by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER VIII
GUMMING GOPHER TO THE MAP
I'd heard the front office door pushed open and listened to a couple ofheavy steps on the floor runner before I glances round to find this highparty with the wide, stooped shoulders and the rugged face standin'there beamin' at me genial and folksy. In one hand he has a green clothbag with somethin' square in it, and in the other he has a broad-brimmedsoft hat about the color of Camembert cheese. A tank station delegateand no mistake!
"The Horse Dealers' Exchange is over east of Fourth avenue, about eightblocks down," says I.
He chuckles good-natured and shakes his head. "You got two more comin'to you, Brother," says he.
"Is it sawmill machinery you're lookin' for, then," says I, "or the homeoffice of Marriage Bells?"
"Struck out!" says he. "Now it's my bat. Are you J. Bayard Steele,Mister?"
"Honest, now," says I, "do I look it?"
"Then I reckon you're the other one--Professor McCabe," says he.
"Line hit over center field!" says I. "What's the follow up to that?"
"No hurry," says he. "Have a button first."
"Eh?" says I, gawpin', as he tosses the green bag and yellow lid onto achair, dives into his side pocket, and proceeds to pin something on mycoat lapel.
"Plenty of 'em," says he. "Here, take some for your friends. How's thatfor a slogan, anyway? 'Go to Gopher!' Good advice too. Gopher's thegarden spot of the universe."
"Gopher what--where is it?" says I.
"Why," says he, "Gopher, U.S.A. That's the idea! I'm from there. Hubbsis the name,--Nelson Hubbs, secretary of the Gopher Board of Trade,--andI never miss a chance to give Gopher a boost."
"If this is a sample," says I, "you don't need to make an affidavit. Butyou wanted to see J. Bayard Steele, didn't you?"
It was as I'd suspicioned. Mr. Hubbs was No. 5 on the kindly deeds listthat Pyramid Gordon had wished on Steele and me. We was to applysoothin' acts and financial balm to all the old grouches that Pyramidhad left behind him, you remember, on a commission basis.
Seems J. Bayard had been tracin' Hubbs up by mail for more'n a month,and at that it was just by chance one of his letters had been forwardedto the right place. So Hubbs had come on to see what it was all about.
"Course," says he, "I remember this Gordon; but I didn't think he wouldme, and I can't see how settlin' up his will could----"
"Threw the hooks into you sometime or other, didn't he?" says I.
"I dun'no's you'd rightly call it that, either," says Hubbs, runnin' hislong fingers reflective through his heavy mop of wavy hair. "I wasstation agent and dispatcher out at Kayuse Creek the only time we metup--and of all the forsaken, dreary, one-mule towns along the line thatwas the worst. I'd been there a year and a half, with no signs of evergettin' out, and I'd got so I hated every human, being in sight,includin' myself. I even hated the people in the trains that wentthrough, because they was goin' somewhere, and I wasn't. You know how itis."
"Well?" says I.
"So when this special pulled in, two private cars and a blind baggage,"he goes on, "and a potty conductor asked me for a clear track to Omaha,I turned him down flat. Might of done it, you know, for the express wasfour hours behind schedule; but I was just too ornery. I let on I hadn'tgot the order, made 'em back their old special on a siding, and held 'emthere all one blisterin' hot afternoon, while they come in by turns andcussed me. But your Mr. Gordon was the only one that talked straight tothe point. 'Let us through, or I'll see that you're fired beforemorning!' says he, and fired I was. The night freight dropped a newagent, and by breakfast time I was a wanderer on the face of the earth.Which was the best thing, Sir, that ever happened to me! I might havestuck in Kayuse Creek until this day."
"How long was it until you discovered this Gopher spot?" says I. "Near adozen years," says he, "and during that time, Sir, I've had a whirl atmore different kinds of industry than you'd believe existed, fromrunnin' a self-binder to canvassin' for the Life of James A. Garfield.It was Possum Oil that brought me good luck. Boiled linseed with camphorand a little tincture of iron was what it was really made of; but therewas a 'possum picture on the label, and I've had testimonials provin'that it has cured nearly every disease known to man, from ringworm tocurvature of the spine. I'd worked up a fifteen-minute spiel too thatwas a gem of street corner eloquence, and no matter where I stuck up myflare I could do an evenin's business runnin' from ten to forty dollars.
