looked from where I stood, though; and I was some close, wa'n't I?
You see, after I woke up from that last trance, I gets to thinkin' aboutSadie, and Miriam, and all them false alarms I've been ringin' in; and,says I to myself: "Shorty, if I couldn't make a better showin' thanthat, I'd quit the game." So I quits. I chases myself back to town forgood, says hello to all the boys, and tells Swifty Joe, if he sees memakin' another move towards the country, to heave a sand bag at me.
Not that there was any loud call for me to tend out so strict on thephysical culture game. I'd been kind of easin' up on that lately, anddippin' into outside things; and it was them I needed to keep closertrack of. You know I've got a couple of flat houses up on the West side,and if you let them agents run things their own way you'll be makin'almost enough to buy new hall carpets once a year.
Then there was ripe chances I was afraid of missin'. You see, knockin'around so much with the fat wads, I often sees spots where a few dollarscould be planted right. Sometimes it's a hunch on the market, and thenagain it's a straight steer on a slice of foot front that's goin' cheap.I do a lot of dickerin' that way.
Well, I'd just pushed through a deal that leaves me considerable onvelvet, and I was feelin' kind of flush and sassy, when Mr. Ogden callsme up, and wants to know if I can make use of a gilt edged bargain.
"Oh, I don't know," says I. "What's it look like?"
"It's The Toreador," says he.
"Sounds good," says I. "How much?"
"Cost me forty thousand two years ago," says he, "but I'm turning itover for twenty-five to the first bidder."
Well, say, when old man Ogden slings cold figures at you like that, youcan gamble that he's talkin' straight.
"I'm it, then," says I. "Fifteen down, ten on mortgage."
"That suits me," says he. "I'll have the papers made out to-day."
"And say," says I, "what is this Toreador, anyway; a race horse, or anelevator apartment?"
Would you guess it? He'd hung up the receiver. That's what I got forbein' sporty. But I wa'n't goin' to renig at that stage. I fills out melittle blue check and sends her in, and that night I goes to bed withoutknowin' what it is that I've passed up my coin for.
It must have been near noon the next day, for I'd written a letter andgot my check book stubs added up so they come within two or threehundred of what the bank folks made it, when a footman in white pantiesand a plum colored coat drifts through the Studio door.
"Is this Professor McCabe, sir?" says he.
"Yep," says I.
"There's a lady below, sir," says he. "Can she come up?"
"It ain't reg'lar," says I, "but I s'pose there's no dodgin' her. Tellher to come ahead."
Say, I wa'n't just fixed up for receivin' carriage comp'ny. When Iwrites and figures I gets more mussed up than as if I'd been in afree-for-all. I'd shed my coat on one chair, my vest on another, slippedoff my suspenders, rumpled my hair, and got ink on me in seventeenplaces. But I didn't have sense enough to say I was out.
In a minute or so there was a click-click on the stairs, I gets a whiffof l'Issoir Danube, and in comes a veiled lady. She was a brandiedpeach; from the outside lines, anyway. Them clothes of hers couldn'thave left Paris more'n a month before, and they clung to her like a wetundershirt to a fat man. And if you had any doubts as to whether or noshe had the goods, all you had to do was to squint at the big amethystin the handle of the gold lorgnette she wore around her neck. For aFelix-Tiffany combination, she was it. You've seen women of thatkind--reg'lar walkin' expense accounts.
"So you are Shorty McCabe, are you?" says she, givin' me a customsinspector look-over, and kind of sniffin'.
"Sorry I don't suit," says I.
"How odd!" says she. "I must make a note of that."
"Help yourself," says I. "Is there anything else?"
"Is it true," says she, "that you have bought The Toreador?"
"Who's been givin' you that?" says I, prickin' up my ears.
"Mr. Ogden," says she.
"He's an authority," says I, "and what he says along that line I don'tdispute."
"Then you _have_ bought it?" says she. "How exasperating! I was goingto get Mr. Ogden to let me have The Toreador this week."