"So when I hit them corn fritters of Mrs. Whipple's that night in GopherI had no more notion of quittin' the road than a prairie chicken has ofbreakin' into a hencoop. But say, Brother, no human being ever madetastier corn fritters than them. 'Young lady,' says I to the half-growngirl that waited on table, 'who built these?'--'Mrs. Whipple,' saysshe. 'Present my best compliments to her,' says I, 'and tell me where Ican find Mr. Whipple. I want to congratulate him.'--'Lawzee! Whipple?'says she. 'Why, he died back East goin' on six years ago.'--'Then,' saysI, 'I'll take the message to Mrs. Whipple myself. She's, around, Isuppose?'--'No,' says the girl. 'Soon's she got supper ready she had togo down to the square 'lectioneerin'. She's runnin' for Mayor.'
"Say, Professor McCabe, it was a fact! Besides conductin' her boardin'house and bein' president of the Civic League, she was candidate forMayor on an independent ticket. Got it too, Sir! They have the vote outin our State, you know.
"Well, hearin' that sort of cooled me down a bit. I thought she'd be ahatchet-faced female with a voice like a guinea hen. So I didn't, seeher until I was all packed up to leave next day and hunted her up to paymy bill. And say, Brother, doggoned if she don't turn out to be aboutthe plumpest, cheeriest, winningest little body that ever I seeunclaimed! Nothin' standoffish about her, either. 'There!' says she.'Look at you, going off with all that dandruff on your coat collar!Mamie, bring me that whisk broom.'--'Ma'am,' says I, when she'd finishedthe job and added a little pat to my necktie, 'my name is Hubbs. It's ahomely name, and I'm a homely man; but if there's any chance of everpersuadin' you to be Mrs. Nelson Hubbs, I'll stick around this townuntil the crack of doom.'--'Now don't be foolish,' says she. 'Run along.I'm busy.' Wa'n't so encouragin', was it? 'Let's see,' says I, 'whatplace is this anyhow?'--'The idea!' says she. 'It's Gopher; and let metell you, Mr. Hubbs, some day it's going to be one of the finest citieswest of Chicago!'--'While you're in it,' says I, 'it's goin' to be goodenough for me. I'm goin' to stay right here.'
"Well, that's what I did, Sir. The Gopher Gazette was for sale, andinside of twenty-four hours I'd bought it, one-third cash, and I've beenrunnin' it ever since. And I've proposed to Mrs. Whipple once a weekreg'lar the whole ten months."
"Only to get more of that run-along-now advice?" says I.
He winks rapid two or three times by way of relievin' his feelin's. "Itain't exactly as bad as that," says he. "I reckon she's kind of got usedto my homely face, and if I have any good points at all, you can betshe's found 'em. Anyway, one night a couple of months ago she dropped ahint that was like manna from the sky. I've been livin' on it eversince. 'Nelson,' says she, 'there's only one man I'd have, and that'sthe man who will put Gopher on the map.'"
"Oh-ho!" says I. "Hence the buttons?"
"That's only part of my scheme," says Hubbs. "The rest I worked outbetween the time I got word from this Mr. Steele and the day I left forNew York. Up to then I hadn't thought of comin' East to boost Gopher;but the letter settled me. 'I'm goin' on,' says I to Mrs. Whipple, 'andif Gopher ain't on the map when I come back, I'll never ask you again tochange your name to Hubbs. I'll change mine to Dubb!' So you see,Professor, I ain't got any time to waste. Where can I find Mr. Steele?"
I gave him directions for locatin' J. Bayard, and off he pikes, swingin'the green bag jaunty in one big paw. He'd been here ten minutes, andhe'd told me the story of his life. Now see what Steele gets out of him.
"Shorty," says J. Bayard, driftin' in languid after lunch and caressin'his bank president whiskers approvin' as he camps down by the desk, "thedeeper I get into the career
of your late friend, Pyramid Gordon, themore I am amazed at the infinite pains he took to deal unjustly with somany different persons of no account."
"All of which means, I expect," says I, "that you've been havin' a talkwith Hubbs. Well, what you goin' to do for him?"
Mr. Steele shrugs his shoulders. "He is simply impossible!" says he.
"How's that?" says I.
"I was unable to decide," says J. Bayard, "whether he was mentallyunbalanced, or just plain crank. Comes from some absurd little hole outWest, and has but one idea in his head,--to boom that place. Tried topin a beastly button on me. Ah! I see you have one."
"Sure!" says I. "'Go to Gopher!' Catchy, ain't it?"
"Bah!" says he. "What do I care for his little two-by-four village? Whatdoes anyone care, save the poor wretches who must live there? And yet heinsisted on boring me for one mortal hour with his preposterous schemes.It appears that he has raised an advertising fund of a thousand dollars,and means to open a publicity bureau somewhere downtown."
"Well, that's enterprisin', ain't it?" says I.