"The whole of it?" says I.
"Why, of course," says she.
"Gee!" thinks I. "It can't be an apartment house, then. Maybe it's anoil paintin', or a parlor car."
"But there!" she goes on. "I suppose you only bought it as aspeculation. Now what is your price for next week?"
Say, for the love of Pete, I couldn't tell what it was gave me a grouch.Maybe it was only the off-hand way she threw it out, or the snippychin-toss that goes with it. But I felt like I'd been stroked with apiece of sand paper.
"It's too bad," says I, "but you've made a wrong guess. I'm usin' TheToreador next week myself."
"_You!_" says she, and through the gauze curtain I could see her humpher eyebrows.
That finished the job. Even if The Toreador turned out to be a new operahouse or a tourin' balloon, I was goin' to keep it busy for the nextseven days.
"Why not me?" I says.
"All alone?" says she.
Well, I didn't know where it would land me, but I wa'n't goin' to haveher tag me for a solitaire spender.
"Not much," says I. "I was just makin' up my list. How do you spell Mrs.Twombley-Crane's last name--with a k?"
"Really!" says she. "Do you mean to say that _she_ is to be one of yourguests? Then you must be going just where I'd planned to go--to theNewport evolutions?"
"Sure thing," says I. I'd heard of their havin' all kinds of fool doin'sat Newport, but evolutions wa'n't one of 'em. The bluff had to be madegood, though.
The lady pushes up her mosquito nettin' drop, like she wanted to see ifI was unwindin' the string ball or not, and then for a minute she tapsher chin with them foldin' eyeglasses. I wanted to sing out to her thatshe'd dent the enamel if she didn't quit bein' so careless, but I heldin. Say, what's the use eatin' carrots and takin' buttermilk baths, whenyou can have a mercerized complexion like that laid on at the shop?
All of a sudden she flashes up a little silver case, and pushes out avisitin' card.
"There's my name and address," says she. "If you should change your mindabout using The Toreador, you may telephone me; and I hope you will."
"Oh!" says I, spellin' out the old English letters. "I've heard Pinckneyspeak of you. Well, say, seein' as you're so anxious, I'll tell youwhat I'll do; I'll just put you down for an in-vite. How does that hityou?"
I had an idea she might blow up, at that. But say, there was nothin' ofthe kind.
"Why," says she, "I'm not sure but that would be quite a novelty. Yes,you may count on me. Good day," and she was gone without so much as a"thank you kindly."
When I came to, and had sized the thing all up, it looked like I'd gotin over my head. I was due to stand for some kind of a racket, butwhether it was a picnic, or a surprise party, I didn't know. What Iwanted just then was information, and for certain kinds of knowledgethere's nobody like Pinckney.
I was dead lucky to locate him, too; but I took a chance on his bein' intown, so I found him at his special corner table in the palm room, justlookin' a dry Martini in the face.
"Hello, Shorty!" says he. "Haven't lunched yet, have you? Join me."
"I will," says I, "if you'll answer me two questions. First off, what isit that Mr. Ogden owns that he calls The Toreador?"
"Why," says Pinckney, "that's his steam yacht."
"Steam yacht!" says I, gettin' a good grip on the chair, to keep fromfalling out. "And me dead sure it was a bunch of six-room-and-baths!Oh, well, let that pass. What's done is done. Now what's this evolution
stunt they're pullin' off up at Newport next week?"
"The naval evolutions, of course," says Pinckney. "You should read thenewspapers, Shorty."
"I do," says I, "but I didn't see a word about it on the sportin' page."
He gave me the program, though; how they was goin' to have a shamtorpedo battle, windin' up with a grand illumination of the fleet.
"You ought to run up and see it," says he.
"It looks like I had to," says I.
"But what about The Toreador?" says he.
"Nothin' much," says I,--"only I've bought the blamed thing."
It was Pinckney's turn to grow bug-eyed; but when I'd told him all aboutthe deal, and how the veiled lady had stung me into sayin' what I had,he's as pleased as if he'd been readin' the joke column.
"Shorty," says he, "you're a genius. Why, that's the very thing to do.Get together your party, steam up there, anchor in the harbor, and seethe show. It's deuced good form, you know."
"That's all I want," says I. "Just so long's I'm sure I'm in good form,I'm happy. But say, I wouldn't dare tackle it unless you went along."
I found out later that Pinckney'd turned down no less than three partiesof that kind, but when I puts it up to him, he never fiddles short atall.
"Why, I'd be delighted," says he.
With that we finishes our cold fried egg salad, or whatever fancy dishit was we had on the platter, and then we pikes off to the pier where hesays the yacht's tied up. And say, she was somethin' of a boat. She madethat Dixie Girl, that Woodie and me brought the Incubator kids down in,look like a canoe. She was white all over, except for a gold streakaround her, and a couple of dinky yellow masts.
I didn't go down stairs. We plants ourselves in some green cushionedeasy chairs under the back stoop awnin', and I sends one of thewhite-wing hired hands after the conductor.
"It's the sailing master you want," says Pinckney.
"Well, bring him along, too," says I.
But there was only the one. He was a solid built, quiet spoken chap,with a full set of red whiskers and a state of Maine accent. He said hisname was Bassett, and that he was just packin' his things to go ashore,havin' heard that the boat had been sold.
"The shore'll be there next month," says I. "What'll you take to stay onthe job?"
Well, he didn't want no iron worker's wages, bein' content with acaptain's salary, so I tells him to take hold right where he left offand tell the rest of the gang they could do the same. So inside of halfan hour I has a couple of dozen men on the pay roll.
"Gee!" says I to Pinckney, "I'm glad the yachtin' season's most overwhen I begin; if it wa'n't I'm thinkin' I'd have to go out nights with ajimmy."
But Pinckney's busy with his silver pencil, writin' down names.
"There!" says he. "I've thought of a dozen nice people that I'm sure of,and perhaps I'll remember a few more in the mean time."
"Say," says I, "have you got the Twombley-Cranes and Sadie on thatlist?"
"Oh, certainly," says he, "especially Sadie." And then he grins.
Well, for about four days I'm the busiest man out of a job in New York.I carries a bunch of railroad stocks on margin, trades off some Bronxbuildin' lots for a cold water tenement, and unloads a street openin'contract that I bought off'm a Tammany Hall man. Every time I thinks ofthat steam yacht, with all them hands burnin' up my money, I goes outand does some more hustlin'. Say, there's nothin' like needin' thedough, for keepin' a feller up on his toes, is there? And when the timecame to knock off, and I'd reckoned up how much I was to the good, Ifeels like Johnny Gates after he's cashed his chips.
Yes, indeed, I was a gay boy as I goes aboard The Toreador and waits forthe crowd to come along. I'd made myself a present of a white flannelsuit and a Willie Collier yachtin' cap, and if there'd been an orchestradown front I could have done a yo-ho-ho baritone solo right off thereel.
Pinckney shows up in good season, and he'd fetched his people, allright. There was a string of tourin' cars and carriages half a blocklong. They was all friends of mine, too; from Sadie to the little oldbishop. And they was nice, decent folks. Maybe they don't have theirpictures printed in the Sunday editions as often as some, but they'reice cutters, just the same. They all said it was lovely of me toremember 'em.
"Ah, put it away!" says I. "You folks has been blowin' me, off'n on fora year, and this is my first set-up. I ain't wise to the way thingsought to be done on one of these boudoir boats, but I wants everyone tobe happy. Don't wait for the Who-wants-the-waiter call, but just actlike you was all star boarders. Everything in sight is yours, from, thewicker chairs on deck, to what's in the ice box below. And I want to sayright here that I'm mighty glad you've come. Now, Mr. Bassett, I guessyou can tie her loose."