"It's imbecile!" says J. Bayard. "What can he do with a thousand in NewYork. You might as well try to sprinkle Central Park with a quartwatering can. I told him so. I tried to get out of him too somesuggestion as to how we could best carry out the terms of Gordon's crazywill; some kind and generous act that we could do for him, you know. Buthe would talk of nothing but Gopher--everlastingly and eternallyGopher!"
"Yes," says I, "that's his long suit."
"And do you know what he thinks he's going to do?" goes on Steele. "Why,he's had the nerve to plot out a whole quarter-section around hisinfernal town, organized a realty company, and had half a milliondollars' worth of Gopher Development shares printed! Thinks he's goingto unload trash like that here in New York! Now what can I do for sucha man?"
"Ain't that right in your line, though?" says I.
"It may have been at one time," admits J. Bayard; "but to-day youcouldn't give away nickel chances on the national gold reserve. Themarket is dead. Even the curb brokers have fallen back on racing tinrolling toys and matching quarters."
Well, I couldn't dispute it. If anyone knows the phony finance game atall, it's J. Bayard Steele. And the best I could do was to get him toagree to sort of keep track of Hubbs and maybe, after he'd blown all hiscash against this bloomin' stunt, step in and send him back to Gopherbefore he hit the bread line.
Must have been a week that I didn't hear from either of 'em, and thenhere the other afternoon J. Bayard calls up on the 'phone.
"Shorty," says he, "if you want to see our friend Hubbs reach thepinnacle of his folly, come down to Broad street right away. I'll meetyou in front of the Hancock National!"
As there's no rush on at the studio just then I goes down.
"It's rich," says Steele. "Actually, that country clown is trying on,right here in New York, the same primitive methods that real estateboomers use in the soggy South and the woolly West. Would you believeit? Come have a look."
Well, say, it wa'n't easy gettin' near enough, at that. But we works ourway through the mob until we're in front of the buildin', where there'sa big, yellow-lettered sign that reads:
GOPHER, U.S.A. HEADQUARTERS
Underneath the sign was a big window with the sash out and a sort ofplatform juttin' over the sidewalk. Just as we arrives out steps NelsonHubbs, wearin' the same rube rig and carryin' the same green bag. Helooks just as big and homely and good-natured as ever.
"Friends," says he, sweepin' off the alfalfa lid with a flourish, "outin Gopher we always like to open up with a little music; and while Iain't no Caruso, or anything like that, I'm goin' to do my best."
A snicker runs through the crowd at that, turnin' to haw-haws as heproceeds to unlimber something from the green bag. It's an accordion,one of these push and pull organs. Believe me, though, he could singsome! Throwin' back his head and shakin' that heavy mop of hair, heroars out deep and strong the first advertisin' solo, I guess, that NewYork ever heard.
"Now, Friends, everybody in on the chorus!" he calls. "Every-body! Hereshe goes!
"Oh, I want to go to Gopher--Gopher-- Oh, I want to go to Gopher--Gopher! The streets are straight, the sky is high, You'll strike it rich, and live on pie, You can't get sick, and you never die, In Gopher, U. S. A."
Did they join in? Say, it was a swingin' tune, the words was easy tofollow, and the crowd was ready for anything. They simply cut loose, andby the time they'd done that chorus two or three times he had 'em rightwith him. Then he springs his business spiel.
Talk about your boost orations--say, that was a classic! He tells 'emconfidential how Gopher is the comin' metropolis of the great West; how,"with its main boulevard laid out along the sinuous, lovely banks of thepellucid Pinto River, and its western boundaries stretching off to thesunset-tinted tops of Soup Kettle Range, it has a scenic settingunsurpassed anywhere this side of Switzerland." And when it comes topredictin' how prosperity has picked Gopher for its very own, he goesthe limit. Next he tells 'em about the development company and theshares.
"Remember, Friends," says he, "every share means a front foot, and everyfront foot a fortune. Send in fifty shares, and we'll give you a deed toa city lot. First come first served, and the early bird laps up thecream. I don't urge you to buy 'em. I'm just giving you a chance to getin on the ground floor. And if you don't want to come in to-day, maybeyou will to-morrow. Anyway, have a button. Wear it! Tell your friendsabout Gopher. Here you are! Every-body have a button!"
With that he scatters handful after handful broadcast into the crowd,which catches 'em eager. Even J. Bayard gets excited and grabs for one.
"By George, Shorty!" says he. "Hanged if there isn't the germ of a goodidea in this scheme of his! Every share a front foot! And if he couldonly get the buying started----"
Steele is gazin' over the heads of the crowd absentminded. All of asudden he breaks out again. "I have it!" says he. "I'll get that curbgang to fooling with Gopher."