Honest, that was the first speech I ever shot off, in or out of thering, but it seemed to go. They was all pattin' me on the back, andgivin' me the grand jolly, when a cab comes down the pier on the jump,someone waves a red parasol, and out floats the veiled lady, with amaid. I'd sent her an invite, just as I said I would, but I neverthought she'd have the front to take it up.
"We came near missin' you," says I, steppin' up to the gang plank.
But say, she was so busy shakin' hands and callin' the rest of 'em bytheir front names, that she didn't see me at all. It was that way allday long, while we was goin' up the Sound. She cornered almost everyoneelse, and chinned to 'em real earnest about somethin' or other, but Inever seemed to get in range. Well, I was havin' too good a time to feelcut up about it, but I couldn't help bein' curious.
It wa'n't until dinner time that I got a line on her. Say, she was aconverser. No matter what was opened up, she heard her cue. And knock!Why, she had a tack hammer in each hand. They was cute, spiteful littletaps, that made you snicker first, and then you got ashamed of yourselffor doin' it.
"Ain't she got any friends besides what's here?" says I to Sadie, afterwe'd got through and gone up front by ourselves to see the moon rise.
"I'm not so sure about even these," says Sadie.
"Then why didn't someone cut in with a come-back?" says I.
"It isn't exactly safe," says she.
"Oh!" says I. "She's that kind, is she? You'd think from her talk thatshe knew only two sorts of women: them that had been divorced, and themthat ought to be."
"I'm afraid that's her specialty," says Sadie.
"Sort of a lady muck-raker, eh?" says I. "Well I hope all she says ain'tso. How about it?"
Well, that was the beginnin' of a heart to heart talk that lasted for agood many miles. Somehow Sadie and I'd never had a real quiet chancelike that before, and it came out that we had a lot to say to eachother. I don't know how it was, but the rest of 'em seemed to let usalone. Some was back under the awnin' and others was down stairs,playin' whist. There was singin' too, but we couldn't make out just whowas doin' it, and didn't care a whole lot.
Anyway, it was the bulliest ride I ever had. The moon come up over LongIsland, as big as a bill board and as yellow as a chorus girl's hair;the air was kind of soft and warm, like you gets it in the front roomof a Turkish bath place; and there wa'n't anything on either sidenearer'n the shore lights, way off in the dark. It wa'n't any time forthinkin' hard of anyone, so we agrees that the lady muck-raker must havebeen born with a bad taste in her mouth and can't help it, lettin' herslide at that.
I forgot what it was we did talk about. It was each other mostly, Iguess. You can do that when you've known anyone as long as we had; andit's a comfort, once in a while.
After a bit, though, we didn't say much of any thing. I was just lookin'at Sadie. And say, I've seen her when I thought she looked mighty nice,but I'd never got just that view of her before, with the moon kind oftouchin' up her red hair, and her cheeks and neck lookin' like whitesatin.
She has a way, too, of starin' off at nothin' at all, sometimes, andthen there's a look in her eyes, and a little twist to her mouthcorners, that just sets me tinglin' all over with the wantin' to put mearm around her and tell her that no
matter who else goes back on her,there'll always be Shorty McCabe to fall back on. It wa'n't anything newor sudden for me. I'd felt like that many a time, and as far back aswhen her mother ran a prune dispensary next door to my house, and shean' I used to sit on the front steps after supper. She'd have spells ofstarin' that way then, 'choppin' off a laugh in the middle to do it, andmaybe finishin' up with a giggle. I guess that's only the Irish in her,but it always caught me.
She must have been lookin' that way then, for the first thing I knowsI'd reached out and pulled her up close. She never kicks, but justsnuggles her head down on my shoulder, with them blue eyes turned so Icould look way down into 'em. At that I draws a deep breath.
"Sadie," says I, husky like, "you're the best ever!"
She only smiles, kind of sober, but kind of contented, too.
"And if I had the nerve," says I, "I'd ask you to be Mrs. ShortyMcCabe."
"It's too bad you've lost your nerve so sudden," says she.
"Wha-a-at!" says I. "Will you, Sadie; will you?"
"Silly!" says she. "Of course I will."
"Bless the saints!" says I. "When?"
"Any time, Shorty," says she. "You've been long enough about it,goodness knows."
Well say! You talk about your whirlwind finishes! I guess the crowd thatwas bunched there in the cabin, sayin' good night, must have thoughtI'd gone clear off my pivot, the way I comes down the stairs.
"Where's the bishop?" says I.
"Right here, my boy," says he. "What's the matter?"
"Matter?" says I. "Why, it's the greatest thing ever happened, andnobody to it. Folks," I says, "if the bishop is willin', and hasn'tforgot his lines, there's goin' to be a weddin' take place right here inthe main tent inside of fifteen minutes. Whoop-e-e!" I yells. "Sadie'ssaid she would!"
That's the way we did it, too; and for a short notice affair, it wasdone in style; even to a weddin' march that someone feeds into thepianola and sets goin'. Pinckney digs up a ring, and the bishop gives usthe nicest little off-hand talk you ever listens to. I blushes, andSadie blushes, and Mrs. Twombley-Crane hugs both of us when it's over.Then I has the steward lug up a lot of cold bottles and I breaks a tenyear drouth with a whole glass of fizz water.
Right in the middle of the toast the sailin' master shows up on thestairs and says: "We're just makin' the harbor, sir."
"Forget it, Bassett," says I. "I want you to drink to the health of Mrs.McCabe."
And when he hears what's been goin' on, he's the most flabbergastedsailor man I ever saw. After that we all has to go up and take a lookat Newport and the warships, but they was all as black and quiet as aside street in Brooklyn after ten o'clock.
"Say, it's a shame all them folks ain't in on this," says I. "Bassett,can't you make a little noise, just to let 'em know we're celebratin'?"
Bassett thought he could. He hadn't made any mistake, either. In twoshakes we had all the lights aboard turned on, and skyrockets whizzin'up as fast as they could be touched off.
Did we wake up them warships? Well, rather. First we hears a lot ofdinner gongs goin' off. Then colored lanterns was sent up, whistlesblew, bugles bugled, and inside of three minutes by the watch there wasguns bang-bangin' away like it was the Fourth of July.
"Great Scott!" says Pinckney, "I never knew before that the UnitedStates navy would turn out in the middle of the night to salute aprivate yacht."
"It depends on who owns the yacht. Eh, Sadie?" says I.
By the time the guns got through bangin' we had a dozen search-lightsturned on us, and a strong lunged gent on the nearest warship wasyellin' things at us through a megaphone.
"He wants to know, sir," says Bassett, "if we've got the Secretary ofthe Navy on board."
"Tell him not guilty," says I, and Bassett did.
That didn't satisfy Mr. Officer though. "Then why in thunder," says he,"do you make such a fuss coming into the harbor at this time of night?"
"Because I've just been gettin' married," says I, in my Bosco voice.
"And who the blazes are you?" says he.
"Can't you guess?" says I. "I'm Shorty McCabe."
"Oh!" says he, and you could hear the ha-ha's come across the water fromall along the line. There was a wait for a minute, and then he hailsagain. "Ahoy, Shorty McCabe!" says he. "The Commodore presents hiscompliments and says he hopes you liked your wedding salute; and if youdon't mind, the gun crews want to give three cheers for Mrs. McCabe."
So Sadie and I stands up by the rail, with more lime light on us than weever had before or since, and about six hundred Jackies gives us theircollege cry. There wa'n't anything slow about that as a send off for aweddin' tour, was there? But then, as I says to Sadie: "Look who weare."
And say, if you'll be on the dock when we come back from Bar Harbor,we'll take you along down to Old Point with us. Eh? Think it over.
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