But, foxy as he was, I don't believe J. Bayard knew just how big abonfire he was touchin' off. I know I thought he was nutty when he wantsme to O.K. his plan for buyin' a hundred shares to distribute free.
"Bait!" says he. "They'll bite! You watch 'em!"
Well, if you've been followin' the market close, you know what happened.I expect the first bids was made just as a josh. I hear that GopherDevelopment started at ten cents. Then someone sold a block at fifteen.By noon they'd gone to twenty. Durin' luncheon time a sporty bunch in arathskeller cooked up the bright idea that it would be humorous to sellGopher short and hammer the price down to five cents. Before three P.M.the gross transactions had run into the thousands.
"Now, Friends!" he calls, "Everybody in on the chorus."]
I was in Hubbs' office when the first real money was paid over forGopher. A hook-nosed young broker in a shepherd plaid suit and a pinkfelt hat rushes in and planks down twenty dollars for fifty shares atthe market. Hubbs was just passin' 'em over too, when Steele interferes.
"Five more, please," says J. Bayard. "We are holding Gopher at 50."
"Wha'd'ye mean, fifty?" gasps the curb man. But he was short on athree-fifteen delivery, and he had to put up the extra five.
"Stick to that rule," Steele advises Hubbs. "Ask 'em ten points morethan outside quotations."
What really got things goin', though, was when some of the stock clerksand bookkeepers, who'd heard and talked nothin' but Gopher these lasttwo days, begun buyin' lots outright and turnin' 'em in for deeds.Whether or not they believed all Hubbs had fed 'em about Gopher don'tmatter. They was takin' a chance. So they slips out at noon and givesreal orders. Course, they wa'n't plungin'; but the combined effect wasthe same.
And it don't take the curb long to get wise. "The suckers are buyingGopher," was the word passed round. Then maybe the quotations didn'tjump! There wa'n't any quarter matchin' down in Broad street afterthat. They was too busy yellin' Gopher at each other. Up she went,--75,then
85, then 110, and when closin' hour come the third day it was theliveliest scene inside the ropes that the margin district had known inyears.
I expect the newspapers helped a lot too. They had a heap of fun withHubbs and his Gopher proposition,--Hubbs of Gopher, U.S.A. They printedpictures of him playin' the accordion, and interviews reproducin' hisdescriptive gems about "the banks of the pellucid Pinto," and such.
But you never can tell how a comedy stab is goin' to turn out. This gameof buyin' real estate shares for a dollar or so, with the prospects thatbefore night it might be worth twice as much, was one that hit 'em hard.By Friday Gopher stock was being advertised like Steel preferred, andthe brokers was flooded with buyin' orders. Some of the big firms gotinto the game too. A fat German butcher came all the way down from theBronx, counted out a thousand dollars in bills to Nelson Hubbs, and wassatisfied to walk away with a deed for a hundred front feet of Gopherrealty. He wasn't such a boob, either. Two hours later he could haveclosed out five hundred to the good.
It wa'n't like a stock flurry, where there's an inside gang manipulatin'the wires. All the guidin' hand there was in this deal was that of J.Bayard Steele, and he contents himself with eggin' Hubbs on to standfirm on that ten-cent raise.
"Not a penny more, not a penny less," says he, beamin'. "It'll get 'em."
And I don't know when I've seen him look more contented. As for NelsonHubbs, he seems a little dazed at it all; but he keeps his head andsmiles good-natured on everybody. Not until Gopher Development hitstwenty-five dollars a share does he show any signs of gettin' restless.
"Boys," says he, bangin' his fist down on the desk, "it's great! I'veturned that thousand-dollar fund into fifty, and as near as I can figureit property values along our Main street have been jumped about eighthundred per cent. They've heard of it out home, and they're just wild. Iexpect I ought to stay right here and push things; but--well, McCabe,maybe you can guess."
"No word from a certain party, eh?" says I.
Hubbs shakes his head and starts pacin' up and down in front of thewindow. He hadn't done more'n three laps, though, before in blows amessenger boy and hands him a telegram.
"We-e-e-yow!" yells Hubbs. "Hey, Shorty, it's come--doggoned if it ain'tcome! Look at that!"
It was a brief bulletin, but full of meat. It runs like this:
Good work, Nelson. You've done it. Gopher's on the map.
And the last we saw of him, after he'd turned the stock business over toMendell & Co., he was pikin' for a west-bound train with his grip in onefist and that old accordion in the other.
J. Bayard smiles after him friendly and indulgent. "A woman in the case,I suppose?" says he.
"Uh-huh," says I. "The plumpest, cheeriest, winnin'est little body everleft unclaimed,--his description. She's the lady Mayor out there. And ifI'm any judge, with them two holdin' it down, Gopher's on the map tostay